my 2009 thanksgiving grateful list

Whenever I start thinking of what I am thankful for, I start humming the catchy Thanksgiving song from “Holiday Inn”, which starts, “I’ve got plenty to be thankful for…”  And it’s true.  This has been a fantastic year!  The first six months were amazing, but the miracles of the last five have left a profound sense of gratitude.  I do have plenty to be thankful for.  I decided to follow my sister’s example and write my own Grateful List:

I’m grateful my sister’s life was spared.

I’m grateful for the support of extended family and friends during our crisis.

I’m grateful for the power of prayer and for all who prayed for my family.

I’m grateful the mercy God has shown to my family.

I’m grateful for Rosario’s friends in LA.

I’m grateful they kept vigil at her bedside until we arrived.

I’m grateful for those who cared for her after she was released from the hospital, especially Danny J.

I’m grateful for the ActOne family who set up an emergency fund for my uninsured missionary sister.

I’m grateful for the generosity of all who have contributed to her fund.

I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with my sister.

I’m grateful for my parents and my other siblings and the care they have given Rose, especially Angelica.

I’m grateful we got to watch my mom finish a half marathon.

I’m grateful for forgiveness.

I’m grateful for each moment of my life, whether it brings pain or joy, because I have the hope of everlasting joy.

I am grateful that I have the opportunity to share my family’s joy with others through this harrowing experience.

I could go on for days – after all, it was a long five months – but I think you get the point.

God’s grace and mercy has been abundant, and  I am eternally thankful for His generosity to my family.

We love our Buckeyes

The Six of Us

With our extended family

With more family

Even more family!

"There were never such devoted sisters"

the grateful list

This may be the season when the country stops to reflect on what they are thankful for, but gratitude has been a reoccurring theme over the last five months of my life.  It’s easy to get caught up in the drudgery of every day trials, woes, frustrations and disappointments.  But rather than giving in to the usual whining, venting and complaining, I think of one thing and it brings me back to reality: my sister.

If anyone has the right to host a pity party it is Rosario.  After all, her life was altered abruptly due to the decisions and actions of another person.  She has endured excruciating pain, mental and emotional trauma, eight hours of painstaking surgery, irritating side effects from pain medication, and a tediously long recovery, not to mention she left her life in LA to stay with our parents for the rest of her recovery.  The independent Rose has had to rely on others for her most basic needs.  She has never been one to sit on the sidelines, but she has had to watch her friends and family carry on while she is left behind as her body continues to heal. 

Rosario has suffered all of this and much more because of one person’s decision.  And she could be brooding over what she has lost, wallowing in misery, but she has chosen not to.  “It takes to much energy to be bitter,” she has said, “and I need all my energy focused on getting stronger.”  Of course, Rosario still has her difficult moments.  She has mourned the loss of her freedom, independence and way of life, but she has never cried out “Woe is me!” or even asked “Why me?!” 

Instead, Rose has embraced her cross, and whenever she is tempted to slide down the slippery slope of resentment and into the grimy slop of self-pity that pools at the bottom, she pulls out her Grateful List, which starts with “I’m grateful to be alive!”

It goes on from there:

I’m grateful my injuries weren’t worse.

I’m grateful I’m here and not in the hospital.

I’m grateful I’m not on a feeding tube.

I’m grateful for my family who has been taking care of me.

I’m grateful for my friends and their prayers.

I’m grateful for everyone who has generously donated to my emergency fund.

I’m grateful for the thousands of people praying for me.

I’m grateful for the doctors and surgeons who helped save my life.

I’m grateful for the detectives and police who have worked on my case.

The list could go on for a while, and rightly so.  Our whole family has a lot to be grateful for this year.  Each of us were and continue to be impacted by Rosario’s experience.  God’s grace and blessings have been abundant.  We have nothing to complain about.  Even if we do have a frustrating moment and start to whine, Rose is quick to remind us, with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulder, “It could be worse: you could have a bullet in your chest!” 

 That’s all it takes to bring us back to reality.  We are reminded, in that one sentence, how precious each moment is and that we should not waste it complaining about trivial matters.  We should, instead, reflect on our own Grateful List.

At the GR Marathon

LONG LIVE CHRIST THE KING!!!

photo c/o Archangel Books

in honor of my name saint

Today is the feast of St. Cecilia.  I was named for this saint indirectly.  My parents honored my dad’s great-aunt, Sr. Maria Cecilia, by naming me Cecilia Maria.  The association to the patron of music was an added bonus.   To celebrate this feast, I’ve decided to re-print a post I wrote back in September:

One can easily find several versions of the life of St. Cecilia.  Many details of her life are attributed to legend.  The young virgin martyr did in fact exist – her body was found in the catacombs in the ninth century – but trying to decipher truth in all the discrepancies isn’t easy.  The story of St. Cecilia doesn’t need much embellishment: the simple facts are profound enough.

Cecilia was of noble birth.  As a young woman of virtue and faith, she was known to wear sackcloth under her garments and had vowed her virginity to Christ.  In spite of her vow, Cecilia’s parents gave her in marriage to a young nobleman, Valerian, who was a Pagan.  Through her steadfast faith and prayer, Valerian and his brother, Tibertius, were baptized as Christians soon after the wedding. 

Cecilia remained faithful to her vow of purity and virginity, and her husband and brother-in-law were inspired by the beauty of her virtue.  This is a perfect example of Christina King’s words: “Through the inspiration of woman, men “puff up” with courage, strength, and belief in themselves as well as the inspiration to create works of art. They become better men, noble men when a woman who loves them believe them capable of greatness.”  It also supports Robert Colquhoun views when he quotes Alice von Hildebrand: “when women are pure, men will respect, nay, venerate them; they will also hear the call challenging them to chastity” (the Privilege of being a woman, p. 90)

In their newfound faith, the brothers devoted themselves to burying the bodies of Christian martyrs and distributing alms to those in need.  For this, they were arrested and soon became martyrs themselves for refusing to give up their faith in God.  Valerian and Tibertius took up the challenge God presented them through His servant, Cecilia, and they were given royal crowns of martyrdom, proving their conversion and transformation was genuine.

Soon after their deaths, Cecilia was also arrested for continuing their service of burying other martyrs and preaching about Christ.  She was sentenced to death by suffocation.  She spent one and a half days in the baths without perspiring, much less perishing.  An executioner was sent in and after three tries was unsuccessful in fully removing her head.  Cecilia was left to die.  She used the last bit of her strength to form her hands into a reminder of the Holy Trinity. 

I can remember thinking of Cecilia as a passive person.  Pondering her life, I would get frustrated that she didn’t stand up to her parents and refuse to marry, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it was her obedience to her parents that won her the crowns of purity and martyrdom.  Through her obedience, she was given the opportunity to share her faith with Valerian.  Cecilia’s bold and courageous spirit allowed her to be open and honest with her new husband.  She trusted the Lord to protect her virginity, which He did.  Through that, her husband was converted and his martyrdom lead the way for hers.  She was again full of courage, strength and tenacity as she carried out Valerian’s mission.

Cecilia’s life was not in the public eye, as Joan’s was, but their call was the same: to embrace their true identity as holy, feminine women.  Their diligence to this task in daily life set the foundation for their martyrdom and sainthood.  In becoming the woman God called each of them to be, the men in their lives were able to see clearly their own call and vocation to manhood.

My name saint and my confirmation saint have set the standard high for me as well.  I continually pray for their intercession as I seek to follow their example and the example of our Blessed Mother in embracing my vocation as a woman of God.

 

photo c/o Vultus Christi

windows & doors – take two

Well, the window has been shut.  I know that God has an open door for me, but I would be lying if I said I was indifferent to my window.  I cried, and I’m sure I will cry again over my shattered dreams.

The hardest part is I was originally told that the one detail on which the plan hinged wouldn’t be a problem.  I was almost through the window when they came back and said ‘on further thought, this won’t work’ and practically shoved me out on my backside.  Had they told me no from the beginning, I wouldn’t have been so disappointed.  Or even if they said they weren’t sure and would look into it.  But they didn’t.  They raised my hopes.  I got all excited.  My dream was about to become a reality!  Then it all came crashing down around me.

Through all of this, I’ve been reminded of the song, Embrace, written by my friend, Amanda Vernon:

The plan that I was clinging to has slipped out of my fingers.  Crashing as it hit the ground,  the fragments now lay shattered. Though my pride is torn and hurt In this promise, I take comfort:

When I lay my broken heart down upon the cross                             When I taste the tears that fall and accept the loss                        Though my dreams are crucified, they will rise up to new life          Death won’t have the final say when I embrace the pain.

It may take a few days before I accept the loss, but I will.  Soon my eyes won’t well up in tears at the mere thought of my dashed hopes.  I will learn to embrace this pain.  And when I can finally see through my tears, I will be able to see the beautiful open door God has for me:

In the silence Someone takes the pieces one by one.                     Gently sets them side-by-side like I could not have done.          Dreams I thought had died take on new shape before my eyes Beautifully… so much more than I had ever hoped for.

When I lay my broken heart down upon the cross                             When I taste the tears that fall and accept the loss                        Though my dreams were crucified they have risen to new life          Death won’t have the final say cause I embraced the pain.

photo of window c/o Charles Rennie Mackintosh – The Arts & Crafts Home

oh happy day

Thirty years ago on July 27, I was born into the family of Schwartz, adding my name to a multitude of ancestors.  Several months later, on November 18, my parents and godparents presented me to the Church for the sacrament of Baptism, and thus I was freed from original sin, reborn as a daughter of God, and my name was added to the communion of saints.  I don’t remember anything about the actual day, but the effect of the sacrament continues to manifest itself in my daily life. 

In Baptism, I was marked with the sign of faith, anointed with the holy chrism, robed in white and received the light of Christ, which I am to share with the world.  I was given the greatest gift my parents could have offered: They not only gave me life, but life in Christ.  They allowed me to become a child of God, a child of the King.  Had they only given me the gift of salvation Baptism offers, it would have been enough, but they continued to nurture the faith given me through Baptism.  Of course, it would be many years before I truly came to realize and appreciate what it meant to be a daughter of God; I eventually learned to live my life with dignity worthy of such a title. 

I love my family tree.  I am grateful to be a part of an amazing family history such as mine.  But I am even more grateful to be a daughter of God.  As an adopted daughter of the King, I am part of the Church.  I have my fellow members of the Church Militant to walk by my side; I have the beautiful examples of the Church Triumphant to give me something to strive for; and I have the prayers of the Church Suffering to aid me along the way. 

Baptism was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received, which is why I celebrate today.  For it was on this day, November 18^th, 1979, that I was washed in the holy waters of Baptism.  

Note: Today is also my brother’s birthday, which makes today extra special!  Happy Birthday, Jeffrey!

juggling great expectations

It is not easy juggling the numerous commitments and obligations that fill my calendar.  There are weeks when I barely have time to clean my apartment!  Even when I do find time, I am often so exhausted all I can do is stare at a wall with a glass of wine in my hand.

I admit I have a hard time saying no.  It is a natural desire for me as a woman to give myself to someone or something.  As a single woman, I am grateful for the opportunities that allow that desire to be fulfilled, even if it is only temporary.  The problem is trying to divide myself between six or seven projects and relationships.  Each project and relationship has a different set of demands and expectations.  There are time commitments, duties, responsibilities, thought, effort, care and concern.  Trying to keep everyone happy is exhausting and can leave me feeling guilty when it’s not accomplished.

Many times I feel more is demanded of me because of the fact that I am single.  “Oh, Cecilia can do this.  She’s single; she has time.”  “Cecilia doesn’t have a family to take care of so she will be able to handle this.”  “Cecilia doesn’t have anything better do to with her time; she will be perfect for this project.”  Whether the project is large or small, it gets dumped on my lap.

I honestly don’t mind giving myself and my time to any of these little tasks, but I wish the expectations weren’t so high.  I am often made to feel guilty if I say no, as though my time as a single woman is not as valuable.  Of course, I realize this not always the intent or reasoning for those on the other end, but it can come across that way.

Some days it is very difficult to live up to the various obligations I have toward my family, friends and projects, all while working full-time.  I would much rather give myself to one major relationship rather than be divided among the many.  After all, that is how I, as a woman, was designed: to give myself to one significant relationship (my husband), and through that relationship give myself to any other commitments.

I know marriage will come in time, and I also know that being married will not eliminate my over-abundance of responsibilities.  Many of my married friends struggle with the same frustrations, plus they have the added expectations of their husbands and in-laws.  I’ve just noticed an influx of duties as of late.  I’m not saying all of them have been ‘dumped’ me in a she’s-single-she-has-time kind of way, but a few of them have seemed like it. 

Overall, I see this is a great time for me to hone my juggling skills, which is invaluable for any state in life.  I am grateful for the opportunities I’ve had to give myself to my family, friends and pet projects and for the lessons in time management.  I know I still have to learn when graciously accept or decline new responsibilities.  I just hope that is a lesson I learn before my calendar explodes.

photo c/o My Corner View

windows & doors

Everything seemed to be falling into place for my new venture. It seemed so easy; it was almost too easy. I knew there were a few more details to work out, most of them small but one was a make-or-break detail. Whether or not the new project came to pass was entirely dependent on this one element, and the chance of this part of the plan actually happening was not great.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” I fretted to Rose. “This desire could be a reality if they are willing to be flexible, but what if they aren’t? What if they don’t see this as important?”

“Cecilia, if it doesn’t happen, something else will come up. Where God closes a window, somewhere He opens a door.”

“Rose, you said it backwards. It’s the other way around.” I shook my head. She still has a little brain fog from the anesthesia once in a while.

“I know what I said, Cecilia.  I said it on purpose,” she explained. “God’s vision is greater than ours. Sometimes all we focus on is a small window and we can’t see anything else. When the window closes, we turn around and see that God has opened a huge door, which turns out to be a better opportunity than our small window.”

“Wow, Rose, that was really insightful!”

“I know, right?!” she exclaimed. “I have a lot of time to think about these things.”

I haven’t addressed the major detail yet, but I have peace about the situation thanks to Rose’s not-so-backward perspective. Move over Crap Discourse, it’s time for Windows and Doors Wisdom!

photo c/o The Armin Grewe Homepage

awful clever with a quarter

It’s official: my sister, Angelica, has completed twenty-five years of life and what a life it’s been!  Ang is a special soul.  Many people miss seeing just how amazing she is because they can’t see beyond her autistic quirks. 

Angelica isn’t severely autistic, nor is she ultra high-functioning.  She is simply Ang, with no excuses or apologies, which is one of the things I love the most about her.  She may not have the most productive life, according to mainstream standards, but hers is a life full of dignity, love and laughter. 

Ang is one of the funniest people I know.  She is full of one-liners, and her delivery of said lines will set us off laughing for a good five to ten minutes.  She certainly keeps us entertained with her witty and melodramatic antics.  Of course, Ang doesn’t let that side of her show unless she is in a comfortable setting, which means most people don’t get the chance to see the one woman show. 

While Angelica has a fabulous sense of humor, even when it comes to her autism and OCD tendencies, she also has her struggles.  The fast-paced, high-energy, more-options-than-you-can-count, over-stimulating world can be extremely overwhelming.  Patience can wear thin on both ends when trying to communicate and decipher certain situations, emotions and needs.  Overall, Ang handles these and all her frustrations quite well.  That is not to say of course that she doesn’t have bad days.  But the bad days and moments aren’t as frequent as they were a few years ago.  I am proud of the way Angelica has embraced her limitations instead of wallowing in them.  I love how she accepts who she is while still allowing room for growth. 

Angelica is an intrinsic part of our family dynamic.  I am ever so grateful for her life. 

Ang was freaking out a little about turning twenty-five, and I wanted to give her a little birthday shout-out: Ang, I struggled with twenty-five too.  Turning twenty-five was a lot harder than thirty, but you will get through it.  You are resilient!  Besides, turning a quarter of a century should be easy for you.  After all, “you’re awful clever with a quarter!”*

I love you, Angelica!!

Angelica, the Birthday Girl

 *said by Marilyn Monroe as Pola Debevoise in How To Marry A Millionaire (favorite movie of the Schwartz sisters – one that we pretend is a documentary)

light on the brake, heavy on the gas

I had to take my car in for an oil change last week.  I dread anything vehicle related.  Even if it’s a simple oil change, it makes me feel sick to my stomach.  This visit was especially nauseating because I also needed the brakes checked.

“Just check them,” I said when I handed the key to my mechanic.  ”The brakes have been squeaking.  Not all the time, but enough to make me nervous.  My budget is really tight right now and I need to know how much longer I can go on those brakes.”  There was that sick feeling again.  Yuck!

“We’ll check ‘em out for ya,” the mechanic assured me.  Thankfully I trust this guy.  My brother recommended him several years back, and I’ve been taking my car there ever since.

Later in the day, I found myself at the same counter bracing myself for the worst.  ”Well… how are my brakes?” I winced.  It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten lunch yet or I could have had serious issues.

“The brakes look great!”

“Really?”

“Yup!  We changed your oil, put air in the tires and checked the brakes.  They look fine.”

“So why do they squeak?”  I needed to know so I wouldn’t freak out every time I heard my brakes squeak in the future and to differentiate between ‘normal’ squeaking and ‘ok-now-it’s-time-to-get-new-brakes’ squeaking.

“Sometimes they just do.”

“I know that, but mine never did.  I usually hear it in the morning or when it’s cold and rainy.”

“You’re probably just light on your brakes,” the mechanic explained as he ran my card through the machine.  “When you don’t press really hard on your brakes, sometimes a glaze can form.  Not a big deal, but that’s where the squeak would come from.  When that happens just hit the brakes really hard a couple of times.  That’ll heat up the brakes and burn the glaze off there.  Sign here.”  He handed me a pen.

“Really?”  I asked as I tried to squeeze my incredibly long signature onto a tiny credit card machine receipt.  “That’s it?”

“Yup.”  The other guys behind the counter confirmed his diagnosis.  “You’re just light on the brakes.”

I thanked the mechanic and waited until I was out of the shop and on my way before allowing myself to laugh.  I’ve always been accused of being heavy on the gas.  Who would have thought I’d be light on the brakes?!  I was just relieved to walk out of the auto shop with a smile on my face instead of the usual grimace.