In search of John Wayne

My heroes have always been cowboys

And they still are it seems

Sadly in search of and one step ahead of

Themselves and their slow moving dreams 

-Willie Nelson

At the age of ten I first visited Texas and it snowed.  Actually, it was a rare southern blizzard but I didn't know that.  I had never seen snow before.  It wasn't as I had imagined Texas to be.  I think part of my childhood image of Texas involved the long dead John Wayne to come riding over the hill on a horse at sunset accompanied by lonely fiddle music provided by Charlie Daniels as a tumbleweed rolled by.  Needless to say I was surprised, but strangely not disappointed, and it became one of my dreams to live in Texas someday.  
I had many dreams.  I wanted to hitchhike across Europe.  I wanted to read all of Charles Dickens books.  I wanted to walk along the Freedom Trail.  I wanted to live farther from my parents than any of my brothers had before me for college.  (Technically speaking, only one of those dreams came true as my eldest brother's dorm was farther East than mine the entire time I was in college.)  That being said, I had one other crazy, fantastical, admittedly young-minded dream.  

   As some of you may recall I have a minor fascination with John Wayne.  I like him.  I've always liked him.  And not just because there are a frightening number of similarities between him and my grandfather.  My father, always the beacon of culture, raised me on such movies as McClintock, The Quiet Man, Donovan's Reef, Stagecoach, and my favorite, Hatari, films that featured a strong male lead, a protagonist with unconquerable morals, a gentleman, with a strong Irish temper and an odd propensity for spanking crazy women.  It didn't bother me.  (In fact it tempered my Mother's love for all Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby movies.)  My Father thought he was showing my brothers and I what real men looked like- military cowboys I think was the image he was going for.  Unbeknownst to him, he was really instilling in me a certain love of cowboys.  

    That being said, I must admit that when the opportunity finally came for me to move here I was scared, terrified really.  I finally had the chance to live one of my dreams... and I wasn't sure if I could do it.  Where my spirit failed me God intervened and pushed me out the door, quite literally.  And the promise of John Wayne awaited.  
   When people ask me why I moved away from California, and of all places, why did I choose Texas I usually smile and said that it was divine intervention.  It's true that since I was ten I felt called to live here- it only took ten years to succeed.  More than that though, I wanted to live here, in no small part because of my image of John Wayne.  I wanted to meet a real cowboy.  And I did.  And it was great.  And I may live and die happy because of that moment.  
   I'd like to say that most of my childish dreams I have outgrown, that I have more realistic expectations of my life now that I am "old" and not a child.  I'd like to say that I try to present myself as a mature young adult and that I no longer am defined by a whimsical, wandering spirit, but that would all be a lie.  As I tell my Mother frequently, at least two of my dreams have come true (well, maybe not the Charles Dickens one... I'm fairly certain that I've outgrown that one) and that is enough for now.  The rest will follow, but nothing will surpass the day I met my first John Wayne.  Even if I was too tongue tied to actually say anything, but as the Duke once said, "Courage is being scared out of your wits... and saddling up anyways."  

Live and leave well enough alone

Live without regret.  Since May 2007 this has been my mantra- to live so that I won't have to look back and wish I had done it differently.  Ironically this mantra stemmed from my biggest regret, but in some small way I am thankful for this mistake because it shaped everything about me.  My biggest regret is not about something that I did do, but rather, that I didn't do.  Every time someone tells me a secret I knew I couldn't keep.  Every time I see teenagers in love.  Every time I hear Quenya.  It still haunts me.  It's one of the many reasons why I don't think I will ever live in California again- I'm afraid to run into her.  I'm afraid to see something I might have been able to prevent. 

I've been gifted with an unusual knack for people telling me their secrets.  Complete strangers walk up to me and tell me their life stories without question.  People I have known for a few hours tell me the worst thing that ever happened to them.  Reading post secret is therapeutic for me because it lets me know that I'm not the only who hears about the worst of humanity.  Someone out there is reaching out for someone... who isn't me.  It scares me because I never know what to say... and yet people keep telling me their secrets.  The one thing I have learned, albeit the hard way, is to never help a child keep a secret from their parents.  No good ever comes from keeping a big secret from a parent.  The other thing I have learned is... never promise to keep a secret.  I've had to report everything from rape to suicidal aspirations and there is nothing more terrifying than self doubt. 

What I am trying to say is, you could live and leave well enough alone, and trust that someone else is going to make things right, or you could be God's hand on earth.  I've lost many friends doing what I think is right.  Some of them will never speak to me again I suspect, but at least I'm not living with questions in my head of whether I could have stopped it from happening.  Living without regret requires action but also acceptance, and to that thought I issue this challenge; if you consider yourself a friend do what is right and not what is popular, even if that means that someone may never forgive you. 

A Saint for all Times

I'm not a saint.  I never claimed to be one.  There are serious doubts whether or not I contain the predisposed qualifications of humility, patience, and obedience.  I like doing what I think is right and I rarely listen to other peoples sentiments on the matter.  God and I have a good relationship but I wouldn't go so far as to say that it is a cherished part of my life because half of my conversations start with "WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME!?!"


That being said, the other day I was reading to 10 about the feast days of March and she sighed dramatically. When I lowered the book to ask her what was ailing her she sighed again before responding.  "Why aren't there any female saints that died of natural causes and actually got married!?!"  I told her there were lots of saints that were not nuns or virgin martyrs.  She gave me a quizzical look and I rushed back to the book, searching frantically for an answer- any answer.  Eventually, (after much searching) I came across Saint Frances of Rome.  Hmmm... I had never heard of her.  She couldn't have been that important.  It's nice to be wrong.


Frances was born in Rome in 1384 to a wealthy family.  She shunned the exciting life of the wealthy and as a mystic (at the age of eleven) she chose to become a nun.  She probably would have if not for the fact that her father had promised her to Lorenzo Ponziani.  At this time a Father could sell his children into slavery or have her sentenced to death if he desired to and informed his daughter that she would marry Lorenzo.  She sulked... and prayed... and sulked, to the point that she made herself sick.  She prayed that God would prevent the marriage from taking place.  Saint Alexis appeared to her and told her that God was giving her a choice in her life- to recover or not?  Frances' spiritual adviser asked her an even harder question- "Are you crying because you want to do God's will or because you want God to do your will?" Frances chose to get better and married Lorenzo. 


Frances had already decided she didn't enjoy the public parties and the fine clothing and jewels that went along with the celebration of a marriage.  She instead chose to pray by herself and wear simple, uncomfortable clothing, much the embarrassment and chagrin of her mother-in-law, Cecelia.  


Frances found a friend in the wife of her brother-in-law, Vanozza.  She too had wanted to be a nun but when God called her to marry Lorenzo's brother, she had chosen to take on the role with joy, even if it hadn't been what she wanted.  Together the two started serving beggars in the streets, a charity that Cecelia did not approve of.  Lorenzo adored his wife and loved her dearly and therefore would not let Cecelia intervene in Frances and Vanozza's charity.  It was during this time that Frances gave birth to her first child, Battista.  Battista was followed by his brother Giovanni Evangelista and his sister Agnes.  


Many civil wars were fought during Frances' life and frequently her husband would be called away to fight.  At one point her brother-in-law was captured by Troja, the leader an opposing army.  His ransom was an exchange of his life for Frances' son Battista.  At first she tried to run but her spiritual director changed her mind, asking her to trust God.  When Troja put Battista on a horse to take him away the horse wouldn't budge, even under severe whipping.  The superstitious army sent Battista back to his Mother.  Later Battista was captured again and was taken away, leaving Frances to pray for his safety.  A plague came to Rome which killed Frances other son, Giovanni.  A year after his death, her second son appeared to her in a dream to warn her that Agnes would soon died from the plague as well but that God was sending an Archangel to be her guardian Angel for the rest of her life.  Her Angel told her to stop fasting and wearing penitential clothing because, "You should understand by now that the God who made your body and gave it to your soul as a servant never intended that the spirit should ruin the flesh and return it to him despoiled."


Frances' life was far from boring after that.  Marauders destroyed her house and murdered her servants but after they left she turned the remnants of her palace into a hospital, where eventually her husband, frail and old from the wars, and her son, now a young man, would be returned to her.  As she nursed her husband back to health she founded the Oblates of Mary, a lay group affiliated with the Benedictines.  Forty years after their marriage Lorenzo died.  Before his death he told Frances,  "I feel as if my whole life has been one beautiful dream of purest happiness. God has given me so much in your love."


After her husband died, Frances joined the Oblates full time, becoming their Superior, finally having the life she had yearned for at the age of eleven.  Four years later, at the age of 56 she died, saying,"The angel has finished his task -- he beckons me to follow him."


I like to think that we can learn a lot from Saint Frances.  She accepted that sometimes God's plan and your own plan for your life are not always the same thing- and that timing is everything.  She learned that happiness, even in sorrow (both as a child bride and as the mother of two dying children) is both a gift and a choice.  When life was the hardest for her she tried to help those worse off than herself.  She was a Mother and a wife.  She was rich and she was poor.  She didn't die a martyr but she lived with great sorrow but showed joy.  As I said before, I'm not a saint.  I don't think I ever will be one... but I also know that with Saint Frances of Rome as an example, perhaps Ten and I will persevere.  Onward Christian soldiers.  

So what'dya give up for Lent?

In some places this question would be met with confusion.  In others a scathing look.  In perhaps my favorite of places, laughter.  During my Catholic Education, confessing your Lenten abstinence would be met with either answers or obstinate glances as some people felt that Lent is about keeping your suffering to yourself.  Some people would have witty comebacks to the question such as- "Being Catholic."  Other people gave up being sober, gave up doing homework, or gave up distractions such as class.  My personal favorite was when someone suggested that the cafeteria had ceased making food for Lent- or was that me?

My 8th grade religion class discussed various kinds of sacrifices- everything from doing a random act of kindness to giving up your favorite pair of shoes for Lent.  One of the teachers recommended just doing something that reminds you of God.  I'd like to point out that the kids laughed at him and told him that if he wasn't thinking of God he was doing something wrong.  (I like them.)

Well, a week and half since Lent started and already I'm ready to throw in the towel.  Sure I gave up something I knew would be a sacrifice and would (hopefully) drive me closer to God in his 40 days of suffering but why does it have to be so long?  Why does it have to be hard? Why do Sundays not count?  Why can't I eat meat?  Why! Why! Why!  (I'm sure my prayer warrior is out there laughing.) 

Among other things I will admit that I gave up Facebook for Lent.  I waste far too much time catching up with other peoples gossip, keeping tabs on people I never talk to, and keeping up with my favorite funny links via Facebook.  And all in the name of sacrifice.  Now my question is, does my forfeit of my favorite social network really draw me closer to God?  Do I use that time to actually pray more as I intended?  Have I been more productive with my life?  Am I at least getting more sleep? I have no clue.

On that lovely note, I am going to list my favorite things that (other people) have given up for Lent... lest I sound like I am patting my own back too much.

1.) Sitting- the exception being in Church and class.  The former due for humility and the latter to avoid the distraction of others.  Unfortunately this young man chose to kneel at meal times and unfortunately usually ended up at a table full of girls.  You can imagine the humor that this caused.

2.) Abstaining from makeup and jewelry.  None of us recognized her.  In my mind I likened it to the change between the post-converted Mary Magdalene and her previous sinner self.

3.) Abstaining from use of the computer except for school.  This was particularly frustrating to the classmates of said student who needed his aid on the Internet but we could never accomplish a time when we were all online.

4.) Being kind to his arch-nemesis- namely me.  It was a long Lent as I was doing the same thing.  The difference was I didn't know he was being nice to me for Lent.  We didn't have much to talk about and rejoiced at Easter because we could continue with our usual bickering.

5.) Giving up whining and sighing.  Albeit this one came from two different people, I am particularly impressed by the first one because it comes from a six-year-old child.

In the effort of focus, I will continue this list later, perhaps even before Lent is over, but for now, this is my list.