Fresh Warm Cookies, Anyone???

It was FREEZING walking home from the night prayer at the boy's house last night. As we raced to our warm cozy home, I couldn't help but almost get caught up in the Obama mania sitting outside my door. The president was expected to appear at the neighboring high school in the morning. Everyone who had tickets to be a part of his audience was beginning to line the sidewalk in hopes of getting a good spot in line for the mornings entrance.
I stopped and asked a couple ladies how there night was so far, and they responded with how cold it was. I felt this little tugging on my heart to use this time to evangelize.....even a little bit. I told the ladies that I was going to make some cookies for them...to keep them warm. So I baked cookies and packaged up and placed little Jesus loves you notes on them. By the time I went out to give them to my chilly friends, they were gone. So Kat and I searched for them in a line that was forming in front of the school. When I found the ladies, they were super excited to see us...thinking that we wouldn't actually go looking for them. So we handed out a few packages of cookies, gave hugs and chatted a little bit. As we were leaving... I was on a roll and decided to go back home and make some more cookies for the cops who were patrolling our street. I just felt like sharing some goodness.
The thought came to me, as I saw many Obama bumper stickers, that in some way...thru supporting Obama supporters... I was on board with him. I have a tendency to want to avoid anything to do with anything I have issues about supporting. (Don't know if that made sense to you...but it did to me). It then dawned on me... I had to get over myself and realize that all people, Obama supporter or supporter of prayer for Obama, pro-choice and FOCA and pro-life, we are all children of God. I was cold....they were cold. That was the least I could do for my sisters in Christ.

An Honest Glace Into Community Life

Many people have been asking lately, "What's the best part of being a missionary?" Prayer is an obvious answer. When I take a look more deeply into missionary life, the only thing that I can think is how the hardest thing, yet my most favorite part, is living in community.



We are 7 strangers ("picked to live in a house"...wow, flashback!) from different backgrounds, different exposures to our Catholic faith, different families, for some of us...different countries. We all have different goals, different needs, different wants and desires. We've got different annoyances, reactions, sensitivities, understandings, levels of patience. Some are extroverts, some introverts. Some are musical....well...all of us are musical in some way. Some are vegetarian, some love meat. Some have got accents, some pretend they can speak with an accent (which makes them really just sound like a little old cretin). Some dance like they are at an 8th grade punch bowl gathering in the gym, whereas some dance like Elaine from Seinfeld. Even in this litany of was makes us different from each other... we do have a common ground.



We pray together-every morning, every night and different times thru out the week. Our faith is key as to why all of us are here. We love youth ministry. We don't know everything there is to know about Jesus or our Catholic Faith. We don't know all there is to know about ourselves.



It's the latter that makes community life hard at times. Why do I expect someone to treat me a certain way when I can't figure out, for myself, how I need to be treated? Why is it that I get so impatient with certain people or situations, that I just shut down...or give the "face"? What are those "faces" that I give? Why do I care so much of what someone thinks about me? Why do I need approval? Why do things fly out of my mouth that can potentially hurt someone?



Maybe the question I need to ask is "HOW" instead of "WHY". How can I be a better roommate? or friend? or daughter? or sister? How do I handle being in a situation that makes me uncomfortable because it brings up my past? How do I love better? How do I comfort you? How do I let people know what's really going on inside of my heart? How do I go from tolerating something to loving them because of....



I have a feeling these are not just my own questions. I also think that this doesn't just pertain to missionary community life. I think this applies to everyone. I may be wrong, but I can tell you this: whatever I learn from this experience, I pray, I'll be transformed and be a witness of this kind of love when I get back home.



Peace and Love!

A Mother's Heart

Crazy, huh?! Little Raquel...80's glasses...no teeth...lace hair thingy. This was my 1st grade school picture. 1st grade! At that point in my life, my world consisted of rainbow bright dolls, barbies, and a smelly baby brother. My Sunday's started out with the ritual frantic rush to get to church on time. My long hair must have been my mom's worst nightmare. I remember my hair being pulled so tight I could barely see through my very slanted eyes. At church, we always ended up sitting along the center aisle. The first thing I did was check out who was sitting across the aisle for fear of holding a creepy person's hand during the "Our Father" and I'd stare at them for most of the mass. Then, it never failed, homilies just didn't appeal to my 6 yr old mind. I'd fall asleep and kinda hum to myself. My mom would pull and tug at me to wake me up, but I'd just go right back to sleep. Then the music would start and I'd sing my lungs out. Mass was over and it was DONUT TIME!!!

I realized, sometime last year, that no matter how hard it was for my mom to get us there, we went to mass every single Sunday. When I looked at this picture today, the first thing that crossed my mind was, I wonder if my mom would have ever guessed that I'd be doing what I'm doing now back then. Would she have ever guessed that her toothless little monster of a daughter, who was very disinterested in church, would grow up to serve God thru the church? Did she ever think that her 6 yr old screeching would eventually become a gift and passion that would inspire her to lead hundreds/thousands of people in worship? I have a funny feeling.. she had no idea what kind of seeds she was planting.

Today is one of my most favorite feast days of the liturgical year: Presentation of Jesus in the Temple. It's when Mary and Joseph took Jesus, as a baby, to the temple and gave Him to the Lord in thanksgiving and sacrifice(as the first born male). You can find the story in Luke 2 starting at verse 22. I love that whole thing...but what really stood out for me today was this:

"Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted and you yourself a sword will pierce so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed."

Mary knew from the very beginning of her son's life, that there was going to be sorrow. That the call on His life was the highest. Mary wasn't ignorant to the scriptures either. She knew what the prophets spoke. She knew all the persecution and horrible death He'd endure. Yet...as the ultimate obedient servant of God the Father, and a good practicing Jew, she took Him to the temple, to say, "Here Lord, is Your son" (I'm assuming something like that was said...maybe not by Mary, but Joseph).

So when hearing that today, I thought of my own mother. She would bring me to church every weekend. I grew in my faith. As time has gone on, and some of my major decisions (at least in the past couple years) have been discerned thru prayer and my faith in what God calls me to do. I see my mom's face. It's one of happiness because her daughter is loving the life God has prepared for her. But there's a sense of sadness too. She's seen me go through a lot. She's seen me struggle with myself and others. She knows some of the blows that have come against me for changing my life around. She has seen my sadness when I've had lost a friend or two, by choosing to live a different way. I'm not a parent yet... but I know that when your child hurts, you hurt. When you see your child suffering, you suffer. I'm not comparing myself to Christ or my mom to Mary. But that relationship of mother and child. My mom may still not understand why I do things...but she knows this: I'm trying my hardest to do God's will. I fall. I mess up. But I'm trying. God's will is not easy and it requires some things that will stretch and mold me. I'm so blessed to have a mother who tries to understand that. I pray for her heart everyday. I praise God that He put it in her heart to take me to church every week and, whether intentional or not, that she introduced me to this wonderful life with God.