“Time just flew by, Mary! Life is so short.” Even as she said it some time ago, I wondered and I remembered. My 85-year-old grandmother is one of the holiest people I know, having attained tremendous graces throughout her life, and claiming four children, 29 grandchildren, and one great-grandchild to her name. This courageous woman packed more action in her 85 years than I could expect to live in a century. And yet, she marvels at life’s speed and seeks each day to serve Him more in these latter years of her life.

I find myself reflecting on my grandmother’s words often when time becomes a burden. Because sometimes, I gauge the timeline of my own life – where I’ve come from, where I’m going, and wondering when its “too late” to put aside certain hopes and dreams for my future. And whether she knew it or not at the time, my grandmother’s words continue to help me keep my eyes focused on the goal of Heaven in the timeline of my own life.

Last week, I thought a lot about my only surviving grandparent, mainly because the Church celebrated the feast of one of her favorite saints, St. Anne. Considering that St. Anne was a grandmother herself (and the ultimate grandmother, I might add!), I think these two have a lot in common. I imagine St. Anne would have her own advice to add to my grandmother’s words of wisdom: “It is never too late. You are never too old.”

Feeling old. Behind. Too late.

Even in the complete surrender of our hearts, a piece of our timeline is often reserved with hope and a bit of expectation of how things should be. We do it with all areas of life… earning a college degree, getting married, having children, buying a home.

For me, this timeline is most often reflected in the active wait of the single state for marriage and family. And it shows it’s ugly head in every stage…

I remember a young 16 year old once telling me she “didn’t want to be me” when referring to me still being single at the age of 25. Back then, I wouldn’t have wanted to be the me of today, still single at 32. But here I am – and do you know what? I wouldn’t give back one single year. And that’s saying a lot. As I get older, age takes on a whole new viewpoint. 40 becomes the new 30 and women reassess their own biological timeline.

I heard a 24 year old recently bemoan her age in comparison to where she thinks she should be in life. What may seem like impatience, I believe, is an eagerness met with the frustration of not having control over the ball of time – which is in God’s court. So she too, in her youth, feels “old”.

At the heart of it all and in the minds of most is the nagging question, asked more often than it should in the moment of feeling old: when is it too late?

Dear sisters, let me wrap the answer up in the advice of my own two grandmothers: if life is so short, than it’s never too late.

Marriage, family, college, house – they are the goal. Heaven is. Even at 85 years old, my grandmother is not too old to offer each breath of each day she has to the God who created her. It’s not too late to tell Him again just how much she loves Him. It’s never too late to let Him work through her. There is still so much work to be done – so much to bring to the Master of the Vineyard. 

And then, there is St. Anne, who by her very life leaves open the door of Hope in our unanswered prayers and future God has in store for us. She tells us to be faithful and hopeful in the Lord – to be the tool of God and not of the world. Her story gives us courage to live out the story God has planned for us. It is so much better than our own and transcends time, age, and the biological clock.

St. Anne was, to the world, the most unlikely candidate to become the grandmother of God and mother to Mary. But God chose her – the one to whom it seemed unlikely and incapable. God the Father looked down from His throne and pointed to Anne for his mother’s mother… gifting the tears of her barren womb with a sinless soul.

Her story tells us to keep asking and trusting. The gifts He wants to give us are not exactly made to order. They are better than we could ever order!!! And they are given in His perfect time. 

He chose St. Anne to be His grandmother. And with the same singular love, He is choosing you to be that soul who is like none other. The one who loves Him like no one else can, serve Him like no one else is serving Him, and be the daughter who’s place in His heart cannot be filled by another. And there is no timeline to this great privilege!

Have a lovely week!

Mary

Zero.

It’s a number that usually indicates absence. But for me, at the end of my Camino, the number zero represented a fullness I had never experienced before in my life. It was not only the end of a long and arduous journey, it was also the beginning of a new walk for me – the uniting of my own life’s pilgrimage and the Camino de Santiago beyond the hills (or mountains!) of Spain.

When I started the adventure almost a week prior, the tall Camino markers read 114 km to Santiago. In true newbie zeal, I’m pretty sure I stopped to take a picture with that first route marker. (Okay. Maybe I stopped for the first twenty markers!) Pilgrims on their 23rd day walking from Saint Jean chuckled as they walked past me, saying, “That energy! We need to remember that energy!” I was like a kid in a candy shop. I was on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela and wasn’t about to let the experience escape my eye – or my camera.

While the zeal for the markers definitely escaped my notice in the miles to come (when all I wanted to see was the sign of civilization or a patch of flat ground!) my interest in these route markers and the knowledge of my place on the map only increased. Each one was designed specifically for the region of Galacia and contained a scallop shell (the official symbol of the Camino), a yellow arrow pointing the direction of the route, and the number of kilometers left to reach Santiago. 

The route markers were positioned at almost every major roadway crossing. When I saw one, I knew that I was on the right track. And I also knew I wasn’t alone. Millions of pilgrims had the same steps before me for hundreds of years. And millions of pilgrims behind me were preparing to take these same steps, still yet to come.

But no matter where I was in the journey, the route markers that came into sight were like a little high-fives from the ancient trail – reminders of just how far I had walked and of how much more I still had to go.

Sometimes that number was a surprise. “Wow! We’re in the 60’s now? Only 60 kilometers left until Santiago? Let’s DO this thing!”

Other times, that number was a surprise in a different way, “I’ve been walking for an hour and I’ve only gone 1.5 kilometers? Didn’t I just see that tree awhile ago? Wait. Am I walking in circles?… Am I still in Spain?”

As I approached Santiago, and noticed the single digit countdown, my heart battled the excitement of nearing the prize with the sadness of leaving behind more than a roadway, but a way of life.

I had learned to embrace the journey (a story for another time!) and every single experience that came with each step. From the minute I began counting down from 114, I had accepted an invitation to surrender my will and my way to The Way, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. To me, each route marker on the Camino de Santiago was a link to the past, present, and the future.  As numbers of the kilometers decreased, my love for them and the lessons learned on the Way increased.

Zero.

It was the official “end” to my walking. But for me, it was a “reset” to the way I walk through my own life. Because I don’t know about you, but I do not want to mindlessly count down the kilometers of each day in hast, desperation, or ignorance. No way!

I want to look ahead of me and know that there’s a Santiago – a Heaven – waiting for me at the end.

I want to look behind me and see a mountain range of little victories over sufferings endured.

I want to look before me and see the here and the now, appreciating this moment as an valuable gift that will never come my way again.

Instead of counting kilometers, I want to count graces from God, virtues learned, and lessons practiced.

My life’s Camino reset at zero on that day in late June with 114 kilometers behind me. Ahead of me lies a journey of uncounted kilometers  – however many He sees fit. May I walk them in the same stride as I did on the Camino de Santiago.

It was seven o’clock in the morning in Lambert St. Louis Airport last winter when I headed, not to my gate, but to the familiar double D branded awning that just opened its doors. Dunkin Donuts is always my #1 priority after a TSA approval. As I waited for my latte at the counter, I turned around and began the second-best part to airport travel – people watching.

Almost immediately, I noticed two nuns in full habit enter the gate across from me. They sat down at a high top charging station and commenced talking between each other. It was then that I felt it – a nudge.

I was traveling alone and knew that the nudge wasn’t coming from an outside source… it was a nudge from within to jump out beyond my comfort zone. It’s in moments like these that I relate to the clown fish in “Finding Nemo.” The father fish, Marlin, teaches his son how to leave the confines of their underwater home by telling him, “First we go out a little then we go back back in a little. And then we go back out, and then back in.” The “out and in” battle was waging as my internal comfort zone. The nudge to “go out” finally won and I found myself standing in front of two fully habited nuns.

I introduced myself to the sisters and asked about their travels, offering to buy them breakfast. They declined, saying that they were waiting for the Burger King to open nearby later that morning. (Sisters with stomaches of steel, I thought!) We chatted for a few minutes and shared a bit of our travels with each other. It was Advent and we were all headed to retreats at opposite ends of the country. We exchanged intentions for prayer before I headed off to find my own gate.

“How cool was that?” I mused as I walked sat on my plane an hour later, “Here I am traveling alone and I’m suddenly a part of other people’s adventures.” Even better – those adventures we were now sharing in a spirit of prayer before the Lord.

It took a nudge – an inward call to step out beyond the invisible wall of comfort vs. daring in order to discover more about the world and the people around me. And this was certainly not the first time I had noticed the nudge. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I owed much of the happiness of my life to that nudge.

It was, in fact, the same nudge that prompted me over the years to open my doors to friends and strangers when I was less than “ready” to entertain guests; those moments building some of the strongest friendships I now enjoy.

It was acting on the nudge that landed me a job, an audition, and a raise. Taking the risk and jumping out of my comfort zone meant overcoming the fear of failure. The result? Always moving forward and being able to discover more or lay a question to rest.

The nudge was ever-present in my pro-life job on the sidewalk when counseling women entering the abortion facility. In many situations, this nudge became a giant force of grace to guide women to a place of life-giving support. This kind of nudge, I am sure, was the Holy Spirit.

In my life as a whole, these nudges remind me of a line up of dominos. By itself, a single domino is only a few inches in length, stiff, and thin. But when standing on end and gently nudged, a wave of movement ensues that extends far and wide and at an accelerated speed. This movement is caused simply by a series of nudges – just like the ones that come in our own lives when we dare beyond our comfort zone. And in the end, instead of standing alone, we find ourselves surrounded by others and sharing in each others’ adventures.

So the next time you are hesitant to take a risk, reach out, or jump into the unknown, remember the power of the nudge and the fruits that come when we look outside ourselves and take interest in the world around us. It takes effort and a little bit of daring. And it’s always worth it!

Love, Mary

There he was, waiting for me in the back of the church. His little suit was pressed and his shoes were shined. It was his First Communion Day, and instead of standing with the other children, Little G was waiting in the very last pew of the church for me to pass by as I made my ascent to the choir loft.

His eyes were shining and I couldn’t tell if it was with excitement or with that boyish bashfulness he often showed to me when I frequently stooped in to give him his godmother’s blessing on his forehead.

In his hands was a single pink rose, carefully wrapped with water near the stem to keep it alive. As I walked toward him, he courageously took a step toward me. And like the little man he was, Little G held out the flower and mumbled, “Happy Mother’s Day” to me in a tone that betrayed his memorization.

And oh, my heart! It melted right there in that moment as I took the rose from his hands and stooped down for a hug. I told him just how happy I was that he was going to receive Jesus in just a few minutes and I thanked him for remembering me, even on this, his big day.

You see, this was not the first time Little G remembered me on Mothers Day. In fact, this was an annual tradition that had occurred since the year he was born. Of course his mother had the guiding hand in this endeavor, her knowledge and appreciation of the godparents’ role in her children’s’ lives spearheading this this gift, year after year.

The fruit of this single flower each year is the cause of a much larger gift of purpose in my mother’s heart. It is very very easy, as a single woman waiting for marriage to begin a family, to feel an absence of motherhood in the midst of her singleness. To be perfectly honest, the most I grow to know and cherish the vocation of motherhood and the sacrifice of her life for her children, the more I am tempted to feel the impact of that call unanswered in the recesses of my own heart.

[Others know this pain all too well, and even more than I do, with loss and infertility a constant topic of prayer in my own Catholic community. That is another, braver, stronger post for another day by someone much more qualified than I am.]

When I’m tempted to feel this absence, dear sisters, I stop myself and remember Little G’s red roses – the gifts of each year compiled into one giant bouquet. His gift reminds me that all women are called to maternity and all women are given the chance to live it out in every stage of their lives. It just happens for some in different ways than others.

Some women are spiritual mothers. They hold the care of a child’s soul in their heart and prayers, taking on this responsibility of seeing them to sainthood for their rest of their lives.

Others share their maternal hearts with children as a motherly, grandmotherly, or godmotherly figure. They jump into a hole within a young person’s life, filling the void with love, direction, encouragement, and prayer.

Some women give their maternity through the Church as a religious or consecrated virgin, taking on all souls as their children, with Christ as their spouse.

And all of us, dear sisters can fulfill our call to maternity by looking to Mary as our guide. Alice von Hildebrand explains , “The Blessed Mother’s role in the Incarnation points to the true privilege of being a woman. Both virginity and maternity meet in Mary who exhibits the feminine gifts of purity, receptivity to God’s word, and life-giving nurturance at their highest.”

That’s right! The practice of purity is of itself an act of our maternity. It is a virtue to be practiced by all women in all states of life. . . it reaches out beyond the practical and into the eternal, cultivating the greatest life a woman can give to the world. And for that gift to the world, your heavenly crown will no doubt be strewn with white roses.

Today, dear Single Sister on Mother’s Day – I invite you to join me in celebrating the virtue of purity and cultivating the roses of maternity that Our Lord has placed in your path right now. Be the best mentor you can be, the best godmother you can be, and the best spiritual mother you can be. Your fruitful love, rooted in purity, can only bear an abundance of fruit to be passed down to generations to come.

God bless, Mary

It’s no secret that I’m a crier when it comes to good storytelling. While growing up, my brother used to deliver three or four tissues to my seat before each family movie night began, just to make sure there would be no tissue running interruptions. While I have no control over the tear ducts when I’m crying for others (happy tears or sad tears) it’s a different story where my own life’s emotions are concerned. I like to keep my cool in public.

I’ll never forget the last time I cried in public, however. It was a warm spring evening as I walked into the small Adoration Chapel near my home. I nodded and smiled as I passed a woman praying in the last pew, finding my own way toward the front of the room.

And then it happened – the waterworks. As I began to pray, a few stray tears turned into in violent sobs, uncontrolled and completely unannounced. At first, I thought I could hide them with a few quick sniffs and a determination to refocus my heart. But doing so was beyond my control and I reached a point where I thought, “the poor lady behind me is probably so annoyed right now.” I jumped up from my seat to grab the entire box of tissues nearby.

The past few months had been the hardest in my entire life. I was tired: tired of grief, tired of emotions, and tired of sadness. I felt like a ship on stormy seas that groaned under the blast of another storm, wondering how many more I could take before the ship collapsed?

But this storm didn’t break the ship; it simply broke the sea.

And slowly, as time progressed, the surges of tears began to lessen in length and intensity. I kept my eyes on the tiny white host, trying to give Him every tear, as I had given Him my heart.

A hand suddenly touched me on the shoulder. I turned around to find the other lady in the chapel and prepared for an apology. Before I could utter a word, she slipped a small piece of paper into my hand and said, “God bless you.” And just like that – she was gone.

I read the note in which the woman said that said her Holy Hour was offered for my intentions. She said she didn’t know what I was going through, but directed me to the Mother of Sorrows and Divine Mercy. She pointed me to the Mother of Sorrows – the woman who’s very heart was pierced with sword and the premonition of which cast a shadow on every day of her glorious Motherhood. She showed me what it looks like to keep her station at the foot of the Cross, just like Mary. She showed me that there is purpose and healing in the simple station of standing.

That is something none of us like to do, is it? We don’t like to stand and be still; we want to keep moving! When met with grief, oftentimes our first instinct is to run away or try to do what we can to “get through it” and past it. We think there is weakness in being broken.

In most cases, it is the state of being broken that can take shape into something even more beautiful than before. Like metal being forged, Our Lord works in our soul in time of grief. To be mended, we must be still. In that moment – however long or short it may be – we are being called to keep our station at the foot of the cross.

A note from a stranger that day spoke of wisdom and experience in the world of grief and healing. I felt instantly consoled and relieved at the presence of this kind soul who took the time to offer me consolation in a place where she too had been. She was strong and joyful and whole. She gave me hope that I too, could someday be strong and joyful and whole.

---

One year later, I kelt in the very same chapel when a familiar sound caught my attention. It was the unmistakable sound of the waterworks in full swing from the woman sitting behind me. I could hear the ebb and flow of the tears, coming and going in waves of emotion. My heart was pounding for her. I searched my purse for a pen… for I knew what I had to do.

I found the Holy Hour card and wrote: “Dear Sister in Christ, This hour is for you. I feel the power of your tears and am praying for you. Be it grief, desolation, frustration, or pain – I know what you are feeling all too well. You gaze upon Jesus and He gazes right back at you with more love and mercy than we can ever imagine. He is your courage. He cries with you and he lifts you up. Don’t ever forget that you are enough for Him and He is enough for you. God bless you! – Mary”

The woman looked puzzled as I handed her the note when she was leaving the chapel. She returned a few minutes later and walked up to me in the pew, fresh tears streaming down her face. But from the tears came a giant smile, “That was exactly what I needed to hear,” she said. We exchanged a hug and I smiled back, “Your going to be okay. You’re not alone.” We promised to pray for each other. And just like that, she was gone.

Sisters – if you are enduring a cross right now, this message is also for you! Take courage in standing by your cross. There is great healing to be found by standing there. And what’s even better is that you are not alone! You are joined by Mary – and others who know the healing that comes from being still with grief. You won’t be there forever, either. You will soon be strong and joyful and whole again.

Yours, Mary

“At the cross her station keeping, stood the mournful Mother weeping. Close to Jesus to the last.” – Stabat Mater

Today I must share with you the story of a little lie that grew and grew until it became a giant force in the life of my blog posts here on HerSoulProclaims. That lie looks something like perfectionism…

I cannot even being to tell you how many blog posts have been started – how many inspirations, stories, and discoveries I’ve wanted to share with you dear sisters, over this entire season of Lent.

Those stories are currently sitting in a document on my desktop. They may be unfinished and rough in their composition, but the sentiment is not. In fact, these stories combined made this Lent one of the best ever! With St. Joseph’s gift of surrender, a actual walk in the desert to relate to, and a foretaste of fearlessness to ponder – this Lent has been FULL and beautiful.

While time is often lacking in sharing these stories, the fact that I have given in to the the little lie of perfectionism is the biggest influence to my silence on this blog. The lie tells me that I have to formulate my ideas and thoughts perfectly before I can actually post about them; that I have to not just be inspired by something, but understand and emulate it before daring to share about it.

But that’s not what we’re all about here, is it? The whole purpose of this space in the blogosphere is to share in the journey of living out Her Soul, right? Our goal is to proclaim His presence, even when we’ve yet to understand it’s full meaning to our lives and salvation.

I don’t know about you, but blogging isn’t the only area of my life that perfectionism tries to control… So today, in an effort to live in the present moment of imperfection, I am exposing the lie and sharing with you a few things that shine out beyond the lie, in all their imperfections:

• LENTEN JOY: Yes, you read that right. The theme of Joy in this season of Lent has been rather radical in it’s arrival, but beautifully consistent. If what St. Pope John Paul II said is true, that “We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song” than our walk in the Passion of Christ is different than that of the Apostles. Because we walk with Christ and His cross while having foretaste of the Resurrection. We get to see the suffering, accept our own crosses, and know without a doubt that it they are the “pain before the gain.” This is a privilege that only Mary shared in during the passion of Her Son. We have been given a great gift to see the joy with the cross. And I don’t know about you, but I think Our Lord, in giving us this vantage place, invites us to live like it… with joy, even in the midst of suffering.
• AN HOUR OF ADORATION EVERY DAY – has been my lifeline these past six weeks. It seemed almost impossible to do at first.. where am I going to come up with all this extra time? I can’t even find time to blog these days! But the time was there (I found it, usually wasted) and it became the best part of my day. Spending an hour of Adoration with Jesus is having the chance to share a heart-to-heart with the One who Loves me the Most. There, I can share my worries, fears, thankfulness, frustration, etc. There, I get to gaze at Him and guess what? He gazes right back at me!! Very few of these hours actually result in the “ah ha!” moments of the spiritual life. But the grounding time of being in His presence is the best part of my day.
• CAMINO PREP: While adventures await in all their excitement and glory – life happens. For me, this looks like an injured knee, passport dilemmas, and the inability to train as much as I would like to at the moment. But the Camino waits… and my companions have been more than supportive in their encouragement. One declared our journey to be a “no woman left behind” adventure. We’re in this together – all for one and one for all! In a recent Camino prep discussion, someone suggested that we all share our greatest “Camino fear” in order to get it out there and expose it for what it is. Although I had a bushel of fears to share, I exposed my #1: That I will get injured and have to taxi my way on The Way. And then it hit me: so what? I know better than to fear my greatest fear at this point in life! So WHAT if my greatest fear becomes a reality! The same God and grace that have seen me through the greatest fears of my life will also see me through the greatest fears of the Camino. This is what it means to be a Christian – to be fearless, even when the worst case scenario confronts us head-on. So while I’m still not counting on it, if I do injure myself on the Camino… if I do get bedbugs in an albergue, if I do lose my passport and all my money to a sneaky thief – SO WHAT!

This is life in the “now” – with all of it’s imperfections. For those readers who stuck with me as I discovered the lie and return to this space – thank you. Prayers for a blessed Holy Week and Triduum ahead!

I booked a flight to Spain.

Just like that, the Camino de Santiago is no longer a name on my Bucket List, it’s an event on my summer calendar, written in black felt ink!! The Way of St. James has already begun as I leap out into the great unknown and dare to walk toward an adventure that has been calling my name for years.

“So you just decided one day that you were going to walk The Way?” they ask, usually with a chuckle.

Yep. I just decided it was time to go. Time to stop talking about my dreams and start doing them. Time to live beyond the daily surviving and keep on thriving.

The Camino has been on my Bucket List for many years now. I can’t quite remember if I first heard about it from a friend or Martin Sheen. 🙂 But the idea of walking through Spain on the same path taken by pilgrims since the Middle Ages (prayerfully passing through the same homeland ruled by some of my favorite Spanish kings and queens!) never left my adventurous heart. In fact, my desire to go has only increased with time and research. (Oh, and they have WINE FOUNTAINS. There’s that, too…)

The Bucket List itself began as more of a jar – a collection of hopes, dreams, challenges, and goals I began to set for myself as a teenager, all directed toward following God’s will in my adult life. It was helpful to have something to go “back” to when the questions of “where am I going?” and “who am I?” surfaced throughout my late teens and early twenties. It helped me to dig back into my heart when I wasn’t sure what to do next. It also gave me hope for a future of happy moments to come and adventures still yet to be discovered.

Friends might remember the day I was challenged to write down 100 goals for my future.  A rather lengthy list of practical and not-so-practical goals ensued, with hopes for my spiritual life, professional life, family life, etc. The Bucket List was filling up, and fast! (Authoring a blog may or may not have been on that list. . . I’ll let you decide. :))

The Camino de Santiago sure was on that list – somewhere between “attend Financial Peace University” and “see the Swiss Alps.”

Over the years, I’ve limited this dream with my own expectations. “I can’t go until I have time to do the whole thing,” I would tell myself. “I’ll go sometime in the future when I’m in-between jobs” or “I’ll go someday with my future husband.”  The idea of going on the Camino was always in the distant future.

And then, the reality of time hit me like a ton of bricks. Time truly is fleeting and does not contain the events we expect them to contain. Trying to match our dreams to our own expectations for the future are unrealistic and, in the end, adventures can often be missed for lack of the bigger things (health, finances,, etc.). As a friend of mine wisely advised, “Do things like this while you have the health and time.” 

So I looked to the Bucket List and decided it was time to take it off the shelf. To my surprise, I was able to cross off a few items – dreams I had experienced just by living my life. I also added a few new goals while I was at it.

Friends, I don’t know about you, but I do NOT want to live a life of looking at, building, and creating my Bucket List. I want to take that bucket off the shelf and dive into it’s contents! I want to touch, smell, and taste them, watching the guidebooks come to life. I want to make the mistakes, learn the lessons, pick myself up and try again.

And then, I want to go out and USE the bucket to learn more about God and the world He created around (and in) me. I’ll use it as a raft, a receptacle, a reservoir – in whatever way He permits me to nurture the experiences that make the life I’m living to be just that: alive.

I don’t want to just survive and strive to succeed each day in life, I want to live them out with joy and gratitude – everything from walking the Camino to learning how to play basketball.

Let’s not put off to tomorrow what we can do today. If you have yet to create a bucket list, I encourage you to do so, pronto! It’s never too late. If you have one, take it off the shelf and look inside. Have you already explored life through living? What adventure or goal do you want to take out for the todays that God is giving you to live? Let’s go out there and return our bucket to God with lessons learned, love grown, and joys multiplied!

Buen Camino!

*Some of you have asked that I document my Camino experience. Plans of posts, journaling, and even vloging are under consideration. 😉  In some ways, I think we could call this the first step of my Camino? Will you join me on the journey?*

When I was in San Diego in early December, I met the janitor of the hotel one morning in the elevator. After exchanging pleasantries he said, “You should really come back San Diego sometime when it isn’t so cold. You will enjoy yourself even more!” I stopped and stared at him for what felt like ten minutes straight.

It was 75 degrees outside and I was definitely not “fitting in” to the fashion with my sandals and lightweight cardigan. (There is nothing stranger than seeing dozens of women wearing tall riding boots as they stroll near the ocean on a 75 degree day.) This janitor was visibly shivering! It was pretty clear in that moment that the Californian’s definition of cold is my definition of a delightful summer day. It’s all about perspective.

No matter how close or far away you may live to the North Pole, I think most humans are feeling the same thing this time of year: Cabin Fever. Whether you’re actually living in a cabin in Alaska (stay strong!) or continuously covering your plants in the south for fear of a dreaded frost, you are ready for warmer, longer days.

In all honesty, the cold is likely doing more than hurt your face and hands. Chances are, the season is affecting your mood, too. Any negative emotions you might be feeling right now may not be quite as negative as you think. You need sun, light, and warmth in your life again to make those tracks in snow seem less deep than they really are!

Because let’s face it: seasonal depression is real.

We can’t make the sun stay out longer, but we can help ourselves overcome and treat this indoor-induced ailment without the use of a tanning lamp. Here’s how:

1.  Go Outside – Even if it takes longer to suit up like an Eskimo than it will for you to stand the cold, you do yourself a tremendous amount of good with the effort to breath in a bit of nature. Making the effort will also boost your morale. Bundle up and go for a winter walk… take the kids to an ice rink… park your car at furthest the end of the parking lot… whatever it takes to spend time outside  – get out there! Bonus points to outdoor air is the use of exercise to your winter routine. It is easy to forget the feeling of triumph after a long run on a treadmill or the endorphin-high of a 30 minute spin session.

2. Get Crafty – If your winter brain is anything like mine, it feels as though it’s always reading a book or taking a snooze by a roaring fire. Wake it up a bit and get those creative juices flowing! That might encourage you to take scrapbook materials out of storage, practice sewing, or learn how to upholster a chair. Better yet, take a class at a nearby art center and meet new people while you’re at it! You could try music, baking, or cooking in the kitchen. Last month, I had a “pasta day” in which I spend the entire day learning how to make pasta and stuffed ravioli. It was tiring (and not completely successful) but it was invigorating!

Part 2 to getting crafty is: Bless Others. Share the rewards of your labor with your neighbor, whether it be your immediate family, co-workers, or the officers at a police station down the street. Take time to look outside of your winter blues to bless someone else.

3. Eat, Drink and Be Merry – If you are looking for permission to eat ice cream every night, this is not it. 🙂 Eating and drinking well have a tremendous impact on our mood. Eat leafy green veggies, packed with vitamins and make sure you are drinking enough water and staying hydrated. (That means saying no to the coffee pot or snack bar in the afternoon.) The cold season dries out of skin to the extreme, so make sure to feed it what it needs to thrive. Of course, you should enjoy the season’s treats while you’re fighting its fever. A cup of hot mulled wine is a must for a cold winter night!

4. Lots and Lots of Lights – I always lament the loss of light on December 26th. It seems that our world, immediately after Christmas, sees no need to decorate the dark streets, homes, and alleys with colorful lights. Let’s change this trend, people! One way in which I keep sane during the months of darkness is to keep my Christmas lights up – inside! I hang a strand of white lights above my fireplace, porch, or windows. Candles are also a great addition to the winter months and (sometimes) add a welcome note of fragrance to the home.

5. Life – Surround yourself with good people, friends, and family who lift you up and make you laugh. Plan a game night with your friends, visit your elderly friend in a nursing home, hold someone’s baby for awhile – it’s all quite therapeutic to the seasonal disfunction.  Decorate your home with signs of life by purchasing a few additional indoor plants or keeping a fresh bouquet of flowers on your kitchen table. One of my favorite (and affordable) life-givers to home decor is a bowl of fresh lemons and/or apples for the kitchen counter.

Putting the extras aside: take care of yourself. The most vital life in your world right now is your own. Make sure you’re taking care of it and respecting it’s need for rest, rejuvenation, and prayer.

There you have it! Five (and a half) ways we can all brave the cold and dark weeks ahead. You’ll be happier, your family will be happier, and apparently your freezer, too, will be better off for it:

Back in 2007, when first introduced to the internet world of bloggers, I found the site of a strong, faithful woman and mother of two – Mary Lenaburg. Though the sharing of her heart and home in writing, I met her beautiful daughter Courtney and followed and prayed along with her journey to Heaven. From her life and the daily step of faith into darkness, Mary Lenaburg’s theme of “Being Brave in the Scared” developed, challenging me and others to live joy in the midst of fear.

Ten years later and I’m still an avid reader and unabashed lurker. Mary Lenaburg challenged us recently to consider what being brave in the scared looks like to each of us. So I got to thinking…

Being brave in the scared, to me, means transforming the Scared to to the Sacred. By restructuring the first three letters of a fearful word, I am convinced we can find the doors to eternity.

For me, the Sacred was found in the Blessed Sacrament. There, Our Lord waits for us, inviting us to present our wounded hearts to Him. It was in the darkest, scariest period in my life that this secret was revealed to me. Like a magnet, I was drawn to the chapel. In most cases, there were no words – just a staring where “heart speaks to heart.” It was in Adoration that I found strength with which to rebuild my life in time of desolation. He was the answer to Everything. Since then, I long for those moments – whether they be 10 minutes or an hour – when I can go to him and learn how to be Brave. Every day I walk into that chapel and every day, I leave with greater peace than when I first came. In that time before Him truly present, I have the chance to rest my head on His heart – recharging, redeeming, and reviving my own.

There, we find warmth… comfort… we listen to the beating, the breathing, and we know thatwe are beloved.

And I am told, this is just the icing on the cake – there’s more!

Before Christ in the Blessed Sacrament we find the champion over fear itself – the Man God who suffered as our Savior. He taught us how to accept the cross and carry it bravely. And He invited us to join Him on the journey – to be brave.

And this visit usually unlocks another secret to Being Brave in the Scared…

Sometimes, when I am SURE that I am alone in the Adoration chapel- I sing!

There must be a scientific connection to the act of singing and the calming of one’s fears! It worked for the three men in the fiery furnace, right? “They walked around in the midst of the flames, singing hymns to God and blessing the Lord.”

Singing has a way of soothing one’s pain and multiplying one’s joy. It was singing that welcomed Our Lord as a newborn baby in Bethlehem. Zachary sang when his tongue was freed from its banishment. And Mary sang a canticle of praise when her heart overflowed with joy.  Our voice raised in song seals the sacred and scatters the scared. 

Say that three times fast! 😉

What does Being Brave in the Scared mean to you, dear friend?

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In Adoration, I have placed my wounded heart in His and watched it grow more and more in strength each day.

In Adoration, I have placed my joyful heart on His and watched the light return to its source.

In Adoration, I have placed my tender heart with shaking hands on His and watch it become brave, even in the scared.

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