An update and a Prayer Request

It has been a while since I’ve written. This is mostly because I’ve been busy—I think I’ve been putting in 50-60 hour weeks instead of 40. Seriously. There were a couple days where I worked 13-hour shifts—and one was on my day off!

It’s official now that I’m staying at Butler. My new title is “Director of Campus Ministry,” and I’m actually getting kind of excited. I’ve started to re-decorate the office. Last week, S. Hannah and a couple students helped me build a couple bookshelves (okay, to be honest, Hannah basically built the whole thing the second time). I’m slowly working my way into being comfortable with staying in Indy, although I have occasional bouts of sadness about not being in Missouri or Texas, which are really the only states worth being in by my estimation!

I am fortunate in that the Woods (St. Mary of the Woods) is close to Indy and that with that comes many friends and wonderful sisters who have been my rock and strength during the last year. And, in spite of popular belief, I do actually have a few friends who live here in Indy, mostly through the Sisters or Echo Alums, plus a few friends I’ve met through Butler. I am now also working at the Humane Society, which has given me an opportunity to finally meet people (and, more importantly, fluffy, cuddly dogs!) who aren’t Catholic or who don’t expect me to be a minister 24//7. It’s kind of nice to spend 2 hours a week just being a dog walker.

At any rate, it’s late here and I want to go to sleep, but I thought I needed to write an update after being away for three months. So much good has happened in that time and I can’t believe I haven’t shared it with you. But there was so much sadness, too, and it has taken me a long time to rise up from it.

I have to ask a special request of those of you who pray. Please, please pray for a special intention for me. It’s very important and while I know to trust God, I haven’t been this anxious about something in a long time—especially not something that I have no control over, like this. I’ll post more soon. Just pray!

Emotions, Darkness, and Dreams

I have started several blogs in the last week, whether on paper, my computer, or in my head. I couldn’t finish them. There’s too much emotion bottled up inside me right now. I just need to let some of it free.

I feel as though my spirit is just weary and worn. I’m tired. I’m torn between a need to grieve for my friend, concern for another friend going through a rough time, sadness from what has happened, and just plain exhaustion from trying to do and be so much for so many. I’m confused about plans for the future and what God is really calling me to. I’m so Rome-sick that I went and bought prosciutto yesterday. My dear mentor brought in blood oranges—he’s a saint. I have taken to sitting and watching multiple hours of Rome, fast-forwarding through the bad scenes and watching the historical notes commentary. I have even been leafing through my Blue Book guide to Rome. I feel like you can tell that Kaitlyn is struggling when she’s buying Roman comfort food and reading guidebooks. That means we are dealing with things worse than Chocolate and Henry Adams or Homer or even Greek can cure. I’m not sure that I knew before that there were such things—but, apparently, there are.

To distract myself (and also to remind myself that life moves on), I have been obsessing about next year. For those of you who have had a conversation with me in the last couple months, it’s probably obvious that I’ve been doing this for a while.

At the retreat about which I have written so much recently, I re-encountered a young woman who graduated from Echo and is now working as an intern on a farm. Sound familiar? Yes, that is what I wanted to do... two years ago when God put me in Echo instead. And really, I realize more and more that it’s what I still want to do (thought I don’t regret doing Echo—I love this program more than I can explain). It’s funny because I’m quite sure that neither of my grandfathers (both of whom were farmers, both of whom encouraged me to get an education and a life away from the farm) could have begun to imagine that I, six months away from a Masters degree from Notre Dame, would say that my life’s dream is to own a farm. Not just a little farm, either. I want milk cows (yes, Larry, with the getting up to milk at 4am if need be), bees, and chickens, and possibly a goat or two (because really, how much can milk cows help the lactose intolerant??). That is my DREAM. Of course, there’s also the idea that this farm might be a working retreat center, where Molly and I will run our art retreats and where my dear David will have his sheep. Well, probably not David and the sheep, since he’s becoming a Dominican. But Molly and I are definitely having that retreat center. First, however, I need the farm. And before that, I need to learn how to farm, because somehow between the many years of piano lessons (that were utterly useless—I still can’t read music) and the poking and prodding to get good grades in ridiculous things, like Math (Really, Mom and Dad, I promise that it doesn’t matter that I can’t do calculus. I have other completely useless talents, like reading Greek.), my parents failed to pass on the farm wisdom that their parents gave to them (It’s okay, parents, I still love you). So, when I’m avoiding my comps studying (which is all the time, now that I’m back to that book by Kathryn Tanner on Christology that I just can’t read more than a paragraph of at a time), I’m reading books on farming and gardening and intentional Christian community. Because that seems like an obvious hobby for the future Director of Campus Ministry for Butler U.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m almost certain that I am staying at Butler for another couple years at least. It’s not official yet, so I’m trying not to tell students yet. I’m trying, and more or less failing, because Father and I talk about nothing else ALL THE TIME. But now, I’m looking for a house to rent in Indianapolis. Yes, a house. I don’t want an apartment. Why doesn’t Kaitlyn want an apartment, you might ask. Well, I want a house BECAUSE I WANT A DAMN GARDEN.  And these books I’m reading are giving me all these dreams of grand gardens that will NOT happen because I’m not building anything big until I am somewhere I plan to live longer than two years, which is probably not Indy (well, I might be here for four years… depending on a lot of circumstances so outside my control). But at any rate, yes, friends, I want a garden. And a dog. So, I need a house. I would like one in Indianapolis close enough to walk to Butler. Lord, help me when my students figure out where I live (which they certainly will, because those frat boys are going to be harangued into helping me move, and I don’t trust their ability to keep secrets). I want a house near Butler with a backyard big enough for a dog and a garden, which means I need a housemate to help pay rent, because the houses I’ve found are all $800-900. Anyone want to move to Indianapolis?

It’s a bit disappointing, really. Two years ago, I had a compost pile behind my condo and, until a disease devastated them, herbs growing in my kitchen window. That seemed like a semi-promising start for my farm dreams. Now, I share a house with nine other individuals and, although we have a backyard big enough for a legit urban farm (I mean, we could have a goat if we wanted, it’s that big), we cannot use the backyard because we share it with an office. A bit of a step-down, I think.

And yes, friends from Dallas, I know I promised I’d move home soon. Well, God never gives me what I ask for, so I don’t know why you’re surprised at this. I mean, look at what happened two years ago when I ended up in Echo. And, a year before that, when I had to change my major? It always seems to work out in the end.

As part of my Christmas gift, Molly sent me a picture of my patron saint, Mother Cabrini. It arrived in the mail today. It reminded me of how she had dreamed her whole life of going to China as a missionary and instead, the pope sent her to America. “Not to the East, but to the West,” he said. Well, I guess God is telling me “not to the west, but to the east.” (Because Indianapolis is really far east for someone who wants to live in Texas!) I’m trying to take comfort in reminding myself that if Mother Cabrini hadn’t been sent to the west, I might not exist because she would not have cared for and healed my great-grandmother, which would have made my grandfather a vastly different person who might not have married my grandmother. I can only hope that Providence has some sort of designs for me that might make my sacrifice equally valuable.

So, Texas friends and family, know that I am always holding you close to me through prayer and that I miss you each painfully. On the worst days, I dream of running away and living on Patty and Mark’s couch the way little kids used to dream of running away to the circus. Then, I remember that they would send me back because they love me and want me to succeed. Dang, a kid can’t even run away to her “second parents” without them doing what is best for her. Look at how blessed I am!

Non-Texas family and friends… want to move to Indy? (I know the Texans won’t give up Texas…) Seriously, though, I miss you and love you.

I ask for your continued prayers. I need them badly. Know you are in mine.

Love,

K. M. F. W. 

A Quick Note on the Psalms

“The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness” Part III

A Quick Note on the Psalms

by Kaitlyn Willy, Chaplain’s Apprentice

The last of my series on the retreat. Originally posted at http://butlercatholiccommunity.blogspot.com/2013/01/a-quick-note-on-psalms.html 

First of all, thank you to everyone who sent me supportive emails and texts after my last blog. I am still processing my grief. I appreciate continued prayers.

I wanted to talk about one more thing that happened at my retreat, a tool that I believe many of us forget about when it comes to praying through darkness: the psalms.

During my first Echo Summer, before I came to Butler, I took a class on the Psalms. Ever since, I have loved them. And really, why shouldn’t we love the psalms? They are the prayer, not only of Christians, but of our Jewish brothers and sisters as well. Jesus himself was taught and prayed the Psalms. If they’re good enough for Christ, they’re good enough for me.

Throughout the retreat, we kept coming back to the psalms. We talked about how the psalms can give words to our emotions. There are so many about so many different things. There are psalms of lament and psalms of praise. Some end happily, some are just angry all the way through. Our director of formation reminded us that when praying a psalm of lament, it’s always good to pair it with a psalm of hope. Or, you can do one that covers both. My personal favorites are 23 and 42. Then, rarely, when I’m really angry and refuse to be consoled, I go to 77.

Since the early church, it has been a tradition to sing the psalms daily. Monks used to have to memorize the psalter before they were allowed to officially join the monastery. St. Augustine says: “Singing is for the one who loves.” The Psalms were the most common songs of the early church and Augustine wrote hundreds of commentaries on them. I’m not certain, but I think that the only thing in scripture with more commentaries than the psalms is the Lord’s Prayer.

So, my invitation to you is to open up your Bible to the Psalms and give them a try. They’re good consolation in times of distress.

He waits in the Heart of Darkness

“The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness” Part II

He waits in the heart of darkness

by Kaitlyn Willy, Chaplain’s Apprentice

This is the second in my series of reflections from retreat on the BCC Blog.

The original post can be found here: http://butlercatholiccommunity.blogspot.com/2013/01/he-waits-in-heart-of-darkness.html 

As I mentioned in my blog yesterday, the theme for the retreat that I just went on was “The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness.”

One of the things that occurred to me on this retreat was that if I take the beloved to be Christ, then Christ waits for me in the heart of the darkness. He doesn’t wait on the outskirts, he waits in the center of it. In order to get to him, I have to go through the dark and then he will help me through to the other side.

This revelation was truly a grace to me. My retreat director could not have chosen a better time to give me this piece of wisdom. I need it right now. I woke up this morning to find out that one of my dearest friends from high school had passed away. I haven’t processed the emotions from this yet; it’s only been a couple hours since I found out and right now, I am just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t know yet how I feel, other than the obvious answer of sadness. I don’t know what I’m going to do, or how I am going to find consolation in this. What I do know, I know from experience. The sadness I feel now is nothing compared to the darkness that I might face in the next few days as I slowly come to know the reality of Jessica’s death. Thanks to this retreat, I also know this: I cannot sit on the outskirts of grief and avoid dealing with my emotions if I expect Christ to be with me. He is waiting for me in the heart of that darkness, and I will have to go there to find him. As much as I would like to just bury myself in my work and avoid thinking about it, I can’t. I have to go there.

During the retreat, it hit me that this is like the Paschal mystery. When we’re on the outskirts of the dark, it’s like Holy Thursday in the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s like when the soldiers came and took Christ. We’re scared, we’re sad, we’re confused. Darkness is threatening to overcome us. We want to run, like Peter ran when he denied knowing Christ. But the thing is, we can’t run if we want to get to the Resurrection. Only through the Passion can we come to the Resurrection.

In one of the texts I’m reading for comps (Athanasius’ On the  Incarnation) I was struck by a simple line, something that any kindergartener would think was obvious. But this statement must not have been too obvious, because Athanasius bothered to say it and, let’s be honest, paper and ink was not cheap back then (really, papyrus and ink). The line was this: “Death must precede resurrection.”

I think this is a fact that we all too often want to overlook. I would like the resurrection without the passion, thank you very much. I’ve seen a crucifix. The passion doesn’t look too fun. I would like to avoid that part, just like I would like to avoid recognizing the reality of grief. But consolation cannot come from avoidance. That’s not healthy. We have to go into the heart of darkness, where Christ, the Beloved, is waiting. He will bring us out the other side.

So, friends, have hope. Do not be afraid to know the dark. Instead, fear the unlived life—the one that is avoided by living in fear. And know that for every Good Friday, there is always an Easter Sunday. As my favorite poet, Wendell Berry, says: “Practice Resurrection.”

Please pray for Jessica and her family and friends. And friends, please know that whenever you feel alone in the darkness, Fr. Jeff and I are here and we will always be willing to sit with you and be with you. You are never alone. 

“The Joy of Waiting”

The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness, Retreat Reflections part 1:
“The Joy of Waiting”

This is part of my short series of reflections about the Echo Winter retreat.

Originally posted to the Butler Catholic Community blog (http://butlercatholiccommunity.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-joy-of-waiting.html) 

Last week, as many of you know, I was away on retreat for five days. It was a retreat with Echo (my graduate program) and in packing and preparing for the retreat, I was much more focused on the idea that I would soon see my friends than I was on spending five days with Christ. I am embarrassed, as a campus minister, to admit that. Yet, as I have spoken with my students so many times, friendship is in itself a form of prayer. Everyone in Echo is close, and it had been since August that I had seen my fellow Echo Apprentices, my dear friends. Perhaps it is fitting, given my attitude, that when my community (Pat, Amy, and Joe) was almost all the way to the retreat center, a four-hour drive for us, we started receiving text messages from our friends that their flight into South Bend was delayed.

We arrived at the retreat center thinking that perhaps our friends would be there later that night. As time passed and the plane was still not leaving, we all realized it was not going to happen. Instead, my community would wait with the Associate Director of Echo, Luke, and hang out at the retreat center and the retreat would start the next afternoon, when our friends would finally arrive. While twenty other Echo apprentices were stuck in the airport for almost an entire day (and later, stuck at a shabby hotel where Delta had put them up), my community and I were forced to entertain ourselves. Patrick, Amy, and I played soccer in the dining hall (or, more accurately, half-heartedly kicked the soccer ball back and forth) for an hour and then, joined by Joe and Luke, we ate pizza as a community. We were not in the highest spirits—we were waiting.

After dinner, we managed to raise our spirits a little. I confessed I had never played pool, so the men decided I needed to learn. Patrick and Luke patiently taught me. While I was frustrated at first, they coaxed me into having fun. We managed to enjoy ourselves and lose track of the time amid our laughter at my epically poor pool skills—all the while anticipating our friends’ arrival the next day. We tried to come up with stories to tell them when they arrived and, through the glory of technology, kept up with where they were and what they were up to, even though we were still apart.

It is interesting, given this incident at the beginning, that the theme chosen for our retreat was “The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness.” We spent a lot of time waiting that first night, waiting to hear if our friends would come. Once we knew they weren’t, we were waiting for the morning when they would be there and the retreat could begin in earnest. All the while, we reminded ourselves that we were not alone—we could wait together and in our companionship, find consolation for missing our dear friends.

I think that one of the great things about this retreat theme was that it was ambiguous—we weren’t really sure what or who the beloved is. Perhaps I am the beloved one, the beloved of God who is waiting amidst the darkness of my life—waiting for God, waiting for love, for hope, for light. Perhaps Christ himself is the beloved and he waits for me in the darkness. Or, perhaps it is the waiting itself that is beloved.

During one of the talks during the retreat, the last of these was suggested by our formation director, Jan. What if it is the waiting itself that is beloved? She told us a story she had heard about a grandmother. This grandmother was well loved by her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. On one of her birthdays, they threw her a surprise party. When the party came around and the grandmother walked in and they surprised her, she was disappointed. She asked them, “How could you rob me of the joy of anticipating being with you?”

The joy of anticipation… how beautiful is that? But you know, thinking about it, it is true. I know that before my students all come back at the beginning of the semester, when I’m sitting in my office, organizing for the upcoming events, I anticipate their arrival. And it’s a joy to anticipate. I know that soon, I will be busy and in the thick of it. At the beginning, I spend some time just anticipating, preparing, and readying myself… and, hopefully, doing so with love. Anticipating is part of the loving.

My community and I experienced this very clearly as we were anticipating our friends at the retreat center. When they arrived, the vans pulled up and they piled out. We raced out to the cars and hugged each of them almost before they were out of the car. And as we waited for the last two vans, I know that the anticipation was growing in my heart. My best girlfriend from my senior year of college, Meg, was in the last van to arrive. As much as I LOVED hugging each of my other 19 friends, I know that I kept anticipating her arrival even more after the others were there. Having friends like Matt, Sarah, Annie, and Kathy in my arms made me want to hug Meg all the more. The promise that she would arrive soon took away any anxiety of the waiting. The waiting was truly beloved, and it made the moment of reunion that much more beautiful. Had Meg arrived first, I might have lost track of that moment, or, worse, I might have been denied a moment of reunion with my other friends. Instead, the waiting was beloved and beautiful.

Perhaps this revelation for me, the beauty and beloved quality of waiting, should have come about before… like, at Advent, for example. I mean, it is the season of waiting ( and, as I have said before, my favorite liturgical season). Advent is dark—literally, as the days grow shorter; and figuratively, as many people face seasonal depression or sadness related to loss experienced during the holidays or simply from being alone. But even now, in ordinary time, we might face waiting. I wait anxiously for a final decision to be made about my plans for next year. Seniors wait for jobs or acceptance to grad school. Many sophomores wait for acceptance to the Pharmacy program. We are all waiting for something.

As for the anxiety associated with waiting, I found consolation in some of the reading we did on retreat. Thomas Merton wrote: “On all sides I am confronted by questions I cannot answer because the time for answering them has not yet come.” (from The Fire Watch)

We have to trust that God’s silence is not because He doesn’t know the answer or, an even worse thought, because He doesn’t care. It is simply because the time for answering has not yet come. There can be any number of reasons for this. In my experience, it is often because I am not yet the person who God intends to give an answer to.

My invitation for today is to remember that even in the heart of darkness, the waiting can be beloved. Let the joy of anticipation fill you. Trust in the Lord, do not be anxious. The time for answering will come. For now, we wait in joyful hope.

My Sisters the Saints

My Sisters the Saints: A Spiritual Memoir

by Colleen Carroll Campbell

I’ve finished book number 78 for 2012, My Sisters the Saints: A Spiritual Memoir by Colleen Carroll Campbell.

This book is Campbell’s memoir of her spiritual journey and about the six women saints who have become her patronesses and closest friends. She intertwines the stories of these women saints with her own story, telling the reader how they have given her hope, guidance, and strength on her own spiritual journey.

To begin, I have to say that I think this book hit me personally very strongly, as some of her own struggles are struggles that I share—particularly a father with Alzheimers. Because of this connection, I found myself reading Campbell’s memoirs with a box of tissues sitting next to me, taking short breaks when my eyes were so filled with tears that I couldn’t see the page. For me, hearing how she found comfort in Therese of Lisieux’s similar experiences of a father with dimensia were personally helpful and I will take her thoughts and shared experiences to prayer.

I also related to much of what Campbell writes in a professional way. Her memories of college life correspond well with my experiences as a college campus minister. She writes that for her it seemed “better to be labeled shallow, stuck-up, drunk, or debauched—anything but devout” (page 22). If you have encountered this and struggled with it or been mystified by it, then I think this book is for you.

At the very beginning of the text, Campbell sets the stage by telling about an experience she had in college where she looked around her and asked the same question I see many of my students asking themselves, “Is this it? Is this all there is?” She walked away in hopes of finding a satisfactory answer. I think that this book is an answer and it is one that can help readers move forward in their own spiritual lives. I think that readers who have had similar experiences to her, whether it is an exact experience, such as a father who struggles with Alzheimer’s, or simply the wider experience of trying to determine what it means to be free in a world bound by the chains of sin or to be feminine in a society that seems to stand against femininity (both themes continued throughout the book), will find in Campbell’s memoirs a story of hope and also an idea for how to move forward in their own lives.

As a spiritual memoir, Campbell’s writing is insightful and prayerful, a good book to read when you are in your own moment of questioning. As a book, Campbell’s writing is clear and alive. She truly captures the reader, inviting them to walk with her as she tells her story and also those of the women saints—Teresa of Avila, Therese of Lisieux, Faustina, Edith Stein, Mother Teresa, and Mary, Mother of God. The parallels that she draws between her own life and those of the saints are insightful. The lessons she learns are encouraging. And throughout she brings to life for the reader the many characters of her tale—her mother and father, husband, and friends—in such a way that the reader is bound to love them as she does.

I highly recommend this book.

For more information on Colleen and her writing, visit her website: http://colleen-campbell.com/

The first chapter of the book can be found at Amazon.com.

WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group provided this book to me for free in exchange for this honest review as part of their Blogging for Books program.

From the BCC Blog... In the Spirit of Christ, which is Love

You can find the original version of this blog at: http://butlercatholiccommunity.blogspot.com/2012/11/in-spirit-of-christ-which-is-love.html

So, I was going to write about all the travels that I’ve been doing lately. I mean, I’ve gotten to do a lot. I spent a weekend at St. Mary of the Woods for my orientation as a Providence Associate. That was an awesome opportunity to grow closer to God. I then spent last weekend, actually 5 days, in Dallas for a Ministry Conference. I got to see cool people, family and friends that I have been missing and wanting to see. I’ve had so many blessings lately and I wanted to tell you all about that. But then, today, I was reading my facebook news feed and something else more important was re-iterated to me in a way that I feel like I have to tell you about it.

One of my good friends from college is also one of my heroes. Her name is Genevieve. I call her Genna. And Genna is a teacher in the poorest school district at the poorest grade school in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Yes, I know, we talk a lot about poverty at the BCC. We’re Catholic and part of Catholic Social Teaching is preferential option for the poor. But let me tell you about this poverty.

One of the students in the bilingual class at Gena’s school lost his shoes the other day.

Who knows where or why, he’s a five year old boy. That happens. The problem is, they were his only pair of shoes. His mother sent him to school in slippers. The school said that wasn’t appropriate footwear and he had to go home until he had real shoes. His mom can’t buy shoes until the middle of the month at payday. It’s the beginning of the month now. This kid is going to have to stay home from school for a week—in kindergarten, an important year where missing a week is like missing a month—because his mom can’t buy shoes. And that’s not to mention that he probably gets the majority of his food at school. So now, he has no shoes and he’s hungry. And the school district can’t do a thing about it, because they can’t even put paper in the classrooms. The teachers have to buy their own supplies. And let me tell you, these teachers don’t get paid much.

Guys, this is not okay.

My first instinct was to ask Genna what size shoes I need to buy this kid. I mean, I can’t do a lot to change the world, but I can get this kid shoes so he can go to school. Genna can’t do it—the school doesn’t pay her enough to keep her own kids in nice shoes, much less put shoes on her students. I’m still waiting to find out about his shoe size. I know there are several other friends of Genna who are waiting for the same thing. One of us will get him shoes. And when we do, he will go to school. And someday, I pray, he will change the world and then, maybe there won’t be any kids without shoes.

But my buying a pair of shoes doesn’t really solve the problem.

The problem is, I live in a house with nine other people. Between all of us, there are probably over hundred pairs of shoes in this house. And there are probably over a hundred kids in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex whose shoes are too small or too big and cause blisters or too worn to keep their feet warm. Why? Why is it that in the richest nation in the world in the 21^st century this is still happening? And forget Dallas, my old home, what about Indianapolis? What about our city, the one in which we attend school and live at least 9 months out of the year? What about the kids in our schools?

I imagine it’s not much different.

We need to reevaluate our lives, people.

I have been talking about Nazareth Farm (where the BCC will be taking our Alternative Spring Break trip next semester) a lot lately. That’s because a) I love it and b) I want you to go and love it, too. One of the four cornerstones of Nazareth Farm is simplicity. Let’s talk about simplicity for a moment.

Simplicity seems to mean something different for every person. One person can say they’re living in simplicity while they have a flat screen tv and a dvr (I would question this person and their idea of need). The next person might be living in a tiny house (check out Tumbleweed Tiny Houses if you don’t know what I’m talking about) and own less than 100 items (I can’t do that—sorry, my books are really important to me). Whatever you think simplicity is, we are called to it. As we say at Naz Farm, we are called to live simply so that others may simply live.

During the month of November, I would like to both invite and challenge you to try to live more simply. Maybe that means not going out for that burger, ordering that pizza or those insomnia cookies. Maybe that means that instead of buying a new scarf, you’re going to use the one you bought last year. Same for that new coat and those new mittens. Maybe you’ll look in your closet, count the number of pairs of shoes you own and donate a dollar for every pair to the BCC Christmas Family Adoption fund. If you don’t have a lot of shoes, but find yourself buying a lot of something else, maybe you’ll match that. Maybe you’ll tell Mom and Dad that instead of yet another new blouse or new boots, you want to donate that money somewhere else. Maybe you’ll participate in the Tech Fast and see where, without the temptation of entertainment technology, you really do have enough time to volunteer, to serve, to change the world. Maybe. I can’t make that decision for you. I can only decide for me.

As we begin November, I notice a lot of Christmas stuff in the stores. It’s a little early for it, but I am starting to be in a Christmas mindset. Christmas reminds me of my Uncle Tim, who I never met. He died from cancer at the age of 18 almost three years before I was born. But my uncle had a saying and it was passed on to me. Around Christmas, when he wanted something, he would say, “In the spirit of Christmas, which is love, please ___.”

In the spirit of Christmas, which is love…. Perhaps it would be better to say, “In the spirit of CHRIST, which is love.” Because He was love. He was not just love the noun, but love the verb. Suddenly the question at Christmas becomes the same as the question we must ask ourselves every day all year round: How do I, Kaitlyn Willy, love better? How do we, the Butler Catholic Community, love better? How do you, reader, love better?

To answer that, this year, in place of buying each other gifts, my community is adopting a local family and giving them Christmas. And by Christmas, I don’t mean they’re getting a bunch of toys (though I might slip a few in). Primarily, I’m shopping for PJs, undies, socks, and bras for an elderly grandma and her daughter and clothes to keep their three babies warm. This family will be way more excited about these clothes—which won’t be all that nice and certainly won’t be name-brand items—than I have ever been about a Christmas gift. Need does that to people, it makes them find joy in the simple things.

In keeping with this spirit of love, the BCC Service Committee and Leadership Team have decided to adopt two families for Christmas. I mentioned this above, in the “maybe” paragraph. I’m serious, friends—count those shoes, those lattes, those whatever-you-spend-your-money-ons. Donate a dollar for each one you have. Or, donate five dollars, ten dollars, whatever you can muster. Ask mom or dad or grandma to give you your Christmas money early—donate it. Make a difference.

And, if you really want to keep it up, go to Nazareth Farm. Live simply so that others may simply live. Do as Christ calls us to in the reading for tomorrow: love your neighbor as yourself. Change the world.

When people ask me to describe my students, I say that they all want to save the world. Guess what, friends—this is how you change the world. You change it one person at a time. Not one poor person at a time, but one human being made in the image and likeness of God who has intrinsic dignity and who for some reason or other lives entrenched in poverty and cannot get out. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other— in the spirit of Christ, which is love.