Three days ago, I committed to doing Emily Ley's "Simplicity Challenge" - clearing one area of my home a day, in an effort to simplify our lives for this coming year.  As I began to clear things out, I listed a few items on a resale site and one was purchased.​

Two mornings ago, I pulled the pork out of the freezer, ready to do meal prep when I got home from work.  I signed up for a "30-minute challenge" to help me detox from phone use, and downloaded an app to track how much time I spent using technology each day.  I planned to mail out the item I had sold the day before.

Tuesday evening, I stopped at the store for some groceries, ready to whip out dinner not only for that night, but for the rest of the week.

And then I got home.

I walked into our apartment to find our furniture covered in plastic and water streaming down our walls, one of my pots catching drips on the counter and a plastic bin (previously storage for summer clothes) catching a stream in the closet.

Clearly, all my plans went down the drain. (insert clever water pun here)

Now that the initial chaos is over and I've had a few days to sleep, eat, and distractedly step back into work, I've also had a few moments to think.  I think back 72 hours to that second of walking in my door, not knowing what was salvageable, if anything.

Perhaps many of us have had that thought: "If my house was on fire, what would I grab before running out the door?"  If you've seen Leap Year, you'll remember the scene that was the test of a relationship.  I knew my husband was safe at work, and that I had more than one minute to gather my things, but the first things I thought of?  The letters Christopher wrote me as part of my wedding gift.  The scrapbook I made him as his gift.  And our wedding photos, memorializing the most important day of our lives.

Thankfully, all those things were safe, as were most of our belongings.  We'll be out of our home for a week as our carpets and drywall are restored, and most of our clothes are being cleaned for the next month.  I won't get to mail out that item I sold, and my seller rating will probably go down.  The pork is now sitting in my mom's fridge, and I've used my phone for 3 hours so far today, calling insurance and banking and apartment management.

But ultimately, I don't care about my rating or these challenges.  We're safe, and those "what if" items are safe, and we're having a crazy adventure suddenly living out of suitcases for a week.

So Happy New Year.  Happy sudden-end-to-personal-challenges.  And happy real life, no filter, true as can be marriage.  It may be nothing like the movies, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

 Is there any easy way to transition back to real life after 9 days in paradise?

This is the very honest question I've been asking myself for the last couple days, as I prepared to come home from a 9-day honeymoon in Aruba.  Our time there was relaxing, refreshing, & invigorating.  We laughed more than we have in a long time, learned more about each other's habits and quirks, and ultimately realized we were very ready and excited to tackle whatever "real life" had in store for us back home.

But today, as I opened my work inbox after 14 days away to find 132 unread messages that needed responses yesterday, I felt nothing but overwhelmed.  I sat in this library, staring at old issues of Vogue and Washingtonian (because who's had time to begin internet services at home recently?) and wondered why I thought that taking so much time off was a good idea.  Why was it worth it to lose so many hours of work time?

Because you just got married, my mind reminded me.  Because you're beginning a new life in a new home with a new identity.  Because what matters in the long run is your Vocation - the one you began just 12 short days ago.

These things are true.  And what I realized is that there is no easy way to transition from single to married, from honeymoon-vacation to work-reality.  Not when you have 2 people's laundry to catch up on, and dinner to make all of a sudden, and an apartment to make feel homey despite the still-white walls.  The addition of parishioner emails informing me that our newsletter is more pathetic than that other parish's is just the cherry on top.

Don't get me wrong: I'm still excited for these new beginnings.  I'm still excited to go fold our laundry and figure out what to make for when my husband (!) returns home from work tonight and to do a little grocery shopping trip.  But these changes and beginnings are bittersweet: they bring with them a loss of "me", a realization of how selfish I am, and the necessity for vulnerability - all of which are the average human's least favorite things.

So we'll work together on becoming a family: on losing ourselves in gaining each other, and on better learning how to serve and be served.

I've given and received quite a number of toasts in the last few weeks, but here's another: here's to new beginnings.  Here's to sharing closets and bathroom sinks.  Here's to crashing to reality and allowing the parachute of spouse to catch you.  And here's to growing in the vocation of love, daily, through the ordinary monotony of life.

Dear Rosa:
Countless times, I've planned to write to you once more.  And just as many times, I've convinced myself not to.
"There's too much to say.  Too much I don't know how to explain.  Where do I begin?"

You see, God's been flipping tables on me a lot in the last, well, year and a half.  Since January of 2015, there have been so many things that I've been convicted of, moved to change, and then received a very clear message: "stop."  And so I have.  I've stopped, reassessed, and waited.

Sometimes that waiting gets tiring.
Sometimes I wish that I could have a life like hers, or hers, or his, plugging away at work, just doing the everyday tasks, with no curveballs thrown in.
Sometimes I forget that there's a Divine Plan so much bigger than my own.

About 9 months ago now, I packed up my things and moved to a seminary outside Chicago.  I was going to study the Liturgy to become a Liturgist, and I was going to experience this adventure of living as the solitary woman on a campus full of 220 men discerning the priesthood.  I settled in and I learned a lot, but it was mostly personal growth.  I wrote papers and read encyclicals, yes, but I also prayed, questioned, pleaded, and sought.  And I gradually came to realize that I was sent there not to complete 2 years of a master's degree, but instead to complete an accelerated course in listening, trusting, and praying.  

That realization was a difficult one.  I'd taken a leap of faith in moving, and once more I had to take a leap of faith as I left, rather suddenly, in the middle of the semester, with no credits to my name and no job to head home to.  Somehow, as I packed and said my goodbyes to the friends I'd made, I found an abundance of peace in the knowledge that the Lord was leading me to something better than I ever could have planned for myself.

Do I regret going?  Not for a second.  Do I wish it had happened another way?  Not really.  Does it seem like a waste?
​Sometimes, yes.

It's challenging to wrap my mind around the fact that it took such a large change to uproot my convictions of what my "life plan" would look like.  It's difficult to acknowledge to myself and those I encounter that yes, I did indeed drop out of grad school.  It's humbling to know that the Lord knew such a wake up call would be necessary in order to reach my stubborn heart.

Life hasn't slowed down a bit since I left Chicago last October.  I still wonder how God expects me to get it all done.  And sometimes, it feels like I'm drowning a little bit.  But then I remind myself that if I can move to a strange city with no friends and begin a program at a school with only men, I can probably take on a stressful day at work.

So what am I up to now, Rosa?  I'm reading books, writing letters, and KonMari-ing my sock drawer.  I'm traveling for weddings and pilgrimages, editing textbooks, and learning how to pay utility bills.  I'm working at a parish, learning how to trust God even more through both the minutiae and the ground-shaking changes.

​But above all, I'm allowing my heart to grow and shift and change for the next thing that the Lord places in my path, whatever and whenever that may be.
Vivi d'Amore,
​Allison

It's been 5 weeks.  5 weeks since I drove across 5 states and moved into a little room in a seminary.  Since getting here, I've taken copious amounts of notes, committed to 3 jobs, made friends, and learned the area.  Now I'm a third of the way done with my first semester, and that's super difficult to believe.

My classes are going well so far.  I'm being pushed to think about things differently and to expand my views.  It still feels a bit funny to only be taking 4 classes for 10 credits... I'm certainly not complaining, but it is taking some getting used to.  I have a midterm exam coming up this week, so I suppose that will be the first test of how things are actually going.  Pray for me!  It'll be a hard one!

Yes.  3 jobs.  Each one fell into my lap naturally and plays to my talents.  I'm using different skills in each of them, so I'm never bored.  And the schedules all work out perfectly, so I'm working about 20 hours a week; I'm used to that schedule from my senior year at Franciscan.

One of the best parts of living on campus is getting to know the people here.  My classmates are wonderful and it's been great to get to know them, and the fact that I make food hasn't hurt, either :)  We all have different backgrounds and interests, and each bring a different view to the forefront.  I love being able to have discussions in class that carry over into our lunch and dinner conversations.  Concepts easily flow into discussion which then gets put into practice through the Masses and times of prayer we have together each day.  It's a fluid way of life, making work, study, and prayer grow in and through the others.

And the area.  Oh, the area.  Illinois is a different world than Virginia and Ohio.  (obviously.  I wasn't really expecting it to be the same.)  But it's been fun and a little frustrating to have to learn a whole new area.  My first few days were spent driving aimlessly around the surrounding towns and trying to make my way back to campus without a GPS.  I failed more times than I'd like to admit, but I have finally learned where things are.  I'm still confused by the 3 Targets and 38 Starbucks and 57 Dunkin Donuts, but at least I know they exist.  I think I've found a parish to join, and I have a library card (cue library card song), so I can't really ask for more than that!  The only thing left is to find a young adult group, but I'm fairly positive that as fall hits us, groups will become more active.

[sidenote: Illinois likes a lot of one-way parking lots.  They throw me off every single time.]
[sidenote 2: It was über complicated to get a library card, and after all the trouble, I had to register separately at each library I want to use!  I now have a great appreciation for my local Virginia library system... it's so easy!]

All in all, its been a good start to my time here.  This upcoming week, I'm looking forward to fall break, during which I'll visit with good friends, see my family, and even write a 15-page paper.  It will be nice to get away for a bit, but it'll be just as nice to have a beautiful campus to come back to.

Dear Rosa,
I took my usual walk this evening.  I’ve found that it brings rhythm and regularity and peace and calm to my otherwise topsy-turvy, thrown-everywhere days.  Tonight, everything within me told me not to take a walk, that I should stay inside and do homework instead.  But I fought those thoughts and ventured outside, clutching my rosary as per usual.

I’ve prayed more rosaries in the last week than I have in the last three months.  I’ve never been a rosary girl.  I’ll be the first to admit that needs to change, but you don’t just get ‘into’ the rosary overnight.  But even though I still haven’t learned to love it, I’ve learned that I *need* it.  I need the familiarity.  I need the feeling of the beads slipping through my fingers.  I need to make my deepest petitions known to someone who understands the cry of the heart.

The air was still stuffy as I made my way through the garden towards the dock.  Night one of being here I staked out ‘my spot’, right on the water, as far out into the lake as you can get while still being on solid ground.  And as I settled myself against a pillar to pray decade two, I closed my eyes to the darkness.  Not just the darkness of the fading foggy skies, but the swirling questions that batter against the weary shutters of my mind.  Heart-deep questions which threaten to beat me into submission.

My rosary continued its round about my hands and eventually, I looked up again.  The skies were darker.  The questions remained.  But there was a calm amidst the storm which hadn’t been present moments before.

Sara Bareilles calls it like it is:

But here’s the kicker: on that horizon is a beautiful sunset and new places to be discovered.  And in this time of exploration and finding new places, you’ll also find yourself.  

I think everyone needs to be an island for a bit.  It’s this time of self-discovery which forms us and makes us who we are meant to be.  It’s terrifying to stand on our own two feet and not know where to turn, but its those steps that follow that determine our trajectory, the strokes in the water that aim us towards the mainland.

And if an evening walk can lock these lessons in and make the horizon approach more rapidly, so be it.

Vivi d'Amore,
Allison

Dear Rosa,

Just wanted to jot off a quick note before I dive into homework for the day.  I thought you may be interested in some "statistics" from the week!

Number of Classes: 4
Days I have Classes: 2 (Wednesday and Thursday)
Total Number of Classmates: 6
(Average) Ratio of Priests to Laity at Mass: 6 to 5
Ratio of Male to Female Professors: 2 to 2
Ratio of Ordained to Lay Professors: 2 to 2
Pages of Notes Taken: 16
Number of Times I've Slept Past 7:30 Since Arriving: 0
Number of Masses Attended in 6 Days: 6
Number of Hilarious Dinner Conversations: 2
Number of Dinners involving discussion of Philosophy: 4
Number of Times I've Questioned Being Here: 1
Number of Times I've Been Incredibly Grateful for Being Here: too many to count

Pray for me!  Today and tomorrow are full of homework and reading.
Vivi d'Amore,
Allison

This summer, I took up yoga.

Now, before you get all nervous about my eternal soul, I'll assure you that it's not just any weird, new-age-y, kinda hipster yoga.
That's the thing: it's not just any yoga.
It's P90X yoga, make-you-sweat-and-question-life-choices yoga.  These instructors don't care about whatever spiritual lessons you can learn from exercise, as those in the East might propose.  No, they essentially just want to get ripped.

Let me assure you that my goal wasn't "to get ripped".  Actually, my goal was much simpler and more pathetic: I'll do this, I told myself, because it has been suggested to me by someone I trust, and I have no reason not to.

And so I found myself collapsed on the floor of my rented apartment in the middle of July, sweat beading on my forehead and tears running down my face, questioning why something as seemingly easy as holding the Warrior I pose for 15 seconds was actually this difficult.

I fell in love with yoga that night.  I was drawn to the simple challenge of it.  I wanted to excel at it, to make it my own, to become stronger, and  I slowly improved.  I learned to accept the fact that I couldn't do these crazy difficult moves yet, and as I practiced, and sweated, and practiced some more, I had a realization: I could use this lesson of patience in the rest of my life.

--

Patience.
It's a rather difficult thing, especially when applied to ourselves.  I tend to expect perfection of myself, immediately, even while granting a time of grace and learning to others.

--

Right now I'm in that super fun position of being in a new place, meeting 225 new people.  And with the meet-and-greets at dinnertime comes the inevitable question: "Oh, what are you planning to do after you finish here?"

It's been hard for me to accept that I don't know, and even harder to admit that to others.  But last night, as I told Seminarian 1 sitting to my right that I had taken an unexpected leap of faith in coming here, he smiled and laughed softly.  I prepared myself for mockery, confusion, anything, but instead, I received understanding.  

"Ah," he commented to Seminarian 2.  "We know what leaps of faith look like, don't we?"  And turning back to me, he said, "I took one myself in coming here.  But it's been wonderful, and I'm sure it'll be the same for you."

The Lord rewards our patience, our faithfulness.  For me, He reminds me of that by handing me a job before I asked for one.  He sends me Seminarian 1 at dinner to show compassion for following God's will.
And now He turns and says to me, "Love is patient and kind.  Will you love yourself through virtue?"

Dear Rosa,

It's been a little while since we last talked.  Sorry about that!  I know you heard that I was going back to school this fall - your text indicated that you were surprised.  Well, I am too!

I think the last time we spoke, I was planning to be working as a youth minister after graduation.  As you know, though, God has a funny sense of humor, and sometimes He likes to change things on us.  I'm convinced He does it, for me at least, to make me trust Him more.  Here's the story...

Last fall, I was attending a mandatory workshop for my major entitled "Beauty and Catechesis".  One of our speakers was Dr. Denis McNamara, the assistant director and a professor at the Liturgical Institute.  My interest was peaked because 1) I do a lot with liturgy and 2) I had no idea there was a whole school for Liturgy!  Who knew?  He started with leading us in a chant of morning prayer, then gave an incredible lecture about architecture's link to theology.  As the workshop ended for the day, I remember laughing to a friend: "Maybe I should look into that school.  Haha.  Good joke."  She laughed too, but told me to check it out.

So I did.

Two months later, I finally worked up the courage to send them a message through their contact form.  You can imagine my surprise when it was Dr. McNamara who responded!  Two weeks later, a representative from the school came to Franciscan's campus for a grad school fair.  I walked up to the table and introduced myself, to which he said, "Ah! I hear that you've been emailing us."  Oh no, I thought.  He's heard about me.  But we spoke for 25 minutes, at the end of which I decided to apply.

Flash forward to January.  I set up a date to visit.  I submitted an application.  I began a novena to end on my last day of the visit.  I flew to Chicago and was picked up by a chauffeur (that's an awkward story for another time).  I attended classes, went to a birthday party for someone I'd never met, and fell in love with a snow-filled campus.  I stuck out in the cafeteria (heck, on the entire campus!) because I wore skirts and not suits or clerics.
I finished my novena and received the answer I had prayed for.
When I received my acceptance letter in the mail, I was overjoyed but not surprised.  Too many doors had opened for it not to work out.  But somehow, I couldn't commit.

There was the question of finances.  Was I willing to get into thousands of dollars of debt?
There was the question of community.  Could I study for two years at a seminary, a primarily male campus, with mostly priests and seminarians to spend time with?
There was the question of distance.  Was moving 12 hours from my family something I could actually do?
There was the question of my future.  You see, in February, I had a very sudden realization that I could never actually be a youth minister.  That youth ministry is not at all what I want to spend my life doing.  That even though I have a passion for young people and for giving them the faith, youth ministry is not the way I'm being called to do that.  What was I going to do with this expensive Master's Degree in Liturgy?

And was this God's will?

Slowly, the questions were answered until there were only two left: What would I do at the end, and Did God want me to do this?  Then I received a crystal clear, undeniable answer: This is what God wants of me.

So yes.  I'm moving to Chicago, to Mundelein Seminary, to attend the Liturgical Institute for the next two years.  I hope you come to visit me there!  It's gonna be a crazy adventure, and I'm not quite sure what to expect yet, but I've learned to trust that God will show me in His own timing.

Oh, and no, I still don't know what I'll be doing when I finish.  I'm choosing to believe that I'll find out when I'm supposed to know.  Pray for me!

I'll write again soon!
Vivi d'Amore,
-Allison

This post is part of an ongoing series called Letters to Rosa.  Check out the introduction here and the catalogue of posts here.  Let me know what else you'd like to read about!