Hope-less

So sad. So, so sad. Also, slightly mad, but if I get myself into too much of a rant, I will have a hard time studying. Suffice it to say I think Greg Ryan needs a severe talking-to, Hope Solo needs some ice cream, and Shannon Boxx needs a complete do-over and some severe retribution (the ref needs a career change...I'm completely serious. I think she should follow tradition of refs who red card US women and never work again). Sad because it shouldn't have been so one-sided, because games shouldn't be decided by red cards and own goals, because starting keepers should stay that way, because I really like this team, because I'm not getting up at 3 am to watch a third place finish, because I can't bring myself to root for Brazil, even though I don't want Germany to double up on World Cups.

And sad because even a win couldn't have lifted my spirits enough this week with school weighing me down. I'm so far behind.

At least tomorrow brings a fun birthday party. Good thing I have other people to provide my social life.

Also, I promised a post-Omaha update. Here's the skinny: I'm a super proud big sister because Mary rocks my face off and got two starts and two great games, had a great lunch at the boatyard, good times at Theodore and Wallace's, and the joy of watching the US blank England 3-0, lot of good it did them. All in all, good trip, put me WAY too far behind. Back to work.

Make a joyful noise

Whoa, it's been a rough week. LOTS of studying, lots of stress. But now I'm riding the post-test high, which will continue at least until Monday, because I left before they posted grades, so as far as I know, I honored. Haha, probably not, but at least it's not hanging over my head and I can look forward to the weekend. Holy cow, I'm so excited for Omaha! Soccer homestand, seeing friends and Mary and Michelle, not worrying about school for the weekend. Hazzah! I'll update you on our adventures when I get back, once I've caught up from the school I'm missing. On a bummer note, my bike got squished up in the bike rack and the rear brake is jacked up, so I gotta take that in today to get it fixed. Also today is Kelly's AHS vball game--she's pretty much the star, so I'm excited. What talented family I have.

Last night I had my first night at the Warren Village clinic. We only saw one patient because it was a slow night, but I still enjoyed myself. I still have a lot to learn (or more like a lot to remember, because I already know lots, but I psych myself up and forget it), but it's amazing how much a difference a year makes. I worked with a first year student, and he did great, but it's encouraging to see how far I've come from that deer-in-the-headlights place. I felt totally confident in examining our patient and talking to his mom and grandma, giving shots, etc. He was super cute. I showed him the pupillary reflex on me (he was super interested in all of our tools) and he was like "Whoa! How does it do that?" He drew a cute picture of him being a cop when he grows up, and he wanted Spiderman bandaids for his shots. How could I want to do anything other than pediatrics? What a great job! I'm glad we had a slow night for my first time, and I'm looking forward to going back.

Okay, more after Omaha. Hope you're all doing well.

Whatever it takes

Mike Shanahan is my freaking hero. I know it's a dirty trick, but he successfully iced Janikowski in an unbelievable end to what shouldn't have even been a close game. I watched in disbelief as the team I hate the most in all of professional sports won the game in our house and then had it snatched back from them. I had to call Michelle to make sure it was really happening. But it worked. I can't believe he hit the pole on the second try after nailing a 65-yarder in warm-up. And then Elam once again became the hero (although, like last week, it shouldn't have gotten to the point of needing a hero).

Mary got the start today, and I would very much like to rub it in Bruce's face that when he benches my sister, they lose, and when she starts, they win. At least other people took notice also.

"[S]ophomore transfer Mary Zapapas added two shots on goal in her first start as a Bluejay. 'I thought Mary Zapapas put in a good game for us in the midfield,'" (said head coach Bruce Erikson)."

So I'm watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition, only while I eat dinner, and of course, it's emotional. The mom was shot and paralyzed at about T3 (just below armpit level) while in the line of duty as an LAPD officer. Made me realize how many people sacrifice so much without any recognition. I'm happy to have a reminder every now and then.

Renewal

Really good Mass tonight, always helps to open with a Fr. Roc song. But mostly the readings. About forgiveness and God's relentless pursuit of His loved ones. It still never ceases to amaze me that I am among those. Many times I have been the one He had to go after, when I was lost amid thorns and rocks. And when He finds me, He showers me with mercy, not guilt. Now I feel like one of the 99, and as He goes after another one, we both know that I'm staying put, right where I belong. I had been feeling like maybe my relationship with God was waning because I hadn't had any recent rescues, but now I know that I can be just as much His whether I'm safe in the flock or the subject of His search. And it's much less trying to be safe in the flock. Not to say I won't ever wander off again, but we'll let tomorrow worry about itself. How comforting to know that our Shepherd is constantly after our hearts.

Man will not suffice

I saw “The Jeweler’s Shop” last Saturday, put on by Theophany, a Catholic theater company. I’m wishing I had the play in front of me to read again, and again, and again. A member of the cast said it’s like Scripture—anyone can read it and anyone can get something out of it, but the more you read it, the more you get. Though I had read it before, and certainly got something out of watching it, I was grateful for their comments which they shared after the final act. The second act chorus talks about a fire which ignites with oil, but eventually survives on water, a water which we protect ourselves from by wearing “high-heeled shoes” (even Karol Wojtyla wasn’t beyond laughing at women’s obsessions). The problem is, the fire (love) can and must start with oil (passion), but must ultimately be fed by water (grace), which seems counter-intuitive. How can the two co-exist? Furthermore, we “protect” ourselves from grace by trying to close the gap between men and women out of fear or shame—in Teresa’s case, wearing high heels to make herself closer in height to Andrew—instead of trusting in our complementarity. I know, pretty heavy for something like high heels. What I’m trying to figure out is if our generation is truly deceived into thinking that passion and grace are opposed. Certainly we’ve been influenced greatly by Theology of the Body, which was of course written after this time. Perhaps this was the beginnings of an “adequate anthropology.” Too, I’m amazed at how one man knew so much, could be so much, and do so much. He was philosopher, poet, actor, playwright, outdoorsman, priest. I’m grateful for the influence he has had, for I truly believe that we are the JPII generation, having been encouraged, challenged, and believed in by one of the greatest saints to ever live. Nonetheless, like Christopher and Monica in the final act, we all have our own baggage, our own experiences of love and marriage and family and commitment, our own notions of passion and grace, our own fears about being too short without high heels, about not wanting to get our feet wet, our own desperate hopes for a future of love and forgiveness. “The future depends on love.”

Fudge at altitude

Dad and I hiked Pikes Peak today, which sounds fairly normal to me when I say it, but based on the reaction we got from the dozens of out-of-towners at the top who had driven or taken the railroad up, you'd think we were world class athletes. They were amazed. I even got asked if my CamelBak had oxygen in it. Not to mention the lady that sat next to us and talked, uninvited, for 10 minutes straight, covering topics from the government's involvement in Crazy Horse to her motorcycle accident to the price of visiting national parks to her grandson at the Academy. She barely took a breath and finally her daughter rounded her up so we could get on our way. She, too, was impressed with our hike. "You have to train hard for that, right?" Seriously, not that hard. However, it was a steep, steady hike, 4 hours up, 2 1/2 back, and we were hauling. We did stop for a snack at Devil's Playground, a rock formation that ricochets lightning, and were passed by a young man singing loudly to his ipod, "Will you marry me?" Not joking. And the fudge at the top was delightful. Even without all that, I think this was my favorite hike yet, just perfect going up through the forests, past mountain streams, over boulder fields, gorgeous views the whole way up (no panorama at the top because it's so big, and there's a gift shop blocking the view), etc. I think I stopped every several hundred feet and said, "Wow." God truly outdid Himself when He made Colorado. If anyone wants to go next year, I'm up for a repeat. No oxygen needed.

Buon pranzo

Last night I not only got to meet the legendary Fr. Ken Leone, but I also experienced the closest thing to an authentic Italian dinner this side of Tuscany. It was beyond words, but I will try. At our neighbors', we sat around with wine and hors d'oeuvres chatting while fragrant aromas floated out from the kitchen, which is painted, I kid you not, "Tuscan." Dinner was phenomenal, and passed around the table like it should be--chicken marsala, green beans from the garden, tomato mozzarella salad with fresh basil, real Italian bread (not french bread toasted with garlic salt and butter), and really good red wine. Everything was so perfect, three steps beyond your normal spaghetti-and-meatballs-Italian dinner. Fr. Leone led us in a rather unusual conversation involving the gifts we saw in each other and times we had experienced God's presence, and we closed with a healing prayer service (I love the smell of chrism). But I loved it. The whole experience. I told our hostess I couldn't have gotten a better Italian dinner in Italy, and I meant it. Of course, her family is from Tuscany, so what did you expect? I'm so going there someday, and they're going to plan my trip for me! My heart truly is Italian! Apparently so is my stomach.