Taking Stock of Our Gifts: Writing Papers and Helping Friends

Burr, Sami

Sami Burr

Notre Dame Vision Mentor-in-Faith,
2014 & 2015

University of Notre Dame, Class of 2016

Coming to the University of Notre Dame was a very humbling experience for me. After I moved onto campus, I was constantly blown away by the people that I met. Everyone seemed to be good at everything. When I began to make new friends, I found myself constantly in awe of the impressive things they had accomplished in high school, and what they were doing with their talents at Notre Dame. Sometimes, I felt like I wasn’t impressive enough to really belong, and I found myself overlooking my own gifts.

While focusing on yourself too much can be a problem, something I learned this past year is that you can’t be a good friend without knowing what your own gifts are. Friendship calls us to give of ourselves, and if we’re going to give of ourselves, we have to value ourselves first. We have to recognize what we’re good at. We have to understand that God has given us all unique gifts and talents, and that we bring something meaningful to a friendship. Understanding what our own gifts are is the first step in giving them away.

One night this past semester really helped me to understand how recognizing my own gifts is important. My friend Anna was having a really bad night. She was someone whose intelligence always blew me away. She seemed knowledgeable about practically every subject, she always had intelligent things to add to any conversation and she was acing all her classes. But on this particular night, she had to write an eight page paper that was due the day before. Somehow, she had forgotten about it until it was too late, and now she was going to be up all night writing a paper that was already going to be graded down for being overdue. She asked me to stop by her room, and when I saw her I could tell she was really upset, and ready to fall apart.

My first reaction was surprise. I was surprised that Anna, who was so smart and organized, had gotten into this situation. I was also unsure whether or not I could do anything to help her. She began to tell me about the paper and how much she was struggling, and pretty quickly she started tearing up. I said “Do you just want to cry about it for a while?” She nodded, and I think I was able to help her let go of all the stress and frustration just by giving her permission to cry.

That’s when I realized that there was a reason Anna had asked me to stop by. She knew me well enough to know that I could help her. I remembered that I am really good at handling stress. I’m good at persevering and staying focused on the positive.

It was much easier for me to recognize the talents that Anna had, but I needed to recognize my own gifts in order to help her.

After I had that realization, I began tackling Anna’s situation like I would if it were my own. She cried for a little while. We joked about the situation a bit, because nothing beats stress like laughter. And then I helped her make a reasonable plan for getting the paper finished and getting some sleep. I showed her some of my favorite songs and speeches on Youtube that always inspire me to persevere instead of giving up. When I left her room, she was much calmer, and had begun to feel more confident about the work she was doing again. It gave me so much joy to see that she had let go of some of that stress and frustration so that she could do what she needed to do. (And she did end up writing a brilliant paper, finishing just before her class.)

It was only after Isaints, communion of 2 realized what my own gifts are that I was able to give them to Anna. That night helped me to understand that while it’s important to see the good in others, it’s also important to see the good in yourself. God has given us all unique gifts and talents to give away, but we can’t give them away until we take the time to learn about them. Taking stock of my own gifts has made me a better friend, and it’s made me more confident that I have something to offer the people I love. When we have confidence in who we are and what we have to give, we can build each other up and achieve much more than we ever could on our own. On our faith journeys especially, we need each other’s support. Knowing what your own gifts are means that you can give them away to the people who need them the most.

 

Sami’s Playlist of Motivational Videos:

“That’s How I Beat Shaq” by Aaron Carter

Braveheart Speech

Aragorn at the Black Gate Speech

The End of Beginnings: The New Church Life

Tim O'MalleyWhen I first purchased my home, I learned very quickly about how to care for the rose bushes on the side of our house. In order to let the flowers blossom to their full potential, it was necessary to prune them with some degree of regularity (a lesson I learned the hard way after the first summer).

In an analogous manner, the Center for Liturgy has been responsible for two “growing” publications in the Institute for Church Life, both of which require a bit of pruning. We first started up a blog connecting the celebration of the liturgy to the spiritual life. Quickly, we discovered that Oblation reached an audience that we didn’t know was interested in liturgical prayer: young adults. We grew so large, that we began to publish not simply once or twice a week but daily. In the four years that the blog has been in existence, we have seen significant growth from 15% in year 1 to 40% over the last year. This blog has become a trusted voice in liturgical formation, especially among Millennials, throughout the United States. It has also become a space to feature the insights of the entire Institute for Church Life, in some sense, becoming a project that was much bigger than the Center for Liturgy.

At roughly the same time, we started up an academic publication for the Institute for Church Life, aptly entitled Church Life. This journal has been marked by its beauty, its serious study of the implications of evangelization in pastoral and social life, and for doing non-desk bound theology (Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium, no. 133). Our first issue, with minimal advertising and a somewhat difficult platform for reading, had viewership of 25,000 in the first year alone. We wanted more people to be able to read the pastoral theology of John Cavadini, Cyril O’Regan, Ann Astell, and more. But, the digital platform we used was too clunky, too hard to share.

Beginning last year, with the help of a new communications director, we concluded that it was time to do some pruning of these publications.  Beginning in February, we will be launching a new site (churchlife.nd.edu), which will include:

  1. Four major essays per month, dealing with theological, sociological and cultural themes related to the pastoral life of the Church. If you’re interested in submitting an essay, see our call for papers.
  2. In addition, we will have regular shorter articles that will respond to present events or pastoral needs in the Church today. These shorter pieces will include the voices of regular columnists, as well as occasional contributors from around the globe.
  3. The blog Oblation will cease to exist under that name (old articles will be migrated to the new site) but instead become Church Life’s official blog, still concerned with themes related to young adult spiritual life and often the liturgy. We’ll be publishing on Oblation through the beginning of February. When we transition to our new platform, we will re-direct readers to churchlife.nd.edu.
  4. Lastly, within the next year, we will be launching a series of podcasts and other forms of digital media dealing with preaching, catechesis, liturgy, and the spiritual life.

Through this four-fold approach, the Institute for Church Life will be at the forefront of the academic study of evangelization in the modern world (catechesis, liturgy, preaching, and social action), providing accessible pastoral resources for those in ministry, as well as engaging in the digital acropolis. We see ourselves as writing a new chapter in both the history of Notre Dame, as well as the American Church.

We hope you’ll come and join us.

For updates relative to progress around our journal, visit our Facebook page or follow us on Twitter.

Sincerely,

Timothy P. O’Malley, PhD

Director, Notre Dame Center for Liturgy

Editor, Church Life

 

 

 

365 Days with Christina Rossetti–Day 5

ChristinaRossettiEditors’ Note: Christina Rossetti wrote a devotional entitled Annus Domini: A Prayer for the Days of the Year, Founded on a Text of Holy Scripture (1874). We will be featuring one of her prayers for the next 365 days. 

Day 5

Genesis 31:53: “Jacob sware [sic] by the Fear of his father Isaac.”


O Lord Jesus Christ, Fear of Isaac, teach us sinners, I pray Thee, to fear Thee, and much more to love Thee all the days of our life, until perfect love shall cast out fear. Amen.

 

365 Days with Christina Rossetti–Day 4

ChristinaRossettiEditors’ Note: Christina Rossetti wrote a devotional entitled Annus Domini: A Prayer for the Days of the Year, Founded on a Text of Holy Scripture (1874). We will be featuring one of her prayers for the next 365 days. 

Day 4

Genesis 28:13: I am the Lord God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac.


O Lord Jesus Christ, God of Isaac, grant, I entreat Thee, that as at Thy Word he willingly gave himself up to die, so we may after his example offer to Thee a willing obedience, eating and drinking and doing all things to Thy Glory: and that, having lived unto Thee, we may die unto Thee. Amen.

 

Musical Mystagogy: Conversion of St. Paul

Carolyn Pirtle
Assistant Director, Notre Dame Center for Liturgy

Contact Author

Today we celebrate an unusual feast: the conversion of St. Paul. There are countless stories of other holy men and women who experienced profound conversion: St. Augustine of Hippo, St. Mary of Egypt, St. Francis of Assisi, and in our own day Blessed Oscar Romero and Servant of God Dorothy Day. Indeed, one does not become a saint without experiencing not simply a momentary conversion but a lifetime of conversion, a continual turning away from sin and turning toward Christ. And yet St. Paul’s is the only conversion that appears on the liturgical calendar. Why? Because when Paul left Saul behind—the one who had made it his life’s mission to wipe out Christian communities—the entire trajectory of Christianity changed. After his conversion, Paul became the Apostle to the Gentiles, traveling and teaching and dying for the sake of spreading the faith to all peoples in all corners of the world, and in his epistles, he continues to draw souls to Christ even to this day.

Conversion on the Way to Damascus (Caravaggio, c.1600–1601)
Conversion on the Way to Damascus (Caravaggio, c.1600–1601)

In the first reading for today’s feast, we hear Paul himself relate the story of his encounter with the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus, a scene that has been famously depicted by many artists (twice by Caravaggio alone). In many cases, these paintings focus on the moment in which Saul falls to the ground as the catalytic moment of his conversion. This moment was indeed the beginning: Saul sees a blinding light, falls to the ground, and hears a voice he does not know asking him, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” (Acts 22:7; see also Acts 9:3ff). Yet, this moment was only the beginning. Saul did not rise from the ground as the fully-fledged Apostle to the Gentiles he would become. On the contrary, he was rendered blind and helpless by his encounter with the light of Christ, and it was only with the assistance of his companions that he was able to reach Damascus at all. Then, it was only with the help of Ananias that he regained his sight, discovered the truths of Christianity, and was initiated into the community through Baptism. In other words, Paul’s conversion that we celebrate today was not a just singular moment that could be captured in a painting or a snapshot; rather, beginning from that singular moment, his conversion encompassed a lifetime of turning away from his old ways in order to follow the way of Christ, the way of the Cross.

Felix Mendelssohn, 1809–1847
Felix Mendelssohn, 1809–1847

Felix Mendelssohn’s musical depiction of St. Paul’s conversion in his oratorio Paulus, op. 36 helps to capture this ongoing sense of conversion in a way that perhaps a painting cannot. Musical performance by its nature involves a journey through time, and as such, it can serve as a powerful metaphor for one’s journey through life. The story of St. Paul’s conversion unfolds over several movements in this oratorio, beginning in the fourteenth movement. This movement consists of two parts: in the first part, Acts 9:3–6 is proclaimed in a recitative (sung speech) by a tenor narrator, a baritone (Paul), and a three-part treble chorus (the voice of Jesus). The jagged tenor melody soars at the moment the narrator describes the blinding light. The strings create tension-filled harmonies through a technique called tremolo (literally meaning “trembling”). The hesitant baritone melody conveys the fear that must have overcome Saul. All of these elements work together to create an incredibly dramatic moment, translated from the German below:

And as he journeyed, he came near unto Damascus
when suddenly there shone around him a light from Heaven: and he fell to the Earth;
and he heard a voice saying unto him:

Saul! Saul! Why persecutest thou me?
And he said: Lord! who art thou?
and the Lord said to him:
I am Jesus of Nazareth, whom thou persecutes.

And he said, trembling and astonish’d:
Lord, what wilt thou have me do?

The Lord said to him: Arise and go into the city,
and there thou shalt be told what thou must do.

What is perhaps most striking about this section is the way in which Mendelssohn chose to set the words of Jesus by using a three-part treble chorus, a marked departure from the model set forth by the Passion oratorios of Johann Sebastian Bach (who greatly influenced Mendelssohn), where the words of Jesus were sung by a bass soloist. The effect is stunning: the drama described above melts away as Jesus speaks; the tension is dissolved and the voice of the risen Christ is heard as something utterly luminous, radiant. Whereas in Caravaggio’s paintings we see the light enveloping Saul through the beauty of chiaroscuro, in Mendelssohn’s setting of Jesus’ words, we hear this light pierce through the darkness, and its radiance penetrates the listener’s heart just as it must have penetrated Saul’s. When we hear or read Jesus’ words proclaimed in Scripture, we might interpret his question to Saul as accusatory, as judgmental; but here, these words are set in such a way that we hear Jesus genuinely questioning this lost son of his. This is the Man of Sorrows speaking, the Good Shepherd himself reaching out to a lost sheep so that he might be brought into the fold. In setting the words of Jesus this simple, vulnerable way, Mendelssohn makes a profound theological statement, calling to mind to the self-emptying love of Christ wherein power is made perfect in weakness. In a way, the unexpected vulnerability of this music hearkens back to the Incarnation itself, when the eternal Word stripped himself of glory to be born of the Virgin, as well as the Passion and Death of Jesus, when the Word made flesh emptied himself all the more for our sakes by enduring a horrific and humiliating death in order to redeem the world from sin.

It is this gentle, merciful beauty that attracts, that draws Saul in, that illuminates his heart even as his eyes are blinded; it is the beauty of his encounter with Christ that provides the catalyst to Saul’s conversion. Yet neither Saul’s story nor Mendelssohn’s oratorio ends with this moment of conversion; Saul must arise and follow the command of Jesus by proceeding into Damascus to find Ananias. Saul must become Paul. And to do this, he needs the love of Christ shown forth in the merciful witness of those around him.

It is at this point that Mendelssohn’s music itself turns, transitioning into a triumphant choral response to the narrative that has just unfolded. Throughout the oratorio, the chorus is designated in the score as Stimme der Christenheit, or the Voice of Christendom, and so it gives voice to the Christian community, encouraging Paul on the road toward Christ. The text Mendelssohn set for this movement (Is 60:1–2) also makes a theological statement by providing a beautiful complement to what has preceded it:

Arise, shine! For thy light is come,
and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.

For behold, darkness shall cover the earth,
and gross darkness [thick clouds] the people.

But shall arise upon thee, the Lord,
and his glory shall be seen upon thee.

This is the moment of Paul’s illumination; he has been visited by the very light of Christ, the glory of the Lord has shone upon him, and the Christian community is now exhorting him to arise (as we hear in the glorious ascending melodies) and follow that light (as we hear in the intricate imitation and echoes) so that God’s glory might be seen not only upon him, but through him as well. And for us listening, this music can provide a moment of illumination as well. Just as the Scriptures are never read as a simple story but are proclaimed so that they may take root in our hearts, so too is this music a moment meant to serve as a proclamation, reminding us that we are on our own road to Christ, that we must allow his light to heal our spiritual blindness and be converted ourselves. This music serves as a reminder that, in our Christian journey, we are both Paul and the chorus: called to lifelong conversion and called to encourage others along their path of discipleship.

As we listen to the voice of Christ and the voice of our fellow Christians represented in the chorus, may we pray for the grace of continual conversion for ourselves, and for the conversion of those who continue to persecute Christ in the members of His Body throughout the world. May we hear in this music the radiance of Christ’s light and allow it to permeate our hearts all the more deeply, so that we, like St. Paul, might continue on our journey toward Christ.

St. Paul, pray for us.

365 Days with Christina Rossetti–Day 3

ChristinaRossettiEditors’ Note: Christina Rossetti wrote a devotional entitled Annus Domini: A Prayer for the Days of the Year, Founded on a Text of Holy Scripture (1874). We will be featuring one of her prayers for the next 365 days. 

Day 3

Genesis 26:24

The Lord appeared unto him the same night, and said, I am the God of Abraham thy father: fear not, for I am with thee, and will bless thee.


O Lord Jesus Christ, God of Abraham, Who of stones canst raise up unto him children, give us, I entreat Thee, hearts of flesh instead of hearts of stone; and make us partakers of his faith, that we may be numbered among his children in the true Israel.

 

365 Days with Christina Rossetti–Day 2

ChristinaRossettiEditors’ Note: Christina Rossetti wrote a devotional entitled Annus Domini: A Prayer for the Days of the Year, Founded on a Text of Holy Scripture (1874). We will be featuring one of her prayers for the next 365 days. 

Day 2

Genesis 15:1

I am thy Shield, and thy exceeding great Reward.


 

O Lord Jesus Christ, our exceeding great Reward, make, I pray Thee, earth and her treasures exceedingly small in our eyes: that we may long for Thee most of all, and labour to obtain Thee first of all, and that where Thou art there may also Thy servants be. Amen.

 

On Martyrs and Marchers

Ann AstellSr. Ann Astell

Professor, Notre Dame Department of Theology

Contact Author

Editorial Note: This post was originally delivered as a homily during Vespers on Wednesday, January 20. We are grateful for the author’s permission to publish it here.

Brothers and sisters, in your relations with one another,
clothe yourselves with humility,
because God “is stern with the arrogant
but to the humble he shows kindness.”
Bow humbly before God’s mighty hand,
so that in due time he may lift you high.

Cast all your cares on him because he cares for you.

Stay sober and alert.
Your opponent the devil is prowling like a roaring lion
looking for someone to devour.
Resist him, solid in your faith,
realizing that the brotherhood of believers
is undergoing the same sufferings throughout the world.

The God of all grace,
who called you to his everlasting glory in Christ,
will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish
those who have suffered a little while.
Dominion be his throughout the ages! Amen.
(1 Peter 5:5b–11)

Today is the feast of a martyr, St. Sebastian, who gave his life for Christ in the third century, under the emperor Diocletian. Christian art depicts Sebastian as an alter Christus, muscular, young, bound naked to a post, his body shot full of arrows, as Jesus was nailed to his Cross. The epistle of Peter speaks to Sebastian and to all the martyrs. It rings in their ears: “Your opponent the devil is prowling like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, solid in your faith, realizing that the brotherhood of believers is undergoing the same sufferings throughout the world” (1 Pet 5:–9). A prowling lion! During the reigns of Nero and Diocletian, Christians were literally fed to lions.

Throughout the centuries, however, the epistle’s exhortation sounds in the present tense. When has the age of martyrs ever ended? To Blessed Basil Moreau, C.S.C., who died on January 20, 1873, and whose feast we also observe today—to him too came the call to martyrdom! A martyrdom suffered not with a pagan emperor’s arrows and not through violent death, but through the suppression of the Church in a fiercely laical France. Facing that hostility and the countless challenges that were his as a founder, he looked to the Cross as his—and our—only hope.

We celebrate these Vespers on the eve of the departure of Notre Dame students and faculty who will be traveling to Washington, D.C. to bear witness to the sanctity of human life in the midst of a culture of death. They will end their march at the steps leading up to the Supreme Court Building, where the Roe v. Wade decision was made in 1973, and where an important case with regard to religious liberty and health care is currently being considered. To the Little Sisters of the Poor, their legal defenders, and their co-litigants, the call to martyrdom has also come. Staying “sober and alert,” they have “cast all their care” on the Lord who cares for them, trusting that he “will himself restore, confirm, strengthen and establish those who have suffered a little while” (1 Pet 5:7–8, 10).

According to the epistle we have just heard, Christians undergoing persecution and trial can draw strength from the knowledge that they do not suffer alone, that “the brotherhood of believers is undergoing the same sufferings throughout the world” (1 Pet 5:9). In our day, “throughout the world” brings to mind a litany of place names: Iraq, Iran, Syria, Turkey, Egypt, Pakistan, India, China, the Sudan, Ethiopia, Nigeria, Burundi, Mexico, Brazil, refugee camps in Europe. Everywhere the lion prowls. And everywhere brave souls continue to love, to hope, to confess Christ, to bow humbly beneath the cross, terrible and triumphant, that conforms the Christian to Christ. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!

On this day, January 20, in 1942, Servant of God Joseph Kentenich (1885–1968), a Pallottine priest and the founder of Schoenstatt, celebrated Holy Mass in his prison cell. Soon to be sent to Dachau, where he was to suffer for three and a half years, Fr. Kentenich freely laid down his life in union with Christ during that Eucharist, celebrated alone and in secret, but in spiritual union with his followers, some of whom were already prisoners in the concentration camp. “The brotherhood of believers” (1 Pet 5:9)! Fr. Kentenich’s risk-taking, his trusting “yes” to the Cross, expressed his deep faith in Christ, but also in the mystical body of Christ, the communion of saints. “What I do, what I suffer, how I love, affects others,” he wrote.

Let us live our lives, day by day, in a greater consciousness of our responsibility for one another, in solidarity with the martyrs who suffer not only for Christ but, in Christ, for us.

St. Sebastian, Blessed Basil Moreau, pray for us.

365 Days with Christina Rossetti–Day 1

ChristinaRossettiEditors’ Note: Christina Rossetti wrote a devotional entitled Annus Domini: A Prayer for the Days of the Year, Founded on a Text of Holy Scripture (1874). We will be featuring one of her prayers for the next 365 days. 

Day 1

Genesis 3:15

I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her Seed; It shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise His heel.


O Lord Jesus Christ, Seed of the woman, Thou Who hast bruised the serpent’s head, destroy in us, I entreat Thee, the power of that old serpent the devil. Give us courage to resist him, strength to overcome him; deliver the prey from between his teeth, bid his captives go free; for his kingdom, set up Thy kingdom; and for the death he brought in, bring Thou in life everlasting. Amen.

Made Perfect in the Image of God

Tully, ErinErin Tully

Notre Dame Vision Mentor-in-Faith 2014

University of Notre Dame,
Class of 2016

I really hate the word “perfect.”  Perhaps it is because I see it as an unattainable goal, or perhaps because I let that goal complicate so many years of my life.  (As a disclaimer, this is not meant to be a Gretchen Wieners apology from Mean Girls.  I am trying to tell you I’m perfect and popular and I’m sorry you’re all jealous.  If I do come across that way, I would definitely not deserve to be caught if I did a trust fall with all the girls in my class.)

I grew up with my best friends from kindergarten on.  We were a bunch of goofballs and weird-o’s, not caring how we looked, and being told in eighth grade that we were “too immature to be pretty”.  We didn’t mind; we were happy and innocent.  We had fun and we had each other.

But when it came time for high school, I decided I wanted to be something more.  I wanted to be liked by everyone, have a lot of friends, and have that high school experience that everyone had told me would be the best four years of my life.  Well, I got to high school and decided to create myself anew.  I thought,

“I should start wearing makeup and caring about my hair…Perfect.”

“I’ll work hard in school to make my parents proud…Number one in the class!…Perfect.”

“I should start having big parties at my house.

Maybe people will like me for having a nice house and cool parents…Perfect.”

[ File # csp1751585, License # 1306723 ] Licensed through http://www.canstockphoto.com in accordance with the End User License Agreement (http://www.canstockphoto.com/legal.php) (c) Can Stock Photo Inc. / wacker

“The coolest people in class like to drink…I guess I will too…Perfect.”

“John said he loves me! I’ll just keeping doing whatever he wants so I can be cool and have a boyfriend…Perfect?”

“Oh and let’s not forget my faith.  I’ll just go to Mass even though I barely pay attention…Perfect”.

I had done it.  I attempted to perfect everything about myself so that I could have friends and be well liked.  I spent every day of high school maintaining an image of perfection – I was the girl who had everything together.  The perfect life, perfect family, perfect friends, perfect grades, and perfect faith.  But towards the end of high school, when my closest friends said, “Oh Erin, you wouldn’t understand because your life is so perfect,” why did I cringe?

Hearing the word perfect was like a sour note in a song.  My life was not perfect.  Insecurity, the feeling of inadequacy, difficulties finding and believing in God, broken relationships with my sister, drinking myself to the point of blacking out, failed attempts at relationships, mistaking love for lust, losing part of myself I promised I would never lose – that’s how I saw my life.  I didn’t actually believe I was perfect, but apparently everyone else did.  I put on an appearance of having it all together and wore a smile to block out how I really felt.  If I appeared perfectly put together, then people would like me, right?  It was not until the end of my senior year of high school that I realized how destructive and hurtful my outward appearance had become.

I went on KairosKairos retreat in the spring of my senior year.  I was really excited because I had heard so many great stories of new friendships, forgiveness, and grace.  My small group in Kairos was filled with members of my class I had never really gotten to know.  During the retreat, I dropped the “perfect” act, and simply talked with people.  I didn’t care about appearances for once, and it felt amazing!

One night, we talked about judgment.  A boy named Joey told me that he had never met me, but he had always hated me.  I seemed like the classic mean girl and a stuck up snob.  There was no way I could be a nice person with the appearance I worked so hard to uphold.  Joey’s revelation shocked me.  And I was more shocked to realize Joey was not the only person who felt this way.  People I barely knew found me irritating.  My closest friends had watched me become superficial and I could feel our friendship dwindling.  Even my younger sister who I had considered my best friend could not stand me.  She felt overshadowed and resented who I had become.

But it was then that I came to realize that the person Joey hated was not who I was at all.  I had worked so hard to be someone everyone would like; yet this very person was someone no one could stand.  Outside I appeared put-together, but inside I was falling apart.  By covering all my insecurities and dissatisfaction with myself with an image of “the perfect girl,” I lost myself.  I damaged relationships and prevented the fostering of new ones.  I had wasted the “best years of my life” trying so hard to be someone everyone would like, while all along I drove them all to despise me.  If I had just let people see the broken girl, sad girl, insecure girl, and imperfect girl, I would have learned what true relationship, friendship, and faith meant.

In the last months of my senior year, I tried as hard as I could to repair the broken relationships I had created.  I gave up the perfect act, and just tried to be Erin.  Erin who likes Chemistry, figure skates, sings off key with her sister, quotes Spongebob too much, makes a fool of herself with her friends, and who has made far beyond her share of mistakes.  Erin who desires God’s love and relationships that reflect it, but has fallen short of those many times.   Erin who is so, so, so far from perfect, and who can finally learn to accept it.

Perhaps I am like Cady Heron, although I did not write in a burn book or try to destroy the reputation of Regina George.  But like Cady, I tried to become someone I wasn’t.  I tried to make friends and get guys to like me by completely forgetting who I was.  I gave up the amazing friends who were there from the beginning to achieve popularity and mold myself into a distorted image of perfection.

Maybe I don’t hate the word “perfect;” I just hate the way I used it.  If you think about it, we are all perfect because we are each images of God.  Every little thing about myself I didn’t like and tried to cover up, was already perfect because God made me that way.  Hiding myself got me nowhere.  Accepting myself is still a work in progress, but I think it’s the way to go.  For the Chemistry nerds, the star students, the students who don’t really think school is their thing, the leaders, the followers, the introverts, the extroverts, the Gretchen Wieners, the Cady Herons, and the people who still don’t know who they are, I hope this can be a story of self-acceptance, self-appreciation, and self-love.  Perfection is everywhere in this world and in all of us.  We just need to have our eyes open to find it and our hearts open to accept it.

Notre Dame Center for Liturgy, Institute for Church Life

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