Maybe I’m Amazed

By Janice Lane Palko

Do you collect anything? Aside from the occasional Christmas ornament I pick up whenever I travel to a new destination, I don’t collect anything material. However, I do have a collection of intangible treasures that I regard as priceless.

One gem is the first time I saw a shooting star. I was probably eleven years old, and we were at a picnic playing hide and seek. As the call of “Olly olly oxen free” went up, I emerged from my hiding place to run across a dark field to home base, when on the horizon before me, a shooting star streaked across the sky. I was so amazed by the sight that I stopped short and stood in the black field with my mouth gaping in awe.

Another gem I collected twelve years ago while on a cruise in the Caribbean with my family. It was that magical time of day when it’s still light but the sun is sinking and everything drips with melting gold. There were several other ships in port in St. Maarten with us, and as evening drew near, one-by-one the ships left for the open sea. The water was flat and the wind was nil. As my dad and I stood at the rail on the upper deck, we watched as each ship sailed into the setting sun. But what I will never forget is how each of their wakes left a golden filigree on the placid surface of the sea for miles.

I picked up another treasure several years ago while on another cruise–this time near Mexico. After spending the afternoon in port, we came back to our room to recuperate before getting ready for dinner. While my husband and son lounged in our cabin, I went out onto the small veranda off our room, sat in the lounge chair, and closed my eyes to relax. As I was dozing, I was awakened by the sound of several shipmates on the decks above and below me shouting, “Whale!” I glanced to my right, and there beside the ship was this enormous whale leaping out of the ocean. I couldn’t get to my feet fast enough to open the cabin door and yell, “Come quick. There’s a whale!” As my family watched this sleek whale put on a show, I looked above and below us. Hundreds of passengers had gathered on the verandas of the various decks. There were so many people lining the rails on this side of the ship, it was a wonder we didn’t tip.

Just last month, I added a new treasure to my collection. We had tickets to see U2 at Pittsburgh’s Heinz Field. It was rather chilly for June. And cloudy, but that is not unusual for Pittsburgh. We had cheap seats, high in the upper deck, but as they gave a glorious view of Pittsburgh’s skyline, I didn’t mind sitting up that high. But what really impressed me was something that happened moments before U2 took the stage. Although it was not raining anywhere in sight, a red rainbow formed over the field and terminated above where the group would soon appear. Now, I’ve seen many rainbows, but this was unusual because there was no precipitation and because you could not see any other colors of the spectrum but red against the leaden sky.

Red Rainbow

It seemed that everyone saw the phenomenon at once as a gasp arose from the crowd and thousands of cell phones were held aloft to capture the beautiful sight. The red rainbow stayed for several minutes, and then before it faded, it cast its light on the surrounding clouds turning them a rosy pink. Sure, U2 was good, but I’ll never forget that red rainbow.

I can’t remember where I read this, but someone once observed that humans are continuously fascinated by God’s handiwork but easily become bored with things made by human hands. Case in point. If you grew up during the 1960s and 70s, you may remember the nation’s fascination with the space program. People clustered around their televisions to watch Neil Armstrong walk on the moon, but with each successive trip into space, less and less people paid attention. Yet, people never get bored with watching something as simple as a sunset.

Why does that happen? Clearly, there is something embedded in the human soul that longs for the Divine. The summer provides us with more opportunities to be out in nature and to observe God at work in His creation. Keep your eyes open. It may be something as simple as a hummingbird buzzing your garden or as spectacular as bioluminescent ocean waves pounding a beach or the flash of the Northern Lights that give you a glimpse of His glory. You never know what treasure He may cast before you that will spark your sense of amazement and that will become a cherished addition to your treasure chest.

Running for the End Zone

By Janice Lane Palko

I recently celebrated my birthday. Now that I’m past the fifty-yard line of life and heading to the end zone, I can no longer deny that I am aging. When I was in my twenties and thirties, I could ignore the subtle signs of the advancing clock, and in my forties, platitudes like “forty is the new thirty” provided a flimsy veil of denial that I was growing older. However, when you hit your fifties, your children are grown, you are now called grandma, and conversations with friends gravitate toward aging parents, physical ailments, and possible retirement dates, there is no denying the obvious: I am getting older.

Many of us take a passive approach to our advancing years, believing that how one ages is out of one’s control–that it’s something that just happens to you. Others go into warrior mode and fight the “dying of the light” with hair plugs, Botox, and sundry other remedies in an attempt to vanquish the inevitable. This birthday spurred me to examine how I wanted to age. I decided I didn’t want to take the “curl up and die” approach and surrender to Father Time, but I also decided that I didn’t want to take the “aging rock star” approach and look foolish trying to cling to my youth at all cost. So how to approach this process of growing older? The second chapter of Luke’s Gospel provides the prescription. This last line jumped out at me as this chapter concludes: And Jesus increased in wisdom, and age, and grace with God and men.

It may seem odd talking about growing older when considering the immortality of Jesus. Though human and divine at the same time, Jesus, nevertheless, did age in body as is evident from his progression from birth as an infant to his culmination as an adult man in his thirties. Therefore, Jesus knew what it was to grow older, and as in all things, He provides the example for all humanity. This verse from Luke is His prescriptive on aging, and it implies that it should be an active, deliberative process that includes three aspects.

The first aspect is to grow in wisdom. To age following Jesus’s example, we must actively pursue wisdom. What exactly is wisdom? Proverbs 9: 10 tells us that “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Fear in this sense does not mean wariness of God, but of a healthy knowledge of His magnificence and our place and God’s place in His grand design. To acquire wisdom is not to gain knowledge but to be always persevering to know God and know ourselves in relation to Him.

The second aspect is to grow in age. While we know that Jesus advanced in years, many commentaries say that this phrase actually means to mature. Not only did Jesus grow in wisdom, but he flourished into our Savoir. What does it mean to mature? It means to become what God intended you to be, to embrace and fulfill your mission on earth. So, we are not only to gain knowledge of God and ourselves, but we are also to channel that wisdom into serving God by becoming exactly who He intended us to be.

Finally, we must grow in grace. Now, if Jesus is perfect, he could not have grown in grace as we usually think of it. Most biblical scholars take this passage to mean that Jesus performed greater and greater works for men and for God. Therefore, to follow in Jesus’s example, we must continue to acquire knowledge of God and ourselves and strive to fulfill our mission on earth. However, unlike Christ we are not perfected in grace. As such, we must rely on God to help us do greater and greater works in His name.

So, our golden years are designed not to be a passive time of acceptance of the elapsing years or an unreasonable attachment to bodily youth, but to enjoy a dynamic time of continued growth and development. We are to continue our run all the way to the end zone—perhaps with flagging physical strength and failing breath—but, nevertheless, with a vibrant spirit filled with wisdom, maturity, and grace.

Pick up the Orange

By Janice Lane Palko

Some people receive profound promptings from the Holy Spirit. Me? I get messages like “pick up the orange.”

A few weeks ago, I walked into my local grocery store and saw a woman select some oranges and put them in a plastic bag. As she walked away out of the corner of my eye, I saw an orange fall from the display and roll across the floor.

You should pick up the orange, said that still small voice.

Instantly, I began rationalizing. I didn’t dislodge the orange. Why should I pick it up? They have stock boys to do that. I’ll look stupid, like I have OCD or something, if I pick it up and put it back where it belongs. Let somebody else do it.

Then my better nature joined the debate. Will it kill you to pick up an orange? Geez, Mother Teresa picked up dying people from the streets, and you’re freaking out over an orange. How shallow are you? Who cares what people think? Someone may trip over it. You will be doing a good deed, no matter how insignificant.

So, I pushed my grocery cart over, picked up the orange, and put it back in the display. But then something else happened.

As I was about to press on with my grocery shopping, I caught a glimpse of a woman to my side bend and pick up another orange, one that I hadn’t even noticed had escaped with the other orange, and replace it in the display.

I was astounded. This woman was following my example.

That little interlude set me to thinking about life, and for those of us who write, about what our toils to turn a phrase may mean in the big scheme of things.

Several months ago, fellow CWG member Cathy Gilmore posted an article from the Catholic News Agency titled The Catholic Church Desperately Needs Artists by Mary Rezac. It detailed how the world so sorely needs creative people who can bring beauty and truth to the culture.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been writing for more than twenty years, and the monetary return on my artistic endeavors has yet to land me a summer home at the beach, a six-figure deal, or a stint on Oprah.

I attend a weekly Bible study, and shortly after the orange incident, our leader asked us to share our all-time favorite inspirational books. One woman recommended He and I by Gabrielle Bossis, a French, Catholic woman who lived from 1874-1950. He and I chronicles the interior conversation she and God shared. When she was putting these conversations on paper, Bossis didn’t know that after her death, they would be published, translated into many languages, and cherished by so many readers.

At times, it may be frustrating when we think of how much time and effort we put into our literary endeavors compared to the remuneration we receive in turn. However, I don’t, and I’m sure many of you don’t, write solely for financial gain. Then, take heart, fellow creatives. Though we may never know the extent of our influence, like Bossis, our work may do good long after we are gone.

I don’t know if God intends for me to be a best-selling author or not. But what I do know is that I’ll be fine with whatever magnitude of success I achieve. I’ll continue to write and strive to bring beauty and truth to the world through my work with the hope of glorifying God.

I may be only a stepping stone for someone who comes after me, a toehold for another writer on their climb to achieving loftier success in reviving what has been a hallmark of the Catholic Church throughout its existence: excellence in artistic expression for the glory of God.

Therefore, as this new year begins, I’m going to pick up that orange and keep on writing. I urge you to do the same. You never know who is watching us or reading works or being inspired by our example. We don’t know who may decide to follow us, who may bend down to pick up that orange we didn’t even realize had also rolled away.

Faith on the Edge of a Cliff – Thoughts of a Wyoming Catholic College Student – Episode 3

Last month in my blog series on my journey to Wyoming Catholic College, I explained the purpose and benefit of a Great Books curriculum. This month, I offer a reflection on WCC’s outdoor program—one of the school’s most distinctive and essential elements.

Image courtesy of Wyoming Catholic College

Image courtesy of Wyoming Catholic College

Three years ago my family took a vacation to Yellowstone Park. That was one my first times out West, and the first time I’d been to Wyoming. During the road trip and our hikes through the park, I found myself stunned by the beauty of the land—a pristine, craggy, wild kind of beauty, totally new to my Chicago-suburb eyes. In short, I fell in love. On our last day in Yellowstone, this is what I wrote in my journal:

“Once God’s finger touched this land, and the earth still sings and trembles with that glory. It sings of open grass, of tumbled rocks and sagebrush, in thin gold-green tones as high as wind. It sings of rivers, lazy and brilliant among the meadows, rushing and deep foam-flecked green between the cliffs, in strains strong and ever-flowing. It sings of pines and pine-shadows with somber, tall, fragrant, mysterious notes. And last but reaching above all else is the song of the mountains—keen, stirring, cragged and snow-capped, draped in the pines and calling…calling in their great deep voices, stern and irresistible as distant bells. Tolling out a fell and beautiful song…this, this, this is the voice of the land. It is a song you must hear with all your being. So hear the song, and sing back a hymn, to complete the harmony of Creation, and its Supreme God.”

Little did I suspect that I would be returning to Wyoming for four years of college!

The mountains and rivers are an integral part of the curriculum at Wyoming Catholic College, just as much as the Great Books. Nature is “God’s First Book,” from which students learn the lessons of wonder, humility, and leadership. In fact, the freshman orientation is a 21-day backpacking trip in the Rocky Mountains.

Yes, it’s required. And yes, I am nervous. But more than that, I am looking forward to the challenge and the beauty and the experience. For I already know how well it works. Last year I attended a two-week summer program at the college, which included a weekend backpacking trip.

First of all, there’s nothing that tastes as good as a meal you’ve cooked yourself after hiking three or four (or more) miles on a rough mountain trail. And there aren’t many things cooler than standing around a bonfire under a starry summer sky in the middle of nowhere, singing folk songs and Gregorian chant with your friends.

To be serious, though, I had profound experiences of both wonder and humility during that summer camp. I found myself inspired, challenged, and changed—broken open, thrust into new horizons, discovering weaknesses I’d hidden and growing in new strengths. And that was just two weeks. Now I get to spend four years steeping myself in this life-changing beauty.

If I tried to list all the encounters with wonder I had during those weeks, this would be a very long blog post. Fortunately, I do have a favorite experience to share. One of the college chaplains came out with us on the weekend backpacking trip to celebrate Mass. Sunday morning found the forty of us kneeling on a massive rock which rose above the pines and the sagebrush, while the priest celebrated the liturgy from a boulder-turned-altar. The rock scraped my knees and the July sun glared in my eyes, but I felt more focused than I had during any of the Masses I’d attended in church that week. This rock was God’s altar, this brilliant sky His cathedral. I was saturated in delight and wonder.

My experiences of humility were not always as pleasant as my encounters with wonder, but they were equally valuable. I’m an introvert-perfectionist, so I hate acting stupid or admitting my flaws. But the wilderness exposes spiritual weaknesses just as it challenges physical ones. I will never forget the day my group went rappelling in Sinks Canyon. After teaching us the technique for traditional rappelling (climbing down a cliff backwards in a rope and harness), our instructors offered us the chance to try it “Australian style” (a.k.a., “defying every single human instinct relating to the law of gravity”).

Me (in orange) beginning to freak out! Photo by Grace Pfeifer.

Me (in orange) beginning to freak out! Photo by Grace Pfeifer.

I was either feeling very brave or very overconfident. I found myself walking down a cliff headfirst, with the harness pressing into my stomach so that I could barely breathe. More than once I panicked, slipped, and fell dangling against the cliff face. Only with the firm guidance of my ground team did I finally reach the bottom. I was exhausted, bruised, and rawly humiliated. But I was also extremely grateful for my ground team. I realized that if I relaxed and trusted my teachers and teammates, I could not only live through a terrifying experience like Australian rappelling, but I could also grow from it.

I have yet to learn leadership from WCC’s outdoor trips, but I will soon. At some point during the three weeks of the freshman orientation, I will be in charge of my group for at least one day—planning the route and making the decisions. The rest of the time, I’ll have to be a cooperative and active follower—which, for an introvert-perfectionist, may not always be easy, either!

The purpose of WCC’s freshman orientation, to my mind, is a sort of a baptism by fire. Right from the start, the students are challenged, thrust beyond their comfort zone, and taught the importance of virtue in a real-life situation. The lessons of wonder, humility, and leadership I’ll learn won’t be confined to the outdoors—I’ll bring them back to the classroom, my relationships, and my whole life.

I’ll see you in God’s country.

 

Faith on the Edge of a Cliff: Thoughts of a Wyoming Catholic College Student – Episode 1

 

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Introduction

He knew a path that wanted walking;

He knew a spring that wanted drinking;

A thought that wanted further thinking;

A love that wanted re-renewing.

~ Robert Frost, from “A Lone Striker”

In just two months, I will be striking out on my own. I will be leaving the Chicago area which I’ve called home for the entire eighteen years of my life. I’m shaking off these suburbs and skyscrapers. I’m headed westward, pioneer-style. Like the man in Frost’s poem above, I know a path that wants walking, a thought that wants thinking, a love that wants re-renewing.

In short, I’m going to Wyoming Catholic College.

I will be a freshman at Wyoming Catholic this August. But my journey to this new and unique Catholic school began long before that. Over the next couple of months, I’d like to share a few insights and reflections I’ve gained in my college search and preparation. It is my hope that this series will provide some timely thoughts on Catholic education, from the eyewitness viewpoint of a Catholic college student and aspiring writer. The Holy Spirit has truly led me to Wyoming Catholic. My only response can be to look back on the road so far, and praise Him.

The Calling

It was April 2013, the spring of my junior year of high school. The specter of college education had just begun to loom on my horizon, distant but still daunting—daunting, because, like many high school juniors and seniors, I had no clear idea what I wanted to do.

I had been given a quasi-classical, Catholic homeschool education since the age of four. What I had discovered over the years since then, was that I liked learning—especially the craft of words. I possessed a strong poetic streak and a penchant for weaving stories. I felt called to be an author.

My path should have been clear enough—go to a good liberal arts college, major in English or Creative Writing, land a job somewhere in the writing and publishing industry, and viola—my first novel would be right around the corner. Nevertheless, throughout high school I kept experiencing an odd, nagging feeling, that it wouldn’t be enough. As I fished through the growing pile of college brochures on my bedroom floor, nothing, not even the liberal arts schools, strongly attracted me. Something, among the ubiquitous boasts of the number of majors, the small class sizes, and the percentages of successful alumni—something was missing.

Meanwhile, during my junior year, I was enjoying my high school academics more than ever before. My parents, in the classical homeschool method, directed me towards the Great Books. I began to spend time with some of the greatest minds in Western history—Cervantes, Descartes, Milton, the American founding fathers, to name a very few. As I read their timeless works, I wrote summaries, asked questions, and reflected. I found that I loved finding the threads that connected these books to the absolutes of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. The wisdom of the Great Books—combined with the religious education I received from my parents—began nourishing not only my schoolwork, but my whole life and thought.

In April of 2013, a lightning-bolt of realization stunned me. I had to go to a Great Books college. There was no question about it. I needed to attend a school which primarily cultivated not what I would do for a job, but who I would be as a person. (Of course, the job aspect is important as well, but not one that I can address here in full. For now, let me put it this way: the discovery of the human essence comes first. Profession comes second.)

Enthused, I dove into my college search with a new vigor. Fortunately—considering the miniscule number of Great Books colleges in the country—it didn’t take me long to stumble across Wyoming Catholic College.

Wyoming Catholic is tiny. It’s less than ten years old. Enrollment, though growing, is currently fewer than 150 students. It does not yet have its own permanent campus, and it’s tucked in a little Western town called Lander at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. And yet, the day I explored their website, I became convinced that this was where I needed, wanted, desperately desired to go.

Wyoming Catholic possesses a unique, three-fold identity that might be outlined as Catholicism, Great Books, and Wilderness. The school’s mission statement attests:

“Wyoming Catholic College is a four-year college committed to offering a liberal arts education that steeps its students in the awesome beauty of our created, natural world and imbues them with the best that has been thought and said in Western civilization, including the moral and intellectual heritage of the Catholic Church. The College strives to promote a love of learning, an understanding of the natural order, and the quest for virtuous living so that its graduates will assume their responsibilities as citizens in a free society.”

This college spoke to my heart and soul in a way no school ever had before. I had discovered the path that wanted walking, the love that wanted re-renewing. My grand adventure had begun.

Further Links

For an introduction to the classical education method, read this essay by historian and classical homeschool teacher Susan Wise Bauer.

For readers interested in learning more about Wyoming Catholic, visit their website at www.wyomingcatholiccollege.com. Their short film, “Everything in Excellence”, is an especially beautiful introduction to their mission and method.

Editor’s Notes:  In the past few months we have seen the writing and editing talent of Mary Woods blossom.  Now we are losing her to Wyoming.   BUT all is not going to be missing.  As a young lady with a deep faith she will be checking in with a monthly commentary about her adventures.  Her faith and talent are striking out into the real world.  Her faith will be tested and stretched, her talent molded.   She will be “on an edge” more likely every now and then.   Part of the curriculum is actually rock climbing!   We are lucky to be sharing this adventure with her and send her along with prayers and love.  Thank you Mary for your generosity.   KC