whoa! here it comes!

There is so much to say and not enough time to write it all! I'm due to move some of my stuff into my new place within the hour (depending on when I receive a series of phone calls) so this is not exactly the best time to try to talk about the last two weeks of life. There is much learning going on and much to be learned! I'll update soon...

another week of miraculous...and the last one starts tomorrow

Well, it seems that it's all winding down. Tomorrow, I will head into the last week of the summer 2008 season at Lions Camp, and no doubt my final week ever at those 440 acres of heaven, save for a volunteer opportunity here and there in my "grown up life." It's hard to imagine that I've spent four entire summers at that place, approximately 48 weeks of my life, serving children of special needs and giving them the experience of a lifetime, each summer for little pay but endless rewards in the end. And it's even harder to fathom that my career there will no doubt end on Thursday. Most of me feels ready to say goodbye a final time, yet I fear that the final drive away from camp, whether it be Thursday night or Friday morning, will no doubt be sentimental and very nostalgic. The summers I spent at camp were so formative to these critical years in my life. It was at camp that I, in 2004 an awkward 18-year-old, was able to break out of my shell and attempt to provide a unique and memorable camping experience for each child I met. Camp has done so much for me; sometimes I tell myself that camp has given me so much more than I could have ever done in return. In part because of camp, I feel I've grown in confidence, maturity, problem solving, professionalism, the list goes on. Because of the 440-acre bubble, I feel I've in some part been prepared to face the "real world" and all its challenges head-on. Of course, there have also been practical lessons - I've finally learned how to properly use a plunger (long, disgusting story), drive a tractor, and speak to complete strangers on a telephone. Yet I feel the emotional and professional lessons strongly outweigh any of those practical tools I now have because of camp. It is 440 acres of frustrating, anxiety-producing, tearjerking wonder. But it is also 440 acres of unforgettable lessons and memories that will certainly be difficult to leave. In the camp office, a place I frequent multiple times each day, there is a poster on the back of one of the doors with a quote I've tried to take to heart for the past two summers. The gist of the quote is this, re-worded a bit for simplicity's sake: "I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. " - Ettiene De Grellet

john paul wisdom

Two quotes I found from JP2 as I scoured through my belongings this week, that I wanted to save somewhere virtual.....  

Now I would like to tell you of something personal. With the passing of time, the most important and beautiful thing for me remains the fact that I have been a priest for more than fifty years, because everyday I can celebrate Holy Mass! The Eucharist is the secret of my day. It gives strength and meaning to all my activities of service to the Church and to the whole world. - General Audience, October 8, 1997  

Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is ... an important daily practice and becomes an inexhaustible source of holiness ... It is please to spend time with (Christ), to lie close to his breast like the Beloved Disciple and to feel the infinite love present in his heart.
- The Church and the Eucharist

He's been gone for nearly three and a half years, and yet he's still teaching me. And I figure I still have plenty more to learn from him.

oliver

I just finished reading Marley & Me, a biographical account of the author, John Grogan's, thirteen-year relationship with his dog, for the second time. I read it the first time, fittingly, a month after we put our beloved family dog, Oliver, to sleep after fifteen wonderful years of life at our sides. As I read, laughing more and more with each page turn, I knew certainly that the wonderful tale would eventually end with Marley's demise. I was in Boston as I finished the book, visiting the city with a friend, and we stayed with her extended family for about five days. The night I finished, we had gone to Harvard Square for dinner and returned to relax the rest of the night away. I had to excuse myself from the group, explaining, "I have to find out what will happen to Marley." And so I read the final few chapters, tears welling in my eyes as I recalled my family's heartache a month earlier, eerily similar to Grogan's goodbye with Marley. My red-rimmed eyes gave away my emotional state, as I returned to my friend and her family, saying simply, "Marley died." Grogan's heartfelt account of the death of his family dog had moved me, somewhat surprisingly, to tears. I can completely level with John Grogan. Throughout the book he described Marley as a thundering lug of a canine, the "world's worst dog," with more transgressions than achievements in his thirteen years of life. 

I often thought this way of Oliver, the small little pooch who licked himself silly, his spitty little noises driving me bonkers enough to leave the room frequently. Oliver, who never wore a collar and instead, in his puppy years, used it as a chew toy. Oliver, who shuddered at the sound of our play tambourine and daily perched atop his "Oliver chair" to stare at the birds out the living room window. Oliver, who for most of his life I couldn't stand for more reasons than one. But once he was gone, for good, I missed him terribly. I still miss him, oddly enough. There are times I'll be in our house, and something still won't feel just right. The house won't feel right without an annoying eighteen-pound Lhasa Apso trying to find his way onto the couch. A part of me will still listen for his little nails clicking on the wooden kitchen floor. More than two years after we said goodbye, part of me still can't believe he's gone. 

John Grogan had his Marley; we had our Oliver. Funny how a four-legged beast can be the common denominator between so many strangers on this planet. And if only all things in the world were so simple as the friendship between man and dog.

this difficult little slice of heaven

Before my whirlwind year as a campus missionary begins in full in a little less than a month, I will complete my fourth (and no doubt final) summer on staff at the Wisconsin Lions Camp. In years' past I have described those 440 acres of property as a slice of heaven, a place where the outside world stands still and all that matters is that the dozens of children at camp that week have an awesome time. When I'm at camp, immersed in my work there, it doesn't matter who's running for president or what stock market is plummeting that week. What matters while I'm at camp is combatting this camper's homesickness, or spending time with that group of campers who are playing in the swimming area. None of the rest of the world matters, and to me, that oblivion is treasured. This year, it's been hard. I don't know what it is about this year, but it's been a difficult slice of heaven to savor at times. There have been a fair share of my own personal struggles this year while at summer camp - perhaps it's the anxiety for what awaits me in the fall, perhaps it's other, outside factors, perhaps it has a lot to do with the separation from my family in what has been several trying months. Whatever it is, this summer has been a challenge, and this summer I've learned that it's those little moments - peeking in on a cabin, only to be invited to hear a bedtime story, teaching a younger camper a favorite song at the dance, or helping a child without sight experience the camp world to the extent he can - that make this experience entirely worth it. Sure, it's been a struggle. Sure, there have been times I've failed miserably or had my confidence entirely shaken. There's been hurt, there have been tears. But if I can provide just a moment of happiness for one child, in one week - my mission has been accomplished this summer. If I can rise above my challenges with this difficult slice of heaven and bring a memorable experience to even just one camper, my job will have been entirely worth it. And it's those little confirmations of campers' happiness - the smiles, the "I-don't-want-to-leave-camp" Friday conversations, the "thanks-for-everything" goodbyes, that remind me why I've returned to this difficult little slice of heaven for four summers. In my own selfish sense, I feel my small contributions to these children contribute in part to God's work on earth. The time, the effort, the energy I expound on these kids, however grudgingly some days, is, in a sense, doing the work of God on earth. I've been His hands, His feet, His voice, His ears, His eyes, to hundreds of children for four amazing summers. And this belief, which I often have to remind myself to keep at my core when things get really tough - is another reason I return to this slice of heaven. It is my prayer this week, as I retreat from camp for seven days to focus on moving to Madison and beginning my missionary work this fall, that I will stay true to these innermost beliefs of the past four summers and close out my work at camp as best I can as His feet, His eyes, His ears, His voice. "Christ has no body but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks Compassion on this world, Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good, Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, Yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours." - St. Teresa of Avila

Praise to thee, our alma mater....

Three years and nine months ago, I embarked on my collegiate journey, which started with awkward conversation, memorable late nights, and the promise of four academic years in which I could study what I wanted in preparation for eventual further studies. Today, that journey - complete with all the uncertainty, all the anxiety, and all the triumph - culminated in the one hundred and fifty fifth Commencement Exercises at the University of Wisconsin, in which I participated. Everything seemed so surreal leading up to today - taking the last exam of my undergraduate career, picking up my cap and gown, celebrating my imminent graduation with family and friends at a small gathering outside of town yesterday afternoon. The most surreal part of all of this was the walk to the Kohl Center today with my roommates - three of us clad in caps and gowns, ready to partake in the upcoming ceremonies. There were times walking the bike path to the arena where I took a deep breath and thought to myself, "This is all actually happening. I'm walking to my collegiate graduation - is it even possible?" And then, a mere two hours later............it happened. I took to the stage and shook the Chancellor's hand and just like that, it was over. As the graduates piled out of the Kohl Center to meet their families, Professor Mike Leckrone led the UW Band in playing "The Bud Song," better known as the catchy tune from the Fifth Quarter that ends with the famous line, "When you say Wisconsin, you've said it all!" As the band played and the graduates left and the arena cleared out slowly, I stood to the side of the exit, taking in that last hurrah as an undergraduate, listening to that famous anthem that I've heard time and time again in my nearly four years as a student here. And that's when the nostalgia kicked in and I realized how much I will truly miss the four years I spent here as a student. "When you say Wisconsin, you've said it all...."

Two UW-Madison alumni - Grandpa (Pharmacy Class of '56) and me (Letters and Science Class of '08)

What exactly is the "and then what?"

Hello all, and welcome to my feeble attempt at a blog. 

It is my hope to keep updating this blog somewhat regularly, so anyone who might read it (friends, family, random people from the blogosphere) can get the frank, candid update about what's going on in my life. So often I'm asked that fateful questions: "What are you doing? What do you plan to do? What's on your plate for the next year?" Well, it's with this blog that I hope, however indirectly, to answer some of those questions. 

I thought I'd start off the blog by actually explaining its title, "Beginning the 'and then what?'" The phrase "and then what?" comes from one of my high school teachers from my last semester of senior year, Mr. McCaffrey. He repeatedly shared with us a story of taking his wife to a restaurant in my hometown, where he proceeded to strike up a conversation with the waitress. Eventually, she informed him that she was a dance major at the local state university, to which he (rather dryly) replied, "Oh, that's nice - and then what?" - meaning, great, you're a dance major....but after college, what do you plan on doing with that? It probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense; you probably would need to have met Mr. McCaffrey to have the total effect of the story. But it was hilarious when I first heard it five long spring semesters ago, during my last hurrah in high school. 

I'm calling this blog "Beginning the 'and then what?'" because that's exactly what I'm doing. For eight wonderful semesters (and five weeks abroad one summer) I have studied two subjects very dear to me - political science and Italian. But then the question comes - what exactly am I going to do with that? That's what I'm out to discover - it's a little scary, but it's also really exciting at the same time. I wish I could write more, but in order to start the "and then what?" of my life, I have to finish off two papers for an Italian literature class that are due to be consegnati (handed in) tomorrow.  

A presto, tutti....a presto! (Until later, all!)

UPDATE: In February of 2011 I changed the title of this blog to, quite simply, "The 'and then what?'"  It had been almost three years since the inception of the blog, and I felt as though the "beginning" stage (interning, getting married, beginning my vocation) had concluded and now, I'm squarely in the 'and then what?' - that fateful ether of life where, quite frankly, I am attempting to figure out just how God might be calling me to serve Him in this world.  Sorry for the confusion (if any)!  

And for those souls of the blogosphere that are stopping in, whether for your first, second, tenth, or perhaps last, time - welcome.  It is good to have you here.