By Kathleen Gerwin

For those of you who have spent any time around teenagers, I’m going to wager that you’ve heard this sentence uttered more than once: “Oh my God, that’s SO awkward.” As a high school teacher, it’s a phrase I cannot seem to escape and one that seems to be applied to just about everything, from a parent’s overly enthusiastic greeting, to public speaking, and everything in between.

Some of this is just part of growing up. In adolescence, as your body and mind are betraying you, developing in new and strange ways, it’s difficult to not view things through the lens of awkwardness. Who among us can forget those painful adolescent moments when it felt as if the room was closing in on us and melting into the floor seemed like the best possible outcome?

What worries me about teenagers today, however, is twofold.

First, the fact that many normal, developmentally appropriate situations are being painted as awkward. For example: on a recent service trip with my students, I was driving a group of seniors from our Habitat worksite to the Church that was hosting us for dinner. Our GPS had taken us off-course, so I asked one of the girls to call the Church to inform our host that we would be a few minutes late. From the look on my otherwise extremely extroverted, socially adept student’s face, you would have thought that I had asked her to run through the parking lot naked. “Ms. GERWIN,” she cried, “That’s so AWKWARD!” The rest of girls chimed in, agreeing that calling a stranger —even for less than a minute to convey information—was in the 7^th Ring of Awkward Hell.

The second, and potentially more troubling fact, is that this generation of teens seems to have far more ways to avert or avoid those awkward moments: texting has made it so every response can be edited and reviewed by a jury of peers; silent moments at dinner can be filled with time on your phone or the drone of the TV; in a photo-shop, Facebook-centric world, pictures and profiles can be cleaned up so only the most “acceptable” self has to be presented to the world. The danger is that rather than having to sit in those awkward moments, teens—and perhaps all of us—never have the chance to come to the other side of those uncomfortable situations and realize that they won’t, in fact, kill us. Awkward moments, like adolescence, are periods of growth—often far from pleasant, but necessary if we are to develop properly.

The gift of sitting in awkwardness is the realization that there is a Self within us that goes beyond feelings, situations, or judgments. And that is certainly nothing to feel awkward about.

There are no adequate words to describe my Loyola experience. As a writer, for the first time I feel as if I am wordless.

Vernon already expressed much of my parting sentiments in his article: Don’t Say Goodbye . . . say Thank You. Therefore, I go another direction and speak to the students who are new to Loyola’s Spiritual and Pastoral Care Program, or who are still discerning if it is a correct fit for them.

My life before beginning my MA was in a serious rut. I thought I would die of boredom and lack of fulfillment if I did not take a step. However, I did not know what that should be.

As I knelt in prayer, asking God to please provide divine guidance, I heard pastoral repeatedly in my head. “What is that?” I wondered. I Googled pastoral and found my way onto Loyola’s Spiritual and Pastoral Care website. I knew I was home.

As for you, the anointing you received from him remains in you, and you do not need anyone to teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about all things and as that anointing is real, not counterfeit—just as it has taught you, remain in him (1 John 2:27, New International Version).

Loyola has anointed me. I have humbly been part of many great formational experiences: Alpha Sigma Nu, Emerging Scholars, Professional Seminar Paper, wonderful MA professors, exceptional staff, spiritual and learned classmates, Graduate Assistantship experiences working on CACREP and Continuing Education Programs, coursework, service-learning, retreats, and more!

I have just been appointed a Lay Ecclesial Minister for the Archdiocese of Baltimore, specifically as a Director of Religious Education for a local Catholic Parish. Loyola has sent me forth to minister to God’s people.

Listen to your instincts, to your intuition, and to your God. You may not have your post-Loyola future all figured out, but that is the beauty of it. If God is truly the center of our lives, then we strive to follow God’s plan, not our own.

John Lennon said it well, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” I planned to go to Loyola, and, with God’s grace, the rest just fell into place.

The author, JoAnn Harvan-Chin, with Dr. Jill Snodgrass, Dr. Ralph Piedmont, Dr. Tom Rodgerson, and classmate Pat Kennedy

I attended the Pastoral Counseling Department’s Retreat on Resiliency.  It’s my last retreat as a Loyola student. The sense of community found at Loyola is unique. We are so different, yet we are one.

I LOVE St. Anthony’s Shrine. I went to Loyola’s Self-Care Retreat last spring and wrote Shake Pray Love, one of my first blog articles. I come full circle writing this blog article likewise inspired.

I never thought I was resilient. To me, resiliency was a quality for those who have been through severe crises or hardships. It takes courage and resiliency to attend graduate school later in life, to complete a master’s program, to graduate, and to make a career change — all of which I have done.

I forgot what I always tell my spiritual directees, “Don’t judge your life.”  I judged my life story to be not particularly resilient. I was wrong. During the first break out session, we told our stories to each other. It was so healing and exhilarating to tell my story, to be heard, and to hear another.

I now see that I am resilient. I’ve gone through hardship, and not merely survived, but thrived! No longer do I judge my life. I embrace my cracks now, loving them for making me who I am today, and for the Light (God) that they let in. I want to shine that Light upon others.

While on retreat, we explored Post Traumatic Growth, and the APA’s Ten Ways to Build Resilience.

Through experiential exercises, I tapped into my resiliency to face graduation and everything else that lies ahead for me. It was great to reflect on my life, to celebrate my resiliency, and to realize that I can face whatever the future holds.

I now feel empowered. I know my resiliency. How are you resilient?

Another semester is almost over and the familiar routine begins. The furious rush to finish all papers, projects, and assignments that you knew about from week one. Then, that oft-repeated vow: that you will never wait so late start . . . again. The perfunctory filling out of class evaluations that you know you should spend more time on, but you don’t, and the lightning-fast goodbyes that we give to teachers and students alike as we dash toward the parking lot.

It is the last part of the routine that I take issue with. We say goodbye too easily. We often talk about “terminating” with clients and how much care is needed because of the emotional bonds that have been created. Yet what about the bonds created with that person who sat beside you for countless morning and evening hours? Saying goodbye to them should not be so easy. Take the time to thank them for their presence, their camaraderie, for their commiseration with you about the long nights, for their listening ear about the woes of your internship. And, of course, thank them for all the times that they agreed with you that your paper did deserve a better grade. Don’t just say goodbye, say thank you.

If the events in our country over the last few weeks have taught us anything, it is that life is precious and every day is a gift. Just like we can’t take life for granted, we also can’t take the relationships with our classmates for granted either. These are our present peers and our future colleagues, fostering and maintaining relationships with at least a few persons will produce unimagined benefits.

I have heard it said that part of what makes Loyola great is the students, and I would definitely agree. Even the students that I have disagreed with have added something to me. They have helped to clarify my voice, my views, and my beliefs and, in some cases, even my faith. That is a gift and I am thankful for it. And, to you who are reading this blog, I thank you as well for journeying with me and all the other writers as we have shared with you.

To the students I have met, the professors who challenged me to grow, and the friends I have made, I have been blessed by the gift of your presence.

I am not saying goodbye. I am saying thank you.

by Andrea Noel

At a recent visit to my alma mater, I encountered a group of students who chose to participate in the annual Alternative Spring Break (ASB) Program. ASB is a weeklong service learning experience that students voluntarily substitute for entertaining vacations during spring break. ASB is spread nationally and internationally, involves graduates and undergraduates, and responds to the needs of marginalized populations.

Throughout the week, students live together and work in teams at various sites providing services to forgotten residents in local communities. Each day, they reflect on their encounters at these sites. During my visit with the Washington D.C. ASB team, I witnessed meaningful thoughts students shared about people they met at schools, homeless shelters, and hospices.

One particular student shared that there exists this overwhelming need for change in the world. In Washington D.C. there are too many homeless people, individuals dying of AIDS/HIV, children abused and neglected, schools closing and over-crowded, violent crimes increasing, and fixed unemployment rates. This student said it seems impossible for one week of service to make any difference in the lives of individuals who encounter so much scarcity, violence, or disregard. The student believed the work of the week seemed hopeless.

After hearing this, I recalled a prayer attributed to Archbishop Oscar Romero. This prayer was written by Bishop Ken Untener, of Saginaw, November 1979, in celebration of the lives of departed priests.

“…The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise
that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete…the Kingdom always lies beyond
us.

No statement says all that could be said.

No prayer fully expresses our faith…

No pastoral visit brings wholeness.

No program accomplishes the Church’s mission…

This is what we are about.

We plant the seeds that one day will grow.

We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development…

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.

This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an

opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master

builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.

We are prophets of a future not our own.[1]”
Amen.

May this prayer shape our ways of being present to those we serve as pastoral counselors and spiritual caregivers. Although problems around us seem monumental, let us do whatever we can with love and care.

by Kathleen Gerwin

Lent just might be my favorite season. That’s not something I advertise and certainly not something I lead with at cocktail parties. When most people hear the word “Lent,” it usually brings to mind images of Girl Scout cookies deferred and pizza every Friday for a month, not to mention oh-so-fun terms like sacrifice and self-deprivation.

This used to be my view of Lent—40 days of chocolate-less Facebook deprivation. For the past few years however, I have been picking a different Lenten commitment to practice over 40 days and it has caused me to fall in love with this beautiful, misunderstood season.

This Lent, I chose gratitude. When I set out to practice gratitude, I had no idea the riches I would discover. I knew that grateful people were happier, healthier, lived longer, and were just more enjoyable to be around. I was excited to focus on all of the riches in my life that I often miss because I’m “too busy” or unaware. What I was really interested in, however, was how this practice might help me to become more thankful for the things that I’m not naturally inclined to be grateful for, like that co-worker who just won’t stop talking while I am furiously working, or the fender bender on my way to  class . . . or even the relationship where my trust was betrayed.

As I have practiced gratitude over the last 30 days or so, I have not found that the interruptions, disappointments and hurts have ceased—if anything, I am even more aware of them. What I have found is that these moments where gratitude seems impossible have opened me up to the opportunity that the moment presents. American Buddhist nun, Pema Chodron writes beautifully on this topic. Rather than being originally sinful, Sr. Chodron sees people as originally wounded. Each one of us has a tender place of vulnerability or hurt that we go throughout life trying guard. Sometimes we’re successful at guarding the spot and we feel like life is good and everything is as it should be. Sometimes, however, we fail to defend our wound and stuff gets in—people annoy us or disappoint us or even fail us and we have to experience the pain of our wounding all over again.

It is at these times, however, that we are offered the opportunity to really heal  ourselves. When stuff “gets in” and our defenses break down, that is when we have the chance to become our authentic selves and connect with the fact that we are worthy and loved just as we are and there is no need to go through life with walls up. Suddenly, life becomes more spacious and gentle. The universe is a kinder, more joyful place to be. And that is certainly something to be grateful for.

Unlike pastoral counselors who use a therapeutic method based on a theory such as: Adlerian, Freudian, Person-Centered, Gestalt, or Cognitive Behavioral, spiritual directors are much more free-form. We generally do not give homework to our directees, nor do we set goals for them. We are taught that the directee sets the agenda.  Our job is to listen for the Holy Spirit, discern God’s action, and to assist in cooperating with it. The Holy Spirit is the actual spiritual director.

We say things like: “What do you think God is inviting you to in that situation?”  “Where is evidence of God acting there?”  “Have you prayed about it?”  “Why do you perceive that God is not responding to you?” and “What do you discern when you pay attention to your interior movements?”

During my spiritual direction internship, we (my spiritual directees and I) had an education process to go through and a steep learning curve.  Some of them discontinued the process, and others never were really engaged in it at all. Perhaps spiritual direction was not what they expected?  Analogous to when Vernon Ware lamented about his counselees in his excellent article “The Nerve of Some Clients,” perhaps my directees had one idea of what their experience of spiritual direction should be and I had another.

I am in my last semester in the M.A. in Spiritual and Pastoral Care program on the spiritual direction track.  I am in the throes of writing my professional seminar paper and working out how I will respond to resistance in spiritual direction . . . more to come on that subject in an upcoming blog article.

I am far from having all the answers, but what I do know is that I want to meet my spiritual directees in the middle somewhere so that we can take each others’ hands, and together navigate that sometimes arduous journey of the spiritual life. I want us all to one day see God’s loving face smiling back at us.  After all, isn’t that the purpose of why we are here in the first place?

On February 28, 2013, our Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI became the first pope in 600 years to retire as head of the Catholic Church.  As I reflected on what this meant for me as a Catholic, I realized what a great act of submission this might have been for our Pope Emeritus, and the significance of it occurring during the holy season of Lent.

In my youth, Lent was synonymous with personal deprivation. We were expected to give up something meaningful and to abstain from meat and poultry on Ash Wednesday and on Fridays. Any digression warranted a trip to confession. Although I still abstain from meat on the required days, my Lenten practices have transitioned from deprivation to thanksgiving.

Lent culminates with Easter, which celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is significant because it brings meaning to our faith. St. Paul reminds us that if Christ had not been raised, our faith would be useless and we would still be in our sins. Therefore, I strive to make my Lenten journey less about what I give up and more about what I can do. It is about preparation, thanksgiving, and being engaged prayerfully and reflectively to celebrate Jesus Christ’s victory over sin and death.

Options for Lenten practices include community prayer, such as Stations of the Cross, daily Rosary recitations, and daily Mass, or personal prayer and daily devotions.  Another means of service is to contribute to the Catholic Relief Services Rice Bowl project, a simple yet meaningful way to fulfill St. James’ directive in his New Testament letter:

If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,” but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it?  So also faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead. (James 2:15-17).

This is my personal perspective, and one that I feel honored to share. It is not intended to represent the views of the Pastoral Counseling program at Loyola University, Maryland, which is home to many faiths and Christian denominations.

As the journey towards Easter continues, I encourage everyone to be mindful of each other, and the blessings that we have individually and collectively received. I pray for our Pope Emeritus, that his decision was one of acceptance of God’s will. I especially pray that we acknowledge God’s favor in our lives with generous and prayerful acts of thanksgiving.

by Kathleen Gerwin

Recently, my sister and I helped my dad clean out his storage shed. Amidst the laughter that accompanied the excavation of our childhood, we came across a box marked “TROPHIES,” a war chest of gold-painted plastic—relics from our “glory days” in sports.

My sister and I are products of what I lovingly call “The Little League Generation,” where everybody got a trophy. Whether it was through fear of hurting our fragile egos or the desire to engender a sense of positive self-esteem, no sports season was complete without the “awards ceremony” in which we were bedecked with the spoils of our season . . . namely, a trophy. This is not to say that I didn’t have incredible coaches who taught me invaluable lessons, but the sheer size and quantity of these golden treasures got me wondering about the way in which we often teach kids—and clients—lessons about self-esteem and self-worth.

Is the best way to engender a high sense of self-esteem to bestow on our kids “trophies” in the form of praise and positive labeling? As a teacher, I have seen the unintended consequences that such labeling can have—the student whose “gifted” label requires her to get straight A’s can suffer just as much as the student from whom much less is expected. “Beautiful,” “smart,” “talented,” and “athletic” carry with them just as much baggage as “ugly,” “dumb,” “worthless,” and “fat.” Many a “gold trophy” comes at the cost of sacrificing self-hood on the altar of others expectations.

In his book, Intimacy and Desire, David Snarch writes that the problem for most individuals is that they lack a “solid flexible self.” “To the degree that you lack a solid sense of self,” writes Snarch, “you depend on a reflected sense of self.” A solid, yet flexible, sense of self allows us to interact with others from a place stability rather than need and is characterized by:

• An internalized set of values by which you run your life
• A lasting sense of self-worth
• An ability to maintain your own convictions, despite others disagreeing
• Releasing the need to always be right and not “crashing” when you’re wrong
• A willingness to self-reflect (without guilt and judgment) and change course if necessary

As a pastoral counselor, this is the type of self-esteem I hope to engender in my clients—a sense of self that is internally derived and nurtured. After all, perhaps the very best trophy is the one that we give to ourselves.

by Andrea Noel

Four years ago, I began writing these “Dear ME” messages on post-it notes, sticking them up around my house and cubicle at work. This practice was more than writing simple affirmations or wishes; it was my approach to manifesting a new way of being. After working as a chemical engineer for almost seven years, buying my first home, car, and travelling around and outside the United States, I recognized that I spent a lot of time doing things, but not much time being. I considered how I lived. I had accumulated material possessions, and even more digital photos, but could not feel those tangible emotions that give life deeper meaning. I felt empty inside.

I began reflecting on what does it mean to be? According to my iPhone’s dictionary.com mobile application, some synonyms for the word doing are action, performance, and execution; and synonyms for the word being are living, conscious, and substance. Doing and being are clearly two different states: I was definitely great at doing, but needed to work on my being. I also recognized that both doing and being are necessary parts of life. However, striking a healthy balance between the two is the trick to living a fulfilling existence.

So, I made the intention to find small ways to punctuate my doing with being, using the “Dear ME” messages as simple reminders. I began being more patient with myself and others. I learned how to be silent; listening for God and to those around me. I started to be more accepting of events and people; learning to let go and seeking less control.

After a few months I noticed that I smiled more, I rushed less; I even drove the speed limit more often! Then I explored bigger ways to be. I intentionally attended a retreat every three months. I began spending more time with family and friends. I also explored several contemplative spiritual practices to further cultivate my capacity to be.

Those around me began seeing the difference that the intention to be made in my life. My co-workers shared in my pleasant mood and enjoyed seeking my help with things outside of our job responsibilities. My relationships seemed to deepen in ways I had never experienced before. I also perceived that life in general began to respond toward me more compassionately.

The intention to be, more than to do, continues to transform my experience of life; I have more clarity in my life, a deeper sense of peace, better relationships with others, a well-integrated spiritual life, and I find it easier to compassionately share myself with the world. Every day I make the intention to be. Be love. Be joy. Be radiant. Be ME.

So, how have you been lately?