Talking with answers

I talk to myself.

And, I also answer.

I'd never realized how much I actually did talk to myself until someone else brought it to my attention. I'm constantly chatting with no one in particular, and then answering when no one else does.

I can have some of the best conversations with myself about life, what I've done in a day, what I've forgotten to do and what still needs to be done. I can talk about my siblings: Drew, Ellie and Lane, about my parents, my friends, my co-workers and even people I've only met once.

While trying to "exterminate" the thousands of flies in my house today, I even found myself talking about my Grandma June, who never would have tolerated the swatting and "smack talk" the poor flies in my house were having to endure. She would have never killed them. She would have kindly opened the door or window and guided them outside safely. But then again, I doubt she would have talked to them either, as I did, telling them to tell their friends not to come inside. They would be killed if they did.

As you can see, I not only talk to myself. I also talk to flies, horses, cows, computers, TVs, movies, chairs, tables and even casserole dishes. I won't discriminate - nothing is off limits.

I don't know why I talk to myself or to animals and inanimate objects. But I do.

I think it's perfectly healthy. Isn't it?

It must be.

At least, the part of me who answers myself thinks it is.

The power of prayer

Pray.

Run.

Pray.

Eat.

Pray.

Sleep.

Pray.

Repeat.

And Pray.

The power of prayer is undeniable, and, fortunately, I've come to understand this at an early stage in my life. My family (both my mom and dad's sides) were raised devout Catholics, and faith has been a part of my life since before I could sit on my own. And now, when I face problems of my own, I know there's only one place to go.

To my knees.

My grandma June always prayed one rosary a day. And if she forgot, she would wake up in the middle of the night and pray it, right then. Now, my Aunt Lisa does the same. I remember sitting in the nursing home, as my grandma faced her last few days in this life. And as she sat there, Aunt Lisa on one side and me on the other, there was only one thing left to do.

Pray.

And now, when I hear that someone is sick, dying, suffering, having a hard time or just in need of a little extra boost, I know exactly where to turn. I make the sign of the cross, fold my hands and bow my head.

And then, I leave it up to Him.

I couldn't be more thankful for my faith and more confident that everything will turn out, just as He planned. My parents believe it, my aunts and uncles believe it, and my grandma demonstrated it every single day.

Prayer is powerful.

It's hard for me to imagine people who aren't able to do that, who have nowhere to turn and no one to talk to when the going gets tough.

Pray for them.

Church comfort

New places.

New people.

New life.

Same church.

I've been to many new places in my life, from Washington, D.C. to Burmingham, Alabama and even to Kissimmee, Florida. Every place is different. There are new people to meet, new places to explore and a new lifestyle to find. But in all my travels, one thing remains the same.

Church.

In Burmingham, I felt right at home at a church service, despite the fact that it was not a Catholic church, not predominately white as mine is, and by no means was it like my hometown service. Here there was singing, loud praises and an amazing choir that could definitely "raise the roof." But I was home. The people surrounding me were friendly, and, like me, they were there for one thing. To praise God.

Fast forward two years to Washington, D.C. Two weeks of long days, cold weather and homesick feelings. And yet, I found home there too. As we stepped into the Catholic church across from the Capitol, I felt one thing: comfort. This was where I belonged. And, even though I was thousands of miles from home, I felt like I was right there, right where I was meant to be.

Still, another year later, I found that same comfort in Kissimmee. Down in Florida for work and stressed to the max, a co-worker and I decided to attend Sunday mass at a local church. Again, this was nothing like my hometown service. The church and congregation were huge, children were screaming and a large choir was belting out the hymns. But amidst the chaos, I felt peaceful. I was perfectly content sitting in that pew, miles from home and feeling not a hint of homesickness.

Now, as I begin a new life in Colorado, I'm faced with meeting new people, exploring new places, and starting what I consider to be a "new" life. It's exciting, yes, but I'm scared to death. I find myself feeling lonely, out of sync and homesick. But I know there's one thing that will always make me feel better, one thing that will always bring me home.

My church.