February 21: Blessed Noel Pinot

Today is just a "checking-in" kind of post, quick and dirty.  I've been too busy to sit down and compose anything substantive.  It's one of those days that start at 4:15 a.m. and won't end until about 9:30 tonight.  Work.  Teach.  Office hours.  Snarf down dinner.  Worship Committee.  Administrative Council.  I'm going to see my wife, daughter, and son for a total of about 20 minutes this evening.  I know that, when I finally get home, I'm going to be cranky, tired, and stressed.



Saint Marty seeking a little "Help"



I've already worked a few hours on creating a Mid-Term Exam for my Good Books class.  I have to finish grading a stack of 30-some response papers, and then I have a stack of 23 essays for my other class to get through.  I just typed the agenda and minutes for the church meeting I'm running this evening.  Now, I'm headed back into my grading, with a short stop in The Help, which I have to finish reading by Thursday night for my Book Club.

I'm trying not to complain.  Saints don't complain.  They just take whatever crap God sends their way and turn it into opportunities for grace.  For instance, today's saint d'jour is Noel Pinot, an 18th-century priest.  He "excelled at ministering to the sick," and, when he was sentenced to death for being loyal to the Church, he walked to the guillotine still wearing his vestments for Mass.  His last words were, "I will go to the altar of God, to God Who gives joy to my youth."

Today, in the midst of my crazy, hectic day, I had a private meeting with a student.  She apologized for not handing in her assignments.  She told me she's been struggling with depression.  She just found out her parents are divorcing, and she and her boyfriend of a few years were just diagnosed with "a certain disease."  I sat and listened to her story.  Then I reached over, put my hand on her shoulder, and told her, "Take care of yourself.  Get the school work done when you can."  She nodded, staring down at the floor.  "Is there anything I can do?"  I said.  She shook her head.  Then she stood and said, "I have to go meet with another one of my professors."  I watched her walk down the hallway, looking particularly small and fragile.

I got the message.  My burdens aren't that huge.  I'm not marching to the guillotine.  I'm grading papers and reading a really good novel.  God's telling me to shut up and be thankful.  Saint Marty's going to stop bitching and feel a little grace.