With Liberty and Justice for All

I sat in the Grand Jury Chambers along with eleven other citizens listening to the testimonies, hearsay and reports…listening to the most outrageous, twisted, and illogical stories. There was conflicting information from the victims, alleged perpetrators, and witnesses…all attempting to rationalize the facts surrounding the most despicable, appalling, and wicked criminal acts known to man. For the most part…while my head was swimming in an ocean of irrational details and conflicting statements …my heart knew that the cases needed to be pursued in the hope that justice might be served. Admittedly, some cases don’t seem very serious or felonious but in all instances the accused should have been indicted for aggravated stupidity. You’d think these people would desire some kind of peace and tranquility in their lives. The thought of constant turmoil, the idea of each day being filled with chaos and mayhem is inconceivable to me.

As Judge Kelly so aptly put it…“This is where the people of the day meet the people of the night”. Benjamin Franklin said, “Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise”. Perhaps healthy, wealthy, and wise is a bit of a stretch but at least it keeps you out of the bars…where, it seems, most of the problems start.

I came away with the feeling that our justice system may not necessarily be totally just or fair but it’s the best we have in the absence of God himself sorting it all out (which eventually will happen). Personally, at that point, I will be pleading for mercy; not justice.

Dear, Lord Jesus, please give me the wisdom and courage to do what is right and just.
And please, Lord, if I am ever brought up on charges of being a Christian…then please, please let there be enough evidence to convict me.
Amen.

Thank God for Thanksgiving

An eerie silence fell over the entire house as my son’s SUV backed out of the driveway. Three days of entertaining, corralling and cajoling grandchildren had come to an abrupt end. A feeling of regret and relief while caught up in the reflections of my own childhood washed over me as I unconsciously murmured the words “it’s not fair”.

Perhaps old age faded my recall and the passing of time dulled my memory. In my mind’s journal I recall living through childhood with a bit less intensity. I don’t remember the green beans or other vegetables being quite so annoying and vile to my juvenile pallet. I don’t remember it mattering if the green beans touched the mashed potatoes. Although…I have vivid memories of liver being totally inedible…and I remember refusing to eat it irregardless of the consequences. I remember the resulting irresolvable dispute and conflict…and…I remember going to bed without supper. But the sun came up the following morning and life went on. To this day I believe liver should not be permitted in any food group and only allowed to exist for the resoling of shoes. And there were other impossible, inescapable, irresolvable situations…those caused by a knee jerk answer…which any parent will get when they ask the wrong question, (i.e. “Did you do that?”) There is one and only one answer to that question. An emphatic “NO”…and once you’ve gone on record you simply cannot change your answer. It is not the admission of guilt that is so bad…but…“ipso facto” admitting to being a liar. That would be totally unacceptable by any childhood standards. So, again with unwavering obstinacy I would stick to my story even in the face of such threats as being “burned at the stake” or “dipped in boiling oil”. Perhaps my childhood was a bit more intense than I recall. I am certain I challenged my parents’ patience to the very core and for that I apologize. “Sorry Mom and Dad”.

It was a great weekend filled with launching model rockets into outer space, chasing each other around the house and playing trampoline dodge ball…all punctuated with screams of “do it again” and “it’s my turn”. The fun and games only ended once blood was drawn and first aid administered.

Their endless energy is truly amazing…if there were only some way to capture this renewable resource. And to think that all this energy is generated with no vegetables and only small amounts of Mac and Cheese, Pizza, and an occasional hot dog.

Thank you, Father God, for allowing us to survive an intense Thanksgiving
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for children and grandchildren to share Thanksgiving with
Thank you, Holy Spirit, for no stitches, no trips to the emergency room and hopefully no permanent psychological damage.
Amen

Are We There Yet?

As a child I remember the hours of excruciating boredom spent in the back seat of my parents’ car with my three siblings. Each year we made the two thousand mile pilgrimage from California to our grandparents’ homes in Louisiana…each of us asking the same question over and over and over, “When are we going to be there?”

The same exact trip was far more stimulating when I…finally…got to drive. The hours of monotony became hours of endless excitement…wondering what lay beyond the next curve. I would dream of incredible high speed adventures, dream of life on the road, and revel in the excitement of the open highway. Nothing compared to the thrill of finding a series of Burma-Shave roadside signs with their words of wit and lofty blue-blood poetry like: My Job Is---Keeping Faces Clean---And Nobody Knows---De Stubble--- I’ve Seen---Burma-Shave. Or: These Signs---We Gladly---Dedicate---To Men Who’ve Had--- No Date Of Late---Burma-Shave.

I couldn’t help but think that life is just like that…you can sit in the back seat and keep asking “are we there yet?”, or you can get in the front seat and participate in the adventure. I also liken it to church going. You can just sit there looking at your watch asking yourself “when will this be over?”, or you can decide to participate. Participate in the fullness of the sacrifice on the cross and take charge of where you are going. For this is the most important road trip of your life. I looked at my watch for forty two years before I decided to pull out the road map and actually decide where I was headed. The journey is sooo much better when you know your destination. The hour spent in church is just a much needed pit stop in this all important road race…to insure that everything is ready to roll.

I no longer need to know when I'm going to get there, I just need to be gassed up and ready to go.

Thank you, Father God, for the book of directions.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for all the helpful roadside signs
Thank you, Holy Spirit, for the jump start whenever I need it
Amen

Drip, Drip, Drip

I sat and listened to the steady lull of the rain as it fell on the roof…it had a most calming effect and soothed my innermost being. It was the perfect background for meditating and praying. I was at my weekly early Friday morning appointment with the Blessed Sacrament. I was in the perfect place, at the perfect time of the day, in the presence of The All Perfect. But then came the drip, drip, drip from a leak in the roof. As each drop impacted the plastic bucket with a deafening clamor…I was startled at how annoying the sound of a tiny drop of water was...the same drops that were so relaxing as they hit the roof. I couldn’t help but think of “water torture” and wonder how long I would last. I couldn’t imagine making it more that a few minutes without going into a Donald Duck spastic fit…sound effects and all. I thought of water boarding, then of terrorist, then of suicide bombers. I wondered if they were crazy or if they just had that much passion for their faith, however misguided it might be. If in fact they did have that kind of passion…it seemed mine might be a bit lacking. Where is my passion? Where is my commitment? Where is my courage? Maybe I’m still in training? Maybe it’s not my turn yet?

Dear Lord Jesus, train me to be more than the drip I am.
Please Lord, flood me with faith, drown me with passion, and cover me with courage.
Make me into who You want me to be.
Amen

Sequestered

As I reclined on the couch the steady drone of a TV hummed in the background. I reflected over the last three days as my eyelids slowly moved to the closed position. It had been a long and thought provoking weekend. I was fortunate to be one of the twelve that spent three days sequestered in a remote isolated place…away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. When I first heard of this place I thought it was a campsite near and dear to the owner’s heart because he referred to it as, “Dear Camp”. Later I discovered it was a base camp he used for hunting deer, hence the name, “Deer Camp”. The English language can be so confusing…especially for me. Not to digress…the twelve of us gathered together to fast and pray for the success of a concurrent ACTS retreat involving nearly one hundred other men.
We all gathered each day for morning, mid morning, noon, afternoon, evening and night prayers in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. At all other times we held vigil adoring Our Lord and Savior in shifts. Around the clock, in a little room with its walls cover by white sheets to camouflage its normal use, we prayed, meditated and just hung out with God.
Each day we would fast until evening then would take our nourishment from a bowl of soup or some sea urchins and vegetables boiled in water. I must admit…either the food was 4-Star quality or I was very hungry…possibly both.
Late one night as the clock hands approached midnight my prayer partner and I sat in silent adoration…my eyes struggled to stay opened… my mind shrouded in a thick fog, my belly full from the meal…I struggled to process any cognitive thoughts.
I wondered if this was how the apostles felt on that fateful Thursday night in the garden of Gethsemane.
I stared at the golden monstrance, I stared at its contents, and while my heart told me this should be a goose-bump moment…my brain questioned how could this really be God?
I whispered my faith questioning concern to my prayer partner. He admitted at times he also had similar questions, but explained that while his brain had questions…his heart had faith...and in his heart he knew it was God. Later, I searched the bible, in vain, for the word “brain”. I could not find “brain”, not even once, in either the Old or New Testament. I also looked for the word “heart” and found it mentioned over thirty three times. That’s interesting!
I suppose my brain is necessary for those mundane math problems and basic motor skills but it would be better to live by my heart…where God makes known the truth without confusion or question.
Thank you, Father God, for a wonderful wondrous world, an incredible weekend Desert Retreat and eleven brothers to spend it with.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for another 100 men who learned a little more about You and Your awesome love for us.
Thank you, Holy Spirit, for a heart that trumps all those tricks played by my brain.
Amen.

Bunkbeds

My arms and legs strained and struggled as I climbed onto the top bunk…one of several bunks at the old camp house known as “deer camp”. I recalled the same straining and struggling as a child…back then the problem was not old age but the lack thereof. I always had the top bunk; my younger brother always got the bottom. Probably my parents did this for safety reasons. I remember pleading, “It’s not fair”. That was the common rebuttal used in response to most of my parent’s edicts, rules and household proclamations. But it did no good as my brother remained younger than I...even to this day.

My father built those bunkbeds from a sheet of plywood and left over wall studs. There was no inner spring and only a simple thin mattress supported by the plywood. I am sure that the Serta Company would have classified it as “extra super firm”. It was completely off the Sleep Number scale. But at the age of six it was most comfortable and at that time the term “back pain” was not in my vocabulary.

Now my son has built his sons bunkbeds…beautiful bunkbeds out of redwood. How interesting to discover those tiny threads that string life together…those threads that tie generation to generation.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for those wonderful memories from childhood.
Thank you, Lord, for my children and my children’s children
Please watch over all these children until the day we bunk in Your camp.
Amen

Cowboys and Indians

As children we played Cowboys and Indians, good guys and bad guys. Our weapons were a pointed index finger, a wooden stick or…if you were lucky…the coveted cap gun (which required no additional sound effects). Ideally you would be the oldest or biggest and would get to make the rules. Younger and smaller brothers, sisters and assorted children from the neighborhood made up the band of Indians or bad guys. They were required to die immediately upon being shot while you could take countless hits without even flinching. Much time was spent shouting, “I got you” and arguing over who shot who first…it was great fun chasing each other around until Mom called us in for supper.

As a teenager it became a fight, a fight with my hormones. It was no longer “a make believe battle”…it was real…the small bands of bad guys became hoards screaming heathens. Will power was my only weapon I had...and I had no clue how to use it. I always felt so outnumbered and they seemed to win more times than not.

Now I am older…much older…and it seems there are not as many of “them” but they still lie in wait to ambush me on occasion. It is much easier to defend myself now…most of the time I just role over and play dead and they quickly lose interest in tormenting me.

Dear Lord Jesus,
Thanks for getting me through those difficult years without completely self-destructing.
Now I realize that You were there…even when I completely ignored you.
Please give me the courage, the strength and the wisdom to acknowledge You… especially in fights with the bad guys.

Amen

On The Wagon?

This last week I have “fallen off the wagon” the spiritual wagon…so to speak…as I have not made it to morning mass one single time. I would like to blame it on the “time change” but that logic does not hold water…as I should be getting up an hour earlier but no…I can’t even get up an hour later. Maybe it is some systemic poisoning from the Halloween candy as I spent the entire weekend trying to empty a huge bowl of every sort of nasty candy known to man. In the past there were always trick-er-treater’s to help me but not this year. I shouldered the entire job…all…by…myself. Maybe I am too busy with all the jobs I have to do “when I have time” as they put it. The problem is I don’t have time to do everything I need to do with the little bit of precious time there is. There’s no way I ever get to it “when I have time”. So I have to do it now…because I will never ever have the time. Well that excuse won’t work either…it’s too confusing.

I need to stop and get my priorities prioritized, get my life in order and order in my life. It is strange and scary how easy it is to get off track. And how extremely difficult it is to put the train back on the tracks once it jumps off. So, I better go to bed early and get rested up, so I can climb back on the wagon tomorrow morning.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for giving me a leg up.
Thank you for your patience and understanding.
Please give me the strength to stay on the wagon for the long haul.
Amen.

Today

I drove up on the job as the rigging crew removed the large shipping crate from the new piece of equipment. The truck driver with his bulbous nose and chin, wearing the clothes he had apparently slept in, probably slept in his truck, inquired as to how I was. I answered with my knee jerk response “excellent” and automatically inquired “how are you?” To which he answered “the best day of my life”. I fumbled for a retort as this was not what I expected. Usually you get the standard “I am terrible”, “not so bad” or “could be better”. I started to question him about his thought provoking reply when I was interrupted with job related questions from the customer. Before I could get back to him he had gathered up his tie downs and was driving away.

I could not stop thinking about “it’s the best day of my life”. I couldn’t stop thinking about how right he was. Living in the present…the here and now…the past is done and the future no one knows.


All my yesterdays are gone
All my tomorrows are unknown
I can’t live in the future
I can’t live in the past
Only in the moment/ only today I live
There is nothing I can change about my past
There is nothing I can do in my future
Only for today I can do what is right
Today I can change the rest of my life
All my yesterdays are history
All my tomorrows are a mystery
So today is the best day of my life



Thank you, Lord Jesus, for the best day of my life…today.
Thank you for reminding me to put You first…today.
Please help me remind others of your goodness…today.
Amen

Windmills

Like Mac Davis I watched Lubbock disappear in the rear view mirror. I drove US 84 South, descended off the Caprock and followed the rolling plains until I spied the most remarkable sight. Windmill after windmill, they went on and on, as far as the eye could see and then some. It was like an army of wind machines. I conjured up the thought of battalions of solders with their blades glistening in the sun under a crystal clear blue sky. They all turned in lock step rotation. I was drawn into this vision like Don Quixote in one of his delusional dreams. I marveled at the size and number…it was mind-boggling. One lone mill stood perfectly still…blades feathered into the wind…as if not to be noticed by my ongoing charge. Mile after mile I was in awe of the spectacle, the spectacle of nothing but wind driven generators.

I couldn’t help but wonder how they all turned at the same synchronous speed, regardless of the wind’s speed. How did they know to constantly adjust the pitch of the blades in order for each individual generator to make 60 cycles per minute alternating current? How did they know how to match the highs and lows, the positives and negatives of their sine waves to that of the grid? Just who and how made all this possible? To think the human brain figured this all out…absolutely astounded me.

Yet this is nothing compared to God’s brain and ability to make stuff…stuff that works. He made me…he made my brain…he made the brains and the hands that made these wind machines. That’s amazing! I can hardly wait to see the face of God growing nearer and dearer as the vision gets clearer and clearer in my dreams.

Thank you, God, for a wonderful road trip.
Thank you for making me.
Thank you for giving me the brains to recognize You.
Amen