How Strange

In the early morning dark and drizzle I arrived, went inside and knelt down. I couldn’t muster the fortitude to say any prayers, I was just there physically. I troubled about this becoming an early bird’s meaningless habit. It didn’t feel special. Yet, I knew it should be an important event. I sorta daydreamed though the opening prayers and first reading. Father read from Matthew’s Gospel…about the birth of Jesus. The same old story so many times I had heard. Mary betrothed but not yet married to Joseph…She turns up pregnant…Joseph starts to bail…some angel in his dream tells him that; the Holy Spirit did it and the kid would be call Emmanuel, a.k.a. “God with us”. I couldn’t help but think how strange this all would be today. I couldn’t help but think how strange our God is. Why would God do this? What if I were in Joseph’s shoes/sandals? How would I react? How much stranger this must have been two thousand years ago when you were stoned to death for being “with child” out of wedlock. That would be a bummer.
As my mind wondered and wandered…I came-to during the consecration. Some little voice inside of me said, “Just go with it…no matter how strange or mysterious it all seems.” That’s when an overwhelming gorge of gratitude served up with a large portion of unworthiness smothered in endless mercy choked me up and rendered me speechless. The words would not come out as I moved my lips, “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us”.

Thank you, Father God for being so strange/
For You have the power that makes me change/
Thank you, Lord Jesus for being with us/
For this indeed is worth the fuss/
Amen.




Log entry dated 12-18-2009

Not The Night Before Christmas Story

I sat dumbfounded, hands frozen to the steering wheel, as a result of the deafening noise and violent crash that rocked my wife’s faded and dated little Honda. The car stopped in the middle of the street in front of my next door neighbor’s house as I verbalized an automatic expletive. I recall seeing Blitzen’s nose pressed up against the windshield with a startled look on his face. Before I could gather my thoughts; he Dasher-ed off…imitating a Dancer or a Prancer…with the speed of a Vixen-ed Comet. We watched…aided by the light of our high beams, in stunned silence…as Cupid Donner-ed his attempt to escape unnoticed. When I regained my composure, I got out to investigate the possibility of a sled embedded in the right front fender…or worse a dead body dressed in a red suit. But no…there was nothing…nothing but a thoroughly crushed quarter panel. We had been the victims of a hit and run. The perpetrator had left the scene neither leaving his insurance info nor his phone number. Where is Rudolph with his red nose when you need him? I got back in the car to hear my wife announce “I’m getting a new car tomorrow.”

And so it came to pass…after more that a year of driving me nuts with her indecision…and with questions like “which car should I get?” she did it. She made a decision…all by herself…she got the silver one.

Thank you, Lord, for sending a sign
For this is a prayer that has been mine
Thank you, Lord, she made up her mind
In this my Lord you are infinitely kind
Amen.

By Association

I was invited to a wedding by virtue of the fact that I was married to the mother of the groom’s sister’s best friend. My acceptance by association is very much a pattern I’ve notice throughout my married life and a blessing I acknowledge.

As I sat listening to the reader recount Paul’s dissertation on love from the first letter to the Corinthians…I couldn’t help but wonder what was going though the groom’s head. This made me think of the day I was front and center…saying; “I do”…to what I didn’t understand. The past becomes clearer when looking at it from the present or examining it though the hour glass of time. According to Paul love is kind, not jealous, does not put on airs, and is not snobbish. Love is never rude, not self-seeking, is not prone to anger; does not brood over injuries. In retrospect…if that’s the case…it would be hard to argue that I had love on my mind. Another “L” word may have been more applicable…perhaps
…“Lust” with a capital L.

Now…I suspect D.P. (Divine Providence) had a lot to do with all of this…for I am convinced that God knows what I need…I only know what I want.

I have come to recognize the fact I could not have picked a more suitable partner than the wife God has given me.

Thank you, Lord, for fulfilling my every need
Thank you, Lord, for this indeed
Thank you, Lord, for this today
Thank you, Lord, for this I pray
Amen

Blind

A full moon hung in the jet black sky of the early morning chill as I pedaled around the puddles left by yesterday’s rain. It was the first morning I had been able to ride my bike since Thanksgiving. I envisioned the congealed tryptophan in my arteries slowing the flow of blood to my brain…this made it difficult to process any cognitive thoughts. After several miles of repetitive contracting and relaxing of my femoris quadriceps the slow burn eventually heated my entire body. I became so warm that I had to unzip my windbreaker and remove my sox hat. Finally I coasted into the parking lot, dismounted my bicycle, and bounded up the front steps. I opened the large bronze doors and entered. Immediately the moisture in the warm air condensed on my cold spectacles blinding me. I felt my way up the aisle, genuflected and knelt down. It seemed futile to wipe off the lenses as the cold glass would just condense more moisture…I wanted to pray and meditate anyway. Besides I did not need to be looking around with my judgmental eye making inaccurate or hypocritical assessments of anyone else. It was a nice change just listening to the opening prayers and the readings. Interestingly, the temperature of my eyeglasses rose above the dew point just as the gospel was read, allowing the moisture to evaporate. I could not help but think…“It is Christ’s words that allow me to see clearly.” Maybe this would not qualify as a miracle…but, for sure…it is a nice reminder of the awesome power that is in the Word of God.

Thank you, Lord, for the little reminders.
Thank you, Lord, for removing my blinders.
Thank you, Lord, for allowing the blind to see.
Thank you, Lord, most especially from me.
Amen



Journal entry
30 November 2009

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