Sow with care

Your words can be seeds that, over time, take root in the hearts and minds of those who hear them. Speak carefully.

Own Your Happiness

Never relinquish control of your attitude.

Choose the better freedom

The freedom to follow our temptations is a subtle prison. The discipline of self-denial is the better freedom.

Rethinking our weaknesses

On an online forum I occasionally read I recently read a post from a young man who said that he was struggling with school and was worried that he might fail several classes this semester. He said he was, for instance, "not good at math".

This sort of thing always makes me wonder how we sometimes get in that frame of mind. I believe that often our struggles with certain subjects has less to do with limitations of our mental capacity and more to do with some combination of attitude, desire and effort. And, once we struggle a bit, these things feed on each other.

I've noticed over the decades that kids learn to walk at roughly 1 year old, but that some kids start several months earlier and some don't get there for many months later. I don't think I've seen anyone show a lot of concern that little Junior hasn't managed to toddle across the carpet by 15 months of age. We don't label them as "not good at walking" and set our (and his) expectations accordingly. By the age of 2 or so, I doubt you can reliably separate the early walkers from the later ones.

Shouldn't it be the same for intellectual capabilities? If there can be such a large variation in the age we are ready to walk, it doesn't seem unreasonable that there might be some variation in the age we're ready to learn any somewhat complex subject.

There are also different methods of learning a subject. If your assumption about your ability is essentially based on your experience with one method, one teacher, one textbook... you may be selling yourself short.

What things have you assumed you're "just not good at"? Consider trying them again. Your mind is powerful, and here in the 21st Century you have countless resources available to you. With a bit of effort, you might surprise yourself.

Forgiveness

As a Christian, I know that God requires me to be forgiving; when I was young, this seemed more easily achieved than it seems today. At that time, I felt I could forgive any imaginable offense against me. Now, aided by several decades of news reports demonstrating the horrific things people are capable of inflicting on others, I can imagine offenses that would be very difficult to forgive.

In particular, having children has change my focus on this topic (as it has in most other areas of life) from myself to the ones I love. It's one thing to forgive an offense against oneself; forgiving an offense against your child would be another matter.

There have been several tragic acts of violence in both the national and local news recently that have claimed the lives of innocent children. Obviously any act of violence is sad, but when one or more victims is a child I can't help but wonder what I would do if that had happened to one of my children. I struggle with sadness and anger, and I know many others do as well.

And I wonder if I could ever honestly forgive.

I know I would be required to. I know I would be required to. I don't know if I could.

I recently read "Left to Tell" by Immaculée Ilibagiza (with Steve Erwin). In the 1994 Rwandan genocide that claimed the lives of over one million Tutsis, she hid in a Hutu pastor's bathroom with seven other Tutsi women and girls for 91 days.  When she emerged, her parents and two of her three brothers had been brutally murdered.

In her three months in hiding she spent a lot of time in prayer, and she speaks of the difficulty she had with the Lord's Prayer. When she would say "as we forgive those who trespass against us", she admitted she was initially withholding that forgiveness from the Hutus who were butchering her people. I am confident I would have felt the same way.

I am less confident that I would have grown spiritually the way she did in her confinement and in the danger and difficulties she faced afterward. Her story details the brutality and unimaginable horrors she experienced and witnessed. But it also recounts her inspiring journey of faith.

In the end, through God's grace, she does find the capacity to forgive. By that, I don't mean she simply mentioned it in a quiet prayer to God alone. Forgiveness can provide healing for both the offended and the offender; part of the power of forgiveness requires that it be communicated to the one in need of it.

So she traveled to the prison that held the man who had led the machete-wielding group of Hutus who killed her mother and one of her brothers. Could you forgive? I'm not sure I could. But she visited him. Upon seeing him, she sincerely felt pity for him. She touched his hands, those murderous hands, and she said, "I forgive you."

Immaculée's story shows me that, although I really have nothing to forgive anyone, I have work to do there. You can know you have a weakness before you've ever been challenged. I thank her for sharing her story. Wherever you are in your journey of faith, it can be inspiring to find stories of those who have faced life's difficulties with grace and spiritual growth. How much more rewarding it is than much of the other material we read or watch!

Spring Break 2013, Part I (Spontaneity)

On the last Friday before Spring Break, sweet wife suggested we try to work in a road trip while the kids were out of school. The following workweek was already looking ugly for me but the important meetings were all Wednesday afternoon or later. She had to work her usual Friday night shift, but had taken the rest of the weekend off because Saturday was her birthday. I was able to get Monday and Tuesday off so we had a little time to get a trip in.

But where? Austin? San Antonio?

"Let's go to the Grand Canyon!"

What? Oh, absolutely. It's only a bit over a thousand miles away and we'll have all of four days to get there and back. That's perfect! Oh, wait. I'll be working late Friday to try to get enough done to leave things in good shape for a couple of days so won't be able to even start getting anything ready until Saturday. She works the night shift and won't be in any shape to supervise the preparations. Of course we are going to want to work in at least a little birthday party. And since we'll be getting a late start, let's go ahead and go to 5:30 mass so we don't risk having to find a church on the way there. So now we're down to roughly 3 days of vacation with about 40 hours of driving. Awesome.

So Saturday evening we pointed the minivan westward and set off. We ran into snow falling near horizontally in strong winds somewhere in the Texas panhandle in the dark of night and almost turned back. We pressed on through that, through construction and through aggressive tumbleweeds. About seventeen hours later, we arrived in beautiful Flagstaff, Arizona - without hotel reservations. I don't completely remember all the reasons for not having ensured we'd have a place to sleep, but it did seem to fit with the overall theme of the trip. The spontaneity of that decision was a lot more charming at home in Texas than in the shopping center parking lot where we sat flipping through our iPhones trying to find a place that met our requirements.

We did eventually find nice and affordable accommodations. We enjoyed a good meal together and began making vague plans about the next day's drive to the canyon and return home. 

I'll try to write about that day soon, but I have to say that despite the short notice, the lack of planning and the amount of driving in such a short amount of time, it was a great experience. For me, I was with the people I love most so that's already a win. But I think it was a reminder of something important. Life in this modern world can get very busy and often there isn't time to do things you want to do. Do them anyway. Find a way to make the time. It doesn't have to be perfectly planned or pretty. It's okay if it's unreasonable and impractical. Just make time to make memories with the people you love.

Clutching My Blessings

One of the readings in last Sunday's mass was the story of the prodigal son. In the course of his wonderful homily, Father Jim reminded us that the word 'prodigal' is used to describe someone who spends extravagantly, and noted that were are called to be prodigal in a different way: we are to take the abundant grace we receive and lavish it on the world around us. It is not ours to be bottled up and kept.

Our graces and blessings may come in many forms: wisdom, talent, wealth, and time, to name a few. Whatever the form, we should consider how they can be shared with others in service to the Father. Blessed Charles de Foucald, whose own youth is said to have been spent in a fair degree of prodigality, once said, "If God allows some people to pile up riches instead of making themselves poor as Jesus did, it is so they may use what He has entrusted to them as loyal servants, in accordance with the Master's will, to do spiritual and temporal good to others." This is true not only of monetary riches but of all that we have been given.

Many years ago my father-in-law, Joe, took my oldest son Evan to the barber. After Evan's hairs had been properly cut, Joe gave him money to pay for the service - plus a little extra for the tip. However, after paying Evan pocketed the extra cash; he was young then and didn't quite understand the concept of tipping. When Joe explained that the bills he had pocketed were intended for the barber, Ev somewhat angrily shoved his hand in his pocket, clenched the bills in his little fist, and argued that they had been given to him and were his.

When Joe related the story to us, it immediately made me consider the blessings I receive. How often do I clench them tightly in my fist and selfishly think of them as having been given to me for my own use? I am richly blessed; I must remember that these blessings were not so much intended to be given to me as to be given through me.

Learning My Place (or, The Waffle Story)

My entire audience (that is, my cousin Sheri - hi, Sheri!) has made a deal with me and my side of that deal is to spend more time writing. I'm taking this deal because the whole world will be a better place when she fulfills her side of it.

I offer this as the first installment. Since I'm not particularly creative, I'll be digging up an old story. It won't be the last time.

At about midnight one night several  years ago, I was just getting into bed when 3 year-old Molly stepped quietly into the room and asked, "Dad, would you carry me down the stairs and make me a waffle with syrup on a plate and milk?"

"No, sweetheart. It's midnight and time for bed. Go lay down and you can have a waffle in the morning."

"Please, Daddy? I'm hungry! Please make me a waffle with syrup on a plate and milk!"

"Sweetie, go to bed. I have to get up early."

"Can I ask Momma?"

Ri is a light sleeper and will pop out of bed like a flash when she hears the sound of a child getting sick. But there is no way on this green earth she will pop out of bed to prepare meals in the middle of the night. It's just not going to happen. Everyone knows that. So I answered, "Sure, go ahead."

Molly grabbed the side of the bed, crawled over my head, leaned in and quietly whispered, "Momma?"

"Hmph?" replied Ri, half opening one eye."

"Can Daddy go downstairs and make me a waffle?"

"What?!" I yelped, half sitting up in disbelief.

"Sure, baby; he'd love to."

"Yay! Let's go, Daddy! Momma said yes!" exclaimed a delighted Molly as she wrapped her arms around my neck for a piggy-back ride downstairs.

She did get her waffle; I just had to reward the out-of-the-box thinking.

Reflections on Fathers’ Day

Happy Fathers’ Day to me!

Fathers’ Day is always a time of reflection for me. It isn’t just about the special recognition I get from my kids on this day, as much as I marvel at (and delight in) the eagerness and creativity and love that is always a part of that. With or without the celebration, though, it is a day to remember and recognize how blessed I am as a father and husband. This day, their birthdays, and my anniversary are all excellent times to reflect on that.

Clearly I will always remember the excitement of learning that we were expecting our first child. The months of pregnancy brought joy and anticipation and anxiety. And I cannot begin to describe the rush of emotions upon first seeing my oldest. Breathtaking! My love for that little boy was so overwhelming that when we learned that we were going to have another child I actually worried that I could not possibly love that one as much. That fear was unfounded, of course. She didn’t take half a second to wrap me around her finger for good. We now have six; each pregnancy was equally exciting and each birth was equally breathtaking. Each child a unique and wonderful person; each more than I could have hoped for.

Many years ago, a friend at work was at my desk looking at pictures of my children. He studied their faces then looked at me for a moment and remarked, “Your wife must be beautiful!” He doesn’t know the half of it. Thank God they get more than just their beauty from her. They get strength and determination from her – and a touch of sassiness. Any athleticism or coordination they display certainly comes from her. More importantly, though, much of whatever I do right as a father is at least partially attributable to her. I wouldn’t be half the father I am without the loving support of such a wonderful and patient wife. I have come to understand that my love for her and my love for them – and my responsibilities to her and my responsibilities to them – are inseparable.

I recognize how blessed I am by the sweet love I receive from my children. I know I can rely on that no matter what else happens, no matter what goes wrong, and no matter how spectacularly I fail. When I get frustrated at myself or at the world, when I get anxious about the future or the past, or when I let life’s business distract me from what’s important, one or more of them will bring me back around and set me straight.

I am blessed in the things fatherhood has taught me. I can’t remember what things I thought were important, what things I marveled at, or what things I worried about before being a father. I’m not even sure what I correctly understood about myself before that. Being a dad has taught me more about life than I ever would have figured out on my own. It has increased my compassion. It has made me less selfish. It has certainly changed my priorities. Most importantly, though, it is the love I feel for them that helps me begin to comprehend the abiding, unconditional love our heavenly Father has for us. Maybe that's the point.

Happy Fathers’ Day to me, indeed!

So proud of them

I don’t intend for everything I write here to be about my kids or even about family – although my family alone could supply enough material to keep me writing indefinitely. If you have a family you may know what I’m talking about.

Today, though, I have to brag a little about my kids. It can be dreary suffering through someone’s constant yacking about how sweet/smart/talented/et cetera little so-and-so is, but since no one reads this I imagine it will be okay for me to do so today.

My kids are pretty good about including others in their wish lists to Santa. One from BL this year, for instance, described a type of doll she wanted (”little dolls that have switches so when you turn them on they know what your saying and stuff”) and she adds parenthetically, “get me one for my sister too”. At the end of her list is “a Target gift card for mom and dad.”

This sort of thing isn’t uncommon with my kids – well, with the girls anyway – and I’m sure many other parents have seen the same thoughtfulness expressed by their children. In the range of emotion from “I think we’re doing okay as parents.” to “Are we doing anything right?”, it gives you one of those moments of feeling you’ve done something right. Or at least not done things completely wrong.

This year, though, SL and BL added a nice little touch. After putting the kids to bed on Christmas Eve I was making the rounds to make sure doors were locked, alarm was on, and things were generally ready for The Big Day. Next to Santa’s milk and cookies was the usual note. (My kids leave notes for Santa and for the Tooth Fairy and for the Easter Bunny and for anyone else they might expect to visit in the middle of the night – and the notes include questions to which they would like to have answers – and Heaven forbid if a Tooth Fairy says something that contradicts what a previous Tooth Fairy had said – all another story for another time.)

But on this Christmas Eve I noticed – on the floor beneath the table on which sat the milk and the cookies and the note and perhaps a carrot for Rudolph – a carefully wrapped gift and a stuffed Snoopy. The note from SL revealed their purpose. Inside the usual list of questions (”What does Ho Ho Ho mean?”) was the more serious “Do you visit poor people? Can you give this to a child in need?” She had wrapped a gift to be given to someone else on Christmas; BL, I learned later, agreed it was an excellent idea and added the Snoopy.

As a parent, like someone making their way through a thick fog, you strain your eyes for some occasional clue that you haven’t completely veered off course. This was one of those rare times when I felt not entirely lost and disoriented. I can’t say that I’m doing things right, though; I’d rather say that so far I’ve managed not to drive away their innate inclination to participate in our call to share God’s grace and mercy with (by participating in the act of giving grace and mercy to) all of His children – who are our brothers and sisters in a much more real way than perhaps we sometimes remember. May they continue to respond to this, and may I continue to not interfere with their natural desire to do so.

She generally has an answer

The kids got to bed on time tonight without much hassle, so I told them they could read in bed a bit.

When time was up on that, I went room-to-room announcing lights out. 6-year-old MC is never enthusiastic about putting down her books to give in to sleep and it wasn’t really a surprise when she resisted tonight. I explained that I was very proud of her for being such a good reader, but that her brain and her body needed sleep. MC generally has an answer to anything. She dug through the pile of books on her bed. “Well, it didn’t say that when I read this one” she said, holding up a book entitled “The Body”.

Sigh. Nevertheless, cub, the time for dreams is upon us. If sleep indeed sharpens the mind, I’m quite certain I need it more than she. Sadly, there are dishes and laundry to be done. Sweet dreams, little one.

My kids write songs

Last year, my wife stumbled across songs written by a couple of our little ones.

Let’s start with SL’s song (she was 8 at the time):

Today is the day
I’m goin away
To find a new home.
I wanna see (2 times)
What it’s like to be free! (2 times)
Don’t ya come along with me.
I wanna be alone.
I want to have my own life.
Get out of me…

I hope that last line was some sort of unfinished thought and not another personality expressing itself.

And then there’s BL’s (she was 7):

When I look out the window
I see you.
I open up the window
And you come in.
We both hug each other tight
And we both kiss each other on the lips.
When we see each other anywhere alone
We kiss and hug
Kiss
Hug
(Come on do it with me)
Ya! Kiss and hug
(Ya you got it now ya!)
Kiss and hug!

Frankly, I’m not sure which one scares me more. I’ve nailed the windows shut. No one gets out; no one gets in.

-gd