Think About Nothing

A rare, quiet night. No baseball games. No practices. No school/parish/community related events. I finished leading the ten-week series on Catholicism last night. Wonderful experience that I’ll have to write about one day.

After four days at work laden with meetings tomorrow my schedule is free of them (though I’ve still plenty to do).

I mowed. I played with Buster and the kiddos. I relaxed. Too much actually. I don’t think I’ll make it to 10:30. Before shutting down this computer I came across this quote written on a piece of paper and placed on my desk. I scribbled it down a few years ago but had forgotten about it.

The eternity of God is his length; his love is his breadth; his power is his height, and his wisdom is his depth.  – The Cloud of Unknowing

Somewhere in this house and my shelves of books I’m certain I have this one. Somewhere. Maybe. But the quote put me in the mode of thinking of lazy, summer reads and what I want to tackle this summer. While I haven’t figured that out yet I do know I’ll be reading at least one of Henry Van Dyke’s books. Last summer I scored a major coup when I found eight volumes of his essays and poetry at our downtown used bookstore for $7 each. Published between 1895 and 1910 if I recall correctly these books are the perfect, lazy summer read. Henry loved to fish, and while I don’t I can appreciate how that pasttime influenced his easy and approachable prose.

What will you be reading this summer?

What a charm there is in watching a swift stream! The eye never wearies of following its curls and eddies, the shadow of the waves dancing over the stones, the strange, crinkling lines of sunlight in the shallows. There is a sort of fascination in it, lulling and soothing the mind into a quietude which is even pleasanter than sleep, and making it almost possible to do that of which we so often speak, but which we never quite accomplish—“think about nothing.”

From the short story “The Ristigouche from a Horse-Yacht” in the collection Little Rivers, by Henry Van Dyke, 1895.

*****

Image source.

Beauty and miracles in the desert

“Boredom of course is another matter. It has little to do with what actually exists in the world outside any of us. The world is just fine; it is full of beauty and miracles abound even in the midst of the most desolate of deserts.” – Kevin Codd. To The Field of Stars: A Pilgrim’s Journey to Santiago de Compostella. Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. (2008).

*****

I read these lines just before turning in last night. The words struck hard at the heart of what has become such an epidemic in today’s modern world. Everyone, it seems, is bored. Or they are scared of being bored and race and work and stretch themselves in a million directions at once in order to avoid the fear of being bored. We stuff our lives and our homes with mountains of stuff, hoping that the next thing will once and for all fill that hole in our soul. When it doesn’t we work longer hours and push ourselves harder to make enough money to buy the next thing. Yet the hole remains, as we remain on the mad gerbil’s wheel. Instead of considering the miracles that surround us with each step we take, we bemoan the fact that our lives are drab, unexciting…boring.

It’s a paradox perhaps that the hub of what modern man sees as the necessary excitement and activity is the modern city. But it is within these city walls that we block out the very miracles to which I refer. The sun setting (or rising) on the distant horizon is difficult to see when surrounded by city buildings or suburban rooftops. Nature, grass, animals (outside of the squirrel, possum or rat variety) are non-existent unless one goes to the zoo. And my personal favorite, millions of stars and the constellations that fill the night sky, are almost impossible to see in the illuminated city at night. God’s wonder in nature hasn’t left us…we left it.

And when nothing seems to work and we begin to wear down from all the fruitless pursuit of activity we can succumb to boredom, acedia, and finally melancholia. “What’s the point of all this?” we ask ourselves. “Is this all there is to life? How long will I wander in this paved, urban desert?”

The answer, I believe, is provided in many places. I happened upon one of them a few weeks ago when I read the following poem by Alfred Noyes (1880-1958):

To A Pessimist
Life like a cruel mistress woos
The passionate heart of a man, you say,
Only in mockery to refuse
His love, at last, and turn away.

To me she seems a queen that knows
How great is love—but ah, how rare!—
And, pointing heavenward ere she goes,
Gives him the rose from out her hair.

You see, I believe the hole that lies in the hearts of humanity is, to use a well-known cliché, God-shaped. It is a huge hole, one capable of only being filled by God. And what is God? Love, of course.

I’m sure I sound like a Hallmark card to you by now and I’d have to agree, but I also know from my own personal experiences in this life that this is true. I’ve ridden the depression rollercoaster. I’ve also watched as it took hold of friends and loved ones and attempted to pull them down below the ocean waves of this life. You feel as if you’re drowning; gasping; struggling to stay above water to breathe while clinging to any life raft, driftwood or flotsam you can find each time you can get your head above water. Only too many times we are grabbing an anchor, weighed down by yet another purchase or another activity that we gravitate towards instead of the one thing that we need. Such is the stubborness of man.

In his second stanza Noyes perhaps is pointing the way. I’m not a learned interpreter of poetry by any stretch of the imagination, but to me the “queen” he refers to is Mary, the Mother of Jesus, who knows the depths of love that God’s heart is capable of storing, as well as the depths of depravity possible in a human heart. She points heavenward, and gives the pessimist a “rose from out her hair.”

A rose is a widely recognized as the queen of flowers and a symbol of love. Catholics who pray the Rosary also know the significance of Mary and roses. Indeed, the word Rosary means “Crown of Roses”. One piece of Catholic imagery says that each time they say a Hail Mary they are giving Mary a beautiful rose, and that each complete Rosary makes her a crown of roses.

From The New Baltimore Catechism of 1941, Part 1, Lesson 1: The Purpose of Man’s Existence, we read

1. Who made us?
God made us.

2. Who is God?
God is the Supreme Being, infinitely perfect, who made all things and keeps them in existence.

3. Why did God make us?
God made us to show forth His goodness and to share with us His everlasting happiness in heaven.

4. What must we do to gain the happiness of heaven?
To gain the happiness of heaven we must know, love, and serve God in this world.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church today begins thusly:

God, infinitely perfect and blessed in himself, in a plan of sheer goodness freely created man to make him share in his own blessed life. For this reason, at every time and in every place, God draws close to man. He calls man to seek him, to know him, to love him with all his strength. He calls together all men, scattered and divided by sin, into the unity of his family, the Church. To accomplish this, when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son as Redeemer and Savior. In his Son and through him, he invites men to become, in the Holy Spirit, his adopted children and thus heirs of his blessed life. (CCC 1)

Both the old and the new Catechisms in their following paragraphs point towards Jesus as the key to knowing love and finding the chief truths taught by Him. The Rosary is a biblical meditation upon the life of Jesus and one of the best ways I’ve found to come to know Him.

Or, if you prefer, perhaps the queen is an allegory for what the Greeks called sophia; that is, Wisdom. The concept of wisdom goes all the way back to Plato and his Protagoras dialogue. It is also a common tenet in Christianity where it is not only found throughout the Old Testament in Proverbs, Psalms, Song of Songs, Ecclesiastes, the Book of Wisdom, etc., but also in the New Testament where Christ referred to wisdom, as in “the wisdom of God.” Indeed, wisdom is mentioned over 220 times in the Bible.

So what do I do when I feel I’m about to go under? The first thing I try to do is to get out of the city for awhile. Go camping. Or hiking. Visit family or friends who live in the country. And when I can’t get out of the city? I seek wisdom in the very spot I’ve been planted.

No matter which method or activity you choose, whether accepting the conclusions of Socrates in the Protagoras:

Socrates claimed that “all virtue is knowledge and therefore one. He argues that the reason people act harmfully, to others or themselves, is because they only see the short term gains while ignoring the long term losses which might outweigh them, just like one makes errors in judging the size of objects that are far away. He says that if men were taught the art of calculating these things correctly, have a more exact knowledge that is, they would not act harmfully.

or by seeking, sharing and serving God in this world:

So that this call should resound throughout the world, Christ sent forth the apostles he had chosen, commissioning them to proclaim the gospel: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age.” Strengthened by this mission, the apostles “went forth and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that attended it.” Those who with God’s help have welcomed Christ’s call and freely responded to it are urged on by love of Christ to proclaim the Good News everywhere in the world. This treasure, received from the apostles, has been faithfully guarded by their successors. All Christ’s faithful are called to hand it on from generation to generation, by professing the faith, by living it in fraternal sharing, and by celebrating it in liturgy and prayer. (CCC 2-3)

or both (because they are not necessarily mutually exclusive) pick one. Remember Psalm 19:1: The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. 

Then (and with humility) end each day with these words from G.K. Chesterton:

“Here dies another day
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world around me;
And with tomorrow begins another.
Why am I allowed two?”

[Admin: It should come as no surprise to anyone that my daughter's name is Sophia Rose. It was chosen for many of the reasons I've just mentioned. Also, I chose not to go into depth regarding the Rosary as I plan on writing more about this prayer in the coming week or two. This single prayer, meditation, or exercise…whatever you choose to call it…has been responsible for deepening and widening my faith more than any other. It has opened the door for me to a rich world in which my head is able to stay above water. At least for the most part. I am human after all.]

The Trees of the Heart

You may be aware of a popular folk tale told by Christians called “The Three Trees”. There’s even a well-done video, narrated by Hal Holbrook. But that is not what is contained in this post.

About halfway through The Father’s Tale, Alex Graham (the main character and father from which the book gets its name) finds himself in the wilds of north-central Russia after delays in his transcontinental railroad journey. He meets two priests, one of whom is Russian Orthodox and the other a Roman Catholic. The Roman Catholic is Father Sergius.

A snippet of a conversation they shared is below. In the Parable of the Prodigal Son we have an opportunity to meditate on the three persons in the story (the Prodigal, the other brother, and the father). We can do the same with this story. In the Prodigal, we all like to see ourselves as the benevolent and patient father, being stepped on by our loved ones yet steadfastly suffering and selflessly awaiting their return to senses and our arms. And indeed our ultimate goals is to be such a person (only with a much more authentic attitude than the one I just wrote). But in truth we are more likely the Prodigal, or even the resentful brother left behind who sees himself as faithful to the father and upset when the ungrateful welp of a prodigal returns and it greeted with open arms, a feast, and rings being put upon fingers.

I found myself thinking along those lines when I read this story. Our goal as Christians is to emulate Christ and to join ourselves to Him. But we fall short, yet strive to grow towards that goal. Falling short of Christ we would love to see ourselves as the repentant thief. But I wonder: given that state of affairs that we witness or read about on the news on a regular basis are we not a nation of unrepentant thiefs? If so, then Father Sergius paradoxically exclaims there is hope! Read the story and see if you agree.

*****

“You see, Aleksandr, in each heart three trees grow. Life cuts them down, trims them, crafts them into crosses. Then they are lifted high on a hill—a hill like a skull. One is the cross of Jesus, the second the cross of the repentant thief, and the third the cross of the unrepentant thief.”

“In each heart?”

“Yes. We like to think that in times of trial, we will suffer like Jesus. If we are a little bit realistic, we will say to ourselves, ‘No, I am not much like him. Therefore I will be like the repentant thief, and go straight to Paradise.’ But so often when the trial arrives, we find to our dismay that in fact we are the unrepentant thief. We grow angry at our suffering; we resent and complain and make others pay for our unhappiness.”

“Yes”, Alex said morosely, nodding. “That is true.”

“This is not a cause for sadness”, the priest said with a smile and outstretched arms. “This is a great victory. To see ourselves as we are is the precondition for repentance. When we understand that we are the unrepentant thief, then and only then are the wellsprings of conversion opened to us. We can turn to Jesus hanging in agony on his cross and beg forgiveness from him. And on that day, we enter Paradise.”

(from The Father’s Tale by Michael O’Brien. Published by Ignatius Press. 2011. p. 526)

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A Profile in Perspective: Garvan Byrne

I know I tend to talk a lot about keeping things in perspective and some may tire of it. Before you do get weary of the subject however, I’d like to introduce you to Garvan Byrne. A boy who at 11 was more of a man than I am at four times that age. He is one of the best definitions of faith I’ve ever seen.

Below is the eight minute edited version. It’s worth your while to watch the whole interview: Part One, Part Two and Part Three. I enjoy watching him draw and talk about his love of art, in particular Snoopy, in Part Three.

Becoming Bartimaeus

How long will we sit in the muck and the mud? How often are our throats choked by the dust kicked up by those who are moving all around us while we are sitting still? You would think we’d be tired of it by now, this endless waiting in the heat of the sun or the bone-numbing chill of the rain.

Resplendent and unfading is wisdom, and she is readily perceived by those who love her, and found by those who seek her.

What are we waiting for? What are we looking for? Would we know it when we see it? And what if the “what” is a who and the “it” is a person? Would we recognize them? Would we take action and move toward them? How loudly will we shout to get their attention?

She hastens to make herself known in anticipation of their desire; Whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate.

If asked “What do you want me to do for you?” would we have an answer? Are we prepared for that question? I mean really prepared? What is it you want? What are you specifically looking for? What addiction or affliction do you want to be free from? How far will you walk on this journey? How much are you willing to let go and to trust? What are you willing to sacrifice?

For taking thought of wisdom is the perfection of prudence, and whoever for her sake keeps vigil shall quickly be free from care; because she makes her own rounds, seeking those worthy of her, and graciously appears to them in the ways, and meets them with all solicitude.

The vast majority of us are looking. We’re looking while standing before the endless shelves of self-help books at Barnes & Noble. We think we see glimpses of “it” on Oprah as she pitches her discovery of “the secret” or a new earth. Acres of warehouses stock the latest books or tapes by Napoleon Hill, Anthony Robbins, Joel Osteen or Deepok Chopra, ready to be consumed. Ancient eastern philosophy, Buddha, even John Lennon. We quote them all in our search for The Way.

So we watch. We listen. Some of us more committed than others. Others addicted to the search and not really serious about finding our answers. Sacrifice is hard after all. So is following. We aren’t prepared for either of them. Why does it have to be so hard?

And in a little while most are back where it began: sitting blindly in the dust and looking for the next thing.

***

Reflections on Mark 10:46-52 inspired by a selection from the Book of Wisdom, Chapter 6, verses 12-16 (quoted in italic sections above).

The Pink Arrow

Sophia means “wisdom” in Greek. She was the legendary mother of the virgin martyrs Faith, Hope and Charity. Three days after their deaths she is said to have passed peacefully away while praying by their tomb, and is thought to be the personification of an allegory. Meaning, I guess, that if we lose the first three, wisdom is doomed to follow. Or, wisdom exists only because of the three things it has given “birth” to. Jeez…that’s a little deep, eh? I’ll stop before I hurt myself.

The philosopher Soren Kierkegaard has reminded us that “we know backward, but we must live forward.” And so we must, but I’m taking a moment today to sneak a peek back. Doing so reveals to me my “forward.”

Just four short years ago our bit of wisdom arrived. On Valentine’s Day 2007 Sophia Rose entered this world. And with her arrival came the sense that our lives had changed forever.

I recall writing that I had “found my vocation.” Our vocation is not only the way that we love God but also the way that God loves us. In Ephesians St. Paul exhorts us to “live a life worthy of the calling” we have received. Thomas Merton, a 20th century Trappist monk wrote “a man knows when he has found his vocation when he stops thinking about living and begins living.” I believed I had finally found mine. I still do.

God’s invitation to live out our unique vocations is part of what makes the world so rich. “How gloriously different are the saints,” wrote C.S. Lewis. Problems arise when we begin to believe that we have to be someone else to be holy. We try to use someone else’s map to heaven when God has already planted in our soul all the directions we need. In that way, we ignore our own call to sanctity. When admirers used to visit Calcutta to see Mother Teresa, she would tell many of them, “Find your own Calcutta.”

Mother Teresa not only had her order of nuns, but she also had an order of priests and brothers. One of the brothers came complaining to Mother. He was mad at his superior because the superior asked the brother to do something other than what he wanted to do, so he got very frustrated. He went running to Mother and said, “Mother, my vocation is to work with lepers.” Mother said, “Your vocation, Brother, is to belong to Jesus. That is your vocation. That means you will do anything He tells you. If you belong to Jesus, you will be His fool.” Mother was echoing St. Paul when he says:

Let no one deceive himself. If any one among you considers himself wise in this age, let him become a fool so as to become wise. – 1 Cor 3:18

This is a difficult concept for we Americans in this secular age. We’re not a terribly humble bunch. We refuse to submit ourselves to any authority, let alone something from as “antiquated” and “irrelevant” as Scripture. So we continue to fumble along in the dark, pissed off when things don’t work, convinced that we were right, someone else was wrong, and the way to get our way is to sue someone or completely tear down their character. Just read any story online in your local paper or favorite website for news these days, paying special attention to the comment boxes. It used to be rare to see so much ignorance on parade. Now it is our national pastime.

Thomas Merton, in No Man Is an Island wrote: Why do we have to spend our lives striving to be something that we would never want to be, if we only knew what we wanted? Why do we waste our time doing such things which, if we only stopped to think about them, are just the opposite of what we were made for?

It’s no secret that I love to write. For the past few years I really believed I had at long last found my vocation. What I was made for. Once I figured that out, however, I began to try too hard. I put too much pressure upon myself to “perform.” I had forgotten the cardinal rule of writing: above all write for yourself. Once you begin to write for a specific audience or people the vocation can become an albatross about your neck. Mine grew quite heavy. I have learned and been reminded that it is not necessary that we succeed in everything. A man can be perfect and still reap no fruit from his work, and it may happen that a man who is able to accomplish very little is much more of a person than another who seems to accomplish very much.

Merton reminded me that fame is not the reason one writes. The burning desire for fame is of course a manifestation of pride, a pride that seeks not the hiddenness of the desert or the humility of the unseen act, but the adulation of others. Ultimately it is a destructive mind-set, since one can never receive enough acclaim to satisfy the craving for attention or fame or notoriety. Inexorably, it leads to despair and so must be resisted. But while the path to humility is necessary, it is a difficult one to tread. In Henri Nouwen’s words, one strives to seek the freedom to be “hidden from the world, but visible to God.”

And I wonder if the more hidden the act, the more valued it is by God. I am reminded of the legend of a master sculptor in one of the great medieval cathedrals of France. The old man spent hours and hours carving the back of a statue of Mary, lovingly finishing the intricate curves and folds of her gown. But, someone asked the sculptor, what’s the point? That statue will be placed in a dark niche against the wall, where certainly no one will ever see the back of it.

God will see it, he answered.

I long for that kind of holiness. But I am very far from it. To find that type of holiness and success in my vocation leaves me with little to no time for blogging. I also prefer to write for myself for now, as well as for my children. It was with this intention in mind that I began a project in November. It is a love letter of sorts to my children. Actually, it’s twenty-six letters. Will other eyes read them one day? Perhaps. But I find that the words have come easier by sitting down to write them in long hand with pen and paper, addressed to my kids, before typing it into my computer.

On Friday night when I arrived home from work my daughter did what she often does. She gets a running head of steam and flies towards me, arms outstretched, for what I have dubbed the “Sophie Sassafras Slam-bam Hug” (Sassafras being her family nickname). I scoop down and fling her up into the air to a chorus of giggles. Lately she’s been insisting that she is no longer a little girl, but as she is turning four on Monday she is in fact a “big girl.” Holding Sophie tonight parallel to the ground and looking up at me I asked her “Where’s my little girl? Who is this big girl in my arms? Where is my little girl?”

“Is she under here?” I lifted up her shirt and blew a raspberry on her tummy to squeals of laughter. “No dad! I’m right here. I’m a big girl!”

I turned her over to face the ground and repeated the question as well as the raspberry on her lower back. “Is my little girl back here?” More squeals of delight. “No! Dad, I’m a big girl!”

Holding her in my arms so we are face-to-face I repeat the question. “Where is my little girl?”

Sophie took my face in her hands and with her blue eyes looking into mine she smiled and said “I’m right here, dad.”

And so she is.

In the Psalms there is a verse for fathers that while especially true in the more agrarian society of three thousand years ago when many hands were needed with the flocks or the crops, it still holds truth today.

Children too are a gift from the LORD, the fruit of the womb, a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quivers are full. They will never be shamed contending with foes at the gate. (Psalm 127:3-5)

My sons are young, strong arrows and in my mind’s eye I imagine them as being green in color as they are still maturing. And then I have that younger, other arrow. It is lightly covered in glitter and has just a hint of a pink outline highlighted on its feathers.

These arrows are my vocation. Many secondary vocations come from this quiver. Writing is distant among them.

They are my faith, my hope and my charity. They are my Calcutta.

I am a willing fool. This is my Wisdom.

©2011 Jeff A Walker. All Rights Reserved.

On Sorrow, Buffoons and St. Francis

I was able to sit on the couch in comfort and solitude tonight; in the soft glow of a standing lamp and a single candle flickering around the perimeter of the room. I began with today’s reading in The Divine Office from Ecclesiastes, the last lines of which stood out for me:

Though I said to myself, “Behold, I have become great and stored up wisdom beyond all who were before me in Jerusalem, and my mind has broad experience of wisdom and knowledge”; yet when I applied my mind to know wisdom and knowledge, madness and folly, I learned that this also is a chase after wind.

For in much wisdom there is much sorrow, and he who stores up knowledge stores up grief. (emphasis mine)

I then turned to C.S. Lewis and The Four Loves and my present location, the third chapter which is about the subject of Eros.

Man has held three views of his body. First there is that of those ascetic Pagans who called it the prison or the “tomb” of the soul, and of Christians like Fisher to whom it was a “sack of dung,” food for worms, filthy, shameful, a source of nothing but temptation to bad men and humiliation to good ones. Then there are the Neo-Pagans (they seldom knew Greek), the nudists and the sufferers from Dark Gods, to whom the body is glorious. But thirdly we have the view which St. Francis expressed by calling his body “Brother Ass.” All three may be–I am not sure–defensible; but give me St. Francis for my money.

Ass is exquisitely right because no one in his senses can either revere or hate a donkey. It is useful, sturdy, lazy, obstinate, patient, lovable and infuriating beast; deserving now the stick and now a carrot; both pathetically and absurdly beautiful. So the body. There’s not living with it till we recognize that one of its functions in our lives is to play the part of buffoon. Until some theory has sophisticated them, every man, woman and child in the world knows this.

I am guilty of storing up knowledge in an effort at gaining wisdom. I am guilty of much grief as a result. And I am guilty of being the heartiest of buffoons. Yet I would not have it any other way. I am alive. Guilty as charged.

©2006-2010 Jeff A. Walker. All Rights Reserved.

Training Wheels

Nolan with his training wheels

There is a voice inside us all
That says rebuild
And when it’s called
All that is wrong can be put right
There in your soul
To change your life (There Is A Voice – Squeeze)

I am considering a return to school to earn my Master’s Degree in Theology. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now and in the past several weeks have started to look seriously into what it would take. There are a lot of things that will need to be weighed before I make the decision to get my original college transcripts in order, of course. Obviously I’m looking at universities that allow for distance. Time is a factor. My commitment is another. And of course there’s the money issue.

Right now I have one child in their freshman year of high school, another just starting with his elementary education. In a few years his little sister will join him. All three attend Catholic schools. And in too short a time my oldest will be leaving for college. So this probably is a crazy notion to even have right?

Each day’s a hope each day’s a prayer
That I might build
And I’ll repair
The parts in me that may have slipped
Deep in my soul
When I lose my grip

A lot will depend upon decisions made by my oldest in the coming years. There is an outside chance that he will not attend college. The other day he informed me that he is still holding to his plans on attending officer’s school and becoming a Marine commander. But being a few short months shy of his fifteenth birthday who knows how many times he’ll be rethinking this position?

Why a Master’s in Theology, and with an emphasis on Catechesis and Evangelization to boot? Because I like to write. Because I like to serve. And because I want to combine the two. I believe by using the talents I have been given in the use of technology, social media and communications that I was one to whom Pope John Paul II was addressing when he asked all Catholics to get involved in a “new evangelization.” To communicate better with the world. Most who have read me for awhile now recognize that there are hints of this in my prose. It is not my intent to write with a hammer, but to do a better job with my clarity. To be informed and inform others on what it is I’m trying to convey.

I’ve reached a point in my life where I need a little help…a little training…to take this to the next level. My thoughts and my ability to express them for others through my riding is my bicycle. It is being kept upright with training wheels that are the sum of my experiences, readings, and meditations. I want to take them off. I feel to do so now, however, would cause me to veer off the path and into the bushes on the side of the road. I know this from experience, both metaphorical and otherwise.

And there’s ropes and chains
Slowing me as I walk
I feel hope through pain
As the road ahead forks
To the left and the right
To the right and the wrong

And so this week I began to explore my options just a little further, contacting an admissions office or two. This isn’t something I’ll rush in to, any more than Nolan was in a hurry for me to remove the training wheels from his first bike a decade ago. I do believe it is as inevitable for me as it was for him however. I’ll be wobbly. I’ll fall a lot. I’ll bruise my knees and scrape my elbows. Eventually I’ll be steadied and learn to fly.

And if I am unable to do this? Then it will take me a little longer perhaps. But as I’ve written before I’ve a lot of life, and miles, left in me. My bike will continue down this road.

I’ve half-heartedly joked for years that I should have been a monk. There are so many things about the monastic life that appeal to me. But I wasn’t called to that. I was called to be a husband, a father, a friend, and I believe, a writer. I will continue to do all of these and to grow. But a little help won’t hurt.

100 Things Every Man Should Know and Be Able to Do

“25 Skills Every Man Should Know,” was the title of a recent article found in Popular Mechanics. I don’t usually read this magazine, but in this instance I could not help but wonder: “hmmm…what is it that men should know?” So, soon enough I found myself reading the article online. Apparently these are the skills men should possess.

So are these 25 skills really the skills that men should know? Are these the skills that make men “men?” I am not sure, but it got me to thinking: “What else would I add to this list were I leaving it for my sons?” What follows is my initial effort that is a combination of various sources I’ve found online or culled from my own mind. I decided to stop at 100 after I had initially reached over 170. I have kept around 14 of the original 25 from Popular Mechanics. I see this list as never being finalized so much as a work in constant progress. Of course, as a Catholic, mine will include an item or two that a non-Catholic would omit.

This is my list of 100 Things Every Man Should Know and Be Able to Do.

1. Remember that your character is who you are when no one is looking.
2. Do all that you can to protect your good name.
3. Be accountable.
4. Be open to investigating a religious vocation, even if you don’t ultimately join.
5. Attend Mass at least once a week and participate in the Sacraments.
6. Know how to pray a Rosary and actually pray/meditate on it.
7. Change a diaper so that the baby is cleaner and you are no dirtier than when you started.
8. Use a soldering iron to fix a loose connection.
9. Be able to cook one signature dish.
10. Write three coherent, connected, and grammatically correct paragraphs. If it’s really necessary, you should be able to repeat the process well enough to add three more. Unless you have a job that requires extensive writing, that’s probably all you’ll ever need to get by.
11. Differentiate between various types of mortgages and insurances and know which one is best for your situation.
12. Make and follow a budget so that you can get out of, and stay out of, debt.
13. Tell a spellbinding (though not necessarily true) story.
14. Survive in water for at least a few minutes without drowning. 71 percent of the earth’s surface is covered by water. You’re bound to fall into it sometime.
15. Know basic first aid and the four lifesaving steps: stop the bleeding, start the breathing, protect the wound, treat for shock.
16. Be able to give, and receive, a great compliment.
17. Tell a joke that is (a) clean, and (b) funny.
18. Make a brief, informative speech in public without having an anxiety attack and/or using PowerPoint.
19. Recite the Ten Commandments from memory. If you remember them, it’s easier to follow them; if you follow them you’ll avoid about 90 percent of the self-inflicted damage that will screw up your life.
20. Carry on a conversation with someone who bores you to tears.
21. Recognize when you are boring someone to tears; listen more than you speak.
22. Make a plan for the first 24 hours after a zombie apocalypse. Sounds silly but you’d be surprised how much you can learn about yourself by thinking through unlikely scenarios.
23. Drive (and push-start) a car with a manual transmission.
24. Grow food; even if you never owned a vegetable garden, you need to understand the basic theory of how to grow food. When the zombie apocalypse happens, you’re going to be hungry.
25. Load, shoot, and clean a firearm.
26. Physically protect your loved ones and be willing to risk life and limb if necessary to keep them safe.
27. Lead your family in prayer.
28. Cogently explain and defend your most fundamental beliefs, preferably without raising your voice.
29. Take harsh criticism without being defensive, and endure an insult with grace.
30. Differentiate between love and lust, and avoid the latter.
31. Recognize wisdom and always pursue it.
32. Write a love letter. Not a love text. Or a love e-mail. A love letter.
33. Avoid the Three A’s That Ruin Your Life: Anger, Abuse and Apathy.
34. Physically build something in your life – a deck, a birdhouse, a bookcase, a Pinewood Derby car, whatever. Just build something.
35. Service your car, including: Changing the oil, jump-starting a car when necessary, changing a tire.
36. Tie a necktie.
37. Knots. Know them, and be able to at least tie the basics: square knot, bowline, cleat knot, and the sheep shank.
38. Protect your computer and back up data.
39. Rescue a boater who has capsized.
40. Frame a wall.
41. Back up a trailer.
42. Build a campfire.
43. Fix a dead outlet.
44. Navigate with a map and compass.
45. Sharpen a knife.
46. Fillet a fish.
47. Maneuver a car out of a skid.
48. Get a car unstuck.
49. Mix concrete.
50. Paddle a canoe.
51. Fix a bike flat.
52. Read a book with more words than pictures, and develop/grow your own “library” of books, even if only a dozen.
53. Haggle/barter with a salesmen.
54. Be able to converse with, and comfort, a child. Real men can converse at length without condescension.
55. Men should be able to quote extensively, and in the proper situation, from a manly movies: The Godfather I, II; Patton; Casablanca; most Clint Eastwood or John Wayne movies, etc. Not necessarily all manly movies, but their own personal repertoire.
56. Men generally do not cry at movies. There are exceptions of course.
57. Be able to give an honest but generous eulogy on the death of a friend or loved one, that acknowledges the Imago Dei in all of us.
58. Produce more than you consume.
59. Teach your children to love and serve God.
60. Instill in your children a sense of right, wrong, honor, duty, loyalty, and faithfulness.
61. Make your wife and children feel safe; and make them laugh.
62. Teach your children that success is earned, not given.
63. Know the basics of how to throw, catch and hit a baseball.
64. Chop wood efficiently.
65. Be familiar with and able to quote Scripture and know how to apply it to your life. See especially Psalm 118:8 and Luke 12:48.
66. Love the mother of your children and tell your children that you love them.
67. Resist temptation.
68. Teach a boy that there’s a difference between looking and leering.
69. Teach a girl to not give boys a reason to leer.
70. Be able to go deep into the woods, not get lost, and survive at least 24 hours.
71. Be unafraid to correct other people’s children (especially relatives) when they act badly.
72. Use and service a lawn mower and/or snowblower.
73. Know how to score a baseball game on a proper scorecard. Then teach a young boy/girl how to do so.
74. Be able to practice self-discipline and self-control even in difficult circumstances.
75. Be able to be right without arrogance; strong without violence, successful without dishonesty.
76. Be able to admit when you’ve made a mistake.
77. Be able to both lead and follow with grace and humility.
78. Have the wit to solve problems and the grit to right a wrong.
79. Find the breaker box and reset the breaker or replace the fuse.
80. Turn off the water main.
81. Fix a leaky toilet.
82. Find candles and flashlights when the power goes out.
83. Remain calm and act effectively in an emergency.
84. Sew a button and iron a shirt.
85. Know how to use the basic power and hand tools. Chainsaw, circular saw, hand saw, screwdriver, wrenches, pliers, hammer, etc.
86. Be able to stop after one beer.
87. Wear a baseball cap in the proper orientation.
88. Be able to tell his children ‘no’ when they need it.
89. Sing the national anthem from memory, and be familiar with the important documents in our nation’s history, For example: The Constitution, The Declaration of Independence, The Federalist Papers, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.
90. If you live in the Northern Hemisphere, you should be able, using the two pointer stars in the Big Dipper, to spot the North Star, and know how to identify directions using it for reference.
91. When walking with a woman or your children on a sidewalk, you walk on the outer side, i.e. nearer the street.
92. Be able to ask a woman to dance.
93. Keep your word.
94. Shake hands firmly while looking that person in the eye.
95. Fend off a physical attack on your person, as well as a full-scale invasion of Colorado by Soviet and Cuban troops.
96. Stand up for what’s right even if you’re the only one to do so.
97. Parallel park.
98. Be willing and able to teach all of the above.
99. Tell your dad you love him.
100. Be willing to do the “little things”.

And a few things you should NEVER do: Tug on Superman’s cape. Spit into the wind. Pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger. Mess around with Jim. And never shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

Men need to learn more than just a list of mechanical skills. There is an element of sacrifice – of chivalry – involved in true manhood that is greatly overlooked today, and needs to be re-cultivated. Men may be learning how to rescue a boater who is capsized, but I think they should get back to learning how to rescue girls in towers.

And if this list is too long, a man can simplify things down to what Robert Heinlein said:

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”

Cozy chamomile and matters of the heart

This is for anyone who has ever said to themselves that they’ve had enough.

I received a note from one of my best friends tonight. In it she wrote “Funny thing, hearts. I think they should make the kind that can’t be broken.” I received this from her hours ago, but ever since have sat here ruminating over it. I want to respond and am now going to attempt to do so. And so I settle down with my over-sized John Wayne coffee mug to write. Only tonight it contains hot “cozy chamomile” tea for my sore throat and cold. I think The Duke would forgive me this one transgression. Normally I’d have put a little bourbon in with it, only considering the cold/sinus medication I’m taking it’s probably not a good idea. Emerson said that “the only way to have a friend is to be one.” So I will now attempt to be exactly that and pretend that I am sitting across from my friend over coffee (or chamomile tea in my case).

I once read that ignorance with love is better than wisdom without it. And let’s face it. The reason for almost 100% of all broken hearts is love. Or love gone bad…love gone wrong…love leaving…loves labour lost…love makes the world go ‘round…love, love me do… (Sorry. I got stuck for a minute.)

But love hurts, too. It is a risk that all of us take whenever we get up and face each new day. It’s what keeps us going. I have written before about my beliefs regarding love and the heart. Only snippets of it, as that is actually a large part of what my book as currently outlined will be about. So I will spare you a long speech.

Think about all the things that you and I wouldn’t experience if not for the promise, and the risk, of love. To keep this from getting lengthy I’m going to use bullet points.

• True, Rick would never have drowned his sorrows in a bottle of gin and had Sam play “As Time Goes By.” But he would never have made the sacrifice he did at the end and said to Ilsa “We’ll always have Paris.”
• Clarence’s alternate reality for George would never have carried the same weight in “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
• There would be no Heathcliff and Catherine. No Wuthering Heights.
• There certainly have never been any of the mischief going on in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
• There would be no Ode to Joy. Or Moonlight Sonata.
• Harry would not have defeated Voldemort.
• Tom Doniphon wouldn’t have shot Liberty Valance, or let people believe that Ransom had pulled the trigger.
• Someone I know would not have made their stand for what’s right and taken their fight to the Illinois legislature last summer.
• Pip would never have met his Great Expectations and gone back for Estella. And we’d never have had the following lines written:
  • That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
• You, the wonderful mother, daughter, sibling, writer and yes, friend that you are, would cease to be. And the day I met you would not be near so “memorable to me.”

I could go on of course, but you see where I’m headed. We’ve discussed several of these anecdotes and more during our friendship.

No my dear, our lives would be a void…a soma-induced trance of blasé nothingless as described by Huxley’s Brave New World. We get up each day and we risk. We may stumble and we may fall. People will let us down. We will let ourselves down. But in the end we apply a band-aid, hospice awhile, and we get up the next day. I’ve heard it said that when bones are broken and healed the area where the break occurred is actually stronger than it was prior to the injury. I believe the same may be said of our heart’s scars. Yes it hurts and yes it stinks. But we are stronger people. I can only speak for myself, but it’s the promise of friendship that keeps me going each new day. The promise of making new friends…or re-establishing ties with older, or even former, friends.

The greatest heart to ever walk this earth was pierced by a sword after having endured the torture of scourging, being spit upon by those who only the week before had laid palms at his feet and welcomed him as a king, and finally nailed to a cross. And yet, He loves.

My tea has run out and the hour is late. But before I get up and walk away from our table to pay the tab I want to leave you with a little story. I found it tonight while reading through a book I had purchased for a friend of mine and one day hope to deliver to her. Within this story is much wisdom. At the end of my days my reply will be the same as Kingsley’s.

Mrs. Robert Browning, herself an accomplished and widely published poet, once said to the novelist Charles Kingsley, “What is the secret of your life? Tell me, that I may make mine beautiful also.” Thinking for a moment, the beloved old author replied, “I had a friend.”