On Being a Loving Presence

How do we cope with chronic illness? How do we keep from feeling worthless?

The great enemy of the sick person is discourage- ment. Of course, sometimes even little things seem like too much, but then vegging out all the time is depressing. Parts of the mind are alive; others are sluggish or shut down. I think that, along with accepting and embracing our limitations in union with Christ and offering them, we should strive to develop whatever potentialities we have that are vital in us.

My mind is still very active but I do tire easily, so I have to pace myself. Pacing is important. The Italians have the right idea about living life with a human pace--piano, piano. When a civilization has been around for three thousand years, it tends to move slowly and devote a lot of time to eating good food. And though it seems to take forever, things do get done. Rome certainly wasn't built in a day. It's still a work in progress.

I have many projects and aspirations that I work on as I can (and they are "coming along"), but–professionally speaking–I have presently only two set goals for each day: (1) To post at least one edifying thing on social media--more than one is gravy; that's why we don't necessarily have posted on my media sites the Morning Prayer and the Angelus and the Hour of Mercy all three every day. (2) To write my blog and post it--post something, big or small, someone else's quotation if necessary, but something. Those are my daily professional goals as a theologian and an educator right now.

It so happens that I usually do a lot of work in a day. Indeed the two little goals have led to a great deal more. I find that I am doing much more than I thought I ever could, and that I am open to the risk of new possibilities and even new goals. But there is still a basic sense of accomplishment even if the day is a disaster but at the end I can still say, "I did the blog." (I should say, Sundays are off, and you may have noticed that the dates of the entries are sometimes a day or two behind, haha.) Some people say I have a whole "internet ministry" and I suppose in a way I do, but these are its two pillars. So although I have quite a bit of professional work these days, as well as lots of fun, it's really built around being faithful to these two goals.

On the personal level, of course, there is the simple fact that I am a husband and father. All I do and all I suffer pertains to my relationship with my wife, and the awareness that everything indeed is shared sustains this unique companionship through many difficulties. But that is a topic for another blog. As a father, however, I "accomplish" something just by being here. I find it hard to believe but it appears to be true. There are these five little people who love me–yes they "need" me to raise them and educate them and correct them, etc., and I do plenty of that (I try anyway). But first of all, they just love me.

That's how God set up the family (and, really, the whole human race). First, we are "given" to each other. We "belong" to each other. And this basic love generates more love. Concretely, what that means is that even if all I can do is "be around," that is still constructive. It is therefore an achievement to go from the bed (where no one can see me) to the chair in the living room, if I can. For the kids, it's the difference between "where's Daddy?" and "Daddy!" For me that's worth getting out of bed for. Sometimes it's the only thing that gets me up. But the life that ensues is full of surprises.

I found this hard to believe until one time when I was bemoaning my uselessness (which I often do, as my friends and family know only too well), and my own father was there. My Dad rarely talks about growing up: his father died when he was 9 and his mother died when he was 11 (thank God, his grandmother was able to raise him and his siblings). He said to me, with great feeling, that "you have no idea how much it means to these children just that you are here. Just being here is so important to them!"

Well, I felt that he could say that with some authority. Of course he knows that my presence, even on rough days, is a loving presence. To be a Mom or a Dad is first of all to be a loving presence. All sorts of things grow from that (including the frustration that we can't do more, as well as the challenge to really do what we can–but everyone faces that in one form or another).

But I found a basic goal right there: Get up! For me that was possible. For those who are really confined to bed it might just be "give time" or "give a smile," but give something, be a loving presence and let yourself be loved. This is the light in which children grow. So I can't "go out and work"? Well, banging my head against the wall won't change that.

Family duties must be divided up. Financial resources must be found. Sometimes sick people feel that they are not “contributing enough.” Not true. A family is an organism; it adapts. It will focus on the essentials. It will sacrifice what is not necessary. Others will offer their help. Do not be too proud to accept it.

Children take on more responsibility, and learn from it. They understand more than you realize. Love them, talk to them, encourage them, give whatever you can to them, give them yourself–that is what they need first and foremost. If nothing else, let them take care of you. You will be teaching them how to be courageous, how to endure the frailty of human life.

I am not saying we have a license to be lazy. Certainly we must do what we can, and we must challenge ourselves, but we also must give everything to God, and trust that He will bring forth what is good according to His wisdom.

He Never Fails

When I hear about some of the things that people suffer, I think to myself, "I could never handle that."

But I am given what God enables me to bear. I offer Him my best, today, in the circumstances right now. I ask Him to give me the grace to trust in Him. I ask Him to change me in whatever way I need to change. I ask Him to forgive me each day, because I know that every day I will fall short. So I ask for the grace to get up and keep going. "Lord, I desire to love You the way You want me to love you. Have mercy on me."

And then I trust in God to bring forth the good, and even though I often fail in trust, still He never fails: He brings forth the good, in His time and in His way, which always turns out to be better than what we thought we wanted.

How Writing Develops

The people who help me to care for my health think that the most important thing for me to do is to write. That is my excuse for being online all the time! It gets me writing, a lot!

Social media seem to create the right environment for expressing myself in writing by motivating me to comment and interact on posts and in private messages; little things develop into larger conversations, and the next thing you know, stuff is written. And there are also people I keep up with regularly, for various reasons, on the networks or via email. As a result of all these efforts to communicate, I hammer a lot of things out in writing. I then often transfer what I have written to a word document, where I work on it further. Sometimes (after editing or altering as necessary to ensure all possible respect for privacy) I may post some of this writing here.

Perhaps someone who is reading this might recognize some of the ideas and even some of the phrases and segments from posts, comment feeds or personal messages they have read from me before on one of the various social media. Please do not worry–all personal details are carefully removed and every discretion is observed. No matter how open I may be about myself, I always take care to preserve the confidences of others.

My desire is to make further and broader use of ideas and experiences that I have expressed in the written word in the initial context of communication. I also hope to rework some of this blog into my next book, and perhaps even beyond. That is how writing develops, at least for me.

It is something that gets pulled out of me. I write because of the sense that other people want it, that it helps them. That is where my motivation comes from. It was people responding to my book that first pulled me out of a shell that I hid in for more than a year (also a change in my medication, and the help of a good priest, and--as always–the effort and encouragement of my steadfast wife).

Now I'm determined to stay out of my shell, and to be there for those who need me. I shall not bury my talent in the ground.

Education and Reality

John Paul gave me a tour of his school notebooks and tests. He did this voluntarily (and enthusiastically). Every parent who has a child in school should definitely do this from time to time. In fact, do it frequently. This is your child's life. John Paul's life is really rich these days. He is learning some serious stuff at Chelsea. And he has done some creative projects of his own based on what he's been studying. He recently put together a power point presentation (just for fun) of Latin terms and their pictures corresponding to them.

Our son has had a Montessori education. He has learned to develop his interests in a creative and constructive way, dealing with reality--including the possibilities of multimedia. Montessori doesn't use computers; it's all "hardware," hands-on stuff. Calligraphy rather than word processing. And yet, the child who finishes the elementary level will take to computers like a fish to water. He has learned how investigate, how to be patient, how to be persistent in front of new things.

Montessori prepares a child for a secondary school education. He or she enters High School with a solid grasp of the basics of knowledge, but also with a great deal of experience, which fosters in him or her an inquiring mind, a sense of the diverse methods involved in approaching various kinds of subjects, and a readiness to take on new challenges.

I love the Montessori method. It is a realist education. In spite of what might seem like a superficial resemblance, the Montessori ideal is the opposite of the ideal of Rousseau. The point is not to leave the child "alone" so that the child can unfold the possibilities of his or her innate goodness. The point is to place the child in a pedagogically structured environment, so that he or she can discover truth, goodness, and beauty through a guided experience of real things. It is an education that corresponds to human nature.

And it is this human nature that I see maturing in my children.

For more information on the Montessori educational method, here is a useful link: http://www.michaelolaf.net/1CW312MI.html

Perfect Vessel of Jesus

O Mother Mary,
perfect vessel of Jesus,
help us.
When everything still seems too impossible,
you are there, Mary.
I entrust everything into your hands,
and I ask you who carried Jesus in your womb,
to bring Him to me and me to Him,
to bring together in your maternal heart
what the distance of my weakness keeps apart.
Mary, you brought Jesus into the world.
Bring Him, ever more deeply, into my life.
Dear Mary, mother Mary.

The Taste Of Eternity

All of our life is related to our destiny. This is what makes reality attractive. The more we become aware of this, however, the more vulnerable we often feel. Why is this?

The "taste" of eternity that life awakens in us fascinates us and draws us on, but it also brings sorrow because the fulfillment is not yet here, because we must wait. We must endure. Nothing we do in this world can take this sorrow away, because we long for the Infinite--we really do! There really is a relationship between every event in our lives and eternity, and it is the secret behind every true joy.  But even the joys of this life are permeated with the ache of longing, with the "not yet." In the end, only the Cross makes this bearable. But joy is also full of promise and hope, and even its sorrow is sweeter than any regular satisfaction. It hopes in the Resurrection.

After All

Well, we sure can make a mess of things sometimes. But I'm just never going to give up. I sure feel like giving up. But I'm never going to give up. Never give up. Never give up. Never give up. Never give up.

Who am I to presume to give advice to people? But there is a God and He keeps loving us. Thank God for the Cross. Never give up. Never give up. Never give up on Him.

I am the least trusting person in the world. I pray, "Jesus I trust in You" all day and I don't seem to be getting anywhere. Or am I?

I wrote a blog today, after all.

Remembering November 2005 And After (part two)

Here is the continuation and conclusion of the reflection posted on All Souls Day:

“I’m fine,” I told myself.

I felt shaken up, a little overwhelmed, a little out of joint. It was a Friday afternoon by the time things settled down and I had my rental car. I decided it would be a good idea to see my chiropractor on Monday, so I made an appointment. Then I tried to push my way through the many activities of a busy weekend.

Something wasn’t quite right.

Indeed it wasn’t. I should have been in bed. Complete rest will slow the progress of neurological damage after a concussion. Running around like crazy can make it worse.

I ran around like crazy through the rest of Friday and Saturday. Crazy in more ways than one. I became increasingly confused. But not enough to stop me from getting through my business.

Then on Sunday I started losing my balance.

Oh no, I thought. Here goes Lyme disease again! There are so many diverse symptoms that can accompany a Lyme flare-up that people with CLD are tempted to blame it for everything. I was also fatigued, but that was nothing new. And confused.

Monday morning I made the short drive to the chiropractor. By then it had been 72 hours. I was slow-minded, confused, and had balance problems. I wasn’t feeling very well, but I was used to not feeling well. Neither my wife or I realized that I shouldn’t have been driving anywhere at that point.

The doctor looked at me for a few seconds, and then asked, “is your wife at home?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Call her, and if she can’t get you we’ll call an ambulance. You need to go to the emergency room right away. You’ve got a concussion.”

“A what?”

That’s what it was, all right. I couldn’t even take a few steps with my eyes closed without falling over. The ER doctors explained the basics to me, and my own doctor and a neurologist followed up. I had a major concussion. I was ordered off my feet for a week. I was told it might take a couple of months to recover normal brain functioning. Meanwhile I was supposed to take it easy and avoid stress as much as possible....

“Ah...heh, heh...I’m a teacher...ha...y’know, thick-headed students, grueling lectures, papers, finals, senior theses coming up....” Stress? That’s the job description.

What could I do? We were two thirds of the way through the semester. I couldn’t just bail out on my “kids” (as I always used to call my students). So I worked six brutal weeks, laying down with splitting headaches between lectures, wearing sunglasses to cut light sensitivity, seeing students in my home as much as possible, and even having a few read their papers to me aloud. I needed pain medication to get my grades done, which contributed further to wearing down my immune system. This was all like passing out party invitations to the semi-dormant Lyme bacteria in my system.

I finished the grades. But my overall health was a wreck. And the concussion wasn’t healing. I had headaches. I had increasing difficulty following a conversation. And although I could still lecture, I was finding it harder to put words together in ordinary circumstances. I was still losing my balance.

By the middle of January, instead of being at opening weekend for the Spring semester, I was in the hospital. My semester was cancelled. I was demoralized and depressed.

Why had this happened?

When I got out of the hospital, I did nothing but rest for two months. I played games with my children. My limitations forced a certain simplicity upon me. The anger faded, and I began to heal. I also began to see a Catholic psychotherapist. This too was the beginning of a whole new dimension in living with my illness.

I began to heal.

On the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, the college chaplain came to visit me and gave me Holy Communion. Something began on that day, something that has slowly grown in me even in the midst of many subsequent setbacks in physical and mental health. Something deep in me began to heal. I was being prepared for a new task in my life.

As I began to feel better, I started working out. My strength returned, and with it a measure of energy that I had not felt in years. I started working on papers for publication, and by March I was doing everything but classroom lecturing. The previous year, I had patched myself together to return to my work. But now, I was beginning to feel well.

Could it be that my prayer was being answered after all?

Healing, as it turned out, has proven to be a much more complicated task than it appeared in those months. Still this temporary health was a blessing, and though I’ve had many setbacks and struggles since then, God has brought us through them all in a way that has made it possible for me to give attention to what was closest to my heart.

Indeed, it was this window of health that made possible the great gift that I had prayed for on that November morning.

Eileen and I prayed in March, about a possibility. We talked about it. We knew there were risks. But we judged in faith that God wanted us to take them. We prayed for another child.

And God blessed us. God granted the prayers of that November morning. If we had seen the road ahead, with all its trials, would we have had the courage? It is good that life is in the hands of God. Because looking back at that difficult road, we see even the darkest places lit up by the face of our beloved Josefina, and we have never had the slightest regret.

God’s ways are mysterious, and I still do not know how He will fully answer the prayer of that day in November. But I do know that I was struggling with work and keeping my head above water in those days. This was an absorbing focus of my energies, and there was no thought of another child and no plan to seek one. There was only a desire and a prayer, reaching out to some wild unknown future.

We were a family of four children and a father who struggled with his health and the burdens of a difficult job. Then the burden and the struggle were taken off my shoulders. I was forced to rest, in body and in mind. From this rest I found energy and health (even though, as it turned out, only for a time, and as a preparation for new trials that I have already described on this blog). This time engendered in us the hope and the willingness to risk asking for an unlikely gift, and a space was opened in the history of our family for another child.

Without that accident that God permitted to happen as a consequence of my foolishness, there probably never would have been a Josefina Janaro.

Can anyone imagine this family without her?

Thus what seemed miserable at the time became the beginning of an immeasurable good. And it was not my plan that produced this but God, who works everything for the good.

He allows those who trust in Him to perceive this, or at least to glimpse it a little, enough to muster the courage to take risks.

Endowed With Freedom

"The Church alone, in its tradition, defends the absolute value of the person, from the first instant of conception to the last moment of old age, however decrepit and useless the individual may be. And what is this defense of the human being's value based on? How is it that man has this right, this absoluteness whereby even if the whole world were to move in one direction he has something within which gives him the right to stay where he is? He has something within by which he or she can judge the world from which he or she was born.

"This single human being [is] free from the entire world, free, so that the world together and even the total universe cannot force him into anything. In only one instance can this image of a free man be explained. This is when we assume that this point is not totally the fruit of the biology of the mother and father, not strictly derived from the biological tradition of mechanical antecedents, but rather when it possesses a direction relationship with the infinite, the origin of all the flux of the world,...that is to say, it is endowed with something derived from God....

"So here is the paradox; freedom is dependence upon God.... Either we depend upon the flux of our material antecedents, and are consequently slaves of the powers that be, or we depend upon What lies at the origin of the movement of all things, beyond them, which is to say, God."

--Luigi Giussani   

Nothing But A Poor Prayer

I left everyone in suspense last night. I promised to continue the story, but I am a bit weary. Today I have only a poor prayer from the heart. The rest of the story will come soon.

Lord, have mercy on me!
Give me words that are useful, somehow,
in this moment.
Make me an instrument of what You want to give
and use my weakness and flaws
as well as my talents and gifts
because I just don't know how to separate them
even when I want to be an instrument of Your Love.
I just entrust everything to You.
Carry me in Your merciful Heart.
Jesus I trust in You.
Jesus I trust in You.
Jesus I trust in You.
Dear Mary, merciful Mother, pray for me.

Remembering All Souls Day 2005

I woke up very early on a crisp, clear morning, and a thought immediately took shape in my mind.

It was All Souls Day, November 2, 2005.

For the past several weeks, I had been carrying around the awful burden and the anguish of my friend’s suicide (see October’s posts: The Middle of October and I Cannot Leave Them Alone).

My plan was as clear as it was sudden: I decided to drive up to the monastery that morning. It was not yet dawn. I could get there in time for Mass, make a holy hour for my friend’s soul and his family, confess and speak with my spiritual director, and drive back just in time for my 10:30 class.

I was in my first semester back to teaching after my first struggle with Lyme disease. During the past year I had undergone extensive treatment. I appeared to be in remission, but I still found that I had to pace myself. My health still seemed precarious. This too weighed on me.

And yet on this morning, the world felt light. Anything seemed possible.

I drove up to Holy Cross Cistercian Monastery in Berryville, Virginia on old familiar country roads as the sun came up. And I had another idea. I decided to pray a novena of chaplets to the Divine Mercy: in the next hour I said nine chaplets in a row–this precious novena that we pray on the days between Good Friday and Mercy Sunday, this novena that I prayed in 1995 that God might send me the woman he wanted me to marry and send her “soon” (Eileen called a couple of weeks later and said she wanted to move to Virginia), the chaplet of Divine Mercy that I say every day, that played such an important role in my mature conversion to the Church and has been a continual source of sustenance and consolation and nourishment in building up my life.

I prayed this novena of chaplets as part of my devotions that morning and I had three intentions: (1) for the soul of my friend, and the consolation of his family; (2) for the restoration of my health; (3) that we might have another child.

Teresa was about to turn three. We had our four beautiful children–for a couple that got started in their thirties, we felt blessed. We were grateful. And I was still sick. I was taking a lot of medications. Yet, on that morning, something in me was moved to pray for this, to desire it ardently. Another child. Every child is a miracle and a gift from God. It was a little bold on my part to ask for another, especially since I hadn’t even talked to Eileen. But it was a secret desire in my fatherly heart, and I brought it to God that morning, along with my prayer for the soul of my friend.

I got to the monastery in time for the end of Mass, made my hour of prayer, and then was able to see the beloved old Trappist monk who guided me for nine years of my life, whose advice on prayer, silence, the presence of God and the living of human relationships still remains rooted in me (he is now living in a nursing home, and his mind has become as simple as his prayer; for him perhaps a blessing, but a loss–in one way, at least–for me).

The day seemed kissed by God. The silence of the monastery was a great balm for my aching soul, the words of Fr. Edward were wise, the fall air was fresh and the colors majestic. I took a few pictures with my camera. It had been a beautiful morning, like a taste of heaven.

I looked at my watch and realized that I had to leave in order to get back in time for class. Any former student of mine reading this remembers my Mediterranean sense of time, always “a little late.” I was trying to correct this bad habit. I was determined to be on time for class.

Oh, but first I had to stop in quickly to the gift shop to get a prayer card for the family. That took just a little too much time....

Well, I would just have to make up the time by driving faster on the way back.

God’s grace meets my stupidity. Again. How does He put up with me?

*People, listen to me. DON’T DO THIS! Drive safely. Don’t speed. Don’t think, “I can handle it. I know the road.” A car, when it loses control, can become an instrument of death–for you, or for other innocent people. I don’t care how good you may think you are, or how many times you’ve driven over that road, there are speed limits for a reason. It only takes one mistake, one mechanical failure, one queer obstacle on the road, one slip of the mind, one misjudgment. Yes, life is full of risks, but this is an unnecessary risk. Slow down, pay attention, stop worrying, drive your car safely. Do it for the sake of your family, of other drivers, of yourself.*

. . .

Speeding along and worrying about being on time. The old car’s got a pretty bouncy suspension. Country roads. Watch the curves. Here’s a nice straight stretch. No cars coming the other way.

Oh, railroad tracks. THUNK. What was...?

Airborne.

Heading toward the side. There’s a tree. A tree. Me, the air, and a tree in autumn bloom...in a split second of high speed.

The tree whizzed passed just to the left of the car.

Grass wheels hit spin around I’m bouncing everywhere STOP.

Alone.

Thank God there was no one else coming the other way. Thank God. God forgive me.

. . .

“Are you sure you’re alright sir?” the policeman asked. “Do you want us to take you to the hospital?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” I was sitting on the ground. I was staring. He asked more than once.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

A concussion only begins at the time of impact. The brain hits the inside of the skull, and there is a cascade of neurological damage that takes place over the course of the next 72 hours.

*You've just been in a serious car accident? YOU ARE NOT “OKAY”! Get yourself checked out.

I got into the tow truck with the driver.

The car was totaled. It was an old car, and only had liability insurance. This accident was a solo job. “I’m okay, though” I said to myself as the reverberation of the concussion continued to shred neuropathways in my brain.

“What happened to this beautiful day?” I wondered. “What about my prayers? My novena? And the sense that God was taking care of me? How does this fit in?”

How indeed? It was the beginning of a mysterious and dramatic period in my life. November 2, 2005. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.

to be continued....

Unknown and "Unlikely" Saints

On this All Saints Day, I am led to ponder the saints in heaven who may never have entered a Catholic church while on earth.

People who do not know about Christ are still loved by God and led by His grace, and if they search for Him and follow what their conscience shows them to be His will, He leads them (in some mysterious way) to say "yes" to the Person of Christ present in their lives, and thus they can be saved by Christ and joined to the Church even if they have never heard of either. This must also be true of people who have "heard" of Christ and the Church, but do not understand them properly through no fault of their own.

Jesus, by becoming man, has united himself in a certain way with every human being. The secret drama of every person's real life is their decision to say "yes" or "no" to Jesus Christ as He makes Himself present in their circumstances. Since Christ’s coming, there have been many people who have never heard of Him, but they have sought God's will, and have sought through the knowledge that was available to them to do what they thought God wanted of them. They love the good, and in that love God's grace is at work so that they can somehow encounter and accept the person of Christ through love even if they do not know His name. If a person truly wants "God's will," then they want Christ even if they don't know it, because Christ is God's will, and Christ places that desire in them. Jesus Christ is what every human person is searching for. And so all those who truly search for the Mystery of life, and beg for that Mystery, will be led in a vital way to God's revelation of that Mystery: Jesus Himself. Thus many who do not know "about" Jesus in a way that they can express or articulate, can still say "yes" to Jesus in their lives through love, through fidelity to the grace that God gives them, and through mysterious ways that we don't understand.

There are various theological theories about how this can happen, and I am not proposing any of them here. Nor am I saying that someone who recognizes the truth about Christ and the Church can reject it in favor of some other path that he or she prefers. If I am truly searching for the One who loves me, and then He shows Himself to me in Person and reveals His Name, how can I not accept Him, let myself be embraced by Him, and embrace Him in return? If fear or my own preferences were to prevail at this point, it would mean the failure of my search rather than its fulfilment.

What I want to point out is the simple fact that God’s grace is central to the life of every human person, and it has ways of working even in those whose connection to the Church cannot be seen by us. It is something to remember on the day in which we celebrate all the saints. God’s mercy is a mystery, but it’s greatness will surely surprise us.

All I Can Do Is Offer Everything To You

O God, what is the design of Your wisdom for the human race? You have willed to manifest and glorify the Mystery of who You are by pouring Yourself out and becoming one of us. You dwell among us and give Yourself up entirely for each and all of us.

You reveal that the Absolute Being is Absolute Love, and You offer that Love to each of us. In your wisdom you shape the hearts of each of us, fashioning us to be Your companions, making us capable of giving and receiving love and then placing Yourself in the midst of us so that we might love You and be loved by You and be transformed into Your likeness.

O Jesus help me.
All I can do is offer everything to You.
You have created me for Yourself.
My heart desires You,
and yet how often do I even think of what I do?
I am resolved to do the best I can.
I am resolved to seek Your will and to do Your will,
because Your will is Love,
and it will always be what will enlarge my soul,
and make me truly free,
because I am made for Love.
So I offer myself to You;
I abandon myself completely to You,
and to Your plan for my life.
I know there is weakness and resistance in me
that I do not know how to overcome.
I know there are ways I must grow that I do not understand.
I know that my life is a mystery hidden in Your wisdom and goodness.

O Jesus, I offer everything to You.
Convert me.
Change me.
Open my heart to the love You give me in this moment.
Carry my soul.
Give me, in Your Infinite Mercy, the willing heart
that loves You in the way You long for me to love You.
I am hindered from the freedom for which I have been made,
the freedom to live as the image and grow as the likeness of God.
And so I abandon myself entirely to Your Mercy.
For You have loved me first,
so that--by the power of Your love--I might love You
and receive You in giving myself to You.
Jesus I trust in You.
Jesus I trust in You, completely.

Not For Myself Alone

What a tremendous thing is the Eucharistic liturgy. The whole of creation is brought to the worship of God in the offering of Jesus Himself, through the ministry of His priests. We are truly blessed to bring ourselves and our lives to offer in union with the Heart of Jesus on Sunday–that special day dedicated to Divine worship. Yet there are so many places, and so many hearts, in which Sunday means nothing. And there are places too where Christians long to participate in the Eucharist, but are prevented by persecution.

I must have a special attention and gratitude for what is being given to me in the Mass. I have to be aware that it is not a personal "religious thing" just for me. It is a gift, and the gift is Love, which cannot be "kept" for myself alone but must be given and given. I am not at Mass for myself alone. I am there for the salvation of the world, to be an instrument of Christ's love for the world and for every one of the billions of human persons who will not be at Mass, who do not know Him or do not understand Him, or who must suffer because of their circumstances.

Your Love Does Not Leave Us Alone

Dear Jesus,
Your Love does not leave us alone.
You became man to be with us,
and so in the torrent of Love that gives without limit,
we find You in our brothers and sisters.
We are not given this life alone;
we walk this road together, with others,
whom You give us,
that we might be together.
You make us a People
in the midst of all the peoples of the world.
A People who belong to each other
and who belong to all peoples,
especially those who are abused
and forgotten
and disdained by this passing age.
You give us to one another,
and through one another You sustain us.
You send us forth together
to remind each other that You are with us on the road,
to be the reflection of Your Presence to one another,
and the support of one another on this road
of suffering and love.
You are with us in our love for one another,
that passes through time and space,
that crosses distances,
that is given through gestures and elements and signs,
that gathers together to express love
and worship
and wonder
in the mystery of Your Presence.
So we are sustained
and Your Love begins to build something new
in the midst of this world,
even making use of our weakness.
We discover in this place,
in this history,
in this People gathered as a great family,
in which the greatest must serve the rest,
in this common love,
in this friendship human and Divine,
We discover You
and Your companionship
in this life
called the Church.
This communion of those who love You
in friendship with one another,
in community,
together in the midst of the world,
across the centuries,
across the continents,
from every language,
from nations and peoples,
destined for all nations,
all peoples
every person
Your love.
Jesus.

The Beginning of a Long Journey

Today is the five year anniversary of Josefina’s first surgery. None of us realized that we were embarking on the beginning of a long odyssey for our family that has lasted to this day. It started with her seven month stay in the hospital and then continued with my subsequent flare-up of chronic Lyme disease and aggravated psychiatric problems which I have often discussed openly in this blog.

I had been in remission in 2006, and had felt better than I had in years. Most of the year had been a remarkable time of recovery, energy, and vigorous re-engagement in the work I loved best: classroom teaching. During the whole time that Josefina was in the hospital, I was in crisis mode, and with the help of Eileen's mother, we were able to keep everything running at home and at school. I thought I still felt good, but, really, my engine started to "overheat." The stress was enormous.

Thus, when Josefina finally came home and everything settled, I stopped functioning on adrenaline and had the physical and psychological meltdown that I describe in the first pages of my book, that ended up putting me in the hospital. I remember the sense of irony I felt when Eileen came in with the baby, and I realized that Josefina was visiting me in the hospital. After all those months of seeing her in a hospital crib on tubes and monitors, here I was, suddenly, in a hospital bed on tubes and monitors with a healthy Josefina in her Mommy’s arms looking down at me! It was like some strange dream.

By Josefina's first birthday I was back on medical leave, and on my way to "retirement." I still don't understand all of what happened, or exactly where I am now. Physically I feel much better, but I'm on a very reduced regimen. Medication, therapy, vitamins, diet. Somehow a book got written in the midst of all these recent years. For the past year, I've lived one day at a time, and most of the days have been pretty good.

I don’t take anything for granted, but I am grateful for so much that I have received. Life is precious and amazing. I pray that God make me the husband, father, teacher, mentor, and friend that He wills me to be. Oh yes, and as my parents get older and begin to be needy, I have suddenly remembered again that I am somebody's son (and somebody's brother too).

It keeps me going.

Josefina Turns Five!

This is the story of a little girl, born on October 26, 2006. She was seven weeks premature, weighed under five pounds and needed surgery to reconstruct her intestines. The first days were full of tension:

But she made it through, and for a while, it looked as though she would be home in a few weeks....

But then the weeks turned into months, seven months in fact.

Daddy used to sing to her

And Mommy visited her every single day

Until the day when she was finally ready to  come home:

We were grateful to have our whole family together at last.

Josefina is still teaching me how to live. She is still teaching me about the joy of living.


Happy Birthday to our littlest one, Josefina Janaro,
October 26


Age: 5

You Have Wounded Us With Your Love

Dear Jesus, I sometimes feel a whole world that cries out for You
but does not know Your name.
So much goodness in souls,
so many hearts that run up against limits
and barriers,
and why are they so restrained?
Why do they not see you?

It is not because You do not love them
with all Your infinite compassion.
You know and hold the hearts of each of them.
And You know the things that prevent them
or hold them back from recognizing You,
and You know what is their fault,
and what they cannot help;
You know what is beyond the reach
of their present human circumstances.
You know the obstacles that not even heroic goodness can overcome.
You know all, and You look upon all with infinite compassion,
with patience;
yet also with the ardent urgency of a Lover
who longs to lavish Himself completely on the one
(each and every one)
that He loves,
and to be loved in return,
so that love might become unity
and communion between God and man.
Each man.
Each woman.

You have this embracing Love
and yet only a few seem to recognize You,
and even fewer to love You
or find any space at all for You in their hearts.
We do not understand how Your love works.
We only know that it works for each and all
with tenderness and passion,
with mercy and forgiveness,
with all the attention of a particular love;
We know that for You,
every human person
without exception
without exception
no one is excluded
every human person
is a Love Affair for You.
That is what the Cross means....

Thank you Lord for showing to us the love of Your heart
and moving us to desire that all the world know You.
For this desire is only a faint echo in us
of the mysterious call You utter in the heart of every person.
Why have You revealed Your love to us?
Not so that we might feel superior to others.
But so that we might be the servants, the messengers,
the images in the world of that Love;
so that every person who encounters us
might meet in that moment some small flash
of the radiance of Your Infinite Love.
So that each person You send us
might have a taste of the mystery,
of the truth,
that he or she is loved by You.

Such is the love You have entrusted to us
and we feel utterly beyond this task;
we feel overwhelmed by the vocation
to bring Your love to those we meet,
to the world.
But praise be to you, Jesus,
for we do not carry this love by ourselves.
Because it is the Cross,
it is carried by You in us,
and we are given the grace to share with You
the wonderful burden of this Love.

We are called,
and this is Your work.
You have wounded us with Your Love.
We have heard You whisper, "my Beloved,"
and we can no longer look at any human being
without hearing that same voice
and feeling that same beautiful pain in our own hearts.
You have given us this road of suffering.
By Your grace, and Your inexhaustible Mercy–
for we shall often fail You–
draw us along the road of this Love,
unite us to You,
carry us for we ourselves are frail,
we are weak and need healing,
we need to be borne completely in Your Loving arms
in the steps of this life You have prepared for us.
Convince us, O Lord,
that You will never fail us.
Your grace and Your Mercy are always sufficient for us.
Take away our fear.
Give us complete trust in You,
Jesus.

Remembering John Paul II

O God, who are rich in mercy
and who willed that the blessed John Paul the Second
should preside as Pope over your universal Church,
grant, we pray, that instructed by his teaching,
we may open our hearts to the saving grace of Christ,
the sole Redeemer of mankind.
Who lives and reigns.

This is the official English translation of the collect for today's memorial for Blessed John Paul II. Although the day is currently publicly observed only in Rome and Poland, the U.S. bishops will likely petition to add it to the Latin rite calendar in America.

Meanwhile, everyone is free to pray this prayer personally (every day if you like!). Blessed John Paul II, pray for us!

Note that the prayer mentions specifically two of his greatest encyclicals, "Rich in Mercy" (Dives in Misericordia) and "Redeemer of Mankind" (Redemptor Hominis), and thereby also highlights two great features of his person: his recognition of the greatness of the Divine mercy and his mystical perception of the relationship of Christ to the life of every human being.

I recently read an observation by a Church leader that one of the most impressive things that has emerged during the canonization process is the depth of John Paul’s interior life, in particular his personal relationship with Jesus Christ. This was the source of his greatness, his holiness, and his humanity. It was because of his profound union with Christ that John Paul II was able to connect in such an intimate and direct manner with so many human beings, to touch the lives of so many individual persons, groups, crowds, nations and peoples, Catholics and non-Catholics, religious people and non-religious people.

The real truth about each of us is that we are made for Jesus Christ. It really is true. And Blessed John Paul II was a man who knew Jesus Christ. This is the reason why he was, and why he remains, so powerful in our lives.

A Great Adventure

I have this whole mysterious rich life. Where does it come from? From the fact that Christ grabbed me and took me into a great adventure.

We are on a great adventure, not in some other world, but right here inside of this life. This is the adventure, even with all the sorrow, and it is He who makes it that way. He takes up our lives, and sends us forth not to forget Him but to continue seeking and finding Him everywhere. Nobody is born taking Christ seriously; those of us who really live for Him and hunger for Him do so because He has touched us and changed us, He has burst into our lives. We all have our "conversion stories"--indeed they are ongoing.

Do I Know Jesus Christ?

I have begun to ask myself the question, "What kind of a relationship do I have with Jesus?"

I believe in Him of course, and in everything that the Church teaches. I worship Him as God the Word, who lives eternally with the Father and the Holy Spirit, ONE God forever and ever. I obey His commands (or at least I try), I pray, I receive the sacraments, and I write about Jesus all the time, with the conviction that the Word made flesh is the Lord of all creation, the center of the cosmos and of history.

But there is more to it than that.

I "know" Jesus Christ, personally. I have "met" Him. It is a mysterious encounter and a mysterious relationship. But it is real, or else none of my relationships are real and my entire life is a joke. It is tremendously and transformingly real. Jesus Christ, Himself, has changed and continues to change my life.

I am not saying that I "know" Him nearly as well as I should, nor that I always know what He wants from me or from others. But He is right in the center of my life, not only as the Almighty God, but also--what a wonder--as my companion, my brother, indeed my friend. It is from that place especially that He asks me to believe in Him in an intimate way, to trust Him.

Jesus I trust in You.

I Trust in You Now

Jesus died on the Cross. Each of us will die. What do we know about the mystery of our own death? Where will my heart be in that hour? Let me entrust it NOW to the Divine Mercy, ask that Jesus insert me into His Most Compassion- ate Heart and that Mary surround me with the maternal love of her heart.

The Lord Jesus and His merciful Mother have claimed that final hour as their own on the Cross, and at the foot of the Cross. I do not want to deny them that hour, and so I offer them what I have now, this hour, this "now"...Jesus I trust in You, through Mary.

The House of the Father

Eternal Father,
Infinite Mercy,
Ineffable, Glorious, Exalted,
Giver of all life,
Lord of the universe,
Creator of our hearts,
we praise You,
we worship You,
we bow before You,
we give You thanks--You who are the Giver
of all good things.
You sent Your Only Son,
Jesus Christ,
Your Eternal Word,
through whom all things were created.
You sent Him into the world,
because You loved the world,
because You wanted to save the world.

From all eternity You saw us,
in our smallness
and our weakness
and our failure,
and You wanted to be with us.
You sent Your Son
to look upon us with a human face
and reveal the radiance of Your Glory.

Lord Jesus Christ,
You emptied Yourself and took the form of a slave,
so that through You
we might be raised up to the life of God.
You wanted us,
even after we had strayed far from You
and before we ever thought to seek You.
You wanted us
when we were far away,
lost in ourselves,
lost without the thought of being found,
asleep in our nothingness.

You called us out of darkness,
You woke us from our sleep,
You healed us from our sickness,
and taking us in the firmness of Your grasp,
You set us upon our feet
and bid us walk with You
to the Source of our lives,
to the home of our souls,
to the House of the Father.

I Cannot Leave Them Alone

Today is the anniversary of my friend’s death. Yes, I’m a bit depressed. I’m fighting it, but part of me wants to be depressed...for his sake and in solidarity with so many who are like him.

I have tasted that darkness, but I have been blessed with an enormous amount of help. I have been sustained, by good medicine, and by the great woman I married, by my family, by the tremendous power of prayer, by this unique Christian community in which I live as well as the pedagogy of Fr. Giussani and Fr. Carron and others who help form me to live as a human person, in a real way, in all these relationships.

I’m struggling today, remembering my friend. I'm trying to say to myself, "Take your mind off it. Take your mind off that feeling of lostness, that terrible emptiness that must have been there." But then another part of me keeps coming back to it because I don't want to leave him alone there. I’ve been in that place. I can’t just turn my back on him, and on the others who are lost.

But Jesus was with them in that lonely place. Jesus on the Cross went to every person, walked every person's road, "bridged the distance" to every person--especially those distances that people have created for themselves, willfully, by sin. My friend's distance was not willful; it was a suffering, an illness. There are deeper distances and greater lonelinesses that Jesus united Himself with, traveling the mysterious inner world of every human being, personally, in that "Mystical Night" that was The Cross.

None of us can say to God, "You don't understand what I'm going through!" He has been "with us" through all of it. The "three hours" of the Cross intersect with every human life. This shakes up our ideas about space and time (and theologians can try to understand the "how" of all this), but when we realize that God is Infinite Love, we should ask ourselves, "Wouldn't Infinite Love want to do this?"

Infinite Love loves. And He who is Infinite Love became man so that Love would be concrete, so that it would be inside the human life of each of us, so that it would reach us really and insert God's companionship with the human person inside of human history and human realities and human relationships and even human things and gestures and the material realities of the human world.

So why isn't everyone in heaven? Infinite Love doesn't force itself to be accepted. Infinite Love and Mercy and Forgiveness in the Person of Christ seeks the acceptance of the very freedom it created, the freedom that each of us possesses. We have the freedom to say "no". Or we have the freedom to let ourselves be loved and let that love empower us to receive it fully by loving in return.

This is our terrible and wonderful freedom. United with God and empowered by His grace, we share in the power of His love. We too become lovers, great lovers, in His likeness. But we have to let Him love us.

That's why prayer is so important. It opens our freedom to God. From the moment we begin to pray, truly, our freedom at least begins to loosen it's grip on that "NO" to God, and God is already entering in and beginning to change us.

So what is it in me that desires (even a little) to "be with" other persons in their suffering rather than to be "satisfied" in myself. Is that love?

Or is it just my own depression? Or--wow!--is it, somehow, both? God works through everything. God works through our weakness. He works especially through our weakness and our suffering, and the love with which we embrace it.

Is this love? Is it an embrace?

O Lord, shape me in this moment. Make me who You will me to be. I can’t figure myself out. I offer all this to You.

Yay! Eileen is Finally Done!!!

The sun is shining brightly today.

It is a beautiful autumn day, and I have enjoyed some time outside. Right now the sun is gleaming on my eyes, through the window.

Eileen finished her papers and mailed them off. It’s finally over. For over three years, this cross has been borne by our whole family. Husband and wife are so important to each other. Father and mother are so important to their children. Children can be marvels of resourcefulness and resilience of they know they are loved. When a family embraces a difficulty together for the love of God–each member contributing according to his or her own level of understanding–a real growth can come out of it.

What would otherwise be an absence (one that might draw families apart) becomes instead a sacrifice in which compensations are made and, to some degree, hardships are borne. It is a great blessing, to be aware–together–of the reason for the sacrifice, and to make it the focus of family prayer. I think all our children have a sense of the value of their mother’s work, and they have been formed in part by the sacrifices they have made so that she can accomplish that work. And of course in our case they experience the fruits of that work, because she teaches them in their school.

I love my wife. She is a brilliant lady.

The Middle of October

I was saying in the previous post that I feel that I have nothing to give. Well, God seems to make use of me anyway.

It is an miserable condition, to “feel” this way, but it is not a judgment. I know that God says in my heart, “I made you, I redeemed you, I have blessed you, go and give what you have received.” The real danger of depression is that a Malicious Voice enters into the midst of the neurological disequilibrium and tries to lead the person to discouragement. I feel that I am nothing and have nothing to give. The evil voice says, “Give up. Fall into bitterness.” But I still say, “Lord, if I am nothing, then I give you my nothingness. Create me anew.” And so even depression can become an occasion for freedom to embrace this mystery, that my value consists in belonging to You. To say, “I need You” in the darkness is a prayer, and only God knows how much healing such prayer brings to a wounded, desperate world. Let us never underestimate the power of God made perfect in the weakness of our suffering.

Depression does not necessarily overwhelm our freedom, and as long as our freedom is alive there is the possibility for love, even for great love. But we must also remember, especially in looking at others who suffer, that it is a crushing burden, a force that imposes itself, and that can, in certain cases, be so overpowering that it brings about events that may be outside a person’s responsibility. God knows that human freedom can be suspended by the distortion of this disease, so that one acts as if in a dream. Here I am thinking in particular of a terrible tragedy that happened six years ago, in the middle of October, to a lifelong friend–a tragedy that tore my soul in a way that still has not healed.

This event is undoubtedly one of the reasons why I find October so difficult. People die from depression. I prefer to put it this way, because–although I am not considered to be in danger (and I am under the regular professional care of competent and attentive people)–I know this monster, and I believe that it can be a killer. Of course only God knows the limits of freedom, but we know enough today about these diseases to realize that our hearts must commend the afflicted to the mercy of God. The Church confirms this, when she gives them a full Christian burial and continues to pray for them (and honor them) as members of the faithful departed.

Personally, I believe that my friend is at peace. He is in my prayers. And I think, somehow, that he mysteriously accompanies me and my family and even intercedes for us. I think he helps me.

Of course, he would want to help. He always did. My friend, who died from depression, was a Catholic priest. Or I should say, is a Catholic priest, for "thou art a priest forever...." He was a good priest. A very good priest. Only God knows the merits of his struggle, which was a mighty one. In the end, though, depression for him was as deadly as cancer.

I am not trying to scare people. It is not so virulent in me. I am not going to die from this. That is not the danger for me. My temptation is to become discouraged. Encourage me. Some people already have (thanks!), and it is a great help in keeping me focused. I’m not asking for flattery, but if what I do is useful to you, let me know. Kick me in the butt and tell me to do more, if you think I can, or if you need it or know someone else who needs it. We must share our needs. This is the heart of solidarity, and solidarity is one of the great constructive forces of love.

Meanwhile, my doctor and I have made a slight medication adjustment, and I am supplementing Vitamin D and B Complex. The sun is in the sky and there is sunshine in the faces of my wife and children. I struggle with the memory of these terrible days, and find also a mysterious healing at work, hidden in the mercy of God and in the intercession of many good souls. There is deep conviction that grows in me and says within me, “Keep telling people that this is something real. Keep telling them to take care of themselves and their loved ones. Keep telling them that this is a disease; that it is not something to be ashamed of, that it is not their fault, but also that they cannot overcome it by themselves and they need to have the humility to get help. Keep encouraging young people to take up the mental health professions, which are so much in need of an integral Christian vision of the human person.”

And please pray for the soul of my friend, and the souls of all the faithful departed who have lost their lives to mental illness. Through the mercy of God, may they rest in peace, and pray for us.

I Will Not Give Up

Jesus offered Himself for us. His heart was opened for each one of us on the Cross, in his hour of Mercy. He longs for each of us in this hour, and His desire to be with us is here, when He dies on the Cross for our sins. He does not stop loving us because of our sins, but His love is there for us and offered to us while we are still sinners, so that we can be changed by it and saved by it. On the Cross Jesus wants to win our love, by giving Himself totally for us.

Dark and wet and gloomy all day. It is October 13. Where is my miracle of the sun? Why do I feel no sun shining on me? Mary, O Mother Mary. I have had a glimpse of the sun. It is a miracle. I am trying to remember its light in the shadow and the thunder. O Mary, O Mary my Mother. Totus tuus.

Depression is clouding over me. If you’ve read my book, you understand. Well, you understand to some extent. I have doctors. I have medicine. I have therapy. I am down, and it’s something I deal with as part of life. It may be the weather change, my persistent cold, a need to adjust my diet, to get more exercise, to get out of myself and to give love and help to others. I have a chronic infection (Lyme disease) that can flare up anywhere, including the brain. These are all factors of my life about which I have been very open.

All factors to grapple with, factors that make up the environment for the action of my freedom. For me it is in this place, in these moments, that He asks me, “Do you believe in Me? Do you trust in Me? Do you love Me?” This is where my own particular circumstances intersect with every person’s life. We all have this place where we suffer, where we face our own inadequacy, where we discover the smallness of our hearts and the pettiness of all our deeds. And it is here that Jesus asks each one of us, in the most penetrating and poignant way, to believe in Him, to trust Him.

I do believe that He loves me, whatever darkness may surround me.

Why do I fail to entrust everything to this Great Lover? Why am I afraid? What more could He possibly do to deserve my trust?

Jesus, I entrust to You what seems so often to me to be such a complicated business, namely the abandonment of myself to You, the giving of everything over to You, the surrender of everything to You...even my weakness.

I will not give up. Even if I am broken, God is still God, and still Glorious–even more clearly so, for He shares in my brokenness. Here, more than anywhere, it is clear that He is worthy of all my love. He has proven Himself. Thus, in every circumstance–even in the face of the prospect that I have nothing to give, that I am worthless, that all my aspirations in life may end in failure–the only reasonable possibility for me is to love God.

Even if I am nothing, then, still I want to love Him. I beg that I might be able to love Him.

From nothing, God creates, God brings forth life. Jesus I trust in You. Convert me. Conquer me. Give me a new heart.

Living in Love

It's so easy to try to live in the past or to live in the future. The past belongs to God. The future belongs to God. Then there is the present. The present belongs to God, and He pours it out as a gift that constitutes "me," that creates in me freedom and invites that freedom to respond in love. And so, once again, I belong to God, in giving myself, in this present moment.

Here is life: the present moment.

But what are "my past" and "my future"? I find them always in memory and hope. And so I entrust everything of the past to You, O God, and everything of the present, and everything of the future. Grant that I might be able to remember and offer this prayer. Now.

Social Media in the Stone Age, Part II

Letters. I shall always be grateful that there were still letters a generation ago. Among the stacks of letters we have stored away are two very important bundles: the letters that Eileen and I exchanged over the course of five years between when we first met and when we realized that we loved each other.

We met in January of 1990, when Eileen moved to Washington, D.C. after college. We became good friends. By the summer of 1990, she had left again, bound ultimately for graduate school at the University of Dallas. She visited again that Thanksgiving. Then, five summers later, we saw one another again, she moved back to Virginia, and we got engaged. In between there were many stories in both our lives, of travel, study, projects, work, even failed romances with other people.

And through it all, there were the letters.

I was a good correspondent with many people, and often wrote long, interesting letters (I wonder where they all are today). I still spend a good portion of each day writing "letters," although they are now in the form of emails or "messages" in Facebook inboxes. I would like to think that I give my correspondence the same (if not more) attention as I did a generation ago, but I cannot be sure, because I have no copies of anything I wrote back then (whereas I have copies of everything I have written the past several years--which is useful for a writer, because ideas are always germinating in the midst of correspondence).

Indeed, correspondence has always been a form of "thinking out loud" for me; my mind actually ponders things via the written word, especially if there is someone on the other end who I know will be considering things with me. Among my correspondents there have always been certain people who have been philosophical and/or poetic "muses" for me. Because of our common interests and my particular desire to communicate with them, they have always been able to get me to think and to express myself.

The internet has multiplied and introduced a certain chaos factor into this possibility for inspiration. It is easy for too much energy to flow into paths of bantering and chattiness. Still that is not my business online. Though it is true that a "comment" can often grow into something much more extensive, my preferred manner of communication remains sustained pieces of text. Those of you, my current "muses," whose inboxes are cluttered with my messages know who you are. In a way, thanks to this blog, all of you who are reading this are my "muses" today.

But what was the point of this digression?

Of course. It is only fitting that my richest inspiration, through the course of five adventurous years of life, ended up being the woman I married. There is something about both of us that makes a friendship of letters very appropriate.

It was a relationship that grew through letters. We wrote very frequently about a vast range of topics. And it was a true correspondence, with much giving and receiving on both sides. Eileen indeed seemed to have the unique capacity to surprise me by entering into my own mind (or perhaps I should say drawing me out) not because she thought the same way I did, but precisely because she thought differently. The difference, however, was rarely a disagreement. Rather it truly was--to use the worn-out word--"complementary."

And that element of surprise remains, even after 15 years of marriage and five children. Some time ago, we took out the old letters and read some of them to each other. It was surprising how much richer they seemed, how much more of the other person was perceptible in them, and the degree to which so much of our conversation was really about each other. It is surprising too how the unity of our marriage weaves through the common and complementary vocation we live toward each other, our children, and those we engage in the work of education and communication.

The letters reveal the possibility of a whole life to be shared.

I am glad that, today, both bundles are in the same place.

What Makes Friendships Real?

I had some nice visits this weekend with some long-time friends (notice I didn’t say “old” friends). Some were people I had not seen or heard from for many years. Others were people I had not seen for a long time, but whom I have been in touch with in varying degrees through one or more kinds of media. Still others were people I have seen (and keep in touch with) frequently over the past thirty (or more) years.

It is a blessing to be with friends. It is good also to stay in touch (and I am glad in this regard for some of the conveniences developed by technology). I marvel with gratitude, however, at the fact that my life has been so endowed with such real, substantial, and long-lasting friendships. I realize after nearly half a century of life that this is not a common experience in our culture.

But what makes these friendships real? What makes any friendship real? I have found that there are two kinds of enduring friendships, and although both presuppose time spent together, both are based ultimately on something that transcends (even as it enters into) time and space. That “something” is truth.

The first kind of enduring friendship is one that is based on a common search for the truth. These friends may not share the same faith, and may have other disagreements over matters of importance. But they have traveled the road of life together in some way, and have ardently engaged together in seeking the purpose and significance of things. In these friendships there is a real recognition of “truth,” even if the term is not used, because what unites these friends is their awareness of a common desire for something real, for something that lasts and gives meaning to the events of time and the story of life. It can be a something that is hinted at and reflected through very ordinary experiences that people share, or even in the intuition that corresponds to the harmony they discover with each other through shared interests or sympathy of temperament and perspective. But for friendship to endure, it is not enough to have “things in common,” or to simply “get along;” there is the enduring theme of a great destination, toward which friends journey–perhaps in the dark, perhaps without knowing the way, perhaps in continual argument over what exactly the destination is, or perhaps simply with the quiet, implicit recognition that it is there and that it draws them onward.

The second kind of enduring friendship is in many ways like the first, but it has another aspect. It is a common journey toward the fulfillment of the truth that has already been encountered. Such friends are often brought together by some wonderful event, something that defines the rest of their lives and that they will never be able to deny without denying themselves. And one often finds that these friends will be the most odd and unusual sort of companions. One is struck by a great variety of temperaments and preferences, backgrounds, inclinations, and tastes. What binds them together as friends, however, and keeps them together through the years and even through divergent circumstances is a common experience.

And it is not just any experience. It is an encounter with nothing less than the Mystery that gives meaning to all of life, the Mystery that has entered their world and placed them together on a common road. At a certain point in time the Truth brought them together, they recognized the Truth, they tasted it, they said to one another, “Here is the reason why we live,” they met the Truth and were regenerated by it.

Sometimes we forget where we come from. But when we meet our brothers and sisters again, we remember whose children we are, and the home that we are all seeking together.

Social Media in the Stone Age, Part I

Social media seek to keep people "connected." We forget, of course, that social media have been around for a very, very long time. Before the magic of computers and the internet gave us the power of sharing "instant" words and images, we simply did the same thing in a slower and in many ways more considered and artful manner. Software and communications systems are ultimately extensions of our own human powers, and for all their external dazzle they are but imitations of the internal vitality, expressiveness, and imagination that make up our humanity.

Before Google+ and Facebook and Twitter, before texting and mobile devices and instant photo sharing, before even that ancient instrument of communication used by our forefathers that still lingers in vestigial form in our homes and in our pockets--the "telephone"--there was the original marvel of all the social media, used by everyone from Hammurabi to Cyrus the Great to St. Paul to my younger self (and there are precious stacks of them still boxed away in my attic): the tremendous, glorious letter.

Other than those times when you were expecting the delivery of something you ordered online, when was the last time that you actually looked forward with anticipation and hope for the delivery of the mail?

Once upon a time, the mailman was a magical creature, a sort of daily Santa Claus who might be bearing...anything. They say you get a little endorphin rush whenever someone "likes" your status on Facebook. But nothing electronic compares to the raptures of hope that used to fill you from head to toe every time you saw the mailman, starting about six days or so after you had sent your last letter. You tried to see if there was a letter in that pile he delivered: the ragged envelope, the familiar scrawl, the tangibility of a letter.

Obviously, I am not against the electronic media. They are tools. Too many people, however, assume that because something is a "tool," we need not give any thought to how it shapes and affects and (possibly) hinders the purposes for which we use it. Usually the more powerful a tool is, the more dangerous it is as well. And some tools have a dynamic of their own which serves us wonderfully if we give it constant attention and direction, but runs wild and ruins us if we ignore it. Nothing illustrates this better than man's mythical first "tool": fire. Today's communications media are a kind of fire. That is a subject for another blog.

I am reminiscing about the good old days of "the letter." I realize that in today's world there are people who are adults in the eyes of the law who have never had the experience of getting letters on a regular basis. Yet, I am not convinced that the handwritten letter is dead. One of the best things about getting letters was the "sign" of the other person that was expressed in their unique and unrepeatable (and often endearingly unreadable) handwriting.

Handwriting may make a surprising revival. I don't know what form it will take, but it seems too human to fall into extinction.

There is so much more to say about letters. I shall have to write a Part II.

To be continued....

Ugh! We've Got That "Fall Thing"

Ooooooooooooooooh! Ouf! Awwwwwwwwwwow!
Achooooo! Aaaahhhhchoooooo!
*cough* *cough* harummmmph hhhgmmmmm!

Bleh.

It's that time of year again.

The weather has changed. First came cold and rain, followed by warmer and drier with sunshine--but different from summer. We've started using the heat again. Days are shorter. The leaves are still green, but you can feel that they are beginning to think of changing color.

School has shifted into standard gear. Everyone has had a chance to use and cough on all the materials in the classrooms at least once. And of course Josefina has hugged and kissed each of her classmates dozens of times.

So we've got "that Fall Thing."

It is an acute affliction of varying degrees. That means, in our house, that Lucia gets it worse than anyone else. Poor dear spent two days home from school, moaning, propped on pillows. She's still moving slowly. Agnese was home for a day with a temperature and difficulty speaking. Josefina has had congestion in her chest, and has been using her albuterol nebulizer. Teresa seems alright, and John Paul and Mommy appear to be too busy to get sick. Though all of us have let out an occasional cough, hack, or harrumph.

Then there's me. Drag, drag, drag. Headache. Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy. Cough and grouchy throat. Blah. It's nothing more than a mild cold. Hardly even worth noticing. But there is the overriding atmosphere of "Blah" that is especially oppressive for a personality like mine, inclined to melancholy and further burdened with neurological and emotional imbalances.

So everything is slow right now. The blog is slow. It's a whole day late.

I'm running into a bit of a mood dip. I can't let it get to me. I have to stick to my routine, keep all my pots simmering, stay with the Lord in prayer, and soldier on even if it's a little more slowly over the next few days.

I don't like the shorter days, or the fact that winter is approaching. On the other hand, I'm into the final quarter of what has been an unusually fruitful year, and there is hope for the future. So if I have been slowed down for the moment, perhaps I should take this elongated sense of time and fill it with gratitude for many blessings.

A Channel of Your Peace

Let me love. Even though I ask to be loved.
Let me understand. Even though I ask to be understood.
Let me console. Even though I ask to be consoled.
Something inside me prays, "Let me give myself away." But then I don't want to let go.

I ask to be a channel of His Peace.
I ask to be an instrument of His Mercy.

But all I find inside of myself is poverty.
And I don't mean the Holy Poverty of St. Francis.

It is the emptiness of someone who loves his own life too much. Who loves himself too much. Who loves his own satisfaction too much. Who loves his own comfort too much. Who loves his own reputation too much. Who loves his own illusions too much. Who loves his own laziness too much. Who loves his own opinion too much. Who loves his own will too much.

I love my own will too much.
I would rather do things my own way.
I would rather rationalize.
I want God's will and my will.
I want to serve two Masters and love them both.

I am a divided man.
I am not St. Francis.

So what is it within me that prays, nonetheless, to be His instrument, His love, His mercy in the lives of others, and especially in the lives of those who have been entrusted to me? In spite of all my foolishness, I call myself a teacher and a mentor and a father, and yet I do not think that I am a complete hypocrite. Why is this? Is it all, then, a delusion?

No! I know something that I must share.

I have been loved, and understood, and consoled.

And the beauty of this fact has wounded my heart. So I throw myself into a confused and troubled and complicated effort to communicate this fact, that I have been loved, that we all have been loved. And somewhere I am convinced that this Love is worthy of all my trust even as I struggle in so many ways to offer myself.

So here it is, Lord, the whole mess that is me.
It is far from a perfect offering.
But You can do the impossible, so make of me what You will.
Give me the will to change.
Change what needs changing in me.
Make me a channel of Your Peace.

Let others hear these words,
these words that express my struggle with You and Your changing of me,
Let them hear these words and see my wounded soul
and wonder at Your Mercy.

Freedom

Experientially we feel free when we satisfy a desire. Freedom becomes experience in our existence as the realization of a need, or an aspiration, as fulfillment.... Experience indicates that freedom presents itself to us as a total satisfaction, complete fulfillment of the self, as perfection. Or we can say that freedom is the capacity for the end, totality, for happiness.

--Luigi Giussani

Therese

With the saints, it's often better to shut up and let them speak for themselves:


I need a heart burning with tenderness,
Who will be my support forever,
Who loves everything in me, even my weakness
And who never leaves me day or night.
I could find no creature
Who could always love me and never die.
I must have a God who takes on my nature
And becomes my brother and is able to suffer!

from the poem "To the Sacred Heart of Jesus"

by St. Therese of the Child Jesus of the Holy Face,

Virgin and Doctor of the Church (1873-1897)