'It shouldn't happen at Christmastime...'

A representation of the Nativity, by Fra Angelico

You know the feeling.

The single mom who loses her job, the sudden death in the family, the family whose missing child still hasn't turned up, the grandparent whose test results come back positive... right before the holidays.

"It shouldn't happen at Christmastime," we sigh.

No, it shouldn't. The Christmas holiday is one of happiness, laughter, sparkle and fun. When we think of Christmas, the last thing we want to think of is tragedy and pain.

"It's the most wonderful time of the year! Have yourself a merry little Christmas!" scream the radios in our vehicles, or in the mall, or wherever there's a source for music to blare out of speakers.

You better not pout or cry, because Santa Claus is coming. And things like sadness aren't really in the spirit of the season, you know.

Late-night CVS visits and nuns having fun

It was 8:30 p.m. and my Friday was over at last. My brain was shot from the diverse and busy events of the day, and I wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. I was worn out and needed a break from people. 

This looked nothing like the CVS I visited. 

But before I hopped on the interstate to head home, I knew I had to stop somewhere and acquire caffeine, or I'd certainly fall asleep at the wheel. I exited the cathedral and glanced across the dark street to the brightly-lit CVS parking lot. 

This was not the safest part of town. It was nighttime, I was by myself and dressed more professionally for the day's earlier events; I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. 

Also, I'd never considered visiting the iron fence-circled drugstore as an option in past visits to this area of the city. But there was an easy access to a caffeinated beverage standing before me, and wouldn't even need to reset the GPS to find some obscure coffee shop elsewhere. 

Eh. I decided I'd pop in quickly, pick up one of those cold, premade jar bottles of Starbucks frappe-somethings, and not be stupid about anything. 

Melvin's envelope

I pass an old Catholic church on my several-block-long walk from the parking lot to my office. My general posture is that of "look straight ahead, walk quickly, no eye contact with people unless the occasion calls for it."

Once in a while, the old church is open - I'm guessing it's so that people can make a visit to Jesus, or perhaps so that homeless people can take a break from the chilly autumn air.

When I pass by the open church I almost always pause to make a visit. I like to sit in the dark, slightly musty interior of the old church and offer some thoughts/prayers to God for the day, or for things going on personally that I'd prefer not to bring into work.

Within the past few months I've encountered "Melvin" standing by the open door, with his crisp suit, hat and walking stick. Oh, and his sunglasses.

Melvin's an elderly fellow who is somehow associated with the church. We introduced ourselves a few times after we kept meeting when I'd pop in the church before work. He was always really nice and wished me a good day (and I to him, of course) when I'd exit the church.

One morning a few weeks ago he greeted me with a cheery smile and offered me a blank, sealed envelope.

The turn of the screw, or my day at camp

My souvenir of the day. 

"My tire was flat. The atmosphere at camp was anything but," suggested the camp counselor.

I was staring at my car, at the utter flatness of the back left tire, at the reality that I may truly be stuck at camp forever, never to return home.

A few hours ago, I had been driving merrily along the highway in anticipation of what I thought would be a fun-filled visit to a local summer camp. I planned to interview participants, counselors, and whomever else wandered by for a feature in the paper.

But instead... upon arrival, I detected an unusual hissing from the back of my car.

The camp's maintenance team took full control of the situation, but the prognosis was grim. We peered at the hefty screw (see photo) sticking out of the tire.

I'm back!

After a hiatus of sorts, (that is, getting married) I have returned. 

Be still and know

I believe I first heard the Steven Curtis Chapman song "Be Still and Know" on the family cassette tape. The song was from his "Speechless" album (1999) and despite the severe datedness of it, I still find that song, and that whole album, incredibly soothing.

I was probably inspired to become quite close to that line "be still and know that I am God" (from Psalm 46) because of that song.

That mere line of the psalm is just so peaceful, and I've seen numerous inspirational posters of a solitary tree in a snow-covered field with that line in a gentle typeface/font. I'm picky with inspirational posters, but those ones were generally ok for me.

Today I was doing evening Liturgy of the Hours, and came across that verse. I was astonished to see that the mood of the psalm doesn't quite match up to the soft one-line so often quoted.

That time I grew up

“Anne laughed and sighed. She felt very old and mature and wise - which showed how young she was.”

 - Anne of the Island by L.M. Montgomery

About a year ago, I graduated from college. 

A mortarboard, as stock photo as it gets.

As with most things that happened in the past and offer themselves for deep reflection, graduation seems like it was both yesterday and many, many years ago. 

Some point during my senior year it occurred to me that I was growing up and I had to embrace this fully. It was rather shocking and worrisome, but also exciting to realize soon I'd be a fully-functional adult in the Real World. 

Around that time I had a Princess Bride calendar that I loved dearly. (I am very particular about obtaining the perfect calendar every year. I guess you could say my calendars reflect my character.)

The triumph of spelling "Karol Wojtyla" correctly

Two items.

1. About 90 percent of my articles these days have been about the double canonizations of Popes John Paul II and John XXIII this Sunday, April 27. Fun stuff. One of the things I have been trying to ask everyone I interview is, "how have these soon-to-be saints, and their upcoming canonizations, influenced your life?" Most of peoples' responses are quite inspiring.

Today I realized how this canonization stuff has influenced *my* life for the better. For the first time, I can now spell (and pronounce) "Karol Wojtyla" correctly without resorting to Google or a nearby prayer card or a stylebook.

Spring again

Pauline Baynes' illustration of Susan, Aslan & Lucy

Crying toddlers on a Good Friday afternoon

The child Jesus of "The Passion of the Christ"

Today I attended my church's Stations of the Cross performed by the youth group, prior to the regular Good Friday service.

There was a family sitting in front of me with two small children - the little boy seemed maybe two or three. The boy was fidgety, as small children often are during long church occasions, but his mom pointed out the scenes taking place in the Stations, and he began paying attention.

When we reached the crucifixion, the little boy had become so taken by the performance that he became visibly upset. When we reached the 12th Station, "Jesus Dies on the Cross" - in which the teenager playing Jesus let out an enormous, jarring breath and convincingly "died" - the little guy was wailing and asking to "go bye-bye." The mom took the weeping child out of church.

Now. This was no Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ. This was your typical church production, played with varying levels of talent and costume authenticity, more for spiritual edification than for critics' acclaim.

Holy Week: the king still has a crown

The flowers crown the fallen king. 

"The brief glow fell upon a huge sitting figure, still and solemn as the great stone kings of Argonath.The years had gnawed it, and violent hands had maimed it. Its head was gone, and in its place was set in mockery a round rough-hewn stone, rudely painted by savage hands in the likeness of a grinning face with one large red eye in the midst of its forehead. Upon its knees and mighty chair, and all about the pedestal, were idle scrawls mixed with the foul symbols that the maggot-folk of Mordor used. 

Suddenly. caught by the level beams, Frodo saw the old king's head: it had rolled away by the roadside. "Look Sam!" he cried, startled into speech. "Look! The king has got a crown again!" 

The eyes were hollow and the carven beard was broken, but about the high stern forehead there was a coronal of silver and gold. A trailing plant with flowers like small white stars had bound itself across the brows as if in reverence for the fallen king, and in the crevasses of his stony hair yellow stonecrop gleamed. 

"They cannot conquer forever!" said Frodo. And then suddenly the brief glimpse was gone. The Sun dipped and vanished, and as if at the shuttering of a lamp, black night fell."

- "The Two Towers," by J. R.R. Tolkien

***

Pig movies, farmer's wives, and empowerment

Babe the pig, Farmer Hoggett, and his wife, Mrs. Hoggett

Growing up, one of my absolute favorite films was the pig movie called "Babe." Actually, I'd say it's still one of my favorite movies, though I haven't had the opportunity to watch it for a while. I mean, whose heart wasn't warmed by that tale of the little pig who could?

Anyway, I'm nearly certain that this movie inspired one of my earliest career aspirations: to be a "farmer's wife."

Not "a farmer," but "a farmer's wife." I'll repeat myself: "a farmer's wife."

Of crested grebes and misplaced badgers

A month or so ago I bought a worn copy of "Scoop" by Evelyn Waugh from Half Price Books.

Its subhead was "A Novel About Journalists," but apart from knowing of Waugh's satirical tendencies, I didn't know what the book was about. I figured it would involve poking fun at newspapers and newspaper people.

It did, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Summary: a mellow-mannered Englishman by the name of Boot (writer of the inconsequentially rustic "Lush Places" column) is suddenly pulled from his family's crumbling but comfortable countryside manor to meet with his employers in London.

Looking up

Today was slightly less cold than usual. Or rather, the sky was so sunshiny blue that I couldn't help but feel a bit warmer inside.

When I left the office this afternoon I buttoned my coat up to my neck and got ready to put my hat on when stepping out the door. But, I didn't end up putting my hat on.

Walking along the sidewalk, with its still-frozen chunks of slush-snow, I looked up. I saw that the world was not only still lit with a lot of sunlight, (time change is a-coming), but the sky was still blue. Not blueish with a bunch of dark clouds; just sharp, clear, pure blue.

I held my hat in my hand as I walked along. And because I wasn't wearing my hat nor had my shoulders slumped due to icy negative-degree winds, I was able to look up and around me.

Ash crumbs and other Lenten adventures

Today is Ash Wednesday 2014, the beginning of Lent for Western Christians. 

I have already learned a few things this Lenten season, and the first day's not even over. They're not particularly insightful or theological, just... things.

 

• Don't be afraid to be "that one person," because chances are that even if you're not joined by a fellow "that person," you've probably given someone else out there inspiration or food for thought.

Yielding to pedestrians

So recently I was creeping out of my crowded city parking lot at the end of the work day. There's a big building on one side of my lot, and you have to pause at the entrance/exit to see if some driver is whizzing past.

The drivers around here don't win any awards for courtesy. I've had to learn to hold my own when someone's riding on my car's posterior, or honk instinctively if someone tries to cut in front of me during 70 mph rush hour.

Not another post about the weather! or, "The grass is always greener"

"The grass is always..." yeah...

You know that phenomenon when the weather is some sort of extreme, and we say "gee, this is awful. I much prefer (insert opposite climate condition). This type of weather just isn't my thing."

Well, gee, this snow has been awful. I much prefer hot weather.

Sure, there are only mosquitoes that suck the lifeblood from your veins and leave angry welts for days; frequent risk of sunburn and if not that, at least dehydration and heatstroke; the choice of running up one's energy bill via either air conditioning or tons of fans if you don't want to suffer the previous conditions; the lethargic feeling of "it's too hot to exercise or do anything productive"; your clothes sticking to you; the thunderstorms, hailstorms, hurricanes or you name it storms; the frizzing of one's hair...

On doing things "out of principle"

Today I made a decision.

It involved turning the car around, and driving back where I came from.

You see, there was something of a blizzard outside when I awoke. With permission not to come into the office today if the weather seemed too risky, I had to make the decision about whether or not I'd attempt the commute.

Stampeding snowmen would have helped make my decision more quickly.

It's a wonder what the internet can bring you

So one day, after trying unsuccessfully to contact a religious order of somewhat cloistered nuns, and after searching their website for probably a good 20 minutes I realized their "Contact Us" page really and truly only had a mailing address. No email (but that's not too unusual for the super orthodox ones).

But no phone number? I can respect that if it works for them, but I had to give up eventually on trying to get in contact with them.

Tea, please

So today there was a whole pot of coffee made available for the office.

This isn't a totally typical occurrence; if the staff needs caffeine to function in their daily lives, they must get it elsewhere. I guess daily communal coffee just isn't a thing here.

I for one drink tea every morning with my breakfast before heading out the door, and subsist quite happily on that.

However, there was free, available coffee today - enough for all, as they say in Robert Lawson's "Rabbit Hill" (actually that was about garden vegetables, but never mind).

Snowstorms can bring out the best

This morning I awoke to see a nice hearty dosage of fat snowflakes falling from the sky, covering the still-existing snow from the many snowstorms prior, and caking the roads in a miserable mess of whiteness. (Yes, the wondrous joy at the sight of fluffy precipitation was lost on me several blizzards ago.)

Thankfully, I made it to church without any problem, and upon arriving in the parking lot, I was impressed to see a number of cars there.

Unnecessary caption. We all know what snow looks like.

I got to the entrance way, stomping snow from my boots (not that it mattered, since melting snow was everywhere), and proceeded to the main church.

The caller

"What kinda journalist are you?" asked the caller.

It didn't matter that the caller was an elderly and slightly hard-of-hearing individual, and likely calling because my number was one of the main ones on the list inside the newspaper.

Wait, that wasn't Christian radio?

I don't keep up with mainstream artists, so I guess I can't be blamed for thinking that, while browsing the stations on my commute to work, I had stumbled upon K-Love with a new inspirational song.

However, after looking up the song online with piqued interest, I was astonished to see that the the artist was none other than Katy Perry, and the song was called "Unconditionally." You may be laughing at me if you already knew this, but if this song is unfamiliar to you too, I'd suggest listening to it. (I've included a video with just the lyrics, so you don't have to sit through the trippy oddness of her official music video.)

It's January already?

As you may notice, I've revised the look of this blog. I was feeling a bit too crowded with the chunky colored shapes of the old template, so with my first (and greatly delayed post) of 2014, here's a brand new appearance as well.

(On that note, if anyone has any comments/criticisms/suggestions about the new appearance, let me know.)

Some basic thoughts on the relevant topic of new year's things: