For a host of reasons, I’ve not been doing as much personal writing in recent years. I won’t promise that’s going to change yet, but I’m going to make a start, at least, with short “reviews” of three very different books I’ve read in the last year: a chance spiritual read called Beautiful Outlaw by John Eldridge; Cannery Row, a great short novel by John Steinbeck; and Shantyboat, a non-fiction account of a married couple’s journey from Ohio to New Orleans in a homemade driftboat in the 1940s, by artist and writer Harlan Hubbard.
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Everything He Has Is Ours
This post also appeared in the Sunday, March 17, issue of the St. Michael Catholic Church bulletin.
A few weeks ago I was blessed to attend a day-long silent retreat for church staff, led by Father Park. It had been a long while since my last silent retreat, and the time was truly blessed.
One of the scripture passages given to us for reflection was an old standby: the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). Like many of you, I’ve heard this story countless times and sometimes approach it like an old friend I know well, slipping into familiar patterns without a second look or thought.
This time was different. Instead of focusing on the father’s forgiveness, the younger son’s repentance, or the older son’s hardness of heart, what struck me was the father’s unflagging generosity with both his sons.
Or, more specifically, our Heavenly Father’s unfailing generosity with me.
Continue readingThe Dad-Roll and Other Defensive Maneuvers
I am not naturally graceful. As a boy, I cast a shadow like a keyhole—a melon head atop a stick-figure body, careening through the world in whatever direction my topmost orb led me. As a teen, I lived in a narrow trailer house with my folks and spent two miserable weeks after my dad’s foot surgery finding every possible way to pinball into his elevated leg and throbbing big toe.
Today I am much the same: I move effortlessly, like an October acorn pinging from roof to car to driveway. I still drift the way I’m leaning and collide with stationary objects, softly as a poolside preschooler wearing swim-fins.
And yet, somewhere on the outer ends of my Y-chromosome is coded an instinct for self-preservation, which (to date) has kept me physically intact and free of broken bones or stitches.
Continue readingFriday Flashback: Secret Stash
A few days ago I was exiting the church offices and saw Father McGinnis in the vestibule. He was preparing to leave, as well, but he was standing near a small table, the top of which was open like the lid to a chest. I had never noticed that it opened before, and for a split second, it appeared as though he was gathering belongings he has stashed near the door for his convenience.
In reality, he had also noticed for the first time that the table opened and simply wanted to see what, if anything, was inside. But the initial impression called me back, back…
Continue readingMovie Break: A Good Old-Fashioned Scare
Halloween night was always a favorite as a kid—and as a dad, when our kids were old enough to enjoy it. Dressing up is always fun, and, like reading fairy tales, I think traipsing about the neighborhood after dark trying to scare friends and family (not to mention the delight in a being scared and then laughing about it afterward) helps children learn to manage their fears.
Plus, CANDY! (Of course.)
Now all but Lily have left the nest, and she is more inclined to roam the neighborhood with her middle-schooler friends than with her parents. I stayed home this year to hand out candy. I created a giant spider from three pumpkins, two gourds, eight long and crooked birch branches, and a length of rope; this Arachno-Lantern and Lily’s Schnoz-o-Lantern greeted the children and teens who haunted our doorstep, and I got to enjoy the comments and the costumes, plus two good, old-fashioned scary movies on the over-the-air MOVIES! television channel.
I’m not a big horror movie guy, especially these days. Scenes of torture and gore are not my speed; I prefer a little drama (we loved A Quiet Place), a lot of humor (Shaun of the Dead was a guilty pleasure), or a classic, somewhat campy, monster movie. The latter is what I got on All Hallows Eve.
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Archangel Stomp 