Seeing Jesus in the Poor

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

James 1:27

A year or two ago, I took my dad to visit an old friend. I heard many stories from their younger days, from middle school through their time in the Army.

I knew my father grew up with a little bit of nothing: He was the youngest of his siblings; his mom died when he was little, and his dad and stepmom had new babies to provide for and little means to do it. That morning I learned that Dad and his friend lived out of Dad’s car for awhile when they were in high school, scraping together what money they could for food or a cheap hotel room by doing odd jobs for their teachers and neighbors.

I learned something else as well: As tough as Dad’s life was at that point, his friend’s was tougher. From his outside perspective, Dad had a wonderful family—a place to get a half loaf of bread if things got really bad. Dad was his friend’s safety net.

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Learning to Receive

The other day, a friend stopped by to tell me about a tremendous and totally unexpected blessing for him and his family—a potentially life-changing opportunity, the culmination of months of surrender, trust, and striving to God’s will even when it didn’t seem to make sense.

The opportunity was so good, in fact, that it was hard to look at it squarely and accept that it wasn’t a mirage. If this was God’s plan all along, what was the purpose of roundabout way in which it had come about?

We talked about several possible reasons for his long and circuitous journey, then I said, “Maybe it’s not fruitful to try to figure out in hindsight what God was doing. You and your bride discerned well at the time; maybe now is just the time to say, ‘Thank you, Jesus.’”

He laughed and shook his head: “That seems like good advice.”

It does. Maybe I should take it myself.

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The Final Surrender

As some of you know, my father in Michigan is suffering from both Parkinson’s and dementia. He is still at home, and my mother is still able to care for him. He’s gentle and good-humored, and I’m grateful to be able to visit as often as I can.

But it’s terrible to watch his decline and the toll it has taken on both him and my mom. He was a machinist, a mechanic, and a builder, with a great engineering mind despite no formal education. Parkinson’s took his hands first, but dementia is worse—and as much as I would like all the time I can get with him, it’s hard to see him like this.

I’ve prayed for healing, and I know God could do it in an instant if He wants—but so far that’s not His plan. So what should I pray for?

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The Prodigal Communicant

I love Sundays. Generally, we begin with Mass, then brunch with whomever is home. We clean up as a family, then maybe read or take a nap. In early afternoon, we might tackle a small project together or go for a drive (maybe to pick up some more flowers for the front yard). Then we’ll have a snack or a treat and play a game or take a long walk. We come home, prepare and eat dinner together (and clean up again), then watch something we can all enjoy before prayers, bed, and the start of a new week.

When Trevor was home, 11:00 AM Mass was the norm: He loved to serve ad orientem, with incense and chant. Lily, on the other hand, struggles with both smoke and crowds of people, so she prefers 7:30 AM—which means most Sundays, even coffee waits until after church.

Unless Jodi and I are serving, arriving early for 7:30 AM Mass has proven to be a challenge, and too often I find myself throwing a quick salute to Father as we scurry to our pew before the processional. As a result, frequently my mind is racing when I kneel to pray and then stand as the music begins. I usually arrive at the Collect (the first “Let us pray…”) with my intentions intact, but—unless I’m a reader—somewhere between first and second readings, my mind begins to rush ahead.

So, brunch this morning…we have enough eggs, but the sausage isn’t thawed yet. And we need fruit. We could stop on the way home. Should probably fill the car, too—but I guess that could wait if we’re going run to Ace later for mulch.

Mulch. What else did we need at Ace?

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In Big and Small Ways, Hope Prevails

In recent months it has become apparent that I am a Worrier. Everyone has concerns, and sometimes those concerns get the better of us—but I actively pursue potential problems no matter how unlikely they may be, then chew and chew and chew on them.

I try to pass it off as a strength—foresight leads to preparation, which benefits my whole family. But the truth is less noble: Mostly, I just don’t want to appear late, ill-equipped, or foolish. Despite my best efforts, I am still trying to measure up. But to whose standard?

Jesus warns us against worry:

“So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom [of God] and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides.Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

Matthew 6:31-34

The saints also warn us:

“Anxiety is the greatest evil that can befall a soul, except sin. God commands you to pray, but He forbids you to worry.”

St. Francis de Sales

“Let nothing perturb you, nothing frighten you. All things pass. God does not change. Patience achieves everything.”

St. Teresa of Avila

“Pray, hope, and do not worry.”

St. Padre Pio

I know this, and yet I persist in losing time and sleep, humor and hair, while fretting about the future and all its possibilities and challenges.

In the past several weeks, God has been working on this aspect of my conversion, especially in two areas of our marriage in which I am not only likely to worry but also to drive my bride nuts: travel and money.

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