travel

Top 10 Highlights Of Camp Lebanon 2012

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

http://www.facebook.com/v/3953178462416
Rose’s zip line ride: see number 5, below…

Every year for the past five or so, Jodi and I and the kids have joined 30 or so families from St. Michael’s and St. Albert’s parishes at a camp near Upsala, Minnesota, called Camp Lebanon. The first year I didn’t want to go, a) because with a dining hall, water toys, and showers, it wasn’t really camping; b) because I was going to be surrounded by kids not my own; and c) because I didn’t feel like I knew enough people and wasn’t looking forward to being “on” all weekend.

All true observations…none of which had any impact on my actual enjoyment of the weekend. We’ve been going back ever since, and even organized it a couple of years.

No time to do a complete recap of the weekend, but here are the Top 10 Highlights:

10. Not My Job! I had hoped to be done with my work early on Friday so we could be on the road by 3 p.m. or so. Not even close, and when 4 p.m. rolled around and I was still packing, my blood pressure started to rise.

Then I remembered: We’re not running things this year. We can get up there any time before tomorrow, and it’s all good.

Turns out we made it in plenty of time for Friday evening activities — and with Lily this year, it’s a good thing we weren’t the organizers! Kudos to Sustaceks, Duerrs, and Fredricksons for a great weekend!

9. New Faces. We missed a number of dear friends who weren’t there…but there were so many new families, too, that you couldn’t help but make new connections. I met potential homebrewers, Axis and Allies enthusiasts, future KCs, and just all-around good guys — hopefully next year the old and the new will all show up, and then some!

8. Albany Invasion. Albany, Minnesota, is the last stop for food on the way to the camp. A gas station just off the freeway houses A&W, Subway, Godfather’s Pizza, Taco John’s, and Chester’s Fried Chicken counters under one roof — and Friday afternoon, it hosted nearly every family bound for Camp Lebanon in constant rotation. I’m sure the locals had to be wondering about the volume of strangers greeting each other with hugs and handshakes.

7. Has Anyone Seen… Once we settle in at camp, the kids are off and running with their friends. Jodi and I ate with grown-ups and Lily, and generally soaked up the weekend, only rousing ourselves occasionally to ask around, “Has anyone seen [CHILD’S NAME HERE]?” And we were hardly the only ones.

6. Holy Spirit at Work. More than once, someone stopped to share that the weekend itself, or something someone did or said, was just what they needed — that the Holy Spirit was at work last weekend. But the most striking example came on Sunday morning, when one of my own overextended children decided to disobey Jodi and run off to play with friends. I confronted the child and had a long talk about the responsibilities that come with being family — and I thought it sunk in. Only a few minutes later, a local seminarian, Paul, offered a scripture reflection in which he talked about how family is diminished when one person acts selfishly — and I looked over to see wide, staring, glassy eyes. I asked about it later, and was told, “I heard him and I was like, “Seriously?!” Wow.

5. Zip Line! I watched two grown men race over a wooded ravine, brazen in their talk but white in their knuckles. I watched our priest and seminarian zip through the tree tops — Father was pounding his chest; Paul was all smiles and thumbs up. But best of all, I watched Emma nervously strap up after watching the men, whimpering and sighing a bit under her breath; watched her set out across the ravine tentatively, and watched her slide back over, screaming and giggling, barely able to speak “That was awesome!” to the camera. She is the only Thorp to have done it so far. She deserves applause.

4. Dating Survey. A few friends began asking an unofficial survey question of the couples at camp: “Do you and your spouse go on dates?” Jodi said, “Not really.” I said, “Occasionally.” Then we both said, “Unless running errands or getting groceries alone together count.” The ruling came back: if we are specifically going together and leaving the kids behind, it counts. Oh, yes, we are still romantic!

3. Early Morning Run. Brendan rose at 6:45 a.m. on a Saturday to go running with a few of the guys from school — and a few girls. I rose a little after 7, and when I emerged from the bathhouse, they were coming the hill from the lake: four or five girls, graceful and light on their feet, and two clomping boys bringing up the rear. Turns out the girls were all cross-country runners, and the two wrestlers were the only boys motivated enough to get up that early. What motivated them to keep pace with the fleet-footed young ladies over two or three miles? I’m going with sheer stubborn pride…though at that age, who can guess? (For an alternative explanation, see the video below…)

2. Family Prayer. Family rosaries each night, and Saturday evening mass with sunbaked parents and waterlogged kids doing their best to be reverent. Families praying together with families. There’s nothing better, except…

1. Serenading Lily. Every year we listen to The White Stripes on the way to the camp. This year Lily was fussing until the guitars and drums kicked in, and, to a person, all four of her siblings began to sing to her.

Wish I could’ve recorded them doing it — leaning over her car seat, almost in harmony, and her grinning, gasping, laughing face. She’s pretty good-looking (for a girl).

Do Whatever He Tells You

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Above: A Wedding in Cana: my sister Jill and her husband Rusty, married in the Wedding Church at Cana of Galilee, Tuesday, October 18, 2011. Photo courtesy of Stephen Ray, their pilgrimage guide, online at Catholic-Convert.com.

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servers, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now there were six stone water jars there for Jewish ceremonial washings, each holding twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus told them, “Fill the jars with water.” So they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter.” So they took it. And when the headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine, without knowing where it came from (although the servers who had drawn the water knew), the headwaiter called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this as the beginning of his signs in Cana in Galilee and so revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him. 

— John 2:1-11

My sister was married yesterday. I was there in spirit. I woke in the dark wee hours of Tuesday morning — 4:18 a.m. — to discover a text from Jill on my phone, sent a couple hours earlier, while I slept: “We are going to Cana right now! Won’t be long!!”
4:18 was what time? 11:18 in Jerusalem. And they were leaving Cana for lunch, according to the itinerary, so they may be there right now.
Jodi slept peacefully beside me. I lay on my back, eyes wide, and began to pray.
I learned later, via text, that at 11:18 local time, Jill and Rusty were likely walking up the aisle in the Wedding Church in Cana. For the half hour I lay awake, praying, they were promising their lives to each other. Those moments are captured in video below, courtesy of their pilgrimage guide Steve Ray at Catholic-Convert.com and FootprintsOfGodPilgrimages.com.

I wore a tux in Jill’s first wedding, a lovely outdoor ceremony on a little island in the Chippewa River in Michigan where her high-school sweetheart had grown up. We were fallen-away Catholics then — my mom, Jill, and I — and her first husband’s family was of no particular faith that I knew, so they were married by a the pastor of the Wheatland Church of Christ, who was a neighbor of my folks, in a short ecumenical service. It was a day of great joy, the start of something wonderful — though we had no idea in what way. 
Today she has two wonderful children, Kayla and Kyle, and an ex-husband who is remarried, and who by all accounts is a supportive dad and a good friend to her again. In the months that followed the breakup, she found herself seeking God, and, with Jodi’s conversion of me and Gabe’s youthful interest in the priesthood as inspiration, ultimately came back to the Catholic church. As fate (or faith) would have it, I was there in Michigan with her when she met with her priest to discuss returning to the Church and the sacraments, and having her teen and her tween baptized. I was there when, after going to Reconciliation for the first time in decades, she received the Eucharist for the first time. And when her priest told her when the baptism of the kids would be, Jill and I were amazed to realize that Jodi and I were already planning to be back in Michigan that weekend — since she had just told us that she wanted us to be their godparents. 
We were also in Michigan this past Easter when my niece and nephew made their First Communion, and Jill and Kayla were confirmed. This was my first opportunity to meet the man my sister had begun seeing during the previous year — a man with whom she was unabashedly smitten. After all she had been through, it had been strange to listen from afar as she met and fell in love with somebody new. I’ve watched a handful of female friends go through divorce, then quickly and repeatedly fall for the wrong guys, and I had to swallow hard. I don’t want to see her hurt again.

My parents, on the other hand, had met Rusty and seemed to like what they saw. That helped, especially because Dad has a knack for gauging people. Still, it was difficult to show up at Easter as the only close family member who hadn’t meant this man — and as the person (quite frankly) who was most inclined to not like him. I had my guard and filters up, but he came through clean: a genuinely nice guy who likes good music, a Catholic convert who enjoys talking about his faith, a veteran of the Navy and other life battles who loves his young son and his aging parents, and a good man who did not hesitate to say that he would gladly spend his life working hard to treat my sister right and to get her to Heaven.

They told us that weekend that they were planning to marry, although they weren’t yet engaged. Then they told us they planned to do it at the church in Cana, in the Holy Land, on a pilgrimage to learn more about their faith. We were amazed. How much more different could this possibly be from her first wedding? How far had my sister journeyed, in such a short time?

“Do whatever he tells you” — these words from Our Blessed Mother from the Gospel account of the miraculous wedding at Cana were a statement of faith in her son, that, although He insisted it was not yet his time, He would not allow a need to go unmet for God’s faithful — that  from misfortune he would work wonders in order to manifest God’s love in our lives. He did it again and again during his ministry, and again in the most profound way on the cross on Calvary.

And again yesterday, at another wedding in Cana.

Before she left, Jill told me she was thinking of ways she could have her closest family and friends with her on her wedding day: a family rosary, a lucky coin, that sort of thing. From Jodi and me and our family, she asked that I write a prayer for them to meditate upon.

I was overwhelmed. I had planned to write a letter, but the idea that I could add something substantive to this sacrament when the very location was a homily and blessing seemed like more than I could possibly deliver. I wrote a letter that said as much, then asked that, the night before their wedding or the morning of, they consider doing the following:

  • First, ask the priest to hear your confessions, that your hearts may be pure and open to God’s graces.
  • Second, read the only scripture that ever mattered to me at the time of our marriage (and the only detail of our wedding I insisted upon): Tobit 8:4-9.
  • Finally (not that the prayer of Tobiah and Sarah needs any improvement or addition), please share the following as our prayer for you both:

Father in Heaven, in your wisdom and love, You said:
“It is not good for the man to be alone.”
You made man and woman both in Your holy image,
unique in all of creation, as both spiritual and physical beings,
made for each other, as complements and co-creators, living and life-giving.

Then, in the fullness of time, you called Our Blessed Mother to bear your Son,
and St. Joseph, her husband, to raise and protect Him,
giving to our Lord and to Your people two shining stars to guide us
in holiness, obedience, fidelity, chastity, and courage
in marriage and family life.

We love you, O Lord, and we thank You for Your many blessings:
For life and love, for mercy and grace,
for Your living example of selflessness and devotion shown by Your Son, Our Lord, Jesus Christ.
We ask Your forgiveness for the times we have failed to love as You love,
and for the strength each day to forgive and to try again

O Lord, please bless my beloved and me,
that we may make a true and generous gift of self to each other and to You;
that we may be a light for each other on the pathway to heaven;
that we may be a living sign of Your love and fidelity;
and that we may be a beacon to draw others nearer to You.

This we pray with confidence in the name of Jesus Christ and through the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Another friend of ours tells a story related to the biblical account of the wedding at Cana, in which we imagine ourselves as the servants, who, on the word of a wedding guest — a poor but faithful mother from Nazareth — and the orders of her son, also a guest in the house, lug six massive crocks to the city well, carrying back, on foot, more than a hundred gallons of water for who knows what purpose. As a result, they got to see Christ’s first miracle…

When I texted Jill later in the day yesterday and told her how I was with her in prayer, she agreed, and closed her reply with, “Thank you, Jim and Jodi, for leading the way…”

Sister, we were just carrying the water.

Trevor Contemplates the Nature of Fear

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

I brought Trevor in on the train this morning. As we were waiting at the Elk River Station, I related the story of Gabe, standing with his back to the tracks on a narrow train platform in Connecticut, when a freight train blasted through. Somehow, immersed in the newness of it all, Gabe hadn’t heard it coming. “It scared the bejeebers out of him!” I laughed.

Fifteen minutes later, safely aboard the Northstar, Trevor asks, “Dad, is ‘bejeebers’ just a made-up word, or something real?”

He told me later that he couldn’t imagine what “bejeebers” would be if it was something real that had come from Gabe.

Order and Disorder

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Before I left for Dallas, I mentioned to Jodi that I might try to go to Mass on Sunday at Cathedral Guadalupe.

“That’s one of the nice things about your travel for work,” she said. “You get to see lots of cool churches.”

Well, I didn’t make it to Cathedral for Mass. It was more than a mile from the hotel, and I didn’t know exactly how to get there on foot or what might be between it and me. My Aunt Jackie drove me past it on Sunday night, but that morning, I walked to St. Jude Chapel, instead. I was in Dallas for work, and had quite a bit to do; I figured I could get to St. Jude and back in half the time, and I knew exactly what streets to take, all in the business district, all with sidewalks.

I walked about 10, maybe 15 minutes on mostly empty streets. I could almost count the people I saw on my fingers; would’ve had to use toes, too, for cars, but still. Sunday morning in Dallas was bright, clear, and quiet.

I passed office buildings, weekday lunch spots, a gleaming CVS Pharmacy, and several pubs…and there, across and up the street from a nightclub called Plush, which featured giant, full-body bas-reliefs of well-endowed topless women, was the chapel. I approached the door and hesitated, double-checked the sign. What I could see through the door looked like a tiny Catholic gift shop. I walked in.

It was a tiny Catholic gift shop, primarily stocked with crucifixes and statues, including the pregnant Virgin, a four-foot Pope John Paul II, and St. Judes of every size. Ahead was another set of glass doors, through which I could see the sanctuary. A handful of people were praying the Rosary, which was piped into the gift shop through a loudspeaker.

I entered, dabbed the sponge in the holy water fount, and crossed myself walked to the far side of the sanctuary, genuflected, knelt to pray. Behind the altar, a mosaic Christ in white on a light blue backdrop watched over us; above the altar, Christ crucified; to my right, scores of red electric “candles” with flickering incandescent flames, and a constant procession of worshippers, primary Hispanic, clicking them on, kneeling, crossing, and praying.

I joined the rosary as more worshipers trickled in. When they finished the Joyful Mysteries, I realized that the rosary leaders had been recordings; a pleasant sounding man and women moved directly into the Luminous Mysteries. Some continued to pray, but Mass was about to begin, so I sat.

The priest processed in from the gift shop as the opening hymn played. There were less than 100 people in the church, but they sang and prayed with faith in their voices. The priest was elderly, hunched, almost frail looking, but he ascended the steps just the same and opened with a question (certainly before the opening prayer, possible even before the Sign of the Cross): “Who here has heard of Mother Cabrini? St. Francis Cabrini?”

His voice was loud and friendly, but somewhat indistinct; certain syllables ran together so you had to listen carefully. He told a bit about the saint, and explained that we would say an extra prayer for her intercession along with the prayers of the faithful.

So it went from there. Every so often, he would shift suddenly from the rite of the Mass (is that the word?) into personal asides to draw our attention to particular details or meanings of what we were doing.

A teaching Mass? I wondered.

“…and lead us to what?” he asked, as the congregation dutifully continued, “Everlasting life.”

“Everlasting life,” he said, nodding, smiling out at us. “Wow.”

Just his style? I thought.

The reader approached the lectern, but the old priest remained standing, so she hesitated. He waved her forward, but said, “I wanted to introduce this first reading.” He then offered a brief refresher on the two Jewish kingdoms and the Babylonian exile. Then he sat, and she read.

Psalm. Second reading. The priest rose and read the gospel, but at the point when he should have said, “The Gospel of the Lord” — and without taking a breath or changing inflection — he moved directly in his homily: “This reading is what we call…”

Away to the left, one of the regulars, I presume, looked carefully at the missal to see that he had, in fact, completed the gospel reading for the weekend, then looked around and nodded. A number of other regulars sat. Father hadn’t looked up from the text he was explaining, and slowly, the rest of us caught on and followed suit.

After a few moments, the old priest read the next section of the same gospel chapter in order to expand on it in his homily. When he finished this second section, and again, without missing a beat, he said, “The gospel of the Lord.” The seated congregation dutifully replied, “Thanks be to God.”

Maybe he’s just getting older I decided, but a part of me was getting impatient. At this rate, it could be a long morning.

His homily was intelligent, funny, human and humane, if a little scattered. The Liturgy of the Eucharist came off without a hitch, and Communion was a welcome presence. The congregation sang and prayed. Mass was winding down. I tried to stay present in the chapel, but my mind had begun wandering during the gospel confusion, wondering about the time.: 9:30 Mass…probably 11 by the time we’re done. 11:30 or so by the time I get back to my room and boot up the computer, and the boss’s flight arrives around noon…

“Mass is ended. Go in peace.”

“Thanks be to God.”

I expected an announcement of the recessional, but the priest said, “If you have time, we’ll say an Angelus right now: The Angel of the Lord declared to Mary…”

Mass is ended, I thought. I gotta go.

I genuflected and moved quickly, quietly, along the back toward the door, then out through the gift shop. I started down the sidewalk, feeling guilty for not staying until the priest recessed; justifying it because of my work, then feeling doubly guilty for working on Sunday.

“Wonder what time it is,” I said to no one in particular, and pulled out my phone.

10:19 a.m.

What kind of a time warp… Mass had been 49 minutes. Not even an hour, even with the ad libs. And I had skipped the Angelus.

Halfway back to the hotel, something the old priest has said at the end of his homily returned to me: “Sin is a sign of a disordered life. If you live an ordered life — with God, with your neighbors, with yourself — you will get to heaven.”

And of the two of us, who was more disordered this morning?

Knock-Knock. Housekeeping!

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

I put the “Privacy” sign up on my door this afternoon because I was working and hadn’t messed the room up enough or used enough towels to require housekeeping. A little after noon, someone quietly slipped a card under the door, basically saying that in order to respect my wishes not to be disturbed, they would be unable to service my room — but that if I needed anything, to please call housekeeping by 3 p.m.

Very nice, right?

So at 2:30 p.m., I’m still working away, and — knock-knock-knock — ‘”Housekeeping?”

Huh?

I start for the door. Knock-knock-knock — ‘”Housekeeping!”

I get to the door, and the voice says to someone else, “Oh, there’s someone here.”

Yup.

I open the door. She has a manager’s nametag and my privacy sign in her hand. “I’m sorry, sir — are you checking out today?”

“Nope. Not until tomorrow.”

“And do you need service for your room?”

“Nope. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay!” she says, and smiles, handing me my privacy sign.

It’s not that my privacy was that important — but what’s the purpose of the sign and note?