Don’t Get Comfortable

I have a longer piece to write at some point, about how St. Michael has been a spiritual home for me and my family—Ground Zero for my thorough reversion to the Catholic faith and our conversion to an authentically Catholic understanding of marriage and sexuality, not to mention the garden in which my children grew strong in faith and began to first bear fruit for the Kingdom.

I could write a book. Maybe I should someday. But today, it’s just a column on what’s next for me and my family.

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Book Break: Two Volumes by Matthew B. Crawford

One of the great pleasures of these latter years as a father is receiving books and book recommendations from my grown children. The University of Mary in Bismarck, Saint John Vianney Seminary in Saint Paul, and the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal have led each of them on tremendous intellectual and spiritual journeys. Occasionally, I tag along.

This past Christmas, Brendan and Becky presented me two books I may have never encountered had Brendan not taken a surveying (as in, land measurement) course as an undergrad…a surveying course taught by a history professor with a love for useful arts and practical skills.

Both books are by Matthew B. Crawford, who holds a PhD in political philosophy and a prestigious research fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Studies at the University of Virginia. He also runs a motorcycle repair shop. In these two books, he makes a convincing case that we are ceding more and more of our will, abilities, and control to technologies and systems that make life easier by making it less lively, less human, less worth living.

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Wednesday Witness: Digging Deeper the Right Way

Awhile back, Facebook served up to me an ad for sarcastic coffee mugs, including one that read “No One Cares. Work Harder.” I recognized it right away as that strain of humor that laments how soft we have become, how prone we are to excuses and taking the easy way out of tough situations—but it didn’t seem funny. 

See, I tend to think I need to handle whatever comes my way in order to measure up. I don’t want to fail or let anyone down, and I struggle to say no or ask for help. Reading that mug felt like the world’s weight settling on my shoulders: I’ll never be caught up. I’ll never retire. I’ll never rest.

Doing good work well is a virtue, but when our efforts become a relentless slog to do more, something changes. An old friend tells me that BUSY means Burdened Under Satan’s Yoke—because, as you’ll recall, Jesus says to take up His yoke, and we will find rest.

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Wednesday Witness: Wanting, Needing, Having

Between Thanksgiving and this coming Monday, when our new refrigerator arrives, my bride and I will have replaced all four major kitchen appliances. These expenditures were practical: Our dishwasher hadn’t worked in a year or more; the electronic oven controls on our gas range worked only if you held your mouth right while pressing the buttons; our microwave struggled to pop popcorn, and the range lights quit working; and our refrigerator/freezer gets hot to the touch.

At the same time, new appliances were not entirely necessary. We had, after all, survived a year without a dishwasher; the oven still worked with a little coaxing; the microwave was still quicker than most other options for a wide range of tasks; and thus far, the fridge is still cold inside, if not outside. And plenty of people live quite comfortably without one or more of these devices.

Over the past couple weeks, as we prepare to tackle some home projects and work on my old truck, I convinced my bride to allow me to upgrade our garage. My work has gone well the past year—I’ve picked up a few extra projects and used the money from one such project to purchase some new hand and power tools and organize them. Now, when I have time to work on projects, I spend far less time looking for tools, purchasing cheap tools for particular tasks, setting up, and cleaning up. I can just get to work.

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A Year Apart: Reflecting on My Father’s Passing

One year ago today, my father passed away.

I flew to Michigan early that morning with the experienced observation of a close family friend ringing in my head: It won’t be long. The flight was flawless and landed early. When the rental car clerk learned why I was in Michigan, he expedited everything, and I was on the road in minutes. Traffic moved. The pavement was dry. I drove the limit and made myself relax, reflecting that this was unfolding in God’s time, and I would arrive when I should.

I arrived just in time. My sister came out to greet me in the driveway and said she thought Dad may have just stopped breathing. I went in and held his hand, which was warmer to my touch than it had been in years. I spoke to him softly, telling him it was okay, telling him to go to the Lord and not to be afraid, telling him we were okay and would take care of each other. 

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