Affirming the Infirm

I get alot of affirmation from my friends.

It seems many people enjoy listening to me talk about God and about faith. It seems that people feel edified when around me. In another season of my life I would have denied this were even possible, let alone true. But that season has passed. If I lift people up, praise God, for that desire has always been at the very center of my heart.

But it occurred to me yesterday, with a somewhat discouraging flavor, that I do not evangelize, so much as struggle publicly. Often, I feel I cannot speak with authority on spiritual things. I cannot shine as a beacon and say "Yes, this is the way you must go." Often it bothers me, because I feel useless. Someone needs help and a guide, some bit of strength in their life, and all I can offer is my own weakness. How helpful is that?

It seems to be though.

Many of my relationships, from my skewed perspective, feel one-sided to me. I feel as though I reap all the benefit, all the strength and affirmation, while at the same time giving nothing back. I humorously described myself to my roomate as being a black hole of spiritual energy, over which the rafters of the church groan from the crushing gravity of my despair. Haha...

Its not THAT bad.

Even IF that analogy were true, black holes DO vary in mass. Some float around in space with little matter around, just massive enough to form a singularity. Others form the centers of entire galaxies. Given the size of the Church and the scope of God's grace, I suspect that my problems are not quite enough to bring the entire structure crashing down into the unreachable darkness ;)

But I have decided to believe that it is NOT true.

It seems one need only look at the evidence. I have said before that the goodness I experience in my life, and most especially in my relationships, are windows onto the Goodness of Christ, from Whom all Good things come. So I return to my first paragraph:

I uplift people. Even though I often can't see it. How?

I wrote earlier, I struggle publicly rather than evangelize. But what is this evangelization? Teaching and preaching with authority? Certainly that is an aspect of it. The Church does it. But there is another aspect of it. For Christ did not come to earth only to preach, teach, and work a few miracles, only to flit back up to heaven and say "K guys, now y'all know better!"

He did all of these things, but it was not these things which were our salvation.

It was his Cross. His suffering and death. It was the moment when he ceased to teach with his voice and his authority and stepped down into the darkest place of our existence, our suffering, our pain, our misery, our death, even our despair, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabbacthani?"

This is our salvation. The moment of grace. Not when he stood in the synagogue, but when he hung broken on the Tree, reckoned a sinner by all. Appearing no different, no better, no more accomplished than the very theives he hung beside.

This is the office of a Christian: there is a time to preach, and a time to suffer along side. A time for com-passion. To suffer with.

Scripture tells us this about Christ: Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from the things which He suffered. And having been made perfect, He became to all those who obey Him the source of eternal salvation. (Heb 5:8-9)

Christ, Him who was without sin, was made perfect by his suffering!

And so shall I be. In my ignorance, I could not see it: I thought the idea of "struggling publicly" was somehow less than my duty and calling as a Christian. That better was expected of me, true evangelism, more authority, more confidence.

More arrogance??

Time and time again, when I stand in the presence of my struggling friends, I am brought to my knees by my own struggle, and all I have to offer them is my own weakness.

My compassion.

There was once a man who thought about this too. He talked with Jesus about it. Here's what Jesus had to say: "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

Here's how the man responded: "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." His name is Paul, and it was in this manner that he basically built the church among the Gentiles. Thats a tall order.

St. Paul wasn't afraid to be open about his weakness. He entertained no notions of superiority. He struggled like everyone else, and told pretty much every church he wrote to that he did.

He struggled publicly. And look at the grace.

Therefore, I too, will glory in my weakness, the the power of Christ may rest in me as well. It seems to have been already, according to everyone around me.

Now I just have to start glorying in it ;)

Roots in the Desert

Dear Readers,

We all seem to be in a time of life where we feel we are waiting for something big, that it is on its way, but not here yet. All of us understand how difficult the waiting game is. How hard it is to be content. To not be discouraged and depressed, and we've all fallen into that state and helped each other out of it many times. One of you has encountered a certain message on the order of nine times which has encouraged you, spoken to your heart, given you hope, and made you glad. I too, once had a similar experience. It was not a verse of scripture, rather, it came through a good friend. I was a sophomore in college and perhaps in the thick of my struggle with depression and trials of faith. My good friend who was rather acquainted with my struggle comes down into the lounge one evening with a nervous look on her face and hands me a piece of paper. She would like assurance that she is not crazy, she tells me, and wants to talk to another of our friends whom we both respect alot just to make sure. I ask her what it is, and she said that while in prayer, she was interceding for me, and felt moved to write. After typing and printing it in blue ink on ordinary white paper, she brought it down to me, neatly folded. I opened and read, and this is what it said:

My son,

In drought you are learning strength, diligence, and desire; you would have taken My mercies for granted, but you will treasure them and find them more sweet and dripping with honey through long desiring. By learning to stand firm and live like a tree in drought, you will be able to pour my blessings through yourself and to others in times of abundance. How well you will be prepared to minister when you have abundance!
Even common food is exquisite to a fasting man; I will give you to break your fast with honey and sweet wine, with feasting. I have kept you in waiting to learn patience, in dryness to learn fervor, in doubt to learn compassion, in darkness to learn dependence on Me.
When I bring you to the mountaintop, when I fill you with strength and wisdom, when I loose your mouth to speak blessing and your hands to the work I have prepared for you, then you will know through long desiring that it is I, the Lord, who has done this. Even my beloved Son entered the dry wilderness to prepare for ministry, even after He received the Holy Spirit. He, even Christ, was subject to every temptation and to the attack of the evil one. Stand firm, beloved, for I am refining you as with fire, I am strengthening your desire because I desire you.
John 20:29 "Then Jesus told him, 'Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."
Also, Matthew 5:1-10 (The Beatitudes)

I cannot tell you what joy and comfort these words brought to my heart. Words that I had longed to hear from the mouth of God, each one was precious to me. It seems to me that God spoke to me through someone else at that time because on my own I could not hear him for all the din in my own soul. I still have that paper, faded and creased. I asked myself the other day why God has not spoken to me in this manner again, and it seems to me the answer was because now I can hear him, I simply need to apply myself and listen.

This message came to me in the context of great trials of faith and interior darkness. That experience lasted with varying degrees even after I graduated, in fact, right up to the point where I wrote my second ever entry to this blog. Trials continued after that, but took a little bit of a different shape.

I wonder how I can interpret this message now in the context of my present. Should it be interpreted? Is it meant to be a lasting source of comfort and encouragement, or was it a message for the time and is meant to be laid aside, and remembered only as a proof of God's faithfulness? I know this is not a verse of scripture, and even if it were, God speaks differently through Scripture each time: the same verse can have hundreds of different meanings depending on what He wants to tell us.

As I write now some of the trials of faith have subsided, but perhaps only because I am no longer in an atmosphere which breeds questions. But I still feel like I am waiting, seeking. I still often feel dry and discouraged. Does this message apply now still? I do not know. Was it even really from God? I should like to think so (and so would my friend I think too.) All I know is that I still live in hope for that day when my fast shall be broken with honey and sweet wine. And I reflect on myself, and what I have learned thus far in the journey. Have I learned to stand firm? Do I treasure the mercies of the Lord? Have I learned patience, fervor, compassion, dependence? I think to some degree I have. I think I still have farther to go. My battle now is to find contentment, which in a sense I think would be a certain fulfillment of those virtues. Standing firm, dependent on God. I do believe there is a Psalm about waiting on the Lord. Unfortunately, I can't remember where it is. If anyone knows, feel free to let me know.

Decision

Today when I was driving home from my friend's apartment, reflecting on the decision to either live in Marietta because it would be easier at this point, or to search hard for someplace closer to Lancaster, I wondered something about the nature of decision.

Where is God in my choices?

Part of me wants to think that the choice I am inclined to here is the one God will bless me in, but what if that is not so? Who is to say that God wants me to live in Marietta? Granted there are pros and cons to it and all that, but honestly whats to say I'm not simply too lazy to really seek someplace else? So if I move to Marietta, and have a hard time there, its not like this was God's cosmic will for my life...I just made a decision and reaped the rewards of said decision.

Also, I bought a white dress shirt which I technically don't need, since I already have one, I just don't like the collar and it feels a little baggy on me. Yet right now money is tight and I feel I've already spent too much money. Should I return the shirt, or keep it? And does God really care which way I go? I don't believe he wants to micro-manage our every choice; we are given free will and are therefore responsible for our actions. I have a hard time thinking God's cosmic will sounds like "Shawn, I really want you to make a small sacrifice and save this 20 dollars. You will be more responsible for it." That might be true, but why would God have an opinion either way? Honestly, I don't think something as dumb as a shirt really needs to be agonized or discerned. Its a shirt.

I believe in God's total sovereignty. I believe that He is in control of everything and that nothing takes him by surprise. I do not feel that God might try to say, get me a job, but "gosh darn it, I'm sorry Shawn, the economy is just bad right now! Not much I can do. Hang in there." Sure, the economy might be bad, and thats definitely a reason why I couldn't get another job no matter how hard I tried, but I also believe God was not allowing it for a good reason: namely, I was simply discontent and selfishly trying to claw my way to a life of relative comfort and ease. So this line between sovereignty and free agency is a difficult one, no doubt.

So, will God bless me in Marietta? Or do I just want to do that because its easier? Will everything be okay if I keep the white shirt? Or am I just being overly concerned with style and discontent with what I have? Am I overspiritualizing this whole thing?

Do I even care what God wants in this thing called life? Or am I just afraid of being screwed over for making the wrong choice?

Shoes & Blues

*sigh*

I am so easily swayed by the opinions of others. I am like a reed in the wind. For all my life, perhaps my biggest spiritual battle has been one with confidence & discouragement. Confidence in myself, in my abilities, in my social acumen. Confidence in God, in His love for me, in the Church. Always has been a struggle.

I recently bought a whole mess of new clothes that I really like. Spent alot of money too, well, by my standards at least; I rarely spend more than 100 dollars at once unless I am paying a bill. But, for once I think, I look good. And that made me feel awesome. I got some sweet new colors for dress shirts and some beautiful new ties, including a black shirt and white tie: something I've wanted for years now. I put those on and I was the new hotness in town, hands down. My new clothes made me feel confident, made me feel justified in my purchase, and excited that I could actually ENJOY what I was wearing each day.

Then I moved on to shoes.

Yes, you all read my previous blog. I fell in love with some ushy gushy leather soled sandals but passed them up for what I thought was a more practical and comfortable option. And at least on par with the originals as socially acceptable. But alas, it turns out the there is nothing short of widespread hatred toward crocs in this world. And the assumption I had about them being socially acceptable was based on the fact that they were a brief fad while I was in college but continue their existence now largely on the feet of hospital workers, chefs, middle aged moms, and little kids.

Damn.

I was really quite miffed at myself and downright embarrassed when, after telling my co-worker that I had bought crocs, received a look of utter disparagement. Embarassed because of my previous, elated celebration at owning a pair. Miffed because, why the heck should I be EMBARASSED for wearing something that I liked and were comfortable? Miffed at my own lack of integrity and confidence in my own decisions it seems. Yeah, so they're not very pretty I thought. So what, they're a summer shoe. People walk in the dirt, mud, and water with em. They don't need to be pretty. But apparently I was wrong.

So for the rest of the day I was actually depressed. It was made worse when the sentiments of my co-worker were matched by nearly everyone on the planet (though perhaps in a less scathing way.) I proceeded to agonize for the next few days over these dumb shoes and the fact that everyone hated them. I felt my previous confidence sliding away, and I was irritated that I had seemingly wasted 26 bucks. But most of all I was furious with myself for being such a noodle spine that my confidence had become so tied to a pair of stupid shoes. Aren't I a child of God? Did not that same God in Flesh find me worth giving up his very own Life? THAT is where my dignity is, not in a pair of crocs.

I'm sooo concerned with attracting a woman. Thats where alot of this comes from. And yes, I know that character is infinitely more important than any external physical thing but I also recognize that you have to be attracted to the person that you're with. And face it, I would like to be attractive. I wonder if part of me actually believes that wearing a pair of crocs will affect whether I can get a date or not. Geez.

So now here I am, wallowing in self-pity because I chose the wrong pair of shoes. It did occur to me to tell the world where it could stick its opinion, but honestly, this whole experience has soured me so much that I'm probably just going to return the dumb shoes. I heard they tend to collect bacteria anyway, and thats kind of what I want to avoid in the first place. Hows that for a weak rationalization?

Have you ever been in love?

Dear reader, something burdens my heart that I must reveal, and I hope you will bear with me through it all.

I went and fell in love.

How many of you have been here before? I was looking for so long for that right fit, that perfect match, and time and again there has been nothing but disappointment. Something right, but something also wrong, and so it never worked out, more often than not, failing before it even began. And each time my hope grew fainter. But finally, finally, I encountered that perfect fit, and it was not long before my heart was utterly captivated.

When we first met I was surprised by the initial tenderness of the relationship. Usually it takes a long time for the parties involved to really mesh, get to know one another, adjust to one another's contours. But in that first rendezvous I knew I had found something special. I tried, like I always do, to control my heart and let my reason reign, but as time passed all that remained was the feeling. It was there when we sat together, when we looked at each other, when we walked together. What it was was almost ineffable, I think somehow i filled some emptiness in her, and in return I received such sweet caresses.

Perhaps my use of the past tense is already making you nervous. So I will tell you now your impression of where this is heading is most likely correct, unless you are a very unusual person. I loved everything about her! The way she looked, the way she walked, even her quirky little tendency towards leather. (The only other person I've known who went about clad in leather was my mom, and that was only on occasion, and because she likes the smell.) I mentioned tenderness? Yet underneath that tenderness was a core of strength. She wasn't clingy but when we were together I really felt that she was there for me especially. In addition, she was from a large extended family, though she had only one sister. She was also fun to be with; in fact so much so that we all felt most complete when the three of us were together. Honestly, it looked not only like the makings of a great relationship, but of a future family. And my readers know how much I love family. She was top of the line, posessed of integrity, and fashionable. You know, the kind that makes YOU look good when you're with them. Have you ever been made to feel so special?

But as time progressed I began to have doubts, like I always do. Self doubts, and doubts about the relationship. I can be quite a demanding person, as anyone who knows me can attest. In return I try to always be there for those close to me, to support them, because they support me so well. But honestly, despite all her integrity, all her virtues, I just didn't know if she could go where I was heading. Could she really handle the stress? Was her integrity enough, or of the kind needed to persevere with me? I loved her, and she I, but I just don't think that she would have been able to tread through thick and thin with me, through mud and water, and remain the same. In the face of it all, I don't think she was made for me. I would hate to have been the cause of her putting up a big stink after our relationship had aged, and I was especially sensitive to this because it's been a problem in the past. In those relationships, we both turned sour, and only extended time apart could help, but the problem was always right there when we came together again.

My heart resisted my mind at first, as it usually does. I looked at all the possible options, anything to justify that this relationship could continue, could persevere, and be worth the investment in the long run. I called all my friends. Not being close to the situation they could only offer me limited advice, but my friend Caitlin offered me the most cogent council, without even meaning to. She reminded me that what I have always valued above all else was simplicity. Ruggedness. Earthiness. I've always believed that none of these are antithetical to beauty but rather constitute its true heart. Its one of the reasons why I think Caitlin is so great, because I think she bears all these things in herself. It was she who finally helped me see through the haze of my feelings.

As great as we looked together, as great as we felt together, we were not meant to BE together. We were just too different, meant for different places, different walks in life. And so, sadly, and with a little apprehension, we parted ways. Can you understand the apprehension? There was a certain security in knowing I had found a relationship so wonderful; would I ever find it again if I gave it up? But one cannot live in fear and uncertainty. I think she understood me, being so wonderful. I think our decision was mutual. We decided to take one last walk together, a slow one, just to savor that feeling one last time, and honestly, it was a healing moment. We began to accept the situation and become excited for the future. When we parted ways, we parted friends.

I am almost certain all of you can relate. Most likely the answer to my question, "Have you ever felt this way," was yes. But, dear reader, have you ever felt this way about a pair of sandals?

I left the Bass Outlet store with hope for the future, in search of that simplicity Caitlin had reminded me I had always wanted. With just a little gas left in my car, but alot of hope in my heart, I drove back toward the mall I had left 10 minutes across town a whole three hours ago. Because there, I knew I would find my hearts true desire, a pair of Crocs.

Crocs are of a totally different class than the beauties I had so recently parted ways with. My previous relationship was steeped the virtues of timeless fashion and personal integrity, but it was all just too complex. Too many materials were involved and while it meant the relationship could be high quality, it could not go as many places. Crocs, at first glance, look cheap; some might even say ugly. But I have learned three lessons in life: never judge by appearances alone, time often changes one's perspective, and almost always trust the consensus of good friends. With these three lessons in mind I approached my rendevous with destiny, and lo, I was not disappointed! It only took a little time of getting to know these new additions to my life that I was extolling my companions virtue. Crocs are simple of design and construction; one rubbery plasticy material throughout provides me with comfort and protection. Crocs will stay with you except through maybe the stickiest of circumstances because they appreciate your whole foot through a convienient ankle strap. Also, they are low maintanence and LIGHT, able to respond to my spontaneity and, with great alacrity, be out the door with me at a moments notice. Their presence is always known and appreciated, but NEVER weighs me down, either physically by their mass or emotionally by fears for their integrity. Whereas with my previous love I HOPED she would be with me through it all, with my new love I KNEW she would be with me through it all. Yea reader, I feel slighty guilty, for with this new relationship my investment was rather LESS. But I suppose this is some of the selfish man in me coming through :). Perhaps also I ought to feel guilt for being captivated by a new relationship so quickly after my previous one, but perhaps I was also a little taken by the pretty face and excellent service of the girl in her junior year at Millersville University who sold them to me...

But what of my first love? The one who breached the dark night of despair with that shining ray of hope? Have I forgotten her? No, reader, I have never forgotten her, and will never forget her. This experience has taught me much, I have gained much from both relationships, but of that first love, I can and must say that she has forever left an impression on my sole.

Living for the Weekend

In trying to sort through the usual upsetting mismash of negative thoughts I find myself bombarded by, I have stumbled across one which I feel safe posting up here.

I discovered that I have been living for my days off.

Now, perhaps this is completely normal. I suspect most people with normal jobs and normal schedules watch the clock and count down the hours until the end of the day. And the days until the end of the week. Further, they probably divide up the day into noticable land marks so they can say, at this point, I am 25% finished. I do it all the time...I come in and the first two hours usually go by fairly fast, and I'm counting down the time until my coworker comes in. Then I can take my lunch. If I take my lunch a little later, then I've pushed that 50% landmark back a little farther so I can say upon returning, "Now less than half the day remains."

I am constantly looking forward to the time when I can be released from the burden of my work to the freedom of being at home to pursue my own interests. (The sad thing is, I sometimes view prayer as an impingement on this precious little freedom, and resent it.)

In addition, with the prospect of a job change with the advent of the new school year, I find myself trying to count down the WEEKS until I can leave Swarovski. However, this doesn't feel like a joy or a refuge for me because I am insanely nervous and as of late discouraged about my prospects for this new year.

Here's the problem: In living for those days off and straining for them with my heart, I am missing out on the majority of my time this summer. I am rushing to the end. (I find it amusing how our spirit, our perspective, has such a real impact on our life...my "rushing" has absolutely no objective effect on the passage of time whatsoever. Yet it as real a "rushing" to me as if I were to push a fast forward button on my life. Anyone seen the movie Click?)

If I keep this up, my summer will be gone before I know it, the majority of its lengthly days wasted for the sake of those precious few weekends. The majority of my life wasted for the sake of a little "fun."

I have pondered this problem before. But now it especially disturbs me. In the past months, I have usually not had two consecutive days off. So I would think of myself as only having to endure a 3 or 2 day "week" before I was "free." But now that we have a new manager, she has been scheduling my days off together, thus creating something which resembles a proper weekend. Unfortunately, this "weekend" usually takes place on monday and tuesday. But because of my fears for the future, But now that I have these days off, and the longer week, I am suddenly conscious of the fact that I am living for a mere 2 of the 7 days I have in the week. For those analytical thinkers among you, lets do a little math (This is really for you, Lisa):

There are 24 hours in a day, 7 days in 1 week. That equals a total 168 hours in a week. To maintain optimum energy and efficiency, 8 hours of each 24 hours period must be spent asleep. (Attempts to reduce the ratio of waking to sleeping hours appear to work on paper, but everyone knows that 2-3 days of a poor nights sleep causes massive wastage of the waking hours: they are so unpleasant and unproductive that they are worthless.) So, 8 hours from 24 hours leaves 16 hours, or 2/3 (66%) of each day spent awake. That is 112 total waking hours for the week. Of these 112 waking hours, 40 of them are spent working. However, we cannot merely take 40 at face value. Before work, most people require about 1 hour to prepare. Without doing any research, I'm guessing most people are an average of 20 mins to a half-hour commute from their work place. Now, on a good day it takes me about 17 mins to get to work, but all in all I give myself 1.5 hours total prep and transit time before my shift begins. Its a 20 minuite drive home, but factor in the time it takes to clock out, gather my things, walk to my car, and undress and get comfortable at home, its a half an hour. The total time spent at work is 8.5 hours (half hour unpaid lunch.) So, 1.5+8.5+0.5=10.5 hours of my 16 waking hours each day is devoted to work. 10.5 x 5=52.5. 112-52.5=59.5. This means that 46.9 percent of my time awake is given to work. 53.1 percent of my time is "mine." However, factor in that most fun activities achieve maximum joy levels when unconstrained by the mere 5.5 hours left from each 24 hour day, so, the sort of recreation that occurs on the weekend is much more rejuvenating than that during the week. Consider the other demands on one's time like shopping and paying bills and cleaning. So if we place the hours of freedom on a weighted scale and measure the weekend hours alone, we have 16 x 2 = 32, from the 112 total waking hours, which is 28.6 percent of my total time. Therefore, if I live for a mere 28.6 percent of my life, that means a shocking 71.4 percent of my life is wasted. I am living at 28.6 percent efficiency! I am 71.4 percent DEAD! It strikes me that the saints are really the most efficient people, squeezing every oz of life from every minute of fun, work, suffering, prayer, joy, sorrow. They operate at 100% efficiency. In fact, because God is so overabundant with his gifts, His saints overflow with more life than they can contain. They operate at levels HIGHER than 100%. More than they could ever do on their own. 130, 150, 200 percent alive! Or, in the words of Our Lord, "And some seeds fell in good soil, and sprouted, and they yielded much fruit, thirty, sixty, and a hundred fold!"

If we consider the deficit of life in the world by inefficient livers like me, then the world desperately needs saints who literally overflow with life for the whole world. How unlike them I am.

I find that when I write these blogs, I often answer my own questions. I expected to end this one with no answer to my question. But here I've found one, made more real to me perhaps by the humor in my mathematical analysis. I still am struggling alot. It strikes me really that I should be disgusted with myself for the spirit which lay behind my time calculations: many many people have far less than 53.1 percent of their time to call "their own." Yes, I am disgusted with myself indeed.

I have much more to say and would love to edit for style and syntax, but I have to go, because I am at work. How ironic...

*sigh*

Big Backyards

I discovered something the other day.

I learned that all back yards, no matter how big or tiny, have the potential to be infinite.

I returned from a retreat with my youth group last Sunday tired out and in a contemplative mood. The sun was still up and the sky was, for the most part, clear. Andy was out doing something and I was alone. All was still. So I grabbed a towel and went into the backyard, laid it down upon the soft green grass and stretched out to stare at the sky. The clouds that evening were cirrus clouds, the kind that are very wispy and form at very high altitudes and are, incidentally, my favorite sort. So as I lay on my towel (which in an odd sort of way reflected the sky my gaze penetrated, being a faded azure with a whitish bleach stain in the middle), I began to lose all sense of perspective. All I could see were the tips of tree branches at the very edge of my vision, and the lazy and silent parade of the evening weather, lit by the setting sun. For an hour, perhaps longer, I lay; observing the clouds change from white to pink, the sky darkening in hue, the airplanes glinting the remaining vestiges of day, being high above the shadows in which I now rested. In them I remained while I prayed, and listened.

I have not engaged in such dynamic non-activity for a very long time. Perhaps since I was a child. Needless to say, the opportunity to have a backyard for three months is one I relish greatly. I almost feel like I'm on a three month retreat. But I digress.

About the time the first stars were making their appearance, the chill of the evening was also making itself apparent. So, satisfied, I sat up slowly on my blanket. Apparently not slowly enough, as all the blood rushed from my head and I got slightly dizzy. In this brief moment, perspective returned in a non-violent, but still suprising manner, as my formerly unbounded vision once again became subject to the familiar nearness of the objects surrounding me. I blinked once, twice, having a slight difficulty comprehending; has the world always been so small? I smiled to God and to myself, and as I think of it now, I realize further meaning in my experience: sometimes we need to be taken from our own narrow perspective, and rest on the firm Rock who dwells beneath, before, behind, and within us. And that any backyard, no matter how small, has the potential for infinity, if only one is willing to lay and rest.

Bazooka Bubblegum and a Tired Jaw

Alright, I'm back.

After almost a year, I suppose I'll try this again. I'll tell ya why I stopped.

After posting a number of suberbly written and creatively illustrated blogs (lol), people began to shower me with praise. "You're such a good writer! Keep posting, I want to hear your thoughts!" Even my parents started a blog, on which there remains one and one only post. Under the onslaught of all this praise, I began to feel as though I had to perform. I began to THINK about my blogs, to record ideas in rough form for "future editing", so they could eventually be "presentable" for the blog page. And when I began to think about my blogs, they became work. And to someone who already struggles with laziness (perhaps the fact I am typing this on my work computer right now is a testament to that) a mode of entertainment which feels burdensome loses its appeal. Its like chewing a pack of gum which quickly looses its flavor, (bazooka brand specifically comes to mind, because it sucks) and then makes your jaw tired. Such is only good for spitting out.

However, I like reading my friends' blogs and I had some nice thoughts to share so here I am again. No guarantees I'll stay, but whatever.

Autumn

For some reason I have been really looking forward to Autumn this year. I don't really understand it, I have never been super excited before. Perhaps I am looking forward to the lower electric bill because we won't be running the AC all the time. This is indeed a perk, but it isn't the essence of my joy for autumn. I have a beautiful image in my mind of a tree covered lane in a development, with deep carpets of warm colored leaves on the lawns with patches of the summer's last remnants of green grass still poking through, the trees still clinging to their cargoes. I see children running around jumping into the large piles their dads raked together, laughing and throwing handfulls of the colorful soon-to-be rotted material onto each other. I see baskets full of gourds on coffee tables and indian corn hung on the door, cornucopias and pumpkins keeping their October vigil before they become the sagging, shrivelled faces of November. I see mountains as of flame, their rocky tips perhaps covered with the slightest white caps, a testament to the deep sleep which is soon to come upon the land under its alabaster blanket of snow. At least, this is what I expect in Vermont. Here in PA we still have brown Christmases. How sad. I see the sun filtering through the thining canopies of shedding trees, as each breeze takes more of the load from their sleepy, heavy laden branches, as though to say, "Rest, dear beloved. You who give life now, take your rest and I shall awaken you when the time has come. Do not fear for your charges. Your ever-green brethren shall keep watch over your land while you slumber in silence." I see young men and women in sweaters, but needing nothing else for the moment by way of warm covering, walking and laughing together under azure skies, ignescent trees, pale sun. I see picnic-ers with their baskets and red-and-white checked blankets on hill sides enjoying the days of indian summer. I smell the scent of apples drifting from the orchards, with their promises of hot, spicy cider ladled from a pot.

Indeed, I'm not sure whats going on with me this year. But I am really loving autumn...my desire is to share this lovely season with someone special this year. A friend, a family member, maybe just Jesus, from Whom all good things come.

My Parents Discontinued Blog

Back when I started my blog, my parents were inspired and started a blog of their own. They posted one entry. They've not posted since. However, both the entry and the name of the blog are so awesome that I figured they deserved to be posted on here, so that the slightly higher than 1 viewers I have could see it. Their blog was called, Vermont Fools: Aging, Itching, B*ing, and Life.

My parents are so awesome haha.



Why the Heck do we Have Mosquitos?

Well, this is my first attempt at a blog and I asked myself why the Heck do we have Mosquitoes? Those miserable, biting, blood-sucking vermin serve absolutely no purpose other than driving every living creature to near insanity. Vermont woods are beautiful, but heaven forbid that we get any form of moisture. I watched my poor dog trying to cuff one of the pests off from his nose and then realized that I had two gnawing on the back of my neck and another trying to make a landing in my nose hairs. I am sure that somehow these things serve some form of purpose or they would not be on the earth. However, maybe they have been released from hell to run strafing missions on the planet. My mom always said that " You have to eat a peck of dirt before you die" but she never said anything about sucking down a bushel of these pointy nosed vampires. I definitely will try to improve my blogs in the future so please bear with me.

Home is where the heart is...

I wonder where my heart is. I guess I would say that I always feel at home wherever my closest relationships are. So I could be in England, but if I'm with a dear friend, I'd feel at home I guess. Not to say I don't have any attachment or love for places in themselves. I love Vermont and I love Lancaster. Both beautiful, farmy type places. Yes, I just said "farmy." Perhaps agrarian would be a better word. But ultimately, no place, no matter how pretty, is worth being in if you don't have close knit community.

I thought I was building that here. I guess I still am, but right now I feel rather lonely. I guess this would be natural when one is coming from four years of living with one's friends. Dorm life is pretty wonderful, but it can't go on forever. I find that friendships become more difficult when one isn't constantly surrounded by opportunity. You have to make an active effort. You have to go to the people, rather then waiting for them to come to you. You have to work at it a bit more, and invest a bit more maybe. Investment. Hmm...now there is a term I am learning the meaning of, a bit...I never really thought of it before. I just sort of moseyed along and enjoyed the people around me, but I wasn't really aware of putting a stake in someone else (does that sound rather vampiric?) Lets see...dictionary.com gives several definitions for this word. The one that seems most pertinent is this: Invest: to use, give, or devote (time, talent, etc.), as for a purpose or to achieve something: He invested a lot of time in helping the homeless. It also refers to money, but the common definition seems to involve putting something in with the hopes of getting something back. Hmm...it makes me wonder then, how this concept of investment lines up with the Gospel. Are we then meant to invest in other people? Do I only give with the hopes of getting back? I thought we were called to give without thought to return. But in relationships, especially the closer ones, there is mutual gift. Both parties give. Then, it would make sense wouldn't it for both parties to expect to receive? If one gives a part of themselves to someone else, they would reasonably expect some kind of reciprocation. I think sometimes though, because of sin, we don't get that. Some people are incapable of giving it. I mean, look at Christ, He certainly gave and gives more to us than we can ever return. Who has given him anything that he may be repaid? But I'm not sure on this. I'd appreciate comments if anyone has some wisdom to offer.

But yeah...friendships, relationships. These make a home, especially family. And in the Body of Christ, we are all family are we not? Family is the closest relationship. Your wife, if you're married, becomes family. But there is family in the general sense, and then there is real personal intimacy. That takes a long time to develop. And it takes longer when you're not in a dorm. So I guess I have to be patient, and trust God to guide me where He wills. I want a home in Lancaster, I'd love to have a family here. But if ultimately I never get close to anyone, then will it truly be my home? Am I destined to be a wanderer?

Lets take it even further. No person, even in family, can be ultimate fulfillment. Augustine learned well where the restless heart must go in order to find rest. You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You. And God doesn't live in Vermont (though he may live in Lancaster, and he certainly does not live in Philadelphia haha). Actually God probably dwells more in the poor and afflicted places of the world than any other. Jesus didn't live in a palace. But that aside, we know that the divine nature is outside of time and space. He is not bound by any of our categories. So then, I must place my heart in His hands, and there my heart will find its fulfillment. In the eternal Fatherland, in heaven with the Divine Master. With Jesus. So if home is where the heart is, then perhaps my home ought to be in heaven. Of course, I'm not stupid. We are creatures of both heaven and earth...and so we would desire to have an earthly home too. And in the eschaton, we will. God will dwell in the world with men, not men flitting around in heaven. But this side of eternity...where shall my home be?
Perhaps when we are lonely it is opportunity to draw nigh to Him who alone can satisfy. But sometimes even that doesn't seem to alleviate that feeling. Maybe all my skeptic friends would say thats because he's not there and I'm a fool for believing it. Well thats crap, and here's why its crap. If the world is any indication, those nations and those people who have rejected God in their lives seem to be the most impoverished in their hearts. The most lonely. And they don't know where to turn for consolation. By grace, I have some idea. I can use loneliness as a reminder that no person can fill me. Here's a poem by St. Theresa of Avila. It might shed some light on the lonely heart...

Let nothing disturb thee,
Let nothing affright thee;
All things are passing;
God never changeth;
Patient endurance
Attaineth to all things;
Who God possesseth
In nothing is wanting;
God alone sufficeth.

I pray our Lord in His mercy would fix my weak and failing eyes upon Himself. And, having that sight, I pray he'd give me friends to share it with. And a home here, while I await my entry into my heavenly home.

Shopping Carts and Rebel Hearts

Hello all...and I imagine "all" in this instance consists of maybe three people haha. Its been a very long time since I posted, for that I am sorry to everyone who really wants to see posts. Its been a combination of things that's kept me off blogger...haven't really felt like it, been tired when I've gotten home from work, too busy, etc. I have many ideas I want to post about, but right now will just be this one.

Everyone has had to deal with the shopping carts at the grocery store. Sometimes they work fine, just gliding along down between the racks, nice and straight. Then sometimes you get stuck with the cart that has a bum wheel. You're pushing it along and all of a sudden the cart just veers to the left right into the display of cake mix thats on sale this week. You sigh and heave it back to where it was supposed to be and next thing you know it veers to the right directly into the sauerkraut. Now I don't know of any stores that have cake mix and sauerkraut in the same isle, but bear with me. You look down as you're pushing it, and there it is, the culprit. One of your wheels is all tangled up with bits of string, tape, and God knows what else, and is seized up tight. The other is just spinning around uselessly in a happy little circle, dumdy dumdy dum, not touching the floor at all and certainly not helping you. And you realize, that this particular shopping trip is really going to exercise your upper arms. And your patience.

Many times I feel like my heart behaves like one of those blasted shopping carts. It goes where it wills. It never stays on a straight path, and it seems never to go where I want it to go. It is a rebel. I'm always having to heave to put it on the path it belongs, but soon enough, I'm veering to the right or to the left again. It fluctuates between feelings of great piety and stark emptiness. It becomes happy and sad for hundreds of different reasons, and becomes discouraged rather easily. Worse, it wants what it wants when it wants it, and anything less than this is perceived as a grave injustice. And here am I, trying to wrest my heart back. It is very tiresome sometimes.

Now imagine this. You're in a grocery store, and you are the manager. And EVERY shopping cart in your store has a bum wheel. Every cart is veering. And not only into walls, but into other carts. I can imagine this would be quite frustrating. As manager, you have the power and resources to requisition new equipment whenever it is needed. It would be simple just to order replacement carts, newer, better ones.

Now imagine a manager who instead of getting new carts, decides to keep the ones he has. And actually cares about each individual cart enough to repair it and fix it. And even though they veer, he keeps on using them. And somehow, manages to get everything in the store done perfectly. That would have to be a near omnipotent manager. In fact, I think you might have to be omnipotent to pull of that particular task!

And so here I am, my heart a recalcitrant shopping cart. And yet, that is no obstacle at all for the great manager of this store.

From House to Home

I would consider myself somewhat easily amused. And perhaps easily satisfied. Well, satisfaction has come to me in great quantities, and for only 26 dollars at that! I have in my possession a real wooden kitchen table and a set of four matching chairs. It is wonderful. It makes my dining room actually become a room where one dines rather than a dance floor, which I was seriously considering converting it into before I found these five lovely beauties. It wouldn't have been too hard, the ceiling fan has a motor, just remove the blades and attach a disco ball, and presto. Dance floor. But NOW I don't need to do that anymore! Seriously, I'm giddy. When I was in Oxford, I didn't have a proper table in our flat. We had to eat on the couch. It really sucked, and made me feel like I was living in a dorm, not a home. Well now all that's changed. I have a real kitchen table...a place to sit and write, sit and eat, sit and type on my computer. For some reason, a kitchen table really makes the home for me. I'm not sure why exactly, perhaps its because the family meal was a formative occurrence for me when I was growing up. But now I can proudly celebrate the fact that I do indeed have my own home! Yay!!!

Boxes and Tye Dye

I envy some of my friends their emotional control. They seem to be able to "compartmentalize," that is, they can take whatever it is they're feeling and seal it off in a box in one corner of their mind while they devote their energy to something else. Later, when the time is right, they can open the box and deal with whatever creepy crawly thing is scrabbling around the inside trying desperately to escape. I think this ability reflects some degree of emotional maturity. It expresses the ability of a person to shift focus from themselves to an appropriate task, be it a work assignment, school assignment, or another relationship. Those with this skill have greater power to be available to others and to accomplish the will of God in spite of their own problems. I respect this.

Of course this ability has a downside too. It can be used as a shield to insulate one's self from too much pain. It can be used to cut people out, not to make one's self more available for them. People with this skill highly developed most likely have a strong independent streak running through them. They don't rely on others, they simply pack it away and forge ahead. Too much of this, and you've stopped relating to others, stopped giving of yourself to others. It can become prideful, selfish hoarding rather than effective management of resources.

Nevertheless, I wish I possessed some greater alacrity with this skill. I am already the sort of person who wears his heart on his sleeve. I do my best to be sincere. Refraining from saying what is on my mind and heart is difficult, even when the best thing for the other person might be to just shut up. Unfortunately, my emotional control isn't nearly that well developed. I feel sometimes like a thin napkin holding a greasy hamburger, and the grease just soaks the napkin so much it turns clear. I feel like a tie-dye shirt, where the colors of all my emotions bleed together, everything tinting everything else around it until all you have is an eye-hurting blend of color which seems to lack any form or reason. Sounds a little bit like modern art (I hate modern art, though I like tie-dye shirts, so don't worry Andy.) And I'm not really sure what the benefits to such a condition are. Perhaps sincerity and giving my heart comes easier to me than others. I don't know, because people with superior emotional control seem to be better able to do these things than I. There are so many times I wish I could just pack this or that color into a box and toss it. Nay, incinerate it. Perhaps that's the benefit. Maybe compartmentalizers end up with basements filled with old boxes they've never dealt with, and have to have a lawn sale every few years, lest they become too cluttered to move around in. Their basements are the scary ones. Mine is just messy.

Priorities

What am I here for?

Seriously, why am I here? What am I doing on this earth, and where am I going? Have I really seriously thought about these questions, and taken the steps to really focus on getting the answers? Its not as if these questions haven't been on my heart. They've burned in my heart, and I've agonized over them, to the point of falling into depression. So what's wrong then?

Priorities.

What have I set as my priorities? I say to all of my friends, "I believe I am called to marriage." But what does this really mean? I talk so much about the greatness of this vocation, but do I really know what I'm saying when I preach about it? To some degree, maybe yes. I absolutely adore family life. I absolutely adore children. I am deeply committed to the respect and integration of the entire human person, body and soul, and am a disciple of the theology of the body. I firmly believe that the Church's teaching on marriage and family life expresses an indescribable fullness of this vocation. So in this sense, yes, I believe I am ready for marriage. I know what is right and I know what marriage is for. I am under no delusions about this. So my problem isn't a theological one.

My problem is more emotional. Lets face it. Puberty was not a happy time for me. Highschool was not a vast playing field of intimate dating relationships. I've been rejected more times than I care to count. And what has this resulted in? My entire life, from the moment I looked at a girl and thought something other than "yuck, cooties," I have longed for a relationship. For intimacy, to be loved. As I grew, I matured, I became committed to my faith and I realized that love was so much more than sex. And yet still I desired. I ached. And felt alone, and in the not so secret part of my soul, unworthy of love.

Then I got into my first serious relationship. I instantly glued my heart to this girl, and not with elmers, but with fast-dry epoxy. For anyone who has experience with this crap, it does NOT come off easily. Onto her I pinned all my hopes for happiness, all my dreams. At last, at last, I had fulfillment. I was worthy, I wasn't lonely anymore.

Can anyone guess where this story ends up? We broke up. And with that, my heart left a significant portion of itself behind with that glue. It was a large wound, and took the better part of a year to heal. And so I continued to grow, and mature more. I liked a few women, and nothing developed. I felt the old pain, and the old wondering, "Am I good enough?"

Recently I have undergone a transforming experience of grace. No longer am I plagued with this question, am I good enough? At last, I am freed from the chains of self-deprecation, and at last I know the love of my Lord toward me. And now what am I to do with this love? I am no longer the boy who believed himself not good enough. But old habits die hard, and not loving one's self easily translates into not trusting God, especially when one cannot see how God can love one such as I. And so I come to priorities. What am I searching for? Am I going to continue to be the boy who is afraid of loneliness? Or will I trust in the love of my Lord? Will I recognize that He has placed me here for a purpose, and given me precious time in which to accomplish His Will? Where should I spend my energy then? Into worrying about whether I'll ever share my life with someone? Or preparing for the possibility of sharing my life with someone, that I might truly give myself? And this is the priority I must set. I must trust my God. And focus on the tasks he has placed before me. How am I to be a father if I have no career? How am I to teach my children about Jesus if I do not know Him intimately? This will be my new focus. I will seek my vocation, and seek His face. If I am called to marriage then I must prepare for it, and I can only do this by becoming the man He has called me to be. Anything less will not do. Those of you who pray, please pray for me in this new endeavor of mine. An endeavor of faith, hope, and charity. Those of you who don't, wish me luck. I'm going to take whatever is left of that epoxy, and bind my heart where it belongs. "Here's my heart Lord, take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above."

*A good friend suggested I connect the epoxy imagery at the end. This was not my own thought.
*Epoxy is great for modeling. It works by mixing two substances together and then applying to the bonding surface. You can get a tube for about five bucks at a hardware store. Pretty expensive, but if you want your stuff to stick then it works.

Riches

I have been given such beautiful friends. My heart feels squeezed to think of them. I especially love my friends Tony Seda and Tim Baldwin. Tony talks more, he is "louder" with his faith, he speaks with fire and passion and the man has suffered so much and it has turned him into gold. I don't know Tim as well, but this is because he is quieter. He is simple and has a great heart, his quietness is a perfect complement to Tony's personality. Together the two are beautiful. They have not gotten to know me in the normal way, we've spent very little time together in each other's presence. And yet they extend to me the love of Christ without any reserve. I feel completely comfortable with them. I cannot go on in many words about them because...I just don't want to. I just want to appreciate them, and what God has made of them. They are true men. They are hidden saints. Blessed be He for what He has done in them; they have done nothing on their own!
I have been given my parents, whose generosity knows no bounds, who are so cool about the toughest stuff, and this is such a turn-around from when I was a kid. The compassion and faith of my parents threatens to bring tears to my eyes. I love them. Blessed be He for what He has done in them; they have done nothing on their own!
I have been given my grandmother. Her faith is constant, her prayers are constant. I know her now not only as Gramma but as the woman she is. I am so grateful that in this the sunset of her life I have been granted to know her not as a child knows but as an adult knows. Her faith is simple and quiet. Her natural impulse is to pray for others. She delights in simple things. She speaks French. Blessed be He, for what He has done in her; she has done nothing on her own!
I have been given Theresa. Her sense of humor is a paragon of wit. Her mind is sharp as a razor and her faith is of iron. She loves being Catholic. She is so much like me, we think in very similar ways. Though our friendship is new, it is precious. Our minds are like two instruments tuned to one another. Her family is beautiful. They sing together. They love the Lord, and they love each other. Blessed be He for what He has done in them; they have done nothing on their own!
I have been given Lisa. Of her my heart could sing. Her simplicity dazzles me. She is like a child in all that she does, and yet her great maturity makes her the most striking woman. Her faith is powerful, her love as of fire. We are so different. I am always excited to be with her. She always impresses me with something new. Sometimes, I feel I can only stand in awe of her. Blessed be He, for what He has done in her; she has done nothing on her own!
These are the friends who have been most active in my life in the past month. I love all of my friends with fervor. These ones stand on my heart in this moment. For whoever is reading this, know that in a true friend, you will see the love of Christ. It is so beautiful that it makes your heart burn. I'm big on being physical, so I will say my chest actually feels tingly, tight, and hot when I experience this love so freely offered. Do I wish to see the love of my Lord? Do I wish to know even a tiny facet of His love? Let me see Him reflected in my friends. The only prayer worth making for myself in this moment is that my heart would be seared by such love and that with my whole being I would turn to Him. Let my whole being be His, for how far I am from Him! How little I truly desire His will! Truly...I am a rich man.

The Clone Wars

A friend asked me a great question today. "As a dedicated Star Wars fan, do you think the new animated Clone Wars movie is good, or do you think this falls more into the category of the Star Wars Christmas special?" My answer was long enough to blog about.

I am wicked excited about the movie, even though it is animated. I have never seen the Christmas special all the way through, but from what I've heard, and seen, it really really is crap. Now I know the Christmas special was designed to keep up interest between episodes IV and V. That was its only purpose. The Clone Wars movie has much more foundation, and here's why:

1. The Clone Wars is a topic that every Star Wars fan has wondered about ever since it was cryptically mentioned on May 25, 1977 (the release date for episode IV), when Princess Leia's hologram said to Obi-Wan Kenobi "Years ago you fought with my father in the Clone Wars." What are these mysterious "clone wars"? How to they affect the story of Star Wars? The rise of the Empire? The fall of the Jedi? So its a really hot topic.

2. Since Episode II came out, there has been much merchandising which capitalizes from the Clone Wars. There are many comics. There are many novels. The characters of Boba and Jango Fett have been really played up, especially by author Karen Traviss. There are games. And, there was a cartoon series aired on Cartoon Network a few years back which covered the period of the Clone Wars. It was done by the same animator who did Dexter's Laboratory. It was like a series of twenty 10 minute shorts, or something like that. Its these cartoons that the animated movie is based on. The animation isn't intended to reflect real life, if you look you'll notice it looks like a CGI cartoon; its based from the cartoon's style of animation.

3. CGI and special effects technology are mind boggling today. Movies are phenomenal. I'd go see it just for the CGI.

4. It develops the character of Anakin Skywalker. Star Wars, as Lucas himself admits, is Anakin's story. So anything which shows him in detail is attractive.

So with all that, there is a much larger fan base for the Clone wars and it stands on its own as a story which fits into the whole saga, rather than simply trying to say "so, while you're waiting for Empire Strikes Back, here's what is going on in Luke's life!" That is why the Clone Wars movie is going to rock and the Christmas special flopped like a pancake.

House of Cards

A thought crossed my mind which scared me. The thought that perhaps all this change which is going on in me is not permanent. Perhaps it is all just the result of emotional turmoil from the situation I am going through. A rock has been thrown into my pond and the mud is all stirred up on the bottom. Will it all just settle down, covering the rock, and everything looks the same? Is this change for real, or does it have all the integrity and permanence of a house of cards? I told God that I would be willing to go through anything if it meant that the lessons I've learned, the faith I've gained, the trust I've placed in Him, would not disappear like the morning mist. I consider these things more precious than anything in my life. I pray that I would be really a new Shawn. That people would look at me and see a difference, see the change, the joy, the confidence. I never want to be the way I was again. Let this growth be etched upon my heart, never to be defaced.

Do not underestimate the Force.

I just thought of something which I wanted to post up here. One of the interesting things about the Force in Star Wars, is that really what it boils down to is the human soul. Imagine the intricacies of the human soul; love, hate, hurt, desire. The Force takes those things, and asks the question, “What if we had absolute power to act on those things? What if I had the power to bend someone to my will with a simple wave of my hand? What if I had the power to keep a mortally wounded friend alive purely by the force of my will? What if I had the power to break those who hurt me? Who opposed me? To reach out with my mind and crush away their life? It’s a question of the soul, but imagines “what if we had the power…” I thank God we don’t have that power. We would be gods, and therefore, would be demons.

A Knight of Christ

Recent experiences are certainly teaching me about the value of the cross, and offering up suffering. I feel I am growing closer to Christ in this period of trial, though I pray I would not turn back to my former lack of devotion and unbelief once everything clears up. Yesterday a good friend gave me something very precious to her, the brown scapular. I am still learning about it. Here is a good link to an article on EWTN about it.

http://www.ewtn.com/library/Prayer/zbrwnscap.HTM

I'm beginning to think that the crusader scapular is a devotion to which my heart is specially molded. The devotion is Carmelite; one of my best friends is deeply formed by Carmelite spirituality and she wears it, as does my friend Kim now. John of the Cross and Theresa of Avila, Therese of Lisieux, and several other Carmelite saints are all somehow involved in my spiritual journey. Through this scapular I feel a special communion with these great saints and doctors of the Church.
The devotion is Marian. This is huge. My spiritual life began in earnest with the Rosary. The Blessed Mother brought my dad back to the Faith and preserves my family in it. She is beautiful, and I am loathe to admit that in my heart some hesitation still exists to fully abandon myself into her matronly arms. A good friend from home once said to me, "As you grow in your relationship with Jesus and Mary, you realize that there is no difference." Now before all my beloved protestant friends freak out, no, this is not a canonization of Mary as the 4th member of a Holy Quaternity. What it means is that her beautiful, perfectly created and preserved human soul (and body, too, b/c of the Assumption), is in such union with Christ that to speak to one is to automatically be drawn to the other. Mary draws us lovingly and tenderly to Our Lord, saying "Do whatever He tells you." (John 2:5) She helps us to stand at the foot of the Cross, as she did. And Our Lord in turn says to us, "Behold your mother." (John 19:27) I don't know what I'd do without her love, so graciously given to us by Christ to lead us to him. She is Mother of all Christians. I pray that by devotion to this scapular, I may truly, in a concrete way, be united with her. That my hesitation would cease and that I would finally open my heart to the streams of grace which pour down from Heaven from Our Lord.

The scapular itches slightly. It is supposed to. Its not at all annoying, I just have to reach up every once in a while to adjust it, and every time I do, I am reminded.

But this scapular isn't your average scapular. Its tricked out with the Crusader Cross. It is a simple gold colored cross with little flanges on the ends, woven into the fabric. This tradition hearkens back to the Crusades. The Crusades started simply with the idea of armed pilgrimage. In the Middle Ages, it was extremely dangerous for a traveler to attempt the long and arduous journey from the Christian West to the Holy Land. Thugs and robbers abounded. Islam encroached (no, I am not pegging the Muslims, but history does show much aggression between them and and Christendom, on both sides). If you wanted to get to the Holy Land in one piece, you'd best be packing a well victualed caravan and some serious medieval heat. It soon developed into full scale attempts on the part of Christendom to liberate the Holy Land from Islamic control and open it up to the faithful. The first Crusade began as a call for aid by Byzantine Emperor Alexius I Comnenus to defend the East from Turkish incursion. It resulted in the capture of Jerusalem. It was the only "successful" crusade, in that it established Christian control in the Holy Land. All the other ones after that tanked in variously spectacular ways. The worst was probably the 4th Crusade, when all the Latins decided "Hey everybody, lets change direction and sack Constantinople instead! Waaahhhg!" Yeah, good job Latin West, you know the East is still p/o'ed about that right? But I digress.

When a knight or a peasant responded to the call to go on Crusade, he was given a Cross of rough fabric and it was sewn onto his garment. In this way the soldier literally "took the Cross" of Christ. Crusade was arduous, difficult, and many died of disease before even seeing combat. It was truly considered a penance and a trial to take up the Cross for Christ to defend his people. That is why the Church attached indulgences to it. For me, I find it very appealing to my masculinity. A soldier of Christ. By taking up the Cross, I can unite my sufferings to Christ's and bring redemption and grace to the world. I can respond to the call of my Lord to take up my Cross and follow him. It feels like a sacred duty, what it really means to be human, but especially, because of the soldier aspect, to be a Christian man. That I am a soldier in the Army of Our Lord, bearing His standard upon my breast. And that I am marked with the mantle of Our Lady, and she goes with me in my journey, my quest. Its all very chivalrous, but I think there's something right and good and holy about that.