happy birthday and holy crap

My oldest, Sophia, is thirteen today. Thirteen. Do you understand what that means? Only seven more years until she is allowed to have a Facebook account. Wow.

Happy birthday, Sophie!

My Grandmother, On Her 90th Birthday

Cap'n's Log

I'm currently reading two books. The first is Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man, by Henri de Lubac, and the second is Why Evolution Is True, by Jerry A. Coyne. Both books are quite good. I can't read but a few pages at a time of Lebac, who constantly knocks me on my metaphorical butt with his thoughts on the Church and unity. Unity is what brought me into the Church, but it has been a while since I've actually thought much about it as it relates to life in the Church, unfortunately, and it's been a wonderful reminder. (Thank you, Fred, for the suggestion.)

The second book is about evolution, which you may have deduced from its title. It's actually quite good, if you like learning about evolution, but the author does make the mistake (in my opinion) of sometimes pushing his science into his metaphysics. But maybe he backs off later in the book. We'll see.

We had the entire week off, due to the snow and ice. Monday is MLK Jr. Day which gives us a grand total of 10 days. A little ice age, or at least a secondary Christmas break. Which means, likely, that we will get very little of our spring break. C'est la vie. That's what happens, and how it happens, in the South.

Anna turns 10 on Monday. What a beautiful girl. Looking forward to having the day off with the family. Because, you know, we haven't had much time together lately.

Knowledge and Communion

I'm busy this weekend, finishing up some articles and trying to spend some time with family on a holiday (national) weekend. And I have to mow. And in the midst of it, busily looking forward to next week, which is one of the crazier weeks of our year. Here's the rundown: Monday is Memorial Day (of course). Sophie is turning 11 on Tuesday. Will is turning 6 on Friday. And on Saturday Avery will receive her first Holy Communion. Her final two practices for receiving the Blessed Sacrament are, drumroll please, on Sophie and Will's birthdays. So it's going to be crazy. But crazy good. I don't know yet if we'll postpone birthday celebrations and take care of it all on Saturday or shift the birthday celebrations to different dates, but it will work out. The kids enjoy having their birthdays spread out over several days anyway.

.....

There's an article/post that has been rattling around in my brain for over a week now. I'm not going to link to it here because it would be offensive to many, as it was - to some degree - to me. It's rather harsh concerning the Evangelical idea of one's necessity to having a "personal relationship with Jesus." But partly because of it I've been re-evaluating my previous notions on cultural Catholicism, religion per se and the like - on knowledge and the Faith. I'm not so sure ignorance is always such a bad thing. What does it really matter whether my children can recite the books of the Bible? On the other hand, I know that knowledge is often not a good thing. I was raised in an environment where Scriptural knowledge is power - and there's something terribly perverse and manipulative about that. There is a knowing that's good, of course, as we come to know God and be known by him, but that knowing can happen perhaps more in our homes and everyday life and even in a cultural Catholicism or in "religion" than in our ability (as we think of it) to properly exegete the Scriptures, to know the Scriptures by chapter and verse, or to even know a particular teaching is found in the Scriptures. Does it matter more that I know the arguments surrounding justification and where my church community stands on such arguments or that I am justified? Does it make a difference whether I read that I must love my enemies or that my Church teaches me to love my enemies? I'm not saying that the Scriptures have no place. Certainly not! But I am saying that we often imagine that every Christian must have a grasp of them that is unnecessary for a pipe-fitter or stay-at-home dad or mathematician, or that it is somehow not enough for a Christian to simply hear God's Word in Liturgy - even though hearing is how the early Church, which many of us so desire to emulate, received the Scriptures; hearing is how most Christians throughout history received the Scriptures. There is nothing wrong with simply hearing the Scriptures.

That being said, is it good to be able to have the Scriptures in my home, important for me to read them? I think so. But only for the purpose of seeing Christ. The Scriptures are iconic. They are not for the purpose of lording something (an idea, a doctrine, a view of science) over another believer. They are not ever for the purpose of discovering who is Christian and who is not. They can never show us something contrary to what has been faithfully passed down to us by the Church. They proclaim Christ, who shows us the Father. And the Spirit reveals it to us - not as something new or different or never-before-thought-of, which is nearly always of the devil, but as freshening as and in the humility of a summer rain. The Scriptures should never be, as they often have been to me, an ammunition depot. The Scriptures should never be a place where I am elevated above my brother or my sister. The Scriptures should never teach me anything other than to love my enemy and my neighbor. If I learn something else from them, I have mis-learned or mis-read them. The Scriptures will never teach me anything contrary to "God is love." If I have learned something other from them, I have mis-learned or mis-read them.

It is enough to find Christ in Liturgy, to participate in his life there. We hope and pray that many are given special vocations to go and do and be something extraordinary for God. To truly become saints in their vocations. But sainthood can be found in being ordinary too, thanks be to God. In quiet and simplicity. In giving alms and in praying. In fasting. In attending Liturgy. In raising children. We too must become saints, ordinary saints living in ordinary time. Sainthood is found in my vocation and not in another's. It is found in becoming nothing rather than in the desire to do something. Becoming a saint is communion with God - indeed that is salvation. It is not necessary for a saint to have memorized the Psalter or the Gospels or to be able to defend the faith. It is enough to know Christ. To know him in field and flower. To know him in Liturgy. To know him in obedience and love. To know him in the dishes that need washing and the floors that need sweeping. It is enough to know Christ.

I heard a story once, and my memory of it has faded - so forgive the errors of my recounting - of a monk who while reading the Scriptures, stopped abruptly, and closed them. He had read that he must love his enemies and refused to open the Scriptures again. When he was asked why he would not read more of the Scriptures, his response was that until he had learned to obey the Scripture he had read, it was unnecessary (and perhaps foolhardy) for him to read any more. There is something illustrative in this story for us, something that we have lost in our elevation of the importance of knowing the Scriptures.

It was St. Jerome who said, "Ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ." But I do not think he meant what we think he meant, framing it as we do. Knowledge is a tool. It is not knowledge that we seek, it is communion. Knowledge serves communion. When it ceases to serve communion and life, then it becomes a wicked tool bent on wicked purposes.

If You Sent Me on a Cruise

Such busy weeks, the past one and the one before. Last Week: Two birthdays prepared for and celebrated, two first Communion practices, one First Communion, and one big celebration of all of those things on Saturday. That was all piled onto the normal busyness. It was Anna's first Communion - and it was beautiful (pictures and more, later). It was Will's fifth birthday and Sophie's tenth. (I also had two articles due, which were turned in late. My bad.) The Week Prior: My mother had a stroke. Thanks be to God only a minor stroke, but my week was tumbled by it and I was drained emotionally waiting and praying and being more anxious than I'm supposed to be. My mom seems to be back to normal and the kids and I are looking forward to another visit from Grandma and Papa later this month.

All I feel like doing is sleeping, and that's precisely all that I would do if someone sent me on a cruise this week. Unfortunately, no one has. But I suppose that's OK, since I would sleep through it anyway.

Route 66

My dad is 66 today. Love you, Dad. Have a good one.

And Route 66 has nothing to do with this post other than it was the first thing that popped into my head when thinking about his age. He's older than people being encouraged to find their kicks there, but younger than the road itself.

Lordy, Lordy

My sister turned 40 today. Happy birthday, Tania! Much love.

Anna Is Seven

Today is Anna's birthday and she got the day off from school due to some freezing rain. I was planning on still homeschooling, but since the kids get so few days off on account of snow and ice - and because their sister is off - we're all taking a break today.

I can't believe how quickly children grow up. It makes me wish I had some backwater farm so's I could put these younguns to work.

Yesterday, Anna, Will, and I went to Barnes & Noble and Anna picked out a couple of horse activity books/toys/games for her birthday while I picked up a nice children's dictionary for home.

Meanwhile, I have coffee breath and have some kids hollerin'. Gotta run.

Thirty-Seven? You've Gotta Be ******** Me!

It's true. Today. I've never been one to broadcast my birthday, but I'm changing all that. I want you to share in my joy.
     It's been a busy, prayerful, work-full weekend. Some of you were a large part of my weekend, though you don't know it. And having you in my heart has made it more joyful, even while I am mourning with some of you.
     However, this birthday weekend (I may go on and claim the whole week) has not only been wonderful because of your unwitting participation in it, or in that I'm nearing the age of dirt, but because of the weather: Today it was 75. Gorgeous. Yesterday was about the same. I feel like I can live again - that Outside is not discomfort and sweat and oppression, but beautiful creation. I'm no longer holed up like The Omega Man. Glory to God for blue skies and cool breezes. It has been heart-wonderful getting out into. Lovely.
     My inordinate preoccupation with weather out of the way, I do know that there are bigger concerns for some of you than birthdays and beautiful skies. For those of you whose needs I am aware of, know that I have been praying for you, hurting with you. You are loved. And you are not alone.

The Boy Is Three

Will turned three today. When he woke up, he asked me, "Am I bigger now?"

Will loves Spider-Man, Superman, swords, and clubs. He hits and pesters his sisters. He chases them with sticks. He pees outside sometimes. His favorite word is poopie, and the mere repetition of it is enough to drive him to hysterics. He's all boy, yet sometimes he keeps his action figures in little pink bags with hearts on them. He shares a coffee with me each morning.

He has grown up.

Yesterday at Mass he reached the pew before me and, with no direction from me, did his best to honor our Lord by kneeling. He's seen me do this, of course, but I've never directed him to do so. His kneel ended up looking more like a brief squat (with bowed head), but for our Lord, I am sure, it was the most endearing gesticulation of the day. Perhaps the most genuine as well.

I love this boy, though, at times, I want to strap him. I want to be good and strong when I am with him, a man of steel.

Happy birthday, Will. Today you are bigger.

The Girl in the Masthead

Sophia Grace is eight years old today. She's beautiful. And, as always, I can't believe it. I don't know why I continue to say, "I can't believe it." But I can't. Time and the growth of your children are difficult concepts to grasp hold of.

She is boisterous and loud. Her feet are nearly the size of her mother's and her heart is twice the size of mine.

Sophie is the embodiment of innocence, of childhood. Her heart is like a flower, beautiful and fragile - and it needs a gentle and good gardener.

Pray for me, that I can be gentle and good for her.

In a few weeks, as school ends, I'll be spending far more time with this growing girl, who I'm in love with. June 21 is her last day of school. Her last day. Laura and I have made the decision to educate Sophie at home. Personally, I'm terrified and excited all at the same time. Her education is going to demand more of me. But nothing I'm not willing to give.

Let me explain why we've made our decision to keep Sophie out since Laura is a teacher at her school. Sophie is entering third grade next year - a big testing year with a lot of meaningless and useless teaching to test. (Don't deny it, it's the truth.) Sophie will never shine with that kind of impersonal rigor. She's simply not made for it. (Are any of us?) Her first year at school, in first grade, she had a wonderful teacher who nurtured her, who came alongside her and encouraged her. Sophie blossomed and learned a great amount - she had a great deal of catching up to do. This year her teacher is far more task-oriented, education- rather than child-centered. (Don't confuse the two.) Sophie has withdrawn and her education has suffered because of it. She struggles to get up in the morning. She becomes physically ill on Sunday nights. She is made fun of at school.

Sophie loves people - the concept of "stranger" does not exist in her brain. She believes the teller at the bank or the girl in the drive-through window wants nothing more than to know about her exciting news, whatever it might be. She has no concept of the darkness of the human heart - or the natural cruelty of children. That's not to say she is perfect and angelic, or that she never hits or yells or manipulates. She does. All the time. But she understands reaction. What is difficult for her to comprehend is cruelty without provocation.

I want her to be more fully who she is again. So we've decided to make the step. I ask for your prayers both for her and me. This undertaking is new for us, but I'm convinced it's the right decision.

Various and Sundry

I'm detoxing from caffeine ... again. I had a monster headache all last week and am still struggling through some rebound headaches as well. I have had one or two days headache free. I'm looking forward to more.

Important news: Yesterday was my mom's birthday. Happy birthday, Mom! I miss living near my mom and my dad. I miss being able to hug them rather than simply telling them I love you. But I do love you both, and, Mom, I hope you had a wonderful birthday.

The baby boy is coming! Our son is now full-term. And he will be in our arms before you can say Jack Robinson (No, that won't be his name). The due date is the 24th, but we are tentatively planning an induction on the 19th. Laura is just great with child and pretty miserable and tired much of the time. Pray for her and for our son.

I'm around, but I do have work to finish up this week - so, again, posting may be light.

Happy Birthday, Anna

Anna is six.

It seems as if I was just writing about her turning five. But apparently another year has passed.

I will never get used to my children growing up. It is so frightening and so beautiful.

These children make me want to be better than I am.

She Could Not

Anna is five years old today. Five. I do not want to believe it, but it is true. I wrote a poem about her when she was only three months old. She was only a baby: She could not race around the house like a horse or prowl like a lion. She could not draw so purely, so passionately. She could not sing songs praising the beauty of the evening or of the One who sowed the moon and the stars in the black, fertile soil of Night. She could not tell me, with tears, how she missed her grandparents. She could not gently remind me about the apology I owed her for yelling. She could not swing so riotously, scraping the clouds with her toes. She could not love pizza. She could not play in the bay window, wrapping herself and her sisters in story. She could not reach her arms about me as she would a too-wide tree and say, I love you, Daddy. She could not do any of these things.

But she was Anna - full, even then, of grace.

She watches me write; I watch her be.
Peace newly born,
Clumsy-handed grace,
Turtle-tongued.
Bright-eyed, we watch together.

I'm still watching, Anna. I'm still amazed. I'm still in love.