True Colors

 A man slowly walked through the woods.  The air was cold and the leaves were vibrant with color.  His steps were heavy as he made his way to the base of a large tree.  

 

The bark was dark and coarse and its branches were thick and strong.  The man spoke to the tree, “Tell me of your life, so that I may make sense of my own.”

 

The tree replied, “I started as a small seed.  All that I was to become was contained in that small speck.  With the gift of light, soil, and rain, life burst forth!  In the spring I was fully alive - proud of who I was and full of possibilities.  My tender branches were covered in white blooms.  It was beautiful.  But the flowers did not last.

 

I became consumed with growing, thriving, producing.  My veins began to fill with envy.  My flowers were gone and all that remained were green leaves.  I looked around and realized I was just like all of the other trees in the forest.  

Eventually, the cool winds came and with them the sobering promise of death.  It was then that I realized that I was hiding who I truly was.  Slowly I pushed the greed, pride and envy from my life.  As I did, the true colors that God had put inside that seed, started to show.”

 

The man looked in wonder at the beautiful red leaves and said, “These are wise words indeed.  I must amend my life, so I too can be as God intended.”

 

The tree sighed, “Many have tried, but it is so very difficult to go against your fallen nature.  Even I was unable to change until the cold wind touched my branches.  However, looking back, I was able to see all of the fruit that was produced during those hot days of labor.  It was food for many.  God used my foolishness to serve His great purposes.”

 

“So what am I to do?” asked the man.

 

“Live”, said the tree.  “Let all that you are, strength and weakness, joy and sorrow, consolation and desolation serve our great creator!”

 

The man thanked the tree and continued down the path he had begun, noticing his steps seemed slightly lighter than before.

Olivia Jansen; not to be forgotten

In the early morning, just before sunrise in the Wild Basin Mountains, our (wife, daughter, mine) phones sounded off at a trailhead just as we entered the back country about to lose cell service.  An Amber Alert!  In the Kansas City area, three-year-old Olivia Jansen was abducted from her home sometime during the night.  Her dad discovered the back door to the house ajar.  He reported Olivia missing early that morning.  Olivia’s mother was not present.  She was in jail for a hit and run incident.

            Returning to civilization late in the day, my daughter looked into updates of Olivia’s search.  She remained missing.

             Later, my daughter acquired a picture of Olivia online.  She told me Olivia was cute.  Of course, I thought, ALL three-year-olds are beautiful!  I silently prayed she’d be found quickly and safe.

The next day, while driving along I-70 headed for home, my daughter informed me.  The little girl’s body was located less than a mile from her home next to a trail.  Olivia’s dad with her name tattooed on his forehead was held in custody along with his girlfriend for killing his little girl and desecrating her corpse. 

The car radio played.  Miles disappeared in the review mirror.  Silently, I recalled my daughter at age three catching fireflies and releasing them in her bedroom so that they would “sparkle like stars on the ceiling!”  Popping out at hide-n-seek so that we wouldn’t think she was lost.  Playing bounce tag on the trampoline.  Taking lessons so she could swim like a fish at the Pointe in the evening.  Running a million miles an hour packing the most into each day, she’d crash with exhaustion at night before I could even begin to read her a story.  I wondered.  Was Olivia like that?  Why should I care?  To me, all children are my children.

I maneuvered into the Holiday Inn Express on the western outskirts of Salina, Kansas.

I threw my bag in the room.  Left my wife and daughter behind and wandered onto the gravel exit road.  I walked past a no-vacancy KOA campground.  The dead-end gravel transitioned to a narrow dirt road separating fields of corn and wheat stubble.

I was in my country.  Throughout my youth, I’d reflect upon my day, develop future plans, consider new ideas as I walked dirt roads through the fields.  The sun hung low over a golden field of freshly harvested wheat. Heat curled leaves of corn only two feet high due to lack of rain.  Sweat rolled over my brow.   

My mind wrestled all day.  I’m generally an optimistic individual, but as I walked into the sunset along this dirt road, I didn’t doubt the existence of God.  There was no God!

I considered my fair-weather relationship with God.  When things are going well, God is good.  When things grow dark, God is not in the cards.

What’s eating me?  I feel it working to surface as I walk further into the countryside.  I try to focus my mind, but am having difficulty doing so.  Random thoughts emerge.  People perform acts of kindness for the less fortunate.  Why is it that so many think it’s okay to help those in need, except when it comes at a personal cost to themselves?

A young bride dies eight months into her marriage from spinal cancer leaving her child and husband behind.

            A ten-year-old boy is killed in a hit and run while riding his bicycle.

            An innocent forty-year-old father of five is indiscriminately shot and killed in a drive-by shooting.

            A young girl suffers a spinal injury resulting in paralysis below the neck.

            Finally, it emerges.  A three-year-old girl is killed by her father. 

A beautiful,

amazing

three-year-old girl!

I live much of life as a fraudulent believer.

What the hell?

I hear my sandals slap the baked, packed soil.  A hot, arid breeze teases me to keep walking.  Tonight, I’d deliver the death penalty to Olivia’s father and his girlfriend.  As I talked that off my chest, anger invaded.  I thought I was prolife, but not tonight.   

They desecrated her fragile, defenseless body.  How’d she die?  Asphyxiation, poisoning, blow to the head?  The police reported torture.  She had to struggle.  The more I wanted to be judge and jury, anger opened to fear.  Despair consumed fear, regurgitated helplessness, hopelessness.

Where was He? God?

Out of control, I had trouble breathing.  There was no peace, no hope in these fields.

My mind’s eye, the one a Literature teacher had spoken of, zeroed in on Olivia.  Staring into a dusty sunset, I saw a little three-year-old girl plunging into the depths of water.  I saw terror, betrayal in her eyes.  Forgotten, discarded, alone.  She was sinking, drowning, fighting to hold her last breath.   

Suddenly, instantly, the little three-year-old girl became my daughter.  I saw fear and excitement in her eyes.  She’d just jumped off the diving board.  Her miniature arms and legs cycled into an underwater dog paddle.  I saw my hands quickly reach into the depths of the water, squeeze her ribs, and lift my beautiful girl up and over my head!  Frantically wiping her face of water, she laughed!  I laughed, hugging her tightly, singing her praises on her first successful jump off the board!  Too jubilant for words, we laughed more together! 

Abruptly, my vision shifted again back to Olivia.  Her tiny body falling deeper and deeper into the depths, light from her eyes fading away.  And then….  Hands, unknown to me, squeezed Olivia’s fragile ribcage and lifted her with unimaginable force out of the depths thrusting her above the water!   Olivia coughed, frantically wiping the water from her face.  She captured the eyes of the Father.  My Spirit’s eye recognized the hands of the Almighty.  I burst into tears, crying alone on a dirt road in the middle of fields intensely struggling to keep from hyperventilating.  I could see a beautiful three-year-old laugh in the sunset over the fields.  My anger and despair, too, lifted away.  Tears continued but I began to breathe easier.  I felt hope despite the sun falling below the horizon.  Peace settled upon these fields.
  
"Let the children come to me.  Do not hinder them.  The kingdom of God belongs to such as these."  Jesus placed his hands on them in prayer.  Mt. 19:14-15.

*60 children in the St. Louis area have been the victims of violence: 20 resulting in homicide.

These are our children!

Do Not Be Afraid

I feel like my blog titles are stuck on repeat recently.  Since we seem to be grinding slowly, and even moving backwards, in the quagmire that is Covid mentality, then I feel justified in repeating some statements.  In April, I offered "Be Not Afraid".  So today I offer a new, and still familiar "Do Not Be Afraid".

In May I wrote a detailed and lengthy email and sent it to various priests who were members of the re-opening committees throughout our parish, and also the overall archdiocese.  I probably seemed overly insensitive, but in part, my statement opened with:

"From my spiritual leaders, I would hope that their greatest concern is for the state of my immortal soul, and the souls of all members of their flock...  From religious leaders, we should want and expect concern for the well being of our spirituality FIRST AND FOREMOST, and possibly even in contradiction to our health, if those choices face off against each other."

But I will save you from the long-winded writings of a nobody.  I'm just a (potentially) crazy dad who, more and more, feels misplaced in the world.  The more I turn to scriptures, the more I feel the world is drifting, nay sprinting, further away from advice given through the Word.

Instead I offer this link, and the more competent writings of a self-proclaimed "physician of souls."  Attached please find a fairly quick read from Msgr. Charles Pope from earlier this month, in the National Catholic Register (through EWTN):

"Coronavirus Stalks in the Darkness, But Do Not Be Afraid"

I will end as I ended my email from May:

"If my physical body dies today, but upon death I am united with Christ in heaven, then all was a success!  If my physical body avoids infection, and I prolong life on earth for another day, or decades more, but I am denied the source and summit of our faith that brings grace, (and also the real fellowship of the full Body of Christ on Earth), then was health worth the cost?"

"I do, as always, continue to pray that the Holy Spirit guides your judgement towards God's Will, first and foremost."

written by:  Matt Buehrig

inspired by:  My Wife, who searches for TRUTH above all else, and does not allow fear to hold her...not through the years our daughter battled cancer...not through the deaths of family members...not through everyday crisis that surround us.

Don't try to fix the problem, let the problem fix you.

There comes a time in every man’s life where his focus begins to shift.  What used to be plans and dreams of the future, transitions to looking back with nostalgia on the way things used to be.  I think I might be getting there.  I’m not fifty yet, but watching my oldest children start their adult lives has me thinking about when I left the nest and started my own little nuclear unit.  Everything felt like anticipation.  "I can’t wait until we get married."  "Just imagine what it will be like when we get out of this crappy apartment and have a house, with a yard full of little kids!"  It’s an exciting time, but it's not easy.  Relatively quickly, you discover that not all of your plans come to fruition.  It’s hard to find a job that provides for your family.  Your kids get sick.  That yard you dreamed about needs to be mowed again, and your soul mate snores like a drunk Viking.  

Lisa and I spent a lot of time and energy trying to protect our kids so they didn’t feel the stress or loneliness that we felt growing up.  The truth of the matter is, no matter how hard we tried, once they got out there, life found them.  Trying to start a career, a family, and a first home sounds like the American dream, but what do you tell your kid when his dream job is frustrating and stressful?   What can I do as I watch the romance of finding a home turn into gut wrenching rejection of offer after offer?  How do you console a daughter who lost the baby she announced to the family was due Christmas Eve?  I remember when I could fix my kid’s problems.  They saw me as a superhero who could fix anything.  There was nothing I couldn’t take care of.  But my kids are grown now, and the struggles they are facing are bigger than me. 

Hardships continue to come at our family and as tempting as it is for Lisa and I to try and shield ourselves and the kids from it, we had to learn to trust that everything is going to be ok.  As we watch them begin, stumble, and begin again, we have to remember that they have something that we didn’t when we started out.  They have a relationship with Christ and His church.  Having a strong faith life doesn’t keep the storms from coming, but it does create a port for you to tie onto as you wait for it to pass.  You recognize that your life isn’t about you and what you want.  That you are being led.  It takes trust and patience, but the one you are following has a better plan for you than you do.  My kids know that, so as hard as things get, they don’t have the same fear that Lisa and I battled with most of our lives.  That fear might have gotten us far in the world, but looking back, we spent a large portion of our journey fighting and kicking, rather than being held and guided. 

A good friend of mine last week confided in me that his son came out to him as being gay.  I hear him tearfully explain how all the things he worked for and envisioned for his family and legacy, are now gone.  I know that fear.  We all have a movie in our minds of how our life is supposed to go.  The problem is, it never really works out the way we plan it.  No matter how hard we try, there are somethings that will always be outside of our control.  Real joy and peace comes when we build a relationship with the one who is, and trust and follow Him.  My prayers for my family have slowly changed over the years.  I no longer ask for things to work out the way I think they should, I pray for them to work out the way He thinks they should, and for Him to grant me the wisdom to recognize that and embrace it.    

Pay the Price

"They paid the ultimate price". This is a common phrase this time of year as we celebrate our country's independence and commemorate the values that distinguish us as Americans. One such value is that of sacrifice. When I hear a story about a soldier bravely facing enemy fire to advance to an objective or rescue a fallen comrade, I often find myself holding back a tear. Sacrifice is beautiful.

"Freedom isn't free". We recognize that sacrifice is what purchased our freedom as Americans. Every time we enjoy a barbecue with friends, take a road trip to visit family, or attend Mass on Sunday, we are engaging in an activity that was made possible by others offering themselves up for our sake. Surrounded by so many goods that were purchased by the selfless offerings, living in a country where we are enamored by stories of self-sacrifice, we have to ask ourselves: what are we willing to give?

In order to attain true freedom, we not only be willing to give our lives, but we must offer up our entire beings in a spirit of generosity and love. St. Teresa of Avila, a 16th century mystic and Doctor of the Church, spoke plainly about the need to suffer and to do so with the proper attitude. While she had no formal education, St. Teresa wrote eloquently about what it takes to find peace thorough union with God in prayer. A key component of our ascent to God is the need to take up our cross.

In his 1989 book Fire within: St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and the Gospel - on prayer, Fr. Thomas Dubay S.M. nicely summarizes St. Teresa's teaching on suffering when he explains that "[resignation] is not enough; there must be a generous willed welcome to hardships and dryness in prayer"(1). This attitude towards suffering is exemplified in elite military units. The Army Rangers, Delta Force, and most notably, the Navy Seals all draw men who not only put up with suffering; they seek it out. Brutal conditioning, sleep deprivation, hand to hand combat; these harsh realities are an integral part of the daily life of an elite soldier in combat. In the crucible of suffering, a soldier learns to turn his pain into fuel. His agony becomes a purifying force driving him to sacrifice all for the good of the mission and for his fellow soldiers.

St. Teresa was by no means a soldier, but her methods were no different than these elite military units. She recognized that man's mission is to find peace through union with God in prayer. In order to pray, we need to be free from worldly attachments. I suspect that most of us find ourselves in the state that St. Teresa describes as the second mansion, where we are "still engaged in worldly pastimes, half giving them up and half clinging to them"(2). We know what we need to do in order to grow in holiness and to deepen our prayer, but we find ourselves torn between the things of this world and the things of God. "The world's tug is experienced in several ways: earthly pleasures remain attractive, and they feel almost eternal. The soul finds it hard to give up esteem in the world and a selfish clinging to family and friends. It unreasonably fears doing penances to which it now feels called, and it vacillates, says Teresa, as to whether to return to the first mansions or strive bravely on"(3).

St. Teresa's solution to the pull of worldly things is maddeningly simple: man up and embrace your cross: "there is a need to 'embrace the cross' along with the suffering Lord"(4). We will not escape the world and find true freedom and peace unless we are willing to suffer. Our attitude towards suffering cannot be passive. We must learn to love to toil in the raging furnace of adversity and to seek out Our Lord as we do so.

If there is something in our life that in and of itself is good, but it keeps us from God, then we must do away with it. Does social media keep you from God? Get off of it. What about being on your phone at night? Change your phone's settings so that you can't access it past 8pm. These are simple problems and even simpler solutions. Our Blessed Lord invites us to go a step further: "if thy right eye scandalize thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee. For it is expedient for thee that one of thy members should perish, rather than that thy whole body be cast into hell"(4).

We can all agree that eyes are good things. Much like our hobbies, pastimes, and friendships, our eyes are not inherently evil. Yet, if any of these good things cause us to sin, then they must be removed from our lives with violent force. It's not enough to passively resit a temptation, we must beg for the grace to renounce sin in our lives. After we have turned to Our Lord, then we must summon every fiber of our will to do violence to our sinful impulses and inclinations. We need to learn to hate sin like a soldier learns to hate an unpolished boot, an improperly oiled gun, or a missed belt loop during an inspection. If we condition ourselves to hate sin, then our souls will be truly free to love God.

What do we get in return for our efforts? I cannot promise that they will build a statue of you. You may not live on in the hearts of men. There may be no moving stories of brave and daring feats.
Yet, if we are willing to seek pain and overcome sin in our lives, then "I reckon that the sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the glory to come, that shall be revealed in us"(5).

(1) Dubay, T. (1989). Fire within: St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and the Gospel - on prayer (p. 84). San Francisco: Ignatius Pr.

(2) ibid p. 83

(3) ibid p. 83

(4) Matthew 5:29

(5) Romans 8:18