Sheff

You know, I try not to pay too much attention to celebrity, but now and then someone says something that just really strikes me.

Gary Sheffield was quoted as saying, "If I lose friends, so what? I don't need friends. I've got plenty of friends," Sheffield said.

Wow.

My friends are more precious to me than that. I sure hope he was quoted completely out of context.

Sanctimony

Barry Bonds. Michael Vick. Tank Johnson. Adam Jones. Tim Donaghy. Michael Rasmussen. Alexander Vinokourov. Ryan Tucker. Marion Jones. Tim Montgomery. Neifi Perez. Ivan Basso. Floyd Landis. Mark McGuire.

Okay. I'll stop now. But let's get the point. And it isn't just about sports figures, either.

We ought not tolerate cheating.

We also ought not get all uppity in the process. Let's not think ourselves better than others. If we do, we've missed the point.

And no, I don't think myself better than those who think themselves better than others. What a trap that would be!

We all have our weaknesses. We should help each other out of them or, if our help isn't desired, at least not enable the dynamic that nurtures them. But just because I don't have another person's weakness, or because my weakness hasn't made the headlines, that doesn't give me room to judge.

Or maybe I just feel that way because my own weakness was so undeniably ugly.

From what comes hope?

Compared to a lot of tragedies in this world, this one (registration req'd, and I don't know how long the Post keeps its articles available) may be small. Perhaps it doesn't compare to terrorism, war, starvation, or genocide. Still, it touches me deeply.

Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake were brilliant people, deeply united with one another, yet they became hopeless.

It seems that none of these things that the world values - intelligence, esteem, beauty, brilliance, riches, success - can provide true hope. Or, in the words of Arlene Landis, "All this proves to me is that worldly fame is worthless."

I have been this full of despair. On the way to work one day, over a decade ago (at close to Jeremy's age, in fact), I chose the means and site of my death that afternoon.

Providence and grace delivered me over to a better answer than to follow in my father's footsteps, and saved my family the further hurt to which I would have selfishly subjected them. But it wasn't a matter of choosing to live in misery myself rather than making them miserable.

There is a Way through such desperation. Beyond the abject darkness there is bright, joyful day, where life is indeed far better.

Pimples

As a teenager I didn’t have to deal with very much acne. Still, every pimple left me longing for the day that I’d be old enough that I wouldn’t get them anymore.

I’m 47 now. Isn’t that old enough?

Why did the adults in my adolescent life lie to me? Why did they say that the zits would all be over soon enough, and I’d long for the days when my problems were that simple? (Well, I suppose they were half right!) Why didn’t they tell me, back then, that there was still a good chance I’d always be dealing with blemishes on my back, or on my rear end? Those, at least, are usually hidden by my clothes. How about the ones out in the open, alongside my nose, visible on my chin through my beard, or on my balding pate?

Oh, wait. Maybe they didn’t tell me because they didn’t have them. Does everyone, or is it just me? Are we each allotted a fixed number of pimples for our lifetime, and I didn’t get nearly enough as a kid, so I have to put up with them as long as I draw breath?

Nowadays (see, I’m old enough to say "nowadays" now, and it sounds just as hokey as when my grandparents used to say it; shouldn’t I be old enough that I don’t get pimples anymore??), the medical advice is to leave them alone, don’t pop them, because it increases the risk of them becoming infected.

Right.

As if I could leave that swollen, slightly painful, white-headed pustule alone if my life depended on it! That would be impossible even without still hearing my dear, late mother’s voice ringing in my memory’s ear, telling me I "really ought to go pop that thing!" I don’t think she ever used the adjective "disgusting," but I always heard her imply it nonetheless, and still do now.

See, it isn’t enough I still get zits. I have to obsess – not to be confused with abscess – over them, too. Gee, thanks Mom!

Abundant blessings!

I think I've learned to just appreciate times such as these when they come, rather than a) making them some sort of unachievable, obsessive end in themselves, or b) destroying them through an unconscious belief that I don't deserve them. A lot of folks end up applying either or both of these ineffective approaches to happiness in their lives; I know I've applied both in the past. It's nice to be able to simply appreciate such blessings as:

- to be able to look at the gradually decreasing yard debris where I successfully felled a mostly dead maple tree in my front yard on Saturday, without dropping it on our house or the street or myself, or killing or maiming myself with the biggest chain saw (by far!) that I've ever used; the whole time I was hearing the lessons my stepfather shared three decades ago, mainly "Keep the chain out of the dirt!"

- to be able to enjoy a truly splendid Father's Day, including nice phone calls from each of our daughters

- to enjoy both the regular and the special cycling outings with our riding group

- to spend pleasant evenings with a wonderful group of friends

- to participate in and contribute to our parish through Mass, music ministry, small faith-sharing groups, festival, etc.

- to continue to be blessed within the prayer group we helped get started 20 years ago, and to see the Holy Spirit still moving in our lives in powerful ways, always helping us to grow and be transformed

- to have such close friends that I can discuss even the most difficult things life offers without fear of losing their friendship, and to know how to couch those discussions even when a topic holds the potential to hurt them deeply but still must be addressed

- to see our prayers begin to be answered for our daughter and her estranged husband, when many might have given up hope for them at the point of the divorce, and yet to recognize that the need for continued prayer for them is still urgent, for they have all their original issues to overcome plus the pain of their more recent decisions

- to be able to speak words of comfort to a small, highly upset 22-month-old granddaughter as she received a half-dozen stitches in the horizontal split she opened between her upper lip and nose because she wasn't quite big enough to follow her four-year-old cousin's leap from the coffee table to the sofa; to know how much worse it could have been had the table's glass top broken under them instead; to show loving yet firm correction rather than angry recrimination to the older grandchild

- to be in better shape at 47 than I've ever been before

- to know that no blessing, and no challenge, serves any other purpose than to help us collectively to know God's love more deeply, and to more deeply love God in return.

Longing for simplicity

I used to believe that being complex or enigmatic was admirable. I was drawn to those who seemed to possess what I thought of as a captivating depth, layers of intrigue to discover. Conversely, I disdained simplicity or transparency as uninteresting, or even boring. In retrospect, I'd have to say that I thought of simple people as not being worth much of my attention.

How egotistical I was.

I still struggle against those prejudices, and find that I've long since taken on these traits that I so vainly valued, in ways of which I am certain I will never be free. I now treasure in others and long to find within myself those characteristics which I formerly scorned.

Perceptual weirdness

The oddest thing is going on in my brain.

Perhaps it’s from too much computer time, which would be strange, because I spend nearly all day on the computer nearly every work day. Maybe it’s a cumulative effect. At any rate, my brain feels as if my desk and computer screen are orthogonal to how they should be.

It’s hard to explain, and I’m sure weird to read, but here’s as close as I think I can get to describing what it feels like: it’s as if I’ve been holding my head over at a 90° angle for so long that my brain has gotten used to it and is automatically interpreting everything I see as being upright. Now, I know that such a phenomenon occurs after a couple of days when experimental subjects are provided with inverting glasses to look through for all their waking hours. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like that happening with a 90° visual translation - if such a thing is even possible or practical.

Anyway, it’s a rather unusual feeling. Perhaps it’s just a weird effect of the astigmatism which a) I spend much of the day not correcting because I don’t typically wear my glasses when I’m doing computer work and b) I haven’t had checked in entirely too long. Or maybe I’m just a little lightheaded from not being caught up yet from fasting for my physical this morning (but my doc was really impressed with my resting heart rate. Cool!)

Or since I’m feeling weird, maybe it’s just the same thing that I tell my wife is going on with her when she says she’s feeling dizzy:

improved perception