While we were in MD for my uncle's services, we also got to spend some time with mrs. tg's folks. Her mom is battling cancer, and it was good for us to be with her. On Sunday, we went to Mass with her dad. Most weeks they pick up an older neighbor so that she can attend Mass, too, and he was filling her in on how mom is doing.
This led to a really fascinating discussion when she observed, "I just don't understand why good people have to suffer."
Dad had already reflected on the Gospel reading, in which Jesus admonished the Pharisees that prostitutes and tax collectors were entering the kingdom of God ahead of them. It was in this context that he replied with a wry, matter-of-fact chuckle, "Well, it's so bad people can go to heaven." I immediately understood he was referring to a couple of things at once: Jesus, the only perfectly good person, willingly offered himself up and suffered unspeakably for our salvation; but also, God seems to work even through our temporal suffering to help draw those around us into eternal joy. But his response really took her aback.
"Oh," she responded, perplexed, "I don't think bad people go to heaven! If that's true, what's the point in trying to live right?" She then proceeded along a tangent that isn't pertinent here.
Sitting in the back seat, I gave my wife's hand a squeeze, knowing that my only hope is that he's right and she's wrong! Fortunately, that matches what I believe, and "the point" is that "living right" is my response to the love which God has poured out in my life, which I can never deserve. Throughout Christian history, this is what we have referred to as "grace." It is also how I make myself available as a vessel through which God might pour that same love into the lives of those around me.
It was a really neat conversation to be in on.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Being flexible
Sometimes we have to be careful not to invest too much faith in our plans. (Actually, I suppose "plans" could be replaced with pretty much anything, aside from things like "God," or "Savior".) When we can avoid that, we can end up receiving unexpected blessings.
For a month or so, mrs. tg and I had planned to host our marriage encounter group last Saturday evening. In a real leap of faith (there's that word again) for her, we'd also agreed to make a short presentation to the other couples - I simply can't convey how out of character it was for her to agree to this. So when we went to MD for Unc's services, we took along the book The Seven Levels of Intimacy, by Matthew Kelly, as our planned resource for this presentation. Rather than have her wade through the whole thing, which I'd already read (twice), I had her focus on a few sections that I thought would lend themselves well to the short time we'd have available to us - about ten minutes. Though the book's main points couldn't really be covered in less than an hour, there were a few gems that I thought might fit well together for a shorter presentation.
Anyway, mrs. tg read through the suggested pages before bed one night in MD, but we didn't have a chance to discuss it at that point. A couple days after we were back home she went through them again, making notes on things that she thought were worth sharing. It happened that we agreed completely on what we should work into our talk, and over the next couple days we were able to get things pretty well ready. The only real down side was that, while we were glad to be getting together with this group of friends, we were going to miss a parish event that was slated for the same evening.
By Friday it was looking as if only two other couples from the group would be available. Sometimes, though, the smaller meetings are nicest, a chance to really get to know one another better. But when we got back to the house late Saturday afternoon after some shopping, we had a message from one of them: the wife was sick and they wouldn't be able to make it. While listening to the message, the other couple called. A family situation had come up that required their immediate attention.
In truth, we were pretty excited about our presentation, and I'd been a little disappointed to share it with only a few people, especially for mrs. tg's sake. Now we have it tucked away for future use, hopefully with more of the group available. And since we weren't wrapped up in disappointment over our plans falling through, we realized we were suddenly free to participate in the tri-parish Eucharistic procession through the community (streets closed off, drummer providing cadence; such processions are still a key part of the Catholic experience in many parts of the world) and Benediction that evening. This turned out to be a really neat event, with dinner beforehand and dessert after and lots of nice fellowship. Oh, and our associate pastor shared his wonderful first experience of donating blood in his native India; the virtually destitute family of the young (9-year-old) recipient was so grateful they ultimately received Christ and converted!
For a month or so, mrs. tg and I had planned to host our marriage encounter group last Saturday evening. In a real leap of faith (there's that word again) for her, we'd also agreed to make a short presentation to the other couples - I simply can't convey how out of character it was for her to agree to this. So when we went to MD for Unc's services, we took along the book The Seven Levels of Intimacy, by Matthew Kelly, as our planned resource for this presentation. Rather than have her wade through the whole thing, which I'd already read (twice), I had her focus on a few sections that I thought would lend themselves well to the short time we'd have available to us - about ten minutes. Though the book's main points couldn't really be covered in less than an hour, there were a few gems that I thought might fit well together for a shorter presentation.
Anyway, mrs. tg read through the suggested pages before bed one night in MD, but we didn't have a chance to discuss it at that point. A couple days after we were back home she went through them again, making notes on things that she thought were worth sharing. It happened that we agreed completely on what we should work into our talk, and over the next couple days we were able to get things pretty well ready. The only real down side was that, while we were glad to be getting together with this group of friends, we were going to miss a parish event that was slated for the same evening.
By Friday it was looking as if only two other couples from the group would be available. Sometimes, though, the smaller meetings are nicest, a chance to really get to know one another better. But when we got back to the house late Saturday afternoon after some shopping, we had a message from one of them: the wife was sick and they wouldn't be able to make it. While listening to the message, the other couple called. A family situation had come up that required their immediate attention.
In truth, we were pretty excited about our presentation, and I'd been a little disappointed to share it with only a few people, especially for mrs. tg's sake. Now we have it tucked away for future use, hopefully with more of the group available. And since we weren't wrapped up in disappointment over our plans falling through, we realized we were suddenly free to participate in the tri-parish Eucharistic procession through the community (streets closed off, drummer providing cadence; such processions are still a key part of the Catholic experience in many parts of the world) and Benediction that evening. This turned out to be a really neat event, with dinner beforehand and dessert after and lots of nice fellowship. Oh, and our associate pastor shared his wonderful first experience of donating blood in his native India; the virtually destitute family of the young (9-year-old) recipient was so grateful they ultimately received Christ and converted!
Monday, October 06, 2008
Warming the heart
Wow. What a whirlwind.
I can't remember the last time we spent consecutive weekends in MD. I also don't know if we've ever logged 2000 driving miles in 8 days. But it was all well worth it. My mom's only brother deserved all that and more.
Unc had asked to be cremated, so we had a viewing and brief memorial service a week ago Friday (Sept 26) and an interment this past Friday. We'd originally planned only to go the first weekend, but pretty much as soon as we arrived found out that the family gathering was really planned around the interment. 'Twixt the two, we saw friends and family that I hadn't seen in decades, including a few I didn't even remember. I heard some stories about my mom's younger days, and of course a lot about Unc. His closest friend came up from Florida and regaled us with story after story about their experiences together.
The best part was probably just the incredible time with the family. Even when we've been home in recent years, there have been too few occasions on which everyone was able to be together. And I haven't been in on that amount of focused time together since we were kids. We were still missing one estranged cousin, but everyone else just really enjoyed being with each other again, with "friends and families and mountains of food" sharing "stories and memories and tales all around." (BTW, if you want to hear one of the most poignant albums I've ever heard, check out Bob Bennett's Songs from Bright Avenue; it's gotta be 20 years old now, but still as excellent as the first time I heard it. It's amazing how the greatest art and music grow out of our darkest days.) Maybe there'll be time to share a story or two here later . . .
To top things off, I was also reunited with two old friends and bandmates who I hadn't seen in about 20 and 25 years, respectively. We knew that Chris, the drummer, had a gig on Friday night within a few blocks of where we were staying, so we decided to drop in on him unannounced. We sat there for about three songs as I nodded and harmonized with the music, my smile growing wider with each number. I could tell he hadn't place me yet, smiling politely back at the patron who was so into the music. I waited until he was making eye contact after finishing a piece, then pointed at him and smiled. I thought his jaw was going to hit one of his tom pads, and he let out with a stunned "Oh. My. God," then pointed us out to his wife, who was there along with their daughter. Apparently we were the second ones to surprise him that night, as his sister had unexpectedly traveled over from the Eastern Shore.
During the first break he came over and we hugged, spending a few minutes getting caught up. He told me about my other friend, who was playing bass in a band at a gig about 10 miles away. Chris described where he thought it was, then verified it on his cell phone. So in the middle of the next set we headed out to find the place, near my stepfather's old neighborhood, passing the poorly marked bar twice before deciding that must be it. Ed recognized me as soon as we walked in the door - a fact he promised to rub Chris' nose into when he gets the chance. In fairness, the second place was better lit. On break we got to meet his wife and catch up with him a bit, too.
All in all, it was an incredible day of reunions.
I can't remember the last time we spent consecutive weekends in MD. I also don't know if we've ever logged 2000 driving miles in 8 days. But it was all well worth it. My mom's only brother deserved all that and more.
Unc had asked to be cremated, so we had a viewing and brief memorial service a week ago Friday (Sept 26) and an interment this past Friday. We'd originally planned only to go the first weekend, but pretty much as soon as we arrived found out that the family gathering was really planned around the interment. 'Twixt the two, we saw friends and family that I hadn't seen in decades, including a few I didn't even remember. I heard some stories about my mom's younger days, and of course a lot about Unc. His closest friend came up from Florida and regaled us with story after story about their experiences together.
The best part was probably just the incredible time with the family. Even when we've been home in recent years, there have been too few occasions on which everyone was able to be together. And I haven't been in on that amount of focused time together since we were kids. We were still missing one estranged cousin, but everyone else just really enjoyed being with each other again, with "friends and families and mountains of food" sharing "stories and memories and tales all around." (BTW, if you want to hear one of the most poignant albums I've ever heard, check out Bob Bennett's Songs from Bright Avenue; it's gotta be 20 years old now, but still as excellent as the first time I heard it. It's amazing how the greatest art and music grow out of our darkest days.) Maybe there'll be time to share a story or two here later . . .
To top things off, I was also reunited with two old friends and bandmates who I hadn't seen in about 20 and 25 years, respectively. We knew that Chris, the drummer, had a gig on Friday night within a few blocks of where we were staying, so we decided to drop in on him unannounced. We sat there for about three songs as I nodded and harmonized with the music, my smile growing wider with each number. I could tell he hadn't place me yet, smiling politely back at the patron who was so into the music. I waited until he was making eye contact after finishing a piece, then pointed at him and smiled. I thought his jaw was going to hit one of his tom pads, and he let out with a stunned "Oh. My. God," then pointed us out to his wife, who was there along with their daughter. Apparently we were the second ones to surprise him that night, as his sister had unexpectedly traveled over from the Eastern Shore.
During the first break he came over and we hugged, spending a few minutes getting caught up. He told me about my other friend, who was playing bass in a band at a gig about 10 miles away. Chris described where he thought it was, then verified it on his cell phone. So in the middle of the next set we headed out to find the place, near my stepfather's old neighborhood, passing the poorly marked bar twice before deciding that must be it. Ed recognized me as soon as we walked in the door - a fact he promised to rub Chris' nose into when he gets the chance. In fairness, the second place was better lit. On break we got to meet his wife and catch up with him a bit, too.
All in all, it was an incredible day of reunions.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Unc
My mom and her older sister always called him what their parents called him: Junior. Seeing as he was named after his father, that made sense. My friends would inevitably chuckle the first time they heard me speak of my "Uncle Junior." And mom laughed about the way her "baby brother" now dwarfed her.
A lifelong bachelor, as far as I know he always lived with his parents. They were somewhat older when they'd started having children, and since he was the youngest of their three, my memories are of a devoted son taking care of elderly parents who had quite a few health issues, between Grandmom's weight and diabetes, and Granddad's hearing loss (related to WWI naval service) and frequent "spells." He'd usually drive them to our frequent family get-togethers. Thanksgiving was always at my aunt's family's big house, since it was easier for everyone to go there than for them to pack up my eight cousins and have the ten of us kids falling all over each other elsewhere. The Christmas routine was always the same: Grandmom, Granddad, and Unc (though we didn't really abbreviate his title until we were grown) always went to my aunt's house on Christmas Eve, came to ours on Christmas Day. A few days later the whole crew would be together for my sister's birthday, just as we'd been at a cousin's birthday a couple weeks before. With ten of us nephews and nieces, birthday parties were frequent.
Unc was my Confirmation sponsor. I never met my godparents, and I had so much respect for him that I didn't really consider having anyone else sponsor me. He was disappointed that the bishop didn't symbolically slap us on the cheek anymore by then, as had formerly been part of the ceremony. (It seems we've lost the idea of purposeful self-sacrifice and hardship, seeing the latter as something to be avoided in all contexts.)
I lost touch with them all for a while after getting married (a small ceremony, somehow without room for my cousins; how could I have let that happen?) and joining the service. Grandmom had died before I enlisted, and Granddad a few years after. While I was home for the funeral, Mom told me she and my stepfather were moving to Georgia, and subsequent visits to Maryland became centered on my wife's family. How easily I lost sight of the relationships that were so important to me growing up. I eventually realized my folly. Having finally dealt with some things I needed to from my childhood, I strove to recover the relationships I'd thrown out with the bath water. With Aunt Helen divorced (why did both sisters marry alcoholics?), she and Unc were by then sharing the same house at which we'd visited their parents on Sundays growing up for as far back as I can remember. On every trip home we began to make it a point to go by there for a while. It never really seemed like a long enough visit when the girls or the mrs. - or later, the grandkids - would start feeling restless already, and it would be time to leave behind again the sofa on which I'd slept over (eventually a new sofa in the same place), the lawn I'd mowed, the garden I'd weeded, the aunt and uncle I loved.
When my mom passed away, shortly after 9/11, her brother and sister took a train to GA for the funeral; there was just no way Helen was getting on a plane that soon after. You could amass a fortune betting on Amtrak to be late; I went to pick them up at the train station, anxiously waited for them to arrive, and drove them to the funeral home knowing that everyone was waiting for us so they could start the service. Afterward we had a nice lunch together at Mom's favorite joint, an Irish pub on the grounds of a winery a few miles from the house. My aunt helped us go through Mom's clothes so my stepfather wouldn't have to deal with that, and we headed for our respective homes in the next day or two. My aunt says that it was on the train back home that Unc first noticed blood in his stool.
I wonder if things might've been different for him if he'd been able to have the cancer surgery right away rather than urgently needing a multiple bypass first to survive it, or if he hadn't been the first family member to develop colorectal cancer, or if he'd started getting colonoscopies a few years before, as we now know we should. But his battle was valiant and he remained dignified and fun-loving throughout, getting to Atlantic City one last time this past summer, a couple years after one of his best gambling buddies had died. Unc had hated not being there for his funeral; John had died unexpectedly during one of Unc's worst hospitalizations.
I can't help but think I may have shirked my responsibility to him by not sharing the Lord's love more openly. St. Francis said, "Share the Gospel; when necessary, use words," and with some folks the words really are necessary. Yeah, I may have made a special trip or two home specifically to visit with him. In the hospital, we'd agreed that he'd tell me when he was ready for me to leave - which he expected to be after fifteen or twenty minutes - or I'd let him know when I was ready to go; somehow a couple hours flew by before either of us realized it. Or last November, for one last Thanksgiving; Unc may not have been cooking from scratch anymore, but having so many of us celebrating this holiday with him again was still a real treasure for all of us. At the party this summer, we knew we were probably together with him for the last time. As I tried to tell him how closely I was holding him in prayer, he never quite seemed to connect with just what I was trying to convey: how much the Lord loves him, how He longs be our strength and comfort in such challenging times.
Still, I hope Unc saw beyond my presence to the One who was leading me, each time, to be there. I hope he, too, felt the embrace of the One whose perfect Peace, beyond understanding, guards my heart and mind especially at such times as these, saying goodbye to one of the few really respectable men in this broken boy's life.
I pray the angels have escorted him home to a joyful reunion with his parents, sister, brothers-in-law, cousins, and dear friends who have preceded him, in jubilant rejoicing before the throne of glory of our loving God.
A lifelong bachelor, as far as I know he always lived with his parents. They were somewhat older when they'd started having children, and since he was the youngest of their three, my memories are of a devoted son taking care of elderly parents who had quite a few health issues, between Grandmom's weight and diabetes, and Granddad's hearing loss (related to WWI naval service) and frequent "spells." He'd usually drive them to our frequent family get-togethers. Thanksgiving was always at my aunt's family's big house, since it was easier for everyone to go there than for them to pack up my eight cousins and have the ten of us kids falling all over each other elsewhere. The Christmas routine was always the same: Grandmom, Granddad, and Unc (though we didn't really abbreviate his title until we were grown) always went to my aunt's house on Christmas Eve, came to ours on Christmas Day. A few days later the whole crew would be together for my sister's birthday, just as we'd been at a cousin's birthday a couple weeks before. With ten of us nephews and nieces, birthday parties were frequent.
Unc was my Confirmation sponsor. I never met my godparents, and I had so much respect for him that I didn't really consider having anyone else sponsor me. He was disappointed that the bishop didn't symbolically slap us on the cheek anymore by then, as had formerly been part of the ceremony. (It seems we've lost the idea of purposeful self-sacrifice and hardship, seeing the latter as something to be avoided in all contexts.)
I lost touch with them all for a while after getting married (a small ceremony, somehow without room for my cousins; how could I have let that happen?) and joining the service. Grandmom had died before I enlisted, and Granddad a few years after. While I was home for the funeral, Mom told me she and my stepfather were moving to Georgia, and subsequent visits to Maryland became centered on my wife's family. How easily I lost sight of the relationships that were so important to me growing up. I eventually realized my folly. Having finally dealt with some things I needed to from my childhood, I strove to recover the relationships I'd thrown out with the bath water. With Aunt Helen divorced (why did both sisters marry alcoholics?), she and Unc were by then sharing the same house at which we'd visited their parents on Sundays growing up for as far back as I can remember. On every trip home we began to make it a point to go by there for a while. It never really seemed like a long enough visit when the girls or the mrs. - or later, the grandkids - would start feeling restless already, and it would be time to leave behind again the sofa on which I'd slept over (eventually a new sofa in the same place), the lawn I'd mowed, the garden I'd weeded, the aunt and uncle I loved.
When my mom passed away, shortly after 9/11, her brother and sister took a train to GA for the funeral; there was just no way Helen was getting on a plane that soon after. You could amass a fortune betting on Amtrak to be late; I went to pick them up at the train station, anxiously waited for them to arrive, and drove them to the funeral home knowing that everyone was waiting for us so they could start the service. Afterward we had a nice lunch together at Mom's favorite joint, an Irish pub on the grounds of a winery a few miles from the house. My aunt helped us go through Mom's clothes so my stepfather wouldn't have to deal with that, and we headed for our respective homes in the next day or two. My aunt says that it was on the train back home that Unc first noticed blood in his stool.
I wonder if things might've been different for him if he'd been able to have the cancer surgery right away rather than urgently needing a multiple bypass first to survive it, or if he hadn't been the first family member to develop colorectal cancer, or if he'd started getting colonoscopies a few years before, as we now know we should. But his battle was valiant and he remained dignified and fun-loving throughout, getting to Atlantic City one last time this past summer, a couple years after one of his best gambling buddies had died. Unc had hated not being there for his funeral; John had died unexpectedly during one of Unc's worst hospitalizations.
I can't help but think I may have shirked my responsibility to him by not sharing the Lord's love more openly. St. Francis said, "Share the Gospel; when necessary, use words," and with some folks the words really are necessary. Yeah, I may have made a special trip or two home specifically to visit with him. In the hospital, we'd agreed that he'd tell me when he was ready for me to leave - which he expected to be after fifteen or twenty minutes - or I'd let him know when I was ready to go; somehow a couple hours flew by before either of us realized it. Or last November, for one last Thanksgiving; Unc may not have been cooking from scratch anymore, but having so many of us celebrating this holiday with him again was still a real treasure for all of us. At the party this summer, we knew we were probably together with him for the last time. As I tried to tell him how closely I was holding him in prayer, he never quite seemed to connect with just what I was trying to convey: how much the Lord loves him, how He longs be our strength and comfort in such challenging times.
Still, I hope Unc saw beyond my presence to the One who was leading me, each time, to be there. I hope he, too, felt the embrace of the One whose perfect Peace, beyond understanding, guards my heart and mind especially at such times as these, saying goodbye to one of the few really respectable men in this broken boy's life.
I pray the angels have escorted him home to a joyful reunion with his parents, sister, brothers-in-law, cousins, and dear friends who have preceded him, in jubilant rejoicing before the throne of glory of our loving God.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A favorite parable
I haven't done one of these posts in a while, but I've always loved the Gospel reading for this coming Sunday.
When Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like . . . ," we know we'll learn a lot by paying attention to how the kingdom is similar to the parable. In this case, while the master (Lord) calls all the laborers, those who labor all day (their whole lives) receive no greater reward than those who enter the vineyard at the very end. Those exhausted laborers are clearly put out by their perceived unjust treatment at the hands of the landowner, and we might agree: something just doesn't seem right.
Some context: I'm no Scripture scholar, but I'd bet that around the time St. Matthew set down his Gospel, the idea of Jesus' imminent return was still pretty common. There were probably many Christians who'd followed the Way for decades - even their whole lives - while others were just entering the community. Perhaps there was quite a bit of jealously among some of the oldsters that these Johnnies-come-lately would receive the same reward. If so, this teaching of Jesus would have been particularly timely for the Church of that day.
Here's what now strikes me reading this parable: when Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like . . . ," we can also find great insight by focusing on how the kingdom isn't like to the parable. In this case, the dissimilarities are huge.
Consider the wage. In the parable, each laborer receives a denarius, which was a day's wage for a laborer. It certainly wasn't much money, though considered fair, and perhaps easily taken for granted. By contrast, the reward which Christ has purchased for us is to exchange the death we deserve for eternal, abundant life. God gives us His very, infinite Self. What laborer could rightly claim to deserve this, let alone expect more?
It's as if the Lord is saying, "Even if all we were talking about were a pittance, you'd have no room for complaining that I'm generous to others. In truth, my generosity to you is already infinite, and no amount of my sharing it with others could ever diminish it! Your labor ought not be an attempt to earn what is fair, because no amount of toil could wipe away your sin, let alone earn what I give you! Rather, let your works be your loving response to the priceless gift of my love. Instead of being jealous, rejoice that others receive my grace as well!"
Could it be that we, today, often take the Lord's generosity to us for granted, too? I know I'm sometimes tempted to. But I'm also painfully aware of how great my sinfulness has been, and that no amount of my labor could ever wipe it clean.
Thank you, Lord, for your great mercy. May your mercy abound in the lives of others, and may I never grumble against you.
When Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like . . . ," we know we'll learn a lot by paying attention to how the kingdom is similar to the parable. In this case, while the master (Lord) calls all the laborers, those who labor all day (their whole lives) receive no greater reward than those who enter the vineyard at the very end. Those exhausted laborers are clearly put out by their perceived unjust treatment at the hands of the landowner, and we might agree: something just doesn't seem right.
Some context: I'm no Scripture scholar, but I'd bet that around the time St. Matthew set down his Gospel, the idea of Jesus' imminent return was still pretty common. There were probably many Christians who'd followed the Way for decades - even their whole lives - while others were just entering the community. Perhaps there was quite a bit of jealously among some of the oldsters that these Johnnies-come-lately would receive the same reward. If so, this teaching of Jesus would have been particularly timely for the Church of that day.
Here's what now strikes me reading this parable: when Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like . . . ," we can also find great insight by focusing on how the kingdom isn't like to the parable. In this case, the dissimilarities are huge.
Consider the wage. In the parable, each laborer receives a denarius, which was a day's wage for a laborer. It certainly wasn't much money, though considered fair, and perhaps easily taken for granted. By contrast, the reward which Christ has purchased for us is to exchange the death we deserve for eternal, abundant life. God gives us His very, infinite Self. What laborer could rightly claim to deserve this, let alone expect more?
It's as if the Lord is saying, "Even if all we were talking about were a pittance, you'd have no room for complaining that I'm generous to others. In truth, my generosity to you is already infinite, and no amount of my sharing it with others could ever diminish it! Your labor ought not be an attempt to earn what is fair, because no amount of toil could wipe away your sin, let alone earn what I give you! Rather, let your works be your loving response to the priceless gift of my love. Instead of being jealous, rejoice that others receive my grace as well!"
Could it be that we, today, often take the Lord's generosity to us for granted, too? I know I'm sometimes tempted to. But I'm also painfully aware of how great my sinfulness has been, and that no amount of my labor could ever wipe it clean.
Thank you, Lord, for your great mercy. May your mercy abound in the lives of others, and may I never grumble against you.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Looking beyond the frustration
Okay, with a challenging century planned on Saturday, weather permitting, followed by a 55-mile return trip on Sunday, I thought I should get in a fairly casual 20-some miler today. My group was riding at 5:30, and I figured I'd go out with them, and head back on my own from our regular first stop.
I could see that plan start to fall apart when oldest called me shortly before lunch, asking where her mom was. She was having a lot of pain from her chronic illness, needed to go to the ER, and wanted to ask her mom to pick up the kids. I knew mom was going to be incommunicado until lunch time, but would probably be available. I also knew that meant the possibility of 6 grandkids at the house after work instead of the usual two, and that might mean a rearrangement of my plans.
I wasn't prepared for the phone to ring again at 4:15. Mrs. tg had all six grandkids and one grown daughter with her, and a van with a dead battery. Ugh. So I go get her jump started and safely home, but it's clear I'm going to have to take the older grandkids home when mom's ready. There goes the group ride. By the time I get back to the house it's nearly sunset, but I still have to get a ride in today. Tomorrow evening is too close to Saturday.
So instead of the easy ride I had planned, I'm now pushing for all I'm worth trying to get just a dozen miles in before it gets completely dark. And as I'm riding out, I'm growing more and more frustrated over how I'm pushing much harder than I wanted to, and resenting how things have worked out.
Then I started to realize how lucky I really am. I had a perfectly functional second vehicle to go help out my wife with. I'm healthy, not having to deal with all the issues my daughter has to face all the time, and able to ride so vigorously in response to my frustration. I was able to spend unexpected time with my grandkids. It remains to be seen whether my planned ride this weekend, about which I'm pretty excited, will come to fruition. In short, I really needed to shift my focus such that I wasn't so consumed by the fact that my plans were short-circuited and remember how many blessings I have.
I'm amazed at how a good workout can help redirect my energy so that I can see things more clearly.
I could see that plan start to fall apart when oldest called me shortly before lunch, asking where her mom was. She was having a lot of pain from her chronic illness, needed to go to the ER, and wanted to ask her mom to pick up the kids. I knew mom was going to be incommunicado until lunch time, but would probably be available. I also knew that meant the possibility of 6 grandkids at the house after work instead of the usual two, and that might mean a rearrangement of my plans.
I wasn't prepared for the phone to ring again at 4:15. Mrs. tg had all six grandkids and one grown daughter with her, and a van with a dead battery. Ugh. So I go get her jump started and safely home, but it's clear I'm going to have to take the older grandkids home when mom's ready. There goes the group ride. By the time I get back to the house it's nearly sunset, but I still have to get a ride in today. Tomorrow evening is too close to Saturday.
So instead of the easy ride I had planned, I'm now pushing for all I'm worth trying to get just a dozen miles in before it gets completely dark. And as I'm riding out, I'm growing more and more frustrated over how I'm pushing much harder than I wanted to, and resenting how things have worked out.
Then I started to realize how lucky I really am. I had a perfectly functional second vehicle to go help out my wife with. I'm healthy, not having to deal with all the issues my daughter has to face all the time, and able to ride so vigorously in response to my frustration. I was able to spend unexpected time with my grandkids. It remains to be seen whether my planned ride this weekend, about which I'm pretty excited, will come to fruition. In short, I really needed to shift my focus such that I wasn't so consumed by the fact that my plans were short-circuited and remember how many blessings I have.
I'm amazed at how a good workout can help redirect my energy so that I can see things more clearly.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Grandkids are great!
Another fabulous weekend. Capped off with an impromptu cookout tonight with our oldest and her 4. What a fine time. A short while later, our youngest called. Her 3-year-old daughter excitedly told us that she "caught two fishies. One little one, and one big one!" Saturday evening she was showing us how she casts. Too cute!
Another fine ride this weekend, too. Nothing formal, but a metric century (a little over; a metric is 100km, or 62 miles, versus a century of 100 miles) on Sunday that was more challenging than the century the previous week. I was riding with the racers on Sunday, and while I may have been behind them in spots, I mostly hung pretty well. I did tail off toward the end, mostly due to not eating enough, I think. Now, if the weather isn't too hateful next weekend, I may get in the OKHT yet . . .
Another fine ride this weekend, too. Nothing formal, but a metric century (a little over; a metric is 100km, or 62 miles, versus a century of 100 miles) on Sunday that was more challenging than the century the previous week. I was riding with the racers on Sunday, and while I may have been behind them in spots, I mostly hung pretty well. I did tail off toward the end, mostly due to not eating enough, I think. Now, if the weather isn't too hateful next weekend, I may get in the OKHT yet . . .
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