Every day at 5:20pm, a Korean father and his little girl, six years old or so, come into the library, head straight to the elevator, and come back down maybe five minutes later with the mother in tow. And I love it. I love everything about it. The story I tell myself is that he's a stay-at-home dad (part-time or full-time), maybe also in grad school, and the mom is working her butt off on her own degree. Mom spends all day (or half-a-day, I never see her come in) in the library, writing her doctorate. Then they go home together to make and eat dinner, and relax.
Seems like a standard life of a higher-education couple. They seem comfortable. And the fact that they come to pick up mom every day speaks the language of comfortable, family love. She doesn't have to drive home herself, listening to the radio and feeling exhaustion overtake her. She doesn't have to think bitterly about cooking dinner for her family. She doesn't have to dwell on all the work she has to do tomorrow, and the endless tasks required on the road to her PhD. That can be a lonely drive, right there.
Instead, her husband and daughter come to her and gently remind her that it's time to put everything else away, and simply be a wife and mother for the rest of the evening. It shows gentleness on the part of the husband, and grateful humility on the part of the wife. Most days, the girl is excited to see her mom, and sometimes she's tired. Most days, they all walk out the handicap door (the girl likes to push the button) in single file, and sometimes mom carries her daughter on her back.
That's the kind of routine I could be happy with.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Silence and Solitude
This summer is turning out to be nothing like my summer of '06. I was in Madison that year, working as a custodian for University Housing, and just finished with my freshman year of college. I barely knew anyone. I barely did anything. I spent a lot of time by myself.
And that wasn't half bad.
I actually have to use my planner this summer - how ridiculous! For example, this week's after-work schedule is:
Monday - Movie on the Terrace
Tuesday - Bible Study
Wednesday - Concerts on the Square
Thursday - Theology on Tap
Friday - blissfully open
(Saturday - wedding in Milwaukee)
Lots of noun-preposition-noun activities; something on/in something. I should start calling it, "Bible in a Study". That would bring true harmony to my schedule.
It's great to be around friends so much, and good to keep busy getting everything one can from one's Madison summer. But... there's always a but. I feel tired. In summer! This is supposed to be a time of rest and recuperation. I'm getting plenty of sleep, and spending much more time cooking good meals. But the reason I'm tired is pretty obvious for someone like me.
I'm not spending any time alone, and very little time with God.
During the school year, you feel like there is no time to pray, but you'll have more time in the summer. Even those of us who know this isn't true fall into that mindset. It's the temptation to stash things away in the future, to believe that things will all be great later, so you don't have to change anything right now. It's the circumstances that have to change, not me. We tell this to ourselves over and over, consciously and subconsciously, and now that we find ourselves almost done with June, we wonder, as Dr. Seuss once did, "How did it get so late so soon?"
Time goes quickly (I cannot bring myself to say that it "flies") when you're busy. That's why it seems to speed up exponentially as we get older. What 5 year-old is busy, in the way we are? (I hope you don't actually have an answer for that.) My summer time seems to be slipping away from me, as sand through my fingers. And the harder I try to hold onto it, the faster it spurts out of my hands. If I hold my hands steady and still, the sand runs at its natural pace. Steady and still... like in meditation. God speaks through our lives, sure enough. But if we don't take time to turn to Him and say,
"I'm listening"
His voice can get lost in everything else we are hearing, seeing, tasting, touching, experiencing. Take time to sit and empty all your thoughts. If possible, do it outside (it's been beautiful). Breathe in fresh air. And tell God that this is His time. It's not enough to expect Him to shout above the noise. We have to provide the quiet.
And that wasn't half bad.
I actually have to use my planner this summer - how ridiculous! For example, this week's after-work schedule is:
Monday - Movie on the Terrace
Tuesday - Bible Study
Wednesday - Concerts on the Square
Thursday - Theology on Tap
Friday - blissfully open
(Saturday - wedding in Milwaukee)
Lots of noun-preposition-noun activities; something on/in something. I should start calling it, "Bible in a Study". That would bring true harmony to my schedule.
It's great to be around friends so much, and good to keep busy getting everything one can from one's Madison summer. But... there's always a but. I feel tired. In summer! This is supposed to be a time of rest and recuperation. I'm getting plenty of sleep, and spending much more time cooking good meals. But the reason I'm tired is pretty obvious for someone like me.
I'm not spending any time alone, and very little time with God.
During the school year, you feel like there is no time to pray, but you'll have more time in the summer. Even those of us who know this isn't true fall into that mindset. It's the temptation to stash things away in the future, to believe that things will all be great later, so you don't have to change anything right now. It's the circumstances that have to change, not me. We tell this to ourselves over and over, consciously and subconsciously, and now that we find ourselves almost done with June, we wonder, as Dr. Seuss once did, "How did it get so late so soon?"
Time goes quickly (I cannot bring myself to say that it "flies") when you're busy. That's why it seems to speed up exponentially as we get older. What 5 year-old is busy, in the way we are? (I hope you don't actually have an answer for that.) My summer time seems to be slipping away from me, as sand through my fingers. And the harder I try to hold onto it, the faster it spurts out of my hands. If I hold my hands steady and still, the sand runs at its natural pace. Steady and still... like in meditation. God speaks through our lives, sure enough. But if we don't take time to turn to Him and say,
"I'm listening"
His voice can get lost in everything else we are hearing, seeing, tasting, touching, experiencing. Take time to sit and empty all your thoughts. If possible, do it outside (it's been beautiful). Breathe in fresh air. And tell God that this is His time. It's not enough to expect Him to shout above the noise. We have to provide the quiet.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Reflections on 21
"You turned 21 on Saturday? Now you're completely legal!" my boss said this morning.
"Except to rent a car," I joked.
It can get old when people ask, "do you feel any different?" after a birthday. Of course you don't feel any different, it was just another day passing. It's not because of the day that you grow older, but because of the things that those milestone birthdays allow you to do. Turning 16 isn't momentous until you actually pass your license test. Turning 18 doesn't mean a whole lot until you vote in an election, or sign yourself out of school without a parent signiture (whoa! dream big). The world doesn't change when you turn 21 if you drank every weekend from middle school.
But even for me - the rare, casual, consumer of alcohol - my 21st birthday felt like just another day. It was the bars that changed everything.
I'm only slightly ashamed to admit, as any innocent young thing would be, that being part of the midnight crowd altered my view. Whenever I drove down University Avenue at that time of night, I saw the scantily-clad girls and guys in baseball caps overflowing into the street, and, in my pride, scoffed at their behavior. I considered them lower than myself, because they were spending their evening drunk while I was out ballroom dancing or talking to a friend about God.
Needless to say, I got knocked off my ivory tower and slapped around with the big hand of humility. I knew, of course, that I would enjoy going out with friends; what I didn't expect to realize was that:
1)People at the bars are rarely drunk. Usually just tipsy or buzzed.
2)People who are slightly buzzed (possibly including myself) are a lot of fun to be around and talk to.
Now at the end of the night, I would hate for that fun and excitement to be what fulfills me. Because it doesn't. It's sugary, light, fun - like cotton candy. But you can't subsist on cotton candy. You've got to eat real food. And suddenly, I sound just like Jesus in the gospel of John, chapter 6...
I'm excited, giddy, and altogether astounded that we have the real food of Jesus Christ. The Eucharist is one of the things that I love about being Catholic, and a Truth of the Catholic Church that I wholeheartedly believe in, though I can't explain why. Maybe it seems illogical. I don't care. What I have felt, especially over the past few years, in the presence of the Eucharist can't simply be thrown aside. And so, like Peter at the end of this passage, I look to God when things are difficult, when I'm so tired of fighting for my own will, and just say, "Lord, to whom would I go?"
This is it. There is no going back. Not to a time when I decry bar-hopping, and not to a place where I'm not Catholic. This is my present. Now I have to decide what my future will be.
*Exits singing "I have confidence in sunshine! I have confidence in rain!...*
"Except to rent a car," I joked.
It can get old when people ask, "do you feel any different?" after a birthday. Of course you don't feel any different, it was just another day passing. It's not because of the day that you grow older, but because of the things that those milestone birthdays allow you to do. Turning 16 isn't momentous until you actually pass your license test. Turning 18 doesn't mean a whole lot until you vote in an election, or sign yourself out of school without a parent signiture (whoa! dream big). The world doesn't change when you turn 21 if you drank every weekend from middle school.
But even for me - the rare, casual, consumer of alcohol - my 21st birthday felt like just another day. It was the bars that changed everything.
I'm only slightly ashamed to admit, as any innocent young thing would be, that being part of the midnight crowd altered my view. Whenever I drove down University Avenue at that time of night, I saw the scantily-clad girls and guys in baseball caps overflowing into the street, and, in my pride, scoffed at their behavior. I considered them lower than myself, because they were spending their evening drunk while I was out ballroom dancing or talking to a friend about God.
Needless to say, I got knocked off my ivory tower and slapped around with the big hand of humility. I knew, of course, that I would enjoy going out with friends; what I didn't expect to realize was that:
1)People at the bars are rarely drunk. Usually just tipsy or buzzed.
2)People who are slightly buzzed (possibly including myself) are a lot of fun to be around and talk to.
Now at the end of the night, I would hate for that fun and excitement to be what fulfills me. Because it doesn't. It's sugary, light, fun - like cotton candy. But you can't subsist on cotton candy. You've got to eat real food. And suddenly, I sound just like Jesus in the gospel of John, chapter 6...
I'm excited, giddy, and altogether astounded that we have the real food of Jesus Christ. The Eucharist is one of the things that I love about being Catholic, and a Truth of the Catholic Church that I wholeheartedly believe in, though I can't explain why. Maybe it seems illogical. I don't care. What I have felt, especially over the past few years, in the presence of the Eucharist can't simply be thrown aside. And so, like Peter at the end of this passage, I look to God when things are difficult, when I'm so tired of fighting for my own will, and just say, "Lord, to whom would I go?"
This is it. There is no going back. Not to a time when I decry bar-hopping, and not to a place where I'm not Catholic. This is my present. Now I have to decide what my future will be.
*Exits singing "I have confidence in sunshine! I have confidence in rain!...*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)