My niece, Kim, is expecting. Twins.
Things will subsequently end, we pray, in the birth of my parent's first and second great-grandchild. I was searching my computer for things I might have written on the subject of new life (to act as a springboard for writing the expectant parents) and in doing so came across the "Wedding Advice" I offered Kim and her new husband four years ago.
I worry somewhat that they'll feel slighted I've so casually offered the well-wishes (written exclusively for them) to the world, but I hope in doing so you will repay me with a quick prayer for their children to be brought into this delightfully delicate and dangerous world safely.
The wedding greetings read:
Congratulations, Kim and Lucas! At the risk of making the social blunder of suggesting that my life experiences established a right to offer you advice on how to stay in love forever – I would like to extend the following. I am confident that most of this will come to you as second nature… and with that confidence comes the humility that it’s possible I should seek advice from you. Still, tradition suggests that tonight I should be prepared to volunteer and you to listen, so here is my best at wise counsel:
Lucas, there is some truth to the notion that “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody is happy.” Kim -- be happy. Y Dance together. If you do not already know how to, practice at home Y If you live in the city, go to the country a few times a year. If you live in the country, go into the city. At least once a year, during these trips, find a place to walk barefoot. Y Hold hands. Often. Y I think God likes being God… all powerful, omniscient, the creator of every universe. Trust God in every thing. Occasionally, ask God to BE God… expect fantastic blessings. Y There is a reason Baskin Robbins offers so many flavors. Find out why. Y Lucas, escort (walk beside) Kim by staying closest to the street. It may seem outdated, but there are practical reasons for being a gentleman. In this position you are at the ready and able to easily hail a cab, to reach first and open Kim’s car door, to push a crosswalk button. More obvious, you can protect her from anything the traffic sends to the sidewalk. Also, in this way you never obstruct Kim’s view of any store front. Y Stop when she wants to window shop. Y Learn how to give a hand massage. Use that knowledge often. Y Get an Irish tape and learn a few songs by heart. When in Boston go to a “genuine” Irish pub that is showcasing a band on any day except St. Patrick’s. While you are there try an “original” draft beer. Send one to the oldest “true” Irishman there (you will know who this is because he will stand to the Irish Anthems and still cry during an Irish Ballad.) Sing. Y Own a rocking chair. Y Once in awhile, wherever you are, lay on your back. This may be at work, on a sidewalk, in your home, during a museum visit. This action reminds us that although fresh perspectives are always close by, they require the courage to change your position. Y Lucas, remember that life together is not a contest, it is not something you can “win” at and subsequently the Rules of Game do not apply. Kim, remember that sometimes men compete, try not to keep score. Y Have a budget, but allow yourselves the occasional luxury. Y Tithe. Y Pick a day, any day that is not already significant, and from this year forward call it “Husband Day.” Agree that only handmade cards can be exchanged. Celebrate accordingly. Do the same for “Wife Day” and later “Family Day.” Y Try ethnic restaurants and order the house specialty. Y Own furniture that allows you to sit together. Y Sit together. Y “If you cannot say something nice do not say anything at all” is useful but not universal. Sometimes marriage requires voicing the difficult. Do not bear out those moments in silence. Y Start individual collections, be it banks or bottletops or snow globes or salt and pepper shakers. Once or twice a year add to it. Buy the first piece of your collections together. Buy the second piece for each other. Buy the third piece for yourself. In later years it will make it easy for your children to shop for you and in much later years each piece will have unexpected, nostalgic value. Y Learn to windsurf. Y Buy a “Holy Spirit” coin or a rosary or some “pocket-sized” devotional item. Carry it with you often. Use it as a reminder to pray for a safe and blessed marriage. In the event you are robbed or are otherwise harmed, give it to your enemy with your complete blessings. You will know when this time is right. Y In the event that you go through Life without such incident, give thanks to God for His blessings and offer the item and its history to your children. Y
Marriage is unlike anything you might expect. It is sometimes thrilling. It is sometimes mundane. It will bring out the very best in you (better than you could have ever realized on your own.) It will bring out the very worst (again, more so than one ever feared.) It will make you feel safe. It will make you feel vulnerable. It can exceed your wildest expectations on the same day that it trips on the smallest of issues. It is celebrating finding your Soulmate while negotiating whether the toothpaste cap or bread ties are used to the very end or thrown away upon opening. Marriage is about meeting someone halfway and taking that same person all the way.
My prayer is that you will dream big, laugh often, love passionately, share everything… and that you can look back with fondness, look forward with confidence and live each day out with romance, respect and recognition of God’s favor and blessing for you to succeed as man and wife. And finally, Lucas, did I mention that “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody is happy?” Y
May this find your both your marriage and your thoughts blissfull.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
A white box. A worried father. And a wish.
There’s a certain randomness to life that I have always found curious. It is, I believe, the dividing wall between success and failure, health and sickness, faith and science, good and evil. I am not suggesting that I understand life’s incongruities. I’m told that I am old enough and live with just-the-sort-of-circumstances which give me the privilege to witness otherwise, but I’ll leave such things for greater minds than mine to decide. I’m content to study the actions of others, to read and listen to what others say matters, and to simply try my best to live quietly and purposefully. Its only when I am cornered into doing so that I feel comfortable circulating advice on life.
You see, the problem is, I am an incurable optimist. Most argue my philosophies are rooted in denial. And yet, while I will generously entertain and accept there is an unmistakable randomness to life that can turn anything we do around in the blink of an eye – I struggle to find even token agreement with anyone who laments that life’s unpredictability is an ugly spirited thing.
Unfortunately, because I believe there IS a silver lining to life, most people regard me the fool. I am hardly the image of success or health, so my argument that there is goodness and meaning and opportunity in every action can seem -- out of touch. And yet, I press on, continuing to believe that if we try to see, to really notice, the daily nuances of chance (and avoid focusing on the cases of extreme) we may - at our best - avoid the perils of possibility. And at the very least, simply enjoy a few doses of good fortune and loveliness before we are unexpectedly run over by the daily bus of destiny.
Today’s example begins with a fifteen pound box.
It is not an ordinary box. Well, it is by appearances, but its contents are extraordinary to me. It is from a company that may be able to change my life. And while I could go on and on (it’s a banquet of providence, a veritable feast-in-a-package of fortune-and-potential) as it turns out, the real story is not about the contents. So let’s leave it at that.
It could too, be about the delay in its arrival. I signed up with this company over a month ago. One might think they would send the box out the very next day. But, as randomness goes, they were short an item or two and then busy a day or two and then I was gone a day or two and by then my money was no longer good and we had to start all over. I am sure there is a lesson in all of this, and I am confident this is very much part of the lesson I am trying to share, but we can decide on this later.
Remember, I am not arguing that there ultimately HAS to be a point to everything. But I do prescribe that if we really try to find a connection from one seemingly-chance-encounter-and-insignificant-mishap to another, we’ll start to see favor and good fortune in life (instead of dreading its mysterious indifference and uncertainty.)
Today the box was delivered. In many ways it was a perfectly average day and it was a perfectly average act and I might have altogether missed the opportunity to see what the purpose of the box was if I had hesitated only a few seconds longer to answer the door.
But I saw the UPS truck through the window and I knew it was probably THE-box-that-would-change-my-life on the porch and I felt like the moment deserved an action of equal enthusiasm. So I opened the door and hollered to the driver in the most appreciative way I could, “Thank you!”
The driver barely stopped in his return of a welcoming response. Hmm. Anticlimactic. “How is your day going?” I shouted. We could get to the box if I could get him back on the porch. “Oh,” he said evenly, “I’m getting by, I suppose.” I could see he was about to start his truck, to leave my box and this conversation unceremoniously behind. And to be honest, I was growing less and less charitable of sharing my moment with him anyway, but I felt like “something” was supposed to happen.
“How is your son?” I asked. The driver had shared many months ago that his son was a journalist first and foremost, but that he blogged on the side. He also shared that his son had cancer. The driver did so tentatively because he had arrived at the correct conclusion that I have cancer (every time he had a delivery for me it was from a pharmaceutical company and he recognized the labels from his son’s home. We never really talked about the boxes he delivered. For me. I assumed he knew that each came with drugs and chemotherapies that allowed for my survival.) And so, although I never took as much interest in his son’s story as he might have hoped for, I suspect he found some solace in the deliveries.
“He is in hospice,” the driver responded sadly. “I don’t know what is going to happen.”
Now, I have had cancer a long time. I was told I would not survive until Christmas. St. Nick has slipped in seven times since. I do not know why I have survived so many days beyond the projections and the prescriptions. I do not know why time has allowed me to survive the trials and the treatments. On any given day I am not sure that I would always choose to be so “resilient.” I am tired. But such is the random nature of life. And since I have been afforded another day in the game, I’ll suit up. (see Isaiah 6:8 – “put me in coach, I’m ready to play.”) It’s a tough place, my dugout. I know how tremendously taxing and hurtful cancer can be, how it affects everyone in the families it visits.
And so, I invited the driver who brings me boxes back on to my porch and I hugged him. Hard. And I cried. Because I suddenly understood that the seemingly random appearance of this particular fifteen pound box was not random at all. And while I might have understandably lamented its approach was overdue, I could see its delivery was perfectly timed and carefully crafted for just such a morning and time. A week earlier and the driver would have been off work visiting his son (they live in another state.) Two weeks earlier and his son might not have been so sick. No, today was just the right sort of day.
So you see, it was never about the order. It was about its arrival. And although my being there helped meet the needs of a father sick with grief and doubts and anger with the face of gladness and determination and acceptance, it was never really about me at all. I simply talked about the things that only survivors can talk about. And whether we cried or we prayed or we cursed or we spat on the ground with rage is not important. The father knew I cared. About his son, his son that is my age, his journalist son, his son who writes of the wonders of marriage and fatherhood juxtaposed against the wickedness of disease, his son who is not responding to his medicines. And for a moment my caring was enough.
We do not always get the chance to see whether we have made a difference. A few days ago I realized that I do not need to know that someone cares. But I care that someone needs to know.
So I pass this along in that spirit.
What if sometimes the fruits of life are not nearly as important as those who seed them? What if sometimes it’s not the teacher, but the timing, that gives the lesson value?
There’s a certain randomness to life that I have always found curious. It is, I believe, the dividing wall between success and failure, health and sickness, faith and science, good and evil.
NOTE: I do not choose to follow many other survivor stories. I don’t want to start comparing my health (or lack thereof) to anyone else. I don’t mind being a spokesperson, but I don’t like to keep notes. That said, I’ll leave you to your own thoughts, but I do wish you would go to Jeff Dodd’s blog and post a quick prayer...
http://www.jeffsdailyupdate.blogspot.com/
"My candle burns at both ends, it may not last the night.
But oh my foes and oh my friends, iy gives a lovely light."
You see, the problem is, I am an incurable optimist. Most argue my philosophies are rooted in denial. And yet, while I will generously entertain and accept there is an unmistakable randomness to life that can turn anything we do around in the blink of an eye – I struggle to find even token agreement with anyone who laments that life’s unpredictability is an ugly spirited thing.
Unfortunately, because I believe there IS a silver lining to life, most people regard me the fool. I am hardly the image of success or health, so my argument that there is goodness and meaning and opportunity in every action can seem -- out of touch. And yet, I press on, continuing to believe that if we try to see, to really notice, the daily nuances of chance (and avoid focusing on the cases of extreme) we may - at our best - avoid the perils of possibility. And at the very least, simply enjoy a few doses of good fortune and loveliness before we are unexpectedly run over by the daily bus of destiny.
Today’s example begins with a fifteen pound box.
It is not an ordinary box. Well, it is by appearances, but its contents are extraordinary to me. It is from a company that may be able to change my life. And while I could go on and on (it’s a banquet of providence, a veritable feast-in-a-package of fortune-and-potential) as it turns out, the real story is not about the contents. So let’s leave it at that.
It could too, be about the delay in its arrival. I signed up with this company over a month ago. One might think they would send the box out the very next day. But, as randomness goes, they were short an item or two and then busy a day or two and then I was gone a day or two and by then my money was no longer good and we had to start all over. I am sure there is a lesson in all of this, and I am confident this is very much part of the lesson I am trying to share, but we can decide on this later.
Remember, I am not arguing that there ultimately HAS to be a point to everything. But I do prescribe that if we really try to find a connection from one seemingly-chance-encounter-and-insignificant-mishap to another, we’ll start to see favor and good fortune in life (instead of dreading its mysterious indifference and uncertainty.)
Today the box was delivered. In many ways it was a perfectly average day and it was a perfectly average act and I might have altogether missed the opportunity to see what the purpose of the box was if I had hesitated only a few seconds longer to answer the door.
But I saw the UPS truck through the window and I knew it was probably THE-box-that-would-change-my-life on the porch and I felt like the moment deserved an action of equal enthusiasm. So I opened the door and hollered to the driver in the most appreciative way I could, “Thank you!”
The driver barely stopped in his return of a welcoming response. Hmm. Anticlimactic. “How is your day going?” I shouted. We could get to the box if I could get him back on the porch. “Oh,” he said evenly, “I’m getting by, I suppose.” I could see he was about to start his truck, to leave my box and this conversation unceremoniously behind. And to be honest, I was growing less and less charitable of sharing my moment with him anyway, but I felt like “something” was supposed to happen.
“How is your son?” I asked. The driver had shared many months ago that his son was a journalist first and foremost, but that he blogged on the side. He also shared that his son had cancer. The driver did so tentatively because he had arrived at the correct conclusion that I have cancer (every time he had a delivery for me it was from a pharmaceutical company and he recognized the labels from his son’s home. We never really talked about the boxes he delivered. For me. I assumed he knew that each came with drugs and chemotherapies that allowed for my survival.) And so, although I never took as much interest in his son’s story as he might have hoped for, I suspect he found some solace in the deliveries.
“He is in hospice,” the driver responded sadly. “I don’t know what is going to happen.”
Now, I have had cancer a long time. I was told I would not survive until Christmas. St. Nick has slipped in seven times since. I do not know why I have survived so many days beyond the projections and the prescriptions. I do not know why time has allowed me to survive the trials and the treatments. On any given day I am not sure that I would always choose to be so “resilient.” I am tired. But such is the random nature of life. And since I have been afforded another day in the game, I’ll suit up. (see Isaiah 6:8 – “put me in coach, I’m ready to play.”) It’s a tough place, my dugout. I know how tremendously taxing and hurtful cancer can be, how it affects everyone in the families it visits.
And so, I invited the driver who brings me boxes back on to my porch and I hugged him. Hard. And I cried. Because I suddenly understood that the seemingly random appearance of this particular fifteen pound box was not random at all. And while I might have understandably lamented its approach was overdue, I could see its delivery was perfectly timed and carefully crafted for just such a morning and time. A week earlier and the driver would have been off work visiting his son (they live in another state.) Two weeks earlier and his son might not have been so sick. No, today was just the right sort of day.
So you see, it was never about the order. It was about its arrival. And although my being there helped meet the needs of a father sick with grief and doubts and anger with the face of gladness and determination and acceptance, it was never really about me at all. I simply talked about the things that only survivors can talk about. And whether we cried or we prayed or we cursed or we spat on the ground with rage is not important. The father knew I cared. About his son, his son that is my age, his journalist son, his son who writes of the wonders of marriage and fatherhood juxtaposed against the wickedness of disease, his son who is not responding to his medicines. And for a moment my caring was enough.
We do not always get the chance to see whether we have made a difference. A few days ago I realized that I do not need to know that someone cares. But I care that someone needs to know.
So I pass this along in that spirit.
What if sometimes the fruits of life are not nearly as important as those who seed them? What if sometimes it’s not the teacher, but the timing, that gives the lesson value?
There’s a certain randomness to life that I have always found curious. It is, I believe, the dividing wall between success and failure, health and sickness, faith and science, good and evil.
NOTE: I do not choose to follow many other survivor stories. I don’t want to start comparing my health (or lack thereof) to anyone else. I don’t mind being a spokesperson, but I don’t like to keep notes. That said, I’ll leave you to your own thoughts, but I do wish you would go to Jeff Dodd’s blog and post a quick prayer...
http://www.jeffsdailyupdate.blogspot.com/
"My candle burns at both ends, it may not last the night.
But oh my foes and oh my friends, iy gives a lovely light."
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