I travel quite a bit for my job. It can sometimes be a humbling experience.
When I was a child, I thought that business travel seemed glamorous and exotic. Fancy hotels with bellhops, jetliners with stewardesses and restaurants serving martinis at lunch were all depicted in the movies and television shows that I watched. I wanted to be Cary Grant or Sean Connery. Jet-setter. High-roller. Globe-trotter.
Instead I’m the schlub who lugs his bags into a discount hotel after spending painful hours cramped in an airplane seat so small that it seems to have been designed for pixies or driving a (less than clean) rental car for far too many miles while being equally frustrated and flummoxed by which side of the steering wheel the wipers are on and where the little button for the gas cap release is hiding. Cary Grant never had to deal with this crap.
Because I’m usually out-of-town for a few days in a row, I will on occasion buy groceries (you know – that already made stuff that can go in microwave) so as to avoid another dinner alone at Panera or Applebee’s or wherever. I will then “cook” in my rental suite while growling at the news of the day on television.
Recently after a long day, with a simmering headache, I decided to stop at the Kroger in Jeffersonville, Indiana and grab a few things. The checker’s name tag informed me that she was Delilah (although in all honesty, I was more interested in reading one of the messages tattooed across her neck). Delilah was big in all the wrong places and she had hair that was a color not found in nature. She proceeded to comment on every single item that I had purchased. Apparently, Cokes have names on them now and she asked if my name was Landon because my Coke was named Landon. Of course because I had a headache and was tired and cranky I wanted to say, “Why yes, I make it a rule to only buy soft drinks with my name on them.” “You can imagine my delight in finding the rare ‘Landon’!” Instead, I just grunted “no” and hoped she would shut up. Which she didn’t (or couldn’t). She went on to tell me that she had tried the salad that I bought and it wasn’t very good. In my self-righteous indignation, I wanted to sarcastically thank her for her culinary advice and compliment her neck tattoos and nose ring, but instead I just took my lousy salad and my ‘Landon’ Coke and left.
Later while getting into my rental car, I saw Delilah. She was hard to miss – neck tattoos, body piercings and all. She was patiently helping an old woman get into her car and then loaded her groceries in the trunk. She took time to speak to this woman and more importantly to listen to her. She absolutely refused to take a tip. She thanked the woman, wished her a good day and offered her blessings.
Wow. What a complete jackass I had been. Perhaps instead of judging my checker’s appearance, I should have been looking into her eyes. Instead of being annoyed by her friendliness, I could have shared a kind word or smile. Maybe then I might have seen some of the beauty that the old woman had experienced. Cary Grant likely would have.
Instead, I went to my economy hotel suite and ate dinner alone and realized that I missed another opportunity to love like Jesus. And in spite of my arrogance and heartlessness I realized then that I’m forgiven even when I struggle to forgive myself. It’s humbling to know that God still loves me in all my selfishness, vanity and absurdity.
And by the way, Delilah was right about my dinner choice. It wasn’t very good.
Peace,
Denis
Stop judging, that you may not be judged. For as you judge, so will you be judged, and the measure with which you measure will be measured out to you. Matthew 7:1-2
If you ask most folks about the story of Adam and Eve, a likely image that they’ll recall is the apple. Eve offered Adam the apple after the serpent convinced her to eat it. It’s hard to blame the first couple for the whole apple ordeal because they had no one else to ask and the Internet hadn’t been invented so they couldn’t “Google” the serpent’s claim to see if it was accurate. I kind of get it. Who hasn’t received some lousy advice and made a few bad choices along the way?
My son Blake tells me that he’s pretty sure we are all one consciousness. The universe experiencing itself; a pulse experienced through different hardware. He believes that unconditional love is the answer but what is the question?
Last Sunday our granddaughter Charlise was confirmed in the Catholic Church. The bishop’s message was that it was indeed a special day and certainly deserving of the pomp and circumstance on display. However he reminded those being confirmed that he wasn’t dispensing magic but instead he was conveying the sacrament that was promised them at baptism. He also reminded these young people that Confirmation wasn’t just something to achieve but that by accepting God’s gift of the Holy Spirit they had an obligation to be transformed. To be agents of positive change in our world. Pretty heady stuff for 13 & 14 year-olds.
I believe that Charlise will meet the challenge to be changed; to be transformed. She will be an advocate for social justice and peace. She will love those who are at times unlovable (including yours truly); bring joy to those in sadness and sorrow; bring peace to our world in her deliberate and thoughtful manner; afford patience to those most in need of understanding; show kindness to those who are hurting; goodness in her manner and in her unselfishness; faithfulness to God and to all God’s creatures; gentleness in her strength and determination; and self-control in her lifestyle choices.
I had a driver who was from India and we spoke about Indian food that I have eaten and loved but he laughed out loud every time I spoke and nothing I said was truly funny. Maybe it was the way I pronounced chicken tikka masala (I’ll never know). We laughed and laughed!
At Mass last night I was contemplating this servant-serving thing. My back ached and my knees were sore from my afternoon of unexpected labor. I realized being humbled in the muck of my basement clean-up and repair, I had become a servant of sorts. But even more profoundly my son-in-law Travis had served me. And I had the grace to accept my defeat and allow his much-needed support.
ostly a time of sacrifice and sinfulness for me. Promising to give up candy or soda or dessert and then not being able to keep the promise. So much pressure to be extra holy and sacrificial and so much guilt when I failed. I was sure that Jesus was very disappointed in me. After all, he suffered and died on the cross for my sins, so the least I could do was live for 40 days without Bazooka Bubblegum®.
Mothers are powerful! Ask any woman who has cared for a sick child; wept for the loss of life; fought for her child’s acceptance; guarded her offspring without flinching; celebrated joy and comforted heartache; loved unconditionally. All while saying “yes”.
I’m not that prayerful. Not in the “get-down-on-your-knees-bow-your-head-and-pray” sense of the word. I’m more of a “Oh, God!” “Help me!” kind of guy.
Each year my Advent is about the same. Frenzy followed by peace. Blissful peace. Some years it sneaks up on me (like when a grandchild crawls up on my lap and gives me an undeserved hug or when my cousin’s Christmas card arrives in the mail and I can relive all those joyful memories of Christmases long ago). Most years it kind of hits me right between the eyes (like reuniting with a friend with whom too much time has passed and realizing immediately that time hasn’t diminished the love we share). The thing is, I never find peace on my own. Someone always brings it to me.
