I’ve always been a little envious of the completely ‘Free Spirits’; those folks who just throw caution to the wind and take off on yet-another-adventure. They rarely seem to plan much more than what to wear or what to eat (and usually that appears unplanned, too). At the opposite end of the spectrum are the ‘Judicious’; those folks who are overly cautious, sometimes paralyzed by indecision or fear of the unknown; needing assurance and insurance at every turn.
I’d like to think I’m somewhere in between Free Spiritedness and Judiciousness. You know, ready to jump on that plane or train or boat or bus but packing carefully and making sure the door is locked and the lights are turned off on my way out the door. I’m probably 60% Free Spirit and 40% Judicious – my lovely wife Debbie is probably 40% Free Spirit and 60% Judicious. She’s more of planner and I’m more of a doer. (Come to think of it, she plans a lot of the stuff that I do). We make a good team. We have a plan. We are on the right course.
And then comes change. Change creeps in and well, changes everything. How many times in my life have I had to adjust to change? Another baby. A lost job. A new home. The death of a loved one. A promotion. An illness. An accident. A marriage. A new grandchild.
Some change is good. Some is bad. Some is scary. Some is delightful. But somewhere amidst all the change remains a constant. It’s love.
Jobs are lost. Marriages end. Accidents happen. People get sick. Loved ones are mourned. We say goodbye to friends. But love stays.
New homes are found. Different careers are begun. Babies are born. Unique places are discovered. Strange new skills are learned. Unusual experiences are shared. And love stays.
I often think about the young girl I met 43 years ago who changed my life. We couldn’t afford to be free spirits or planners back then (we just muddled through) but God had plan for us. She was this short sweet little Baptist girl who had attended public schools and I was this tall skinny smart-ass who had gone to Catholic schools. Debbie was very popular in high school. Everyone was her friend and everyone thought that she was too nice for me (even me). I was not popular in high school. I was sort of a doofus. We were an unlikely match but we somehow fell in love.
And then I changed and became a man worthy of her love.
I know that life will constantly test my free spiritedness and my judiciousness. And nothing will ever be the same. Not even me. And the more things change the more our love will remain the same.
Peace,
Denis
P.S. The video attached is one that our daughter created over 6 years ago and a lot has changed since then (except the love).
Sunday at mass it will be the same priest, the same boring or out-of-touch homily, the same listless liturgy, and sometimes I just want to “phone it in”. I’ll go through the motions but I can’t help but wonder if my time might not be better spent cleaning out a closet or organizing the cabinets in my office. I suppose I could pray while I straighten out my clutter. Isn’t cleanliness next to Godliness or something like that?
This morning he didn’t think he could make it to school. He pleaded his case but Mom and Dad assured him that he would be okay. They offered him a favorite stuffed animal to take for “rest time” at pre-school (which is apparently a common practice for others in his class). The stuffed animal might offer some security and reminder of home but he refused it in a very adult manner: “No thank you Mommy, there are two reasons I don’t want to take my stuffed animal. First, I don’t want germs from other kids to get on it. And sometimes people play with their stuffed animals when it’s not resting time and our teacher doesn’t like that.” Apparently he knows his limitations.
Short and sweet can grow tiresome when the rest of the world (or classroom) is tall. My wife has reaching sticks and step stools and similar aids but I’ve heard her say many times that it would be nice just to be “tall enough”. Tall enough to reach the top shelf in the grocery store. Tall enough to buy pants that don’t need to be tailored. Tall enough to do some things without help from the Tall Ones.
Legend and tradition tell us more: The Three Kings (three gifts were presented but the Gospel never tells us the number of Magi) were named Caspar (or Gaspar), Melchior, and Balthasar. Early Christian art depicts the three men as coming from Europe, Asia, and Africa. And growing up my nativity set at home would show them likewise. Tradition also tells us the significance of the gifts – gold: a gift fit for a king; frankincense: which is burned during prayer; myrrh: which is a perfume most often associated with burial – a foreshadowing of Jesus’s death and suffering. Another tradition (brought to the U.S. by European immigrants) involves writing the initials of the three kings’ names above the main door of the home to confer blessings on the occupants for the New Year. For example, 20 + C + M + B + 16.
I suppose our Regular Christmas is my Perfect Christmas after all. Last night, my usually “stand-offish” two year-old granddaughter Ainsley, without being prompted, ran up and jumped in my arms with a big hug and a kiss. My seven year-old granddaughter Anna told me that she was more excited about the gifts that she was giving than the ones she might receive. And then she whispered in my ear to tell me about the VERY SPECIAL PRESENT she had gotten for her Daddy at her school’s Santa Workshop.
I loved Christmas presents but I knew even as a child that Baby Jesus was always at the center of it. We were raised to believe he would come (again) each year at Christmas. We set our crèche under the tree with all the characters (except baby Jesus of course until Christmas morning). We lit our Advent candles each week. St. Nicholas would come on December 6th and fill our stockings with an orange and some nuts, a peppermint stick and one Hershey® bar (thanks Dad!). At school we would pray and sing carols, collect money for the missions and go to daily Mass. My little Catholic world was secure. And there was abundant joy!
