Call Me "Bookey"

I had a great time in Maine. Left this morning at a frosty 19 degrees. Hit north Jersey and it was 54! By the way, why does the Jersey Turnpike ALWAYS back up at exit 8A? Please post your insights because we'd ALL love to know the answer to this mystery!

Seeing my dad, brother, sister-in-law, and the little niece who calls me "Bookey" made a long trip more than worthwhile. Yesterday we wandered in the woods of the 10 acres my brother owns; bundled and thinsulated up to our eyes in fleece. They have the crystal cold gift of 500 feet of stream weaving through those woods. It was still moving in its deeper parts, even in 19 degree air. Smooth rocks and sand the color of tea below, and along the edges where Finnegan the cat followed us, the ice was woven in criss cross patterns, jutting out like a fortress of solitude.

I loved watching my little God-daughter, Ella, at one and a half years old, making her way through the balsam and oak. Of course "Bapa" carried her most of the way (that'd be my dad). Everything is a wonder to Ella; every leaf, stone and swirl of dark water garner a look and a touch and an "ooooohhh." If I got lost in thought myself, she'd call out "Bookey!" My wife is Becca, incidently.

Ella can identify at least a dozen birds by sight. She nailed a mourning dove just by its "mourn"ful cooing! We heard it from a tall fir and she simply said "mornin'."

Young minds are like sponges; think of the sounds, images and stories we let fall from our history that nestle in like leaves in the book of their lives! Crisp and clear as autumn the colors can be brushed on, but just as easily, images that jar, numb or dumb the heart down can be painted in the minds of the little ones. It's a terribly beautiful task, raising the young in this wounded world.

My family are shaping Ella with love and reverence, and we're finding ourselves shaped just the same by her wonder and innocence. Life! What a swift moving stream to ford as another new year begins! And what lies around the bend?

Peace and Blessings for 2007,
"Bookey"

Breakfast Conversation

The famous "Come Spring" diner of mid-coast Maine has switched owners, and my dad will never forgive them. Gone are the deep fried homefries! Gone the heaping six egg omelets! Gone the pancakes that would taper off the edges of a large dinner plate like a tablecloth (they've been minimized to the size of half-dollars, he says).

I thought the "country skillet" breakfast was pretty dang good. Just go easy on the cheese if ever you order it.

There was a funny note on the "new" menu that sparked our breakfast conversation this morning: "The food may be undercooked or raw...."

What the? Which food? All of it?

We questioned the waitress about it, and she said it was a "state thing." Huh? That unleashed a stream of ridiculous extremes; things we thought would be appropriate and helpful in our dumbed down, "do I have to spell it out to cover all my bases so I don't get sued" society.

- On a glass of juice: "Handle with care; Item may be very cold."

- On menus: "Caution; object may cause paper cuts."

- Forks: "Impaling eye with this object could cause blindness."

- On coffee mugs: "Warning; dropping from a height could induce shattering."

These labels are very important, because look at all the pain and confusion caused by their absence! "If I only knew knives slice things when moved in a back and forth motion on a horizontal plane, this never would have happened!"

Maybe we should wear labels too, so people could have a "safe and secure" environment with no surprises?

"Beware, having bad day. Do not offer cheerful greeting."

"Caution, subject has not yet imbibed caffienated liquid. Proceed with care."

"Warning, person may be undercooked or raw...."

The Maine Attraction

Christmas vacation! Woohoo! That's right. Two weeks off for the teachers at a certain private boys school which will remain unnamed due to the jealousy that might ensue!

Only bummer is, Mrs. Donaghy does not have two weeks off. So... I decided to "pop in" on my family up in Maine, unannounced, hah hah! for a two night stay. What's a 600 mile drive when you've got a double CD of Greg Brown, (which lasted until Massachusetts), the best of the Indigo Girls (finished it in New Hampshire), and a 16 part lecture series on Ethics by Dr. Peter Kreeft on audio CD? (still some left for the ride home)

I made it in under 8 hours; no lunch, and no questions asked, capish?

Yup, 8 hours alone in a steel and fiberglass motorized shell hurtling north. I had alot of quiet time. Greg Brown and the Girls do that to you. Their lyrics drop like honey on the heart and you just have to turn off the radio and savor the imagery. Let the thoughts bound up by busyness go free, expand and breathe again.

When I hit the Maine Turnpike, and the pine and the birch trees waved a cold spindly hello, I started thinking to myself, "Oh boy, I hope they're home." I turned onto the newly paved road (darn it) off of route 17 where Dad has his cabin nestled in the tall pines, I formed a "plan." Which was to "sneak up" on him and "surprise".... "him."

It worked perfectly! I drove past the cabin at an inconspicuous and typical Mainer speed, which was about 90. And there was me Da, carting wood from some newly fallen trees to his brush pile. I parked a quarter mile down the road and walked into the woods, in stealth mode. Up he came from the driveway as I threw myself into the frosty undergrowth, blending like a ninja into my surroundings (yeah, right). When he turned back down the hill, after what seemed a LONG time to be squatting in 29 degree woods, I leapt like a stag (well, I crashed like a moose) through the saplings toward the clearing. As he turned around up the hill again, there I was, his first-born, standing on a fallen fir tree like Errol Flynn, without the green tights (did anybody get that allusion?)

He was speechless! We bear-hugged and he bellowed and I love SURPRISES!

So I slept in today, which I rarely do. Now we're off to breakfast at the Come Spring diner. Woohoo! I have to do this more often.

To be continued.... of course, 'cause it's a blog.

We're relaxing at mom's on this Christmas Eve, and this show comes on. Amazing! Did any one else see this?

"In the 8th Century, near what are now Scotland and England, Benedictine monastic scribes created a Bible that today is one of the longest surviving monumental manuscripts in the Western world.

Nearly 1,300 years later, renowned calligrapher Donald Jackson approached the Benedictine monks of Saint John's University and Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota, with his life-long dream: to create the first handwritten, illuminated bible commissioned since the invention of the printing press. The Saint John's Bible uses ancient materials and techniques to create a contemporary masterpiece that brings the Word of God to life for the contemporary world."

www.saintjohnsbible.org

And the Word Became... an Embryo

We heard it a million times when we were young: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" As I was growing up, I wanted to become (correct me if I'm wrong, mom) a fireman, then a jet pilot, a cartoonist, and a Jedi knight. I still want to be a Jedi knight. Mostly, I wanted to have that freedom to do whatever I wanted; to roam the world, to explore, to create, taste and see, experience life in all it's richness, and to see what pattern I could weave as the spool of my years unraveled into the fabric of human history.

But growing in faith, taking this spiritual life (which in essence is the whole life) seriously, I'm discovering that the question is actually backwards. What will I become when I get bigger, older, wiser? St. John the Baptist said it so well in his mantra that should become the soundtrack of our modern lives; "He must increase, I must decrease." Because to such as these "little ones" is given the Kingdom of Heaven. Our Lord Himself said that unless we become as little children, we can't get in! The door to Heaven is "hobbit-sized"!

I believe growing up, in a spiritual sense, means recognizing the fact that we should really be growing smaller. As we mature and become more "independent," we should also advance in our becoming more "dependent" on our Heavenly Father.

This is what happened, in the fullness of time, when God Who is the Fullness of All that Is became the littlest thing in all of creation. When the Word became.... an embryo. When God became utterly and totally dependent on a little Jewish girl's daily diet. When the Maker of the Heavens drew His nutrients from the life-blood of the little virgin Mary. Let 's ponder this one anew, this monumental event in human history, in all of history. Let's build a window on the womb of Mary and peer inside, watching breathlessly as the Word takes on our flesh. As the Body of Jesus is knit together in His Mother's womb. Venite adoremus!

With all of the bigness, the glamour and the greatness of Christmas, let's remember how it all began. In silence, in stillness, and in the dark warmth of a woman's womb. Moving softly, quietly, just beneath the beating heart of Mary, and under the trembling, calloused hand of the carpenter, Joseph, as he touched that first tabernacle in human history and felt the Word stirring, making his first movement and remaking the world.

Great thought from Pope Benedict today, urging us to behold in the little babies the reminder of what Our God has become for us! "The wonder we feel before the enchantment of Christmas is reflected in a certain sense in the wonder that every birth arouses and invites us to recognize the Child Jesus in all children, who are the joy of the Church and the hope of the world." - Pope Benedict XVI To such as these belongs the Kingdom of Heaven! May we imitate their innocence, be as wide-eyed in our wonder at the world, and allow ourselves to be just as unconditionally loved by God as they are loved by us!

Into the Mystic

I'll always remember the moment when I first became a Van Morrison fan. I was maybe 19 years old, home from college and flipping through the channels when a movie called "Immediate Family" came on. I don't know anything about the film (I just looked it up a moment ago to be sure of the title). What struck me was the song playing during a powerful mother/daughter/healing scene. The song was Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic."

There was something magnetic and mystical in that song that made me stop my surfing in mid-click. Maybe it was the slow and steady ryhthm of the guitar, or the line "Hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea and feel the sky." It could've even been the spaces between the words and the music that opened me up to sweet contemplation. Isn't it always the silence, the rest within the notes that moves us most? Whatever it was, it sent me on a journey to the music store, to pick up the Moondance album and a host of Van's other works since then.

"And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home. And when the fog horn blows, I want to hear it. I don't have to fear it."

Into the Mystic led me into the Mystery! The sense of wonder that song stirred up in me was an invitation to ask the deeper questions. It's the sense of wonder and mystery that the modern heart, I believe, longs for more than any material possession or position of power. We want always that open door, that path before us that leads to the More that we are made for. The one who no longer thirsts for answers drowns in his own Narcissian pool.

Getting answers is great, don't get me wrong; it sets us on the path to begin the walk. But those unanswered questions, those mysteries, are what keep us moving, searching, and seeking. Boy did it take me forever to learn that lesson; that life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived.

In last Sunday's gospel, John the Baptist drew people out into the desert. They brought their questions, their ponderings and wonderings. They wanted answers to life's deepest questions. And John gave them solid answers. "What should we do?" He said to them in reply, "Whoever has two cloaks should share with the person who has none. And whoever has food should do likewise." Even tax collectors came to be baptized and they said to him, "Teacher, what should we do?" He answered them, "Stop collecting more than what is prescribed." Soldiers also asked him, "And what is it that we should do?" He told them, "Do not practice extortion, do not falsely accuse anyone, and be satisfied with your wages."

John was short and to the point when it came to those nitty gritty questions. But he openly admitted that he was only paving the way for Something Deeper; his water would yield to fire, his mediation would turn over to the mystical. Enter Jesus.

Jesus doesn't always give us the straight answer. In fact, He rarely does this. In contrast to John, when questions come, Jesus simply invites us into them. "Consider this parable..." He says to the questioner. "Follow me..." He invites the inquisitive.

When two disciples of John's followed Jesus, he turned and said to them, "What are you looking for?" They said to him, "Rabbi, where are you staying?" He said to them,"Come, and you will see."

"Hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea and feel the sky.... Let your soul and spirit fly into the Mystic."