When A Child Prays
Franciscan University of Steubenville has a great culture of prayer. After each Mass, everyone kneels for a few moments of prayer. The sanctuary is completely silent as congregants exist as living tabernacles. It’s a practice that my family continues to practice.
Last week, when the Mass had ended, we knelt down together. Alison instructed Lucy, our 3-year-old, to pray the St. Michael prayer. Lucy stood right next to me as she said the words. It wasn’t perfect, but she hit the high notes. At that moment, I felt the power of her prayer. Here was a small child, praying one of the most powerful prayers in the Catholic lexicon, sending evil fleeing.
There was more to it than that. As she prayed, the focus of her mind was clear. She stood, hanging on to the pew, methodically pulling the words from her memory.
In His ministry, Jesus again and again highlighted the faith of children. When the adults discount their worth or tried to push them out of the picture, Christ pulled them in close. Why?
When a child prays, they do it simply. They don’t have an agenda, they surrender to the moment and to the weight of the words. They don’t try to come up with a better prayer or a fancier verse, they adhere to the simplicity that is given to them. They approach God openly and innocently, as they are.
Adults would do well to learn to pray as children do. We would experience the richness of faith that comes when we enter prayer with a simple trust.
Incremental Progress
Five months ago, Alison and I woke up on a Saturday morning and headed into our front yard. Over the course of the day, we cut down over two dozen bushes. In the weeks that followed, we dug out stumps, repaired water lines that we damaged, ripped down shutters, repainted our front door, and leveled dirt.
Summer heat set in and our progress slowed. From the street, our home looked quite plain. The dead and overgrown bushes cluttered every garden bed. The rotten shutters fell apart as they hung. Digging out those bushes and pulling down the shutters was an improvement, but just the beginning.
Our work began again this past weekend. We built, painted, and hung new shutters. A tree trimmer has been hired to prune the huge oak tree that anchors our front yard and cut down the dead pecan tree that now stands on the corner of our lot. In the coming weeks, more improvements will be made. Dead, decaying, and broken things will be lovingly replaced with new materials and fresh paint. It will take months, but by this time next year, our home will look entirely different.
We are moving slowly, as life and other priorities require our attention, but each weekend, our home will become more and more beautiful. Almost imperceptible to the passing neighbor, over time, beauty will be revealed. Our house isn’t in terrible shape, it’s just been neglected. A little of love and elbow grease will make it shine as it once did.
My preference would be to knock it out in one fell swoop. If I could, I’d line the contractors up to tackle all of our projects and, combined with our DIY weekend warrior projects, have the whole thing done in a month. But life isn’t Fixer Upper.
Life is incremental progress, the great work of perfecting ourselves in the model of Christ. Conversion happens slowly, incrementally, and imperceptibly. Life, especially the Christian Life, requires patience. In those times when we fail to live as we should, it requires grace. Not just grace from God, but grace with ourselves. My home may look plain and barren today, but in time, its beauty will be revealed as we remove the decay. So it is for the Christian. The decay of poor choices, past and present, is slowly removed by the Divine Carpenter, until all is new, whole, and beautiful.
Building Momentum
Just after my birthday this Spring, I started walking again each morning. My most successful streaks start with little planning and no fanfare. My alarm goes off, and I go walk for an hour. I kept up with that habit, day after day, all the way until our summer vacation in July. I took the week off, and I’ve struggled to get back on track.
Momentum is hugely important because it defeats resistance. Quietly humming in the background, momentum propels us to keep doing something because it’s easier to keep going than it is to stop and start over later. I didn’t have the excuse that I could just skip a day because it wouldn’t matter. I walked yesterday, so why not walk today? There were many mornings that I slept in during that Spring walking streak, but at the end of the day, I’d always lace up and head out. I’d walk in those evenings because walking is just something that I did.
I experience the same resistance when I fall out of a prayer routine. Why start small when I can just start tomorrow? Why take 10 minutes at the end of the day when I can really do a good job tomorrow morning? I need to start now because it’s the best time to start.
I don’t give momentum a lot of credit, but that’s because it’s the silent partner of success. By taking the excuses off the table, it’s easier to just do what I had planned than it is to rationalize why I shouldn’t.
The Monk and the Merchant
The pictures coming out of Afghanistan are heartbreaking. We will forever remember the image of the C-17 taxiing down the runway with dozens of people hanging on, desperate to escape the evil that has descended on their homeland. It hurts not just because it was preventable, but because we feel powerless to help. Our elected leadership has failed on the world stage, and we share in the moral fallout.
Disaster and tragedy are part of the human story. Afghanistan feels personal because, while there is little that we can do about dictatorships in China, North Korea, or Cuba, this one was within our power to stave off. Every day in the World News section of the newspaper are stories of natural and human disasters. This is to say nothing of the quiet crimes against humanity that go unnoticed by the global community.
In times like these, I’m reminded of the book, _The Monk & The Merchant_. It’s a short story, in the vein of those management quick-reads. The story is about a merchant who visits a monastery and wishes he could spend all of his time focused on serving God. The monk whom he meets reminds him that the lifestyle of the monk is possible because of the financial generosity of the merchant. So while the merchant may spend his day tending to his business and growing his profits, his work is holy, too. It’s the work that enables the monastery to function.
Most of us are not called to the missionary field. Most of us are not called to travel to Haiti after an earthquake, or to Kabul to save people from the shadow of a dictatorial theocracy. But we are called to help. We can make a positive difference by giving generously to charities that have the experience, capability, and manpower to make a tangible difference on the ground.
If you’re looking for a reputable group, especially one that helps Christians facing persecution and genocide in the Middle East, take a look at the Knights of Columbus Christian Relief Fund.
We may not be monks, but our work as merchants is holy. Our work makes the life and charitable works of the monk possible.
Humble Fatherhood
This November is the two-year anniversary of the release of my book Humble Service, a book about the lessons learned on my journey as an at-home dad. The topic of that book, like this blog, is a part of my identity as a student of life.
St. Francis preached the virtue of constant renewal, a lifelong process of making yourself into a reflection of Christ. I want things to be done with immediate effect, but there’s too much work to be done. Knowing that I can work each day on bettering myself is more manageable.
I want to do more of my jobs with a servant’s heart. Yes, I always feed my children first and tend to their daily hygiene. But what about my disposition? Do I do it begrudgingly? Some days. I want to do it with love more frequently.
I want to have more humility and show more grace. I want to keep in mind that my children are still small people, learning their way in the world. I want to set high expectations for them, and help them when they don’t rise to the moment. I want to show them that the proper response to adversity isn’t stress and frustration, but patient acceptance.
What could be the fruits of these changes? Domestic tranquility, sure. But what about higher life satisfaction? Reaching the end of the day and not reflecting that I stayed home and took care of the kids, but instead that I nurtured young souls with love. I may even experience less internal complaining.
Fatherhood is not about being the boss, but about accepting responsibility with love. It’s hard to do perfectly, but I can probably do a better job of it tomorrow.
Environment
I caught the back to school bug last week. The malaise of summer broke, and I worked through my checklist of projects. I oiled squeaky doors, replaced door handles, and ordered in some extra decor for our schoolroom. I even started easing us back into the regular daily routine.
Our environment speaks to our subconscious. The decorations on the wall, the art around the house, all contribute to a cohesive message.
We went to a pizzeria for a birthday dinner, and there were five televisions within eyeshot of everyone at the table. We didn’t talk much, we just watched the Olympics. The environment of the restaurant didn’t invite us to relax and talk, it encouraged us to zone out right in front of each other.
I want my children to see books throughout their day, pictures and statues of saints, and beautiful art on our walls. I want an environment that quietly draws us into prayer, meditation, and reading throughout the day.
There’s more work to do, but I think we’re on the right path.
Second New Year
August is here and back to school is right around the corner. We limped over the finish line in June, and it’s hard to believe that we’re about to get started again. There’s a bit more planning and organization to do. This year will bring a new challenge. I have two students in my class, with a third in tow.
As I start to turn my thoughts to school days, I’m reconsidering our schedule. I really got into a summer mindset this year. It was wonderful. Nothing on the schedule, just a daily clean slate. That also meant that I lacked momentum to keep doing the things that I did sketch out.
Back-to-school time is like a second chance new year. We can reorient, restart, and refresh our goals. That’s what I’m doing.
I took a few minutes last week to sketch out a schedule. In the past, I’ve managed to ignore almost all of my planning. Too much structure breaks, too much flexibility means less gets done. This year, I’m breaking my day into two parts: morning and afternoon. I have a list of things to do in the morning and a list for the afternoon. Simple.
My areas of focus are on daily prayer and reading. I built in a brief period of morning prayer and a rosary after lunch, but before naps. I’m looking forward to the rosary because it adds in a calming element to the schedule, along with mindfulness.
No need to be upset about the missed opportunities of summer days. Rest is a wonderful thing.
Spiritual Wokeism
I’m old enough to remember when being woke was enough to get you made fun of on SNL. What started as a fringe idea has now overrun the academy, government, the armed services, public health, and media. The essential contradiction of wokeism is that while it claims to be awake, to be fully embraced, you must deny reality. One of the clearest signs of this is the pervasive belief in the fallacy that America is no better today than it was in 1776.
This is a heavier topic than usual. I like to keep this blog light and digestible, but I think there’s an element of wokeism at play in our spirituality. It’s easy to believe that we are no better today than we were yesterday, or even a decade ago.
When we go to Confession, we repeat the same litany of sins, sometimes adding a few but seldom removing any. This is a grating experience. We get the impression that we’re not improving.
Our expectations of instant renewal and transformation are unrealistic. We must take concrete steps to live and love the Law. Change, however, is slow. We’re working out our salvation and overcoming the innate character flaws that will be with us for life.
Like modern wokeism, spiritual wokeism is a lie. We’re better than we used to be. We may be committing the same sins, but we’re probably committing them less frequently. That’s progress! We may be making the same mistakes, but in different ways. That’s progress!
The Christian life isn’t about a life lived perfectly. It’s embracing our human flaws and, through grace, living out our vocation fully despite them.
We reject the fantasy of wokeism in public life, and we should reject it in our spiritual lives, too.
Lazy Summer Days
With deep regret, my vacation is over. A few days at home with just one kid to watch, followed by a cross-country drive to a week at Lake Michigan. This period of time is the most restful I’ve had in over a year. What a wonderful break!
There are few feelings like vacation. Sitting on the deck with a sea breeze rolling past, typing away on my computer, this is the way summer vacation feels. But we aren’t just supposed to enjoy lazy days in summer.
The days, weeks, and months are ever so busy, but every seventh day’s only purpose is for us to rest. Not to catch up on overdue tasks or get ready for the week ahead, but an entire day marked as sacred. A rhythm to our days laid out for us, but one that we ignore to our detriment.
I find Sunday to be an easy day to waste. I slip away to my desk to work on a website or process paperwork. In the process, I miss the point. Sunday should feel like this day at the lake. A day entirely my own, and to be allocated to the things that leave me feeling restored and rejuvenated.
God created many things. Indeed, that first week was full of much of the busyness that we know so well. But the seventh day, even He set that entire day aside to see what He made and that it is good. I should do the same.
To The Lake
July at home is a hot, muggy affair. Humidity rarely disappears, meaning even my early morning walks, long before the sun breaks the new day, are hot and uncomfortable. The heat and humidity persist for months on end, the price of a delightful and mild winter. But none of that matters now. As I write this post, I’m sitting in a beach house, high on a bluff above Lake Michigan. The windows are open, and the cool lake breeze is blowing past me.
Pulling off the interstate late last evening, we turned onto the country road that leads to this quiet neighborhood. I opened the windows as we drove through the pastures, horse farms, and farms. The fresh smell of clean, the open air perfectly matched to the rolling hills of grain and the growing fields of corn. The scene was pure Americana and the feeling was of great refreshment.
There’s a peace that fills this experience. A cool breeze of relief after weeks of heat. Rolling hills speaking to the beauty of a slower paced life. An atmosphere that encourages rest, recreation, and revitalization. This is an experience that reminds me of the essential goods in life.
I had a productive week last week while my children were away. Projects that languished for months finished in an afternoon. I completed the first draft of a new magazine that I’m working on. I saw an open week on my calendar and rushed to fill it with projects and activity. What I didn’t do was plan for rest. It was good to work and check things off, but it’s also good to rest.
That’s what I’m doing this week. I’m slowing my pace, relaxing, and restoring. My life will fill up again soon after we return home. But for this week, all I have to do is nothing.