August 20: Yawned, Rude Bastard, Prayer of the...ZZZZ

Then, all of a sudden, I yawned.  What a rude bastard, but I couldn't help it!

Holden's exhausted when he gets to the Antolini apartment.  While Mr. Antolini is trying to offer him advice, Holden just wants to go to bed.  He can barely keep his eyes open.


I know how Holden feels.  I am beat tonight.  I got to work at 5 a.m., and I pretty much worked until 5 p.m.  There was no end to it.  Every time I thought I could take a break, some other dragon of a task reared its ugly head.  I met about ten or eleven dragons today.  Viennese hornbacks.  Chinese fireballs.  French firebreathers.  It was a virtual parade of monsters.

I still have a lot of work to get done tonight.  Aside from this post, I have to write something for the Worship Committee at church.  A letter that has to be tactful, tough, and thoughtful.  I'm not looking forward to that task.  Then, I have to write another post.  In between these jobs, I need to work on my syllabus for next week.

It's going to be a rough night.  I think I need a little help.

Dear God,

Hi.  It's me.  I'm not going to complain or whine or yawn.  I'm not going to be a rude bastard. I just want to thank You for giving me the strength to get through this day of work.  Thanks for the food that I ate.  Thanks for the work that kept me busy and kept my mind from going to the dark side (money problems, bills, etc.).

I guess I want to thank You for the tiredness I'm feeling right now, because that means that I've worked hard, accomplished things.  I want to ask for a little stamina to complete a few more tasks tonight.  I don't want to be Hercules.  No, I only want enough energy to finish two blog posts and write that letter for the church.  An hour or two at the most.  That's all.

Your loving child,

Saint...Zzzzzzzzzzz

I think this was task number five this morning

April 23: Your Caring, Saint George, Dragons

Your caring may be the answer to someone's prayer.

Aficionados  of The Catcher in the Rye are probably scratching their heads right now and thinking, "Where the hell did he get that quote from?"  Well, I can tell you I found it in my copy of the book.  It doesn't come from Holden or Phoebe or Ackley.  It isn't a memory of Jane or Holden's brother, Allie.  That phrase came from a little slip of paper I've been using as a bookmark.

Sometimes, I get too wrapped up in myself to care about other people.  I get wrapped up in my little problems.  Money.  Teaching.  Job.  All the things that preoccupy the normal working person.  Of course, it seems like I never make enough money.  Of course, I look at my friends who are full-time professors and get jealous of their teaching loads.  Of course, when I drag my butt out of bed at 4 a.m., I hate my job.  Those are my daily concerns.  Sometimes hourly and minutely and secondly concerns.

Then I run into someone who's living with terminal pancreatic cancer.  Or I see a person rummaging through the garbage at the university, looking for pop cans to return.  Or I see a special news report on the TV about a bombing at the Boston Marathon that kills three people and injures hundreds of others.  That stuff unwraps me, opens my eyes to caring.

It doesn't take much to care.  A smile.  A nod.  A few minutes of time, listening to someone else's worries.  It's that simple.  You don't have to be Mother Teresa or the Dalai Lama.  You don't have to be a saint.

Today is the feast of Saint George, patron of England.  Not much is known about George.  My Lives of the Saints says, "...certain Acts forged by ancient heretics have cast no little obscurity over his life."  We know he was a martyr.  We know people pray to him in battle, most likely because he was a soldier.  And we know that he's usually depicted in combat with a dragon.

Dragons come in all shapes and sizes.  Dragons can be great evils, like Hitler or Stalin.  Dragons can be small pebbles in a shoe, like not having enough change to buy a Diet Coke on an early morning.  We battle dragons all day long.  Saint George probably knew this.  His dragons may have been tiny (a splinter in his thumb) or huge (execution at the hands of Diocletian at Nicomedia).  The difference between being a saint or a son of a bitch is simple.  Caring.

I care for my wife and kids.  I care for my friends and family.  My coworkers.  My students.  Despite all the dragons in my life, I can make a difference.

Saint Marty can be answered prayer.  He can start by smiling.

What does your dragon look like?