April 29: Transcendent and Beautiful, Something Beautiful, Opportunities

[Ives] sat there in his son's room thinking about the time when he had experienced the presence of God, or of something, on Madison Avenue, for the life of him, he tried to imagine death as something transcendent and beautiful, as he had been taught to believe and had wanted to believe in those moments.

This paragraph appears in Mr. Ives' Christmas shortly after Ives' son, Robert, is shot dead on the steps of a church.  Ives is full of anger and grief and confusion.  He has lived a good life.  Faithful husband.  Doting father.  Loyal friend.  Devout Catholic.  Yet, a few days before Christmas, he has to plan the funeral of his son, who was about to enter the seminary.

I struggle all the time when terrible things happen.  Right now, in Nepal, thousands of people are dead and homeless because of an earthquake and avalanche.  In Baltimore, residents are rioting in the streets against police and the National Guard.  In my life, I'm coming up on the one year anniversary of my brother's death.  My good friend, the head of the English Department, died the night before Thanksgiving.  My sister is in a nursing home.  My mother's health isn't great.  My medical office job is unsatisfying.  And my contingent position at the university is, as always, under attack from full-time professors and members of administration.

In short, my life feels like a big pile of manure.

Like Ives, I want the promise of something beautiful and transcendent.  There's a hymn by Bill Gaither that we sometimes sing at my wife's church called "Something Beautiful."  The refrain goes like this:

Something beautiful, something good
All my confusion He understood
All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife
But He made something beautiful of my life

I don't understand why, in the space of twelve months, so much has gone awry in my life.  I try to see some kernel of beauty in all that has occurred.  I hope that something beautiful is coming my way.  That's the job of a Christian, I guess:  to believe and hope.  I read a saying every morning by Blessed Solanus Casey:  "In the crosses of life that come to us, Jesus offer us opportunities to help Him redeem the world.  Let us profit by His generosity."  I try to think of my struggles as opportunities.

Saint Marty is a little tired tonight of all the opportunities that have come his way recently.

I truly believe this

January 28: A Murmur, Worries, My Children

When Robert was born a murmur was found in his heart, and although the doctor told Ives that such conditions were common enough, Ives still had suffered, his morbid fantasies getting the best of him.  Thinking not just about his own past, but about the myriad possibilities for disaster, Ives found it quite impossible to sleep and would spend half the night sitting by his son's crib, fretful when he cried or had normal digestive problems, colic and the like...

A first-time father, Ives worries.  A lot.  In fact, Ives never really gets over this phase of fatherhood.  He worries constantly.  Later in the book, when Robert tells Ives that he's thinking of becoming a priest, Ives, a pious and devoted Catholic, worries about Robert's happiness.  Ives doesn't want his son to miss out on any of the world's joys, including sex, marriage, and fatherhood.  Even in moments of great joy, Ives waits for something dark to swoop in and rain disaster.


I'm a lot like Ives.  I worry.  This morning, my son had a meltdown over taking his medicine.  He dissolved into screaming and crying and kicking.  This medicine really helps my son.  It calms him down and helps him focus during the day.  His teachers have noticed the difference.  His aunts have noticed the difference.  We've noticed the difference at home.  He's a happier kid, less prone to tantrums and hysterics.

And now, tonight, I'm worrying about tomorrow morning.  I'm worried about whether or not my son is going to repeat today's episode.  I'm worried that he's never going to take his medicine again, and we're going to return to the kindergarten year, where we were receiving phone calls from his principal and teachers every other day.  Him punching a classmate in the face.  Him kicking his music teacher.  Him bending and breaking a tree on the playground.  That's my worry this evening.

Next weekend, my daughter has her ballet recital, a performance of Sleeping Beauty.  I'm worried about that, too.  I'm worried that her pointe shoes are going to get wet or collapse.  (I can't afford to get her an extra pair.)   That parts of her costumes will go missing.  That she'll fracture her foot or sprain her ankle or strain her back.

I'm like Ives, sitting by Robert's crib in the middle of the night, imagining all kinds of calamities.  Murmurs of the heart and body and spirit.  I love my children.  Want only the best for them.  It's a difficult vigil to keep, being the sentinel of safety and hope and happiness for my daughter and son.  And it's a little exhausting.  But that's why I work from eight o'clock in the morning until ten or eleven o'clock at night.  To give my kids opportunities to be the best they can be.  That's all any parent wants, isn't it?

That's what Saint Marty wants.

Worry works for me...

April 4: Sadistic, Not Unkind, Express More Love

I started groping around in front of me, like a blind guy, but without getting up or anything.  I kept saying, "Mother darling, why won't you give me your hand?"  I was only horsing around, naturally.  That stuff gives me a bang sometimes.  Besides, I know it annoyed the hell out of old Ackley.  He always brought out the old sadist in me.  I was pretty sadistic with him quite often.  Finally, I quit, though.  I pulled the peak around to the back again, and relaxed.

Holden can be pretty mean, especially to people who he considers to be phony or annoying.  Ackley is guilty on both counts, and Holden takes advantage of every opportunity to bait him.  In this little passage, he's trying to get Ackley to leave his dorm room.  It doesn't work.  Besides being phony and annoying, Ackley is also incredibly obtuse.  He doesn't take Holden's hints at all.

I'm a lot like Holden in this way.  I was brought up in a house with three brothers and five sisters.  Sarcasm was like oxygen.  We teased each other mercilessly.  This upbringing has served me well as an adult.  As a child, it was all about fending off my siblings' ribbing.  As an adult, it's all about being charming and funny.  I often tell coworkers and friends, "I tease you because I love you."  And everyone laughs.

However, I am well aware of the fact that sarcasm can be very wounding at times.  There's a very fine line between being witty and being cruel.  I walk that line constantly.  In fact, some of my friends consider me to be a fairly negative person.  I'm always making fun of ridiculous and/or just plain stupid situations and people I find myself around sometimes.  And now that I've typed that sentence, I realize how callous and shallow I sound.

This morning, in my devotional, I received the following piece of advice:  "If I experience disharmony in my life; if I have difficulty getting along with others; if I can be gossipy, critical or unkind, I begin right where I am to express more of God's love toward others."  Basically, the whole meditation is about opening up my heart to love.  I read it to one of my coworkers, and she said, "Mart, I think that's spectacular advice."

So I have been trying to be nice this morning.  Or at least not unkind.  Because, as the devotion said, "As I sincerely seek to express more love, opportunities present themselves."  That means I get something out of this love experiment.  Opportunities.  Blessings.  I have no idea what these opportunities will be, but I'm open to anything that improves my lot in life.  Maybe somebody will buy me chocolate or a Diet Mountain Dew.  Maybe I'll get a poem published with a good magazine or journal.  Maybe I'll be offered a full-time job at the university.

Or maybe Saint Marty will simply go to bed tonight knowing that he's made somebody feel a little better today.

Sarcasm is soul food