I like my life

Some days life is fairly miserable, most days it isn't bad, and some days life is simply great! Today is one of those latter days.

I took a little walk to the travel agent (both because it is gorgeous out and to start getting "in shape" for the pilgrimage) who has been helping us with some of the preparations for the World Youth Day 2008 in Sydney. My primary purpose was to confirm with her the hotel reserverations and vehicle rentals, all of which, I'm happy to say, are in order.

After checking on the status of the group I posed a personal question to her. Our return flight from Sydney to Chicago is slated for a short layover in Honolulu before leaving for the Windy City. That would make for something like tweny-four hours in a plane over a thirty hour period. Frankly, that is something I cannot do.

My recent return from Rome showed me that age and arthritis (primarily arthritis) is catching up to me. The eight hour or so flight from the Eternal City to St. Louis through New York was about all that my frail constitution could do. Little more strength do I think I can muster and twenty-some hours would be impossible.

I've been pondering this situation for some months now and today decided to ask about the possibility of my remaining in Honolulu for a few days while still sending my pilgrims - who are stronger than I - to Chicago as scheduled.

The travel agent called the airline and arranged one spectacular bargain: 5 nights in Honolulu for $45.00! Somebody likes me :)

What a nice gift on this, the third anniversary of my first Mass of Thanksgiving.

This just occured to me

I'm going to be in Rome during the Pauline year proclaimed by Pope Benedict XVI during the Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul, which I will celebrate in the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls.

Ah, the hand of Providence continually moves us along.

This is beginning to look more and more like a perfect opportunity for a little pilgrimage, not just a vacation.

The hand of Providence?

Having been proclaimed the assistant soccer coach by our athletic director twenty-two days ago, and having actually accepted the position twenty-one days ago, I cannot help but wonder if this appointment is not one that has been guided by the hand of Providence.

Now, you might think this odd, but the more I ponder it, the more convinced I am that God has willed my being the assistant soccer coach not for the good of the players, but for my good. What do I mean?

Being with the soccer players for nearly two hours every weekday has brought me great joy, though you might not always be able to tell as I bake under the sun in the heat that is so excessive that I cannot even put the seeds I am trying to grow that I brought back from Hawaii outside.

The soccer team is comprised of many very enjoyable young men who are very fun-loving and easy going. Though I know this isn’t the case, they seem to have no care in the world save winning their games (or getting out of practice). They remind me very much of what I was like in high school and the many fun and goofy times my friends and I had (I’ll be seeing one of my high school friends on Monday to finalize the preparations for her October wedding).

Two weeks after I accepted the position – and one week ago today – I received the devastating news that my home was being destroyed.

In the past week I have noticed my thoughts focusing on three primary areas: the classes I teach (both in the high school and in the parish), the homilies I preach, and what has happened to my home.

Quite naturally, whenever I think about the happenings in Quincy I grow disheartened and grief sets in. And then I head off for soccer practice or a game and my feelings and emotions are elevated. It is almost as though God has asked me to be the assistant soccer coach to keep my thoughts from revolving entirely on my home church.

As my previous post indicates, this does not mean that the pain is removed, but it is alleviated.

The hand of Divine Providence has given me joy to balance my affliction, and for this I am grateful.

Mother Church

My father died when I was only seven years old, just a month and a half shy of my eighth birthday. In my agony, despair and confusion I cried out to God who heard my cry. He answered none of my questions but called me to himself, to trust him, to follow him, to love him.

As I continued questioning him I slowly came to know him and to know his love. And ever so slowly I began to love him in return. I came to know him in a most profound way as Father.

My mother died when I was only nine years old, just over a month shy of my tenth birthday. Again in my agony, despair and confusion I cried out to God who again heard my cry. He again answered none of my questions but called me to himself and led me to his Church.

In the Church, most profoundly at St. John the Baptist parish, I came to know the Church truly as Holy Mother Church. Mother Church gave to me all that she had to give and I in turn have given her all that I have to give.

After Mom and Dad’s deaths, most every evening I would go outside and stand in the driveway. Looking out toward the West, I saw what I thought was a star (it was actually the planet Venus but that, really, is irrelevant). Many an evening I said:

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight:
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have this wish I wish tonight.

Only this morning did it fully occur to me that my prayer to the Lord has been fulfilled. What I wished for every night – what I prayed for – was to have my parents returned to me; I wanted, more than anything in the world, to see them, to hear their voices and to feel their warm embrace.

It is the strangest thing, the most unexpected and most profound. The most intimate, too. My earthly parents are dead, still with me I am confident in the Communion of Saints, but this is of little comfort to a young boy.

The Lord did indeed give my parents to me; he gave me Himself as my Father and the Church as my Mother. The Lord still works marvels for us; we are glad indeed!