I ran in a 5K three weeks ago down in the city that celebrated (?) the anniversary of Elvis' (alleged) death. It's quite a party--held at 6 p.m. on a Saturday with plenty of runners dressed as Elvis, music, food, drinks, etc. It's a nice route, too, that skirts around the Lincoln Park Zoo and goes along Lake Shore Drive for awhile.
Many bigger races these days have professional photographers snapping shots of runners with the hopes that each runner will purchase a memento of their looking hot, sweaty, and a little pained. Who wouldn't line up to buy one of those? I almost always pass on the purchase, but there was one shot of me that I simply couldn't resist.
Iowans are trained now to answer the question, "Is this heaven?" with "No, it's Iowa!" That's a line, of course, from "Field of Dreams." But I wonder if this photo also captures a sense of what heaven might be like. There's a crowd along the side cheering me (and others) on. I'm crossing the finish line (with the big "FINISH" sign above me). Someone's there to greet me. More specifically, someone's there to give me a high five. It isn't just anyone, though. It's the king. The king is there awaiting my finish to say, Well done, good and faithful runner. In this case, the "king" is a professional Elvis impersonator, but I kind of like the idea of a different King greeting me when my time comes to cross the final finish line.
I'll try to get around to scanning the shot and putting it up soon.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Holy ground
Written last Friday...
There’s a “religious” song that I guess you could call contemporary called “Holy Ground” and the first part goes like this: “We are standing on holy ground/And I know that there are angels all around.” It’s not Bob Dylan, I know, but I’ve been humming that song the last 24 hours because I’m currently at a place that is holy ground for me, St. Procopius Benedictine Abbey in Lisle, IL. I’ve been coming here to hang with the monks for spiritual retreats for about 10 years now and I always leave with a peaceful heart. Sometimes the sacredness of the place is overwhelming for me. Yesterday as I walked into my room (or “cell” as the monks would call it), I was surprised at how emotional I felt as I looked out my window at the familiar surroundings. When I was pastor at Riverside UMC, I would come here almost every month. Since my children have come along, though, I’m lucky if I come out once a year. This is my second time this year—if I could come out quarterly, I’d be thrilled. I am unbelievably blessed to have an understanding wife who affirms my desire and need to be here.
There are two main reasons why this is holy ground. One is that I unplug myself from everything and feel myself naked before God. I don’t have anywhere to run or hide and so I’m confronted with my life and questions: Am I fulfilling my call? Am I loving God and neighbor with all my heart, strength, and mind? Am I allowing myself to receive love from God and neighbor in the same way? All of these questions pop into my head as I read, sleep, and walk.
The abbey is not a total escape from society. It’s still in the middle of suburbia so you can hear the cars and airplanes, but it’s secluded enough so I feel like I’m away. There are nice wooded areas with paths that I can lose myself in. There’s an apple orchard and vineyard that I can wander in and admire the literal fruits of some of the monks’ labors. I used to keep myself on a schedule as far as what I did on my retreat—reading Scripture, journaling, praying. Now I’m a lot more flexible and kind of just do as the Spirit leads. As one who is too regimented in his day-to-day schedule, that’s very freeing.
The second reason is to experience bountiful and beautiful hospitality. My liaison is Father Thomas, who is the Guest Master here. I guess you could call him a concierge of sorts. He usually greets me within a couple hours of my arrival (I know the place well enough where I can go to my room right away and start retreating) with a big smile and warm handshake. I’m comfortable enough now where I can go to the various times of prayer (Morning Praise at 6 a.m., Noon Prayer at 12 p.m., Conventual Mass at 4:50 p.m. and Evening Praise at 7 p.m.) by myself, but I need his guidance at mealtimes where he shows me where I should sit. Breakfast is eaten in silence, lunch is a buffet where we can visit with one another, and dinner is also eaten in silence with holy reading. Yesterday was a feast day (the Feast of St. Bartholomew), however, so dinner was extra nice and we could talk. As soon as I sat down, a monk with a heavy Eastern European accent offered me half his red, garden-fresh tomato. I gladly accepted. Next to me was Fr. Paschal, whom I love because he is overjoyed at the smallest things. Soon Fr. Michael came by and offered me a bit of liqueur called Benedictine and Brandy (or B&B as everyone called it) made by a monastery in France. It was Fr. Michael’s birthday so I supposed I couldn’t have refused though I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to drinking anything stronger than beer or wine (not that I’m an expert at drinking those!). It was pretty strong stuff so I took Fr. Thomas’ advice and sipped it after the meal of turkey, stuffing, squash, and chocolate cheesecake.
Many of the monks remember me, a few call out my name, and a few note that I don’t come around as much any more. They don’t say it with judgment but with regret. I agree with them, mention my children, and they smile in understanding.
I’m about to end my time here and though it was only a 24-hour retreat and I leave content. Sometimes I’m fired up to go back out and follow Christ’s example and call. Other times, I’m simply at peace and try to ease myself back into “normal” life. But I am changed every time I come to this holy ground. I hope you have those places, too. Maybe I’ll go through some others in another post.
There’s a “religious” song that I guess you could call contemporary called “Holy Ground” and the first part goes like this: “We are standing on holy ground/And I know that there are angels all around.” It’s not Bob Dylan, I know, but I’ve been humming that song the last 24 hours because I’m currently at a place that is holy ground for me, St. Procopius Benedictine Abbey in Lisle, IL. I’ve been coming here to hang with the monks for spiritual retreats for about 10 years now and I always leave with a peaceful heart. Sometimes the sacredness of the place is overwhelming for me. Yesterday as I walked into my room (or “cell” as the monks would call it), I was surprised at how emotional I felt as I looked out my window at the familiar surroundings. When I was pastor at Riverside UMC, I would come here almost every month. Since my children have come along, though, I’m lucky if I come out once a year. This is my second time this year—if I could come out quarterly, I’d be thrilled. I am unbelievably blessed to have an understanding wife who affirms my desire and need to be here.
There are two main reasons why this is holy ground. One is that I unplug myself from everything and feel myself naked before God. I don’t have anywhere to run or hide and so I’m confronted with my life and questions: Am I fulfilling my call? Am I loving God and neighbor with all my heart, strength, and mind? Am I allowing myself to receive love from God and neighbor in the same way? All of these questions pop into my head as I read, sleep, and walk.
The abbey is not a total escape from society. It’s still in the middle of suburbia so you can hear the cars and airplanes, but it’s secluded enough so I feel like I’m away. There are nice wooded areas with paths that I can lose myself in. There’s an apple orchard and vineyard that I can wander in and admire the literal fruits of some of the monks’ labors. I used to keep myself on a schedule as far as what I did on my retreat—reading Scripture, journaling, praying. Now I’m a lot more flexible and kind of just do as the Spirit leads. As one who is too regimented in his day-to-day schedule, that’s very freeing.
The second reason is to experience bountiful and beautiful hospitality. My liaison is Father Thomas, who is the Guest Master here. I guess you could call him a concierge of sorts. He usually greets me within a couple hours of my arrival (I know the place well enough where I can go to my room right away and start retreating) with a big smile and warm handshake. I’m comfortable enough now where I can go to the various times of prayer (Morning Praise at 6 a.m., Noon Prayer at 12 p.m., Conventual Mass at 4:50 p.m. and Evening Praise at 7 p.m.) by myself, but I need his guidance at mealtimes where he shows me where I should sit. Breakfast is eaten in silence, lunch is a buffet where we can visit with one another, and dinner is also eaten in silence with holy reading. Yesterday was a feast day (the Feast of St. Bartholomew), however, so dinner was extra nice and we could talk. As soon as I sat down, a monk with a heavy Eastern European accent offered me half his red, garden-fresh tomato. I gladly accepted. Next to me was Fr. Paschal, whom I love because he is overjoyed at the smallest things. Soon Fr. Michael came by and offered me a bit of liqueur called Benedictine and Brandy (or B&B as everyone called it) made by a monastery in France. It was Fr. Michael’s birthday so I supposed I couldn’t have refused though I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to drinking anything stronger than beer or wine (not that I’m an expert at drinking those!). It was pretty strong stuff so I took Fr. Thomas’ advice and sipped it after the meal of turkey, stuffing, squash, and chocolate cheesecake.
Many of the monks remember me, a few call out my name, and a few note that I don’t come around as much any more. They don’t say it with judgment but with regret. I agree with them, mention my children, and they smile in understanding.
I’m about to end my time here and though it was only a 24-hour retreat and I leave content. Sometimes I’m fired up to go back out and follow Christ’s example and call. Other times, I’m simply at peace and try to ease myself back into “normal” life. But I am changed every time I come to this holy ground. I hope you have those places, too. Maybe I’ll go through some others in another post.
Friday, August 18, 2006
I fought the law...
I received an important letter yesterday. I opened it carefully. There, in black and white and ALL CAPS, was the stark heading:
CITY OF CHICAGO, a Municipal Corporation,
Petitioner.
v.
COON, CHRISTIAN T.
HIGHLAND PARK, IL
Respondent
It was The Man against little ol' me, humble servant of the community, preacher of the gospel, well-meaning father and husband. And I won.
In April, I went downtown to the Adler Planetarium (which is a pretty average destination IMHO) with my aunt, uncle, and cousins (who are not average, in case they're reading this--they are very much above average) and I parked on Columbus Drive so we could all go over to Adler in the same car. We drove separately because they were going to leave to Michigan from there. There were signs noting that there was no parking from 7 am-4 pm because of a special event, but when I parked, it was after 4 pm. I even figured out the new parking meters and paid my fair share. A few weeks later, however, I received a letter and parking ticket from the city saying I had committed a violation.
Not true! I thought to myself. I debated whether it was worth the hassle of fighting it and decided it was. I photocopied my credit card statement, which showed I had paid for the parking. It was a pretty flimsy defense because it didn't necessarily prove anything, only that I had paid for parking that day, but it didn't say what time I had paid or where I had paid. I sent it along anyway, thinking that they would give me a break.
Someone did. The letter I received yesterday stated that a very important "Administrative Law Officer" (a Martin J. Kennelly, Jr.) had reviewed my "evidence" and it was the officer's finding "that the violation does not contain all the required information as set forth in the ordinance." In other words, I don't have to pay.
My first victory in court and I certainly hope it's the last time I have a "v." in front of my name (as in City of Chicago v. Christian T. Coon). I'm not sure why or how I got off. I'm not one to abuse my position, but I seem to recall signing my name Rev. Christian T. Coon. Just in case.
CITY OF CHICAGO, a Municipal Corporation,
Petitioner.
v.
COON, CHRISTIAN T.
HIGHLAND PARK, IL
Respondent
It was The Man against little ol' me, humble servant of the community, preacher of the gospel, well-meaning father and husband. And I won.
In April, I went downtown to the Adler Planetarium (which is a pretty average destination IMHO) with my aunt, uncle, and cousins (who are not average, in case they're reading this--they are very much above average) and I parked on Columbus Drive so we could all go over to Adler in the same car. We drove separately because they were going to leave to Michigan from there. There were signs noting that there was no parking from 7 am-4 pm because of a special event, but when I parked, it was after 4 pm. I even figured out the new parking meters and paid my fair share. A few weeks later, however, I received a letter and parking ticket from the city saying I had committed a violation.
Not true! I thought to myself. I debated whether it was worth the hassle of fighting it and decided it was. I photocopied my credit card statement, which showed I had paid for the parking. It was a pretty flimsy defense because it didn't necessarily prove anything, only that I had paid for parking that day, but it didn't say what time I had paid or where I had paid. I sent it along anyway, thinking that they would give me a break.
Someone did. The letter I received yesterday stated that a very important "Administrative Law Officer" (a Martin J. Kennelly, Jr.) had reviewed my "evidence" and it was the officer's finding "that the violation does not contain all the required information as set forth in the ordinance." In other words, I don't have to pay.
My first victory in court and I certainly hope it's the last time I have a "v." in front of my name (as in City of Chicago v. Christian T. Coon). I'm not sure why or how I got off. I'm not one to abuse my position, but I seem to recall signing my name Rev. Christian T. Coon. Just in case.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The difficulty of delighting
My post a few days ago about how we change as we get older has been a topic I sometimes (often?) reflect on, especially in regards to my personality. Can a person truly change his or her personality?
Throughout my life, a consistent comment I hear from people is that I'm quiet and/or serious. I'm pretty much resolved to the fact that I won't be hanging from the chandeliers at parties, but I also don't want to be a stick in the mud. What really got me thinking about this was three things last week (outside of the reunion). First, I was meditating on a psalm and a verse struck me: Delight in the Lord. Delighting is something I'd like to do more. Second, later in the week, a friend commented that I looked weary. I didn't necessarily feel real weary, but something about my body language must have been projecting weariness. Third, Caroline was "reading" her children's Bible and was entertaining me with a story about Jesus putting his children in car seats (she hasn't read or seen the "DaVinci Code," I swear) when she noted that Jesus was from the Land of Serious. If you think about it, "Serious" sounds like a good biblical word for a 5-year-old. Not the adjective necessarily, but as a geographic location. Anyway, I kind of laughed when she said it, but then I wondered, am I from the Land of Serious? If so, how do I acquire an exit visa?
So, this week, I've been going back to that verse from the psalms and working on delighting. I must say it's gone pretty well. This goes hand in hand with my sermon last Sunday about thinking about whether our daily decisions bring us closer or take us away from a relationship with God. I've been paying particular attention to my decisions and trying to delight when I can, but it isn't always easy. I walked into my office today around 5 p.m. and right outside my window were four teens. One had a video camera and the others had skateboards. Our church's deck is a favorite place for skateboarders and I've had to make a few phone calls to the police about it. When I saw them, I immediately told them not to skateboard on our deck. They innocently denied doing it. Later, I wondered if there was a different way to handle it. I don't know if I can delightfully tell these guys not to skateboard on the church grounds, but maybe some sort of conversation could have happened. Delighting can be difficult.
Throughout my life, a consistent comment I hear from people is that I'm quiet and/or serious. I'm pretty much resolved to the fact that I won't be hanging from the chandeliers at parties, but I also don't want to be a stick in the mud. What really got me thinking about this was three things last week (outside of the reunion). First, I was meditating on a psalm and a verse struck me: Delight in the Lord. Delighting is something I'd like to do more. Second, later in the week, a friend commented that I looked weary. I didn't necessarily feel real weary, but something about my body language must have been projecting weariness. Third, Caroline was "reading" her children's Bible and was entertaining me with a story about Jesus putting his children in car seats (she hasn't read or seen the "DaVinci Code," I swear) when she noted that Jesus was from the Land of Serious. If you think about it, "Serious" sounds like a good biblical word for a 5-year-old. Not the adjective necessarily, but as a geographic location. Anyway, I kind of laughed when she said it, but then I wondered, am I from the Land of Serious? If so, how do I acquire an exit visa?
So, this week, I've been going back to that verse from the psalms and working on delighting. I must say it's gone pretty well. This goes hand in hand with my sermon last Sunday about thinking about whether our daily decisions bring us closer or take us away from a relationship with God. I've been paying particular attention to my decisions and trying to delight when I can, but it isn't always easy. I walked into my office today around 5 p.m. and right outside my window were four teens. One had a video camera and the others had skateboards. Our church's deck is a favorite place for skateboarders and I've had to make a few phone calls to the police about it. When I saw them, I immediately told them not to skateboard on our deck. They innocently denied doing it. Later, I wondered if there was a different way to handle it. I don't know if I can delightfully tell these guys not to skateboard on the church grounds, but maybe some sort of conversation could have happened. Delighting can be difficult.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
My week in Iowa
A few random thoughts about my week in Iowa...
First, I was struck by two kinds of signs I saw in northeast Iowa. The first were abortion (pro-life) signs. Were these there when I was growing up? The second were sweet corn for sale signs. The juxtaposition of these signs certainly spurred some reflection. Life at its most complicated and most simple.
Second, I'm always taken aback when someone says they read this blog. I don' t know why I'm surprised--after all, I certainly hope that some people read it, but, still, it's pretty humbling. This is really an introduction for a public thank you to Melissa, one of the organizers of our reunion, for her kind words about it. They've stuck with me.
Third, I will never get tired of going to Adventureland, Iowa's version of Six Flags. I have nothing but great memories of going there growing up and it was such a thrill to take my kids. Caroline and Anne rode the log ride and, of course, they have pictures there at the end that you can purchase. I almost always look at them and then pass on by (tourist trap!), but I simply couldn't resist buying the shot of Caroline in front with a look of pure fear and joy and Anne in back with a huge smile. It was worth the $8.
Fourth, we drove by a Maid-Rite restaurant in Marshalltown and I couldn't believe the sign out front. They are now making ketchup available to customers. For the uninitiated, Maid-Rites are loose meat sandwiches, kind of like beefburgers, but really, really good. And putting ketchup on a Maid-Rite is like putting ketchup on a Chicago-style hot dog. You just don't do it. Call me a fundamentalist on this one.
First, I was struck by two kinds of signs I saw in northeast Iowa. The first were abortion (pro-life) signs. Were these there when I was growing up? The second were sweet corn for sale signs. The juxtaposition of these signs certainly spurred some reflection. Life at its most complicated and most simple.
Second, I'm always taken aback when someone says they read this blog. I don' t know why I'm surprised--after all, I certainly hope that some people read it, but, still, it's pretty humbling. This is really an introduction for a public thank you to Melissa, one of the organizers of our reunion, for her kind words about it. They've stuck with me.
Third, I will never get tired of going to Adventureland, Iowa's version of Six Flags. I have nothing but great memories of going there growing up and it was such a thrill to take my kids. Caroline and Anne rode the log ride and, of course, they have pictures there at the end that you can purchase. I almost always look at them and then pass on by (tourist trap!), but I simply couldn't resist buying the shot of Caroline in front with a look of pure fear and joy and Anne in back with a huge smile. It was worth the $8.
Fourth, we drove by a Maid-Rite restaurant in Marshalltown and I couldn't believe the sign out front. They are now making ketchup available to customers. For the uninitiated, Maid-Rites are loose meat sandwiches, kind of like beefburgers, but really, really good. And putting ketchup on a Maid-Rite is like putting ketchup on a Chicago-style hot dog. You just don't do it. Call me a fundamentalist on this one.
Changes
I'm sure sociologists have studied thousands of different groupings, observing how individuals behave and respond in those unique settings. I'd really love to know if any sociologists have studied class reunions because they would have to make some fascinating case studies. My 20-year reunion was last weekend and it was a great experience. It had been several years since I'd been back to my hometown of Manchester, Iowa, population 5,400 or so.
Despite the fact that my high-school classmates have all aged 20 years, it's still difficult to not see each and every one of them as 16, 17, 18. It's difficult not to see myself that way, too. Why is that? I suppose one reason is that a gathering like that one really gives me freedom to see myself as a teen-ager, which is how I feel sometimes. When I first started in the ministry and someone would come to me with an issue or if they needed comforting or advice, my first reaction was, are you kidding me? Why would you want that from me? I'm only 15! At least that's how I perceived myself. When you get together with a group of friends who knew you when you were 15, it's even easier to see yourself that way, just as you see others that way, too.
One classmate told me that she didn't think she'd changed at all, but that others had. I thought that was interesting. After she made that comment, I looked around the room at the Cedar Lodge in Manchester, Iowa. I'd guess that most everyone there came that evening at least a little self-concious about some way in which they'd changed. Maybe (in my case) it's a receding hairline. Maybe it's a change in weight or hair color. Maybe it's a mannerism or an accent they've picked up. Those are the easy changes to spot. It's pretty hard to spot the other kinds of changes. Has that person gone through trauma? How did he handle the divorce? How is she coping with that death? How are they doing--really doing--in the raising of their children? Is he happy with his job? Does she like where she lives? Does he believe in God? You might know those answers with your closer friends, but it's difficult with everyone else. But those life experiences have changed us all. And yet when we entered that room, we laughed about our memories, remembered popular songs and movies, shook our heads at the clothes we wore. And for a few hours, I suppose, my classmate was right. We hadn't changed at all.
Despite the fact that my high-school classmates have all aged 20 years, it's still difficult to not see each and every one of them as 16, 17, 18. It's difficult not to see myself that way, too. Why is that? I suppose one reason is that a gathering like that one really gives me freedom to see myself as a teen-ager, which is how I feel sometimes. When I first started in the ministry and someone would come to me with an issue or if they needed comforting or advice, my first reaction was, are you kidding me? Why would you want that from me? I'm only 15! At least that's how I perceived myself. When you get together with a group of friends who knew you when you were 15, it's even easier to see yourself that way, just as you see others that way, too.
One classmate told me that she didn't think she'd changed at all, but that others had. I thought that was interesting. After she made that comment, I looked around the room at the Cedar Lodge in Manchester, Iowa. I'd guess that most everyone there came that evening at least a little self-concious about some way in which they'd changed. Maybe (in my case) it's a receding hairline. Maybe it's a change in weight or hair color. Maybe it's a mannerism or an accent they've picked up. Those are the easy changes to spot. It's pretty hard to spot the other kinds of changes. Has that person gone through trauma? How did he handle the divorce? How is she coping with that death? How are they doing--really doing--in the raising of their children? Is he happy with his job? Does she like where she lives? Does he believe in God? You might know those answers with your closer friends, but it's difficult with everyone else. But those life experiences have changed us all. And yet when we entered that room, we laughed about our memories, remembered popular songs and movies, shook our heads at the clothes we wore. And for a few hours, I suppose, my classmate was right. We hadn't changed at all.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Reunion, Part I
I go back to my hometown tonight for the first part of my 20-year reunion. Think of me around 9 p.m. as I reminisce with my classmates at Beaver's Lounge in Manchester, Iowa.
On your right
Acedia is kind of a spiritual sloth and I'm guessing just about everyone goes through at various points, some more than others. I've been kind of going through acedia light lately, finding it difficult to pray and be attuned to God.
I'm in Waterloo, Iowa, now visiting my dad and stepmother. He just moved here as he's taking over as pastor of Kimball Avenue United Methodist Church. Waterloo is also right next to Cedar Falls, home of the University of Northern Iowa and the birthplace of Christian T. Coon. He and his wife live on the edge of town very close to the Cedar Valley Nature Trail, a bike/hike path that goes from Waterloo to Cedar Rapids. I ran over there this morning and ran along the path, a very lovely trail that takes you through residential and farm areas. I came upon a gazebo that overlooked the Cedar River and decided to plop down on a bench and have some 1-on-1 time with God. I literally had an out-loud conversation, expressing my hopes, frustrations, anxieties, fears. I got up and started heading back, still in my own little world when all of a sudden...
(One of my favorite movies to draw from in sermons is "It's a Wonderful Life." I've never used the every-time-a-bell-rings-an-angel-gets-its-wings scene, though. Smart People may smile at that, but we know, of course, it's not true. Don't we?)
...Ring-ring! I literally jumped as a woman came past me on her bicycle. Ring-ring! went her bell. "On your right," she called as she came by me. That scene from "It's a Wonderful Life" came into my mind. I don't know if an angel got his or her wings at that moment, but I did feel as though I did.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Reviews
You may have noticed a change I made to the layout to the blog a few weeks ago, including adding the "Books I'm Reading" section to the right.
I've been meaning to give my two cents to books and movies that I take in, but obviously haven't gotten around to doing it. Here, though, are a couple:
I'm joining millions of others in my real enjoyment in reading "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. It's been a while since I've read a gripping novel, one I couldn't put down, but I finished it pretty quickly during my few days off last week. It can be gruesome at times so be aware of that, but what a great read, in addition to enlightening me at least a little bit on the culture of Afghanistan.
A neat documentary for all ages is one we watched last weekened called "Mad Hot Ballroom" about a ballroom dancing class offered to 5th-graders in New York. I would have liked a little more background on the kids they focused on and a little less dancing, but, still, I'd give it 4 out of 5 stars. Pretty inspiring.
A book that I'm currently reading is "Praying for Gil Hodges." It's just OK unless you're a rabid Brooklyn Dodgers fan. More than a few editing mistakes, which annoys me, and his writing style, for some reason, just isn't very engaging.
I probably won't be posting for another week as I'm off to Iowa for my high-school reunion (#20). Should be a very interesting experience, to say the least, and will hopefully give me some grist for the blog.
I've been meaning to give my two cents to books and movies that I take in, but obviously haven't gotten around to doing it. Here, though, are a couple:
I'm joining millions of others in my real enjoyment in reading "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. It's been a while since I've read a gripping novel, one I couldn't put down, but I finished it pretty quickly during my few days off last week. It can be gruesome at times so be aware of that, but what a great read, in addition to enlightening me at least a little bit on the culture of Afghanistan.
A neat documentary for all ages is one we watched last weekened called "Mad Hot Ballroom" about a ballroom dancing class offered to 5th-graders in New York. I would have liked a little more background on the kids they focused on and a little less dancing, but, still, I'd give it 4 out of 5 stars. Pretty inspiring.
A book that I'm currently reading is "Praying for Gil Hodges." It's just OK unless you're a rabid Brooklyn Dodgers fan. More than a few editing mistakes, which annoys me, and his writing style, for some reason, just isn't very engaging.
I probably won't be posting for another week as I'm off to Iowa for my high-school reunion (#20). Should be a very interesting experience, to say the least, and will hopefully give me some grist for the blog.
On turning 10
A parishioner asked me to write a few words to her daughter who will turn 10 next week. Here's what I wrote:
I came across a poem a couple of weeks ago by Billy Collins, who used to be our country’s poet laureate. The poem is called “On Turning Ten,” so I was very excited, thinking I could use this for your book. The poem, however, is a little sad. He writes that when one turns 10, a young person gives up a large piece of his or her childhood. Imagination is lost. Playfulness is left behind. Wonder is discarded. I suppose there is a little truth in that. As one gets older (and especially when you hit double digits!), there is an expectation to mature and these days adults (including myself) may have an unrealistic expectation that we need to “grow up” children faster than we should.
You are already a very bright young person, full of delight and wisdom, and what a joy for me to get the chance to know you. But I hope as you get older, hitting 11, 12, 13 (!), 16, 20, that you don’t give up all of your childhood, especially a sense of wonder. This is the highlight of being a child, I think, wonder. Having a sense of awe in the face of all we come across because there is holiness in everything. There’s a story in the book of Acts where Peter heals a disabled homeless man. When the people realized what had happened, “they were filled with wonder and amazement.” May God continue to fill you with wonder and amazement, no matter how old you are.
I came across a poem a couple of weeks ago by Billy Collins, who used to be our country’s poet laureate. The poem is called “On Turning Ten,” so I was very excited, thinking I could use this for your book. The poem, however, is a little sad. He writes that when one turns 10, a young person gives up a large piece of his or her childhood. Imagination is lost. Playfulness is left behind. Wonder is discarded. I suppose there is a little truth in that. As one gets older (and especially when you hit double digits!), there is an expectation to mature and these days adults (including myself) may have an unrealistic expectation that we need to “grow up” children faster than we should.
You are already a very bright young person, full of delight and wisdom, and what a joy for me to get the chance to know you. But I hope as you get older, hitting 11, 12, 13 (!), 16, 20, that you don’t give up all of your childhood, especially a sense of wonder. This is the highlight of being a child, I think, wonder. Having a sense of awe in the face of all we come across because there is holiness in everything. There’s a story in the book of Acts where Peter heals a disabled homeless man. When the people realized what had happened, “they were filled with wonder and amazement.” May God continue to fill you with wonder and amazement, no matter how old you are.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
An important list
My wife and her siblings have put in a lot of hours these past few months getting their mother’s (and their former) house ready to sell. For those who don’t know, Anne’s mom passed away last September. She’d lived in that home in northwestern Evanston for 40 years and was a saver so there was a lot to go through. They’ve come across many treasures, all kinds of odds and ends, and quite a few things they had completely forgotten about. So many emotions packed into so many boxes.
One of my favorites, though, is a little slip of paper that Anne came across. There’s no title on it, but it’s a list of events and dates that occurred in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Most of the events are fairly significant. A trip to Greece. A granddaughter is born. A tree is cut down. The boyfriend of her daughter asks for a blessing so he can propose (that would be me and the date was July 26, 1993). She also listed a couple of things that don’t seem too terribly important. November 1993 was the time that she got her dog’s teeth cleaned, for example. I don’t know why she chose the things she did to write down on this particular piece of paper, but it’s fascinating to see them next to each other. So many things make up our lives and when we sit down to think about them, we usually start with the major, life-changing events. We probably don’t list a big ash tree being cut down or taking a dog to the vet. But those everyday occurrences fill in the framework of our lives.
One of my favorites, though, is a little slip of paper that Anne came across. There’s no title on it, but it’s a list of events and dates that occurred in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Most of the events are fairly significant. A trip to Greece. A granddaughter is born. A tree is cut down. The boyfriend of her daughter asks for a blessing so he can propose (that would be me and the date was July 26, 1993). She also listed a couple of things that don’t seem too terribly important. November 1993 was the time that she got her dog’s teeth cleaned, for example. I don’t know why she chose the things she did to write down on this particular piece of paper, but it’s fascinating to see them next to each other. So many things make up our lives and when we sit down to think about them, we usually start with the major, life-changing events. We probably don’t list a big ash tree being cut down or taking a dog to the vet. But those everyday occurrences fill in the framework of our lives.
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