john paul wisdom

Two quotes I found from JP2 as I scoured through my belongings this week, that I wanted to save somewhere virtual.....  

Now I would like to tell you of something personal. With the passing of time, the most important and beautiful thing for me remains the fact that I have been a priest for more than fifty years, because everyday I can celebrate Holy Mass! The Eucharist is the secret of my day. It gives strength and meaning to all my activities of service to the Church and to the whole world. - General Audience, October 8, 1997  

Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is ... an important daily practice and becomes an inexhaustible source of holiness ... It is please to spend time with (Christ), to lie close to his breast like the Beloved Disciple and to feel the infinite love present in his heart.
- The Church and the Eucharist

He's been gone for nearly three and a half years, and yet he's still teaching me. And I figure I still have plenty more to learn from him.

oliver

I just finished reading Marley & Me, a biographical account of the author, John Grogan's, thirteen-year relationship with his dog, for the second time. I read it the first time, fittingly, a month after we put our beloved family dog, Oliver, to sleep after fifteen wonderful years of life at our sides. As I read, laughing more and more with each page turn, I knew certainly that the wonderful tale would eventually end with Marley's demise. I was in Boston as I finished the book, visiting the city with a friend, and we stayed with her extended family for about five days. The night I finished, we had gone to Harvard Square for dinner and returned to relax the rest of the night away. I had to excuse myself from the group, explaining, "I have to find out what will happen to Marley." And so I read the final few chapters, tears welling in my eyes as I recalled my family's heartache a month earlier, eerily similar to Grogan's goodbye with Marley. My red-rimmed eyes gave away my emotional state, as I returned to my friend and her family, saying simply, "Marley died." Grogan's heartfelt account of the death of his family dog had moved me, somewhat surprisingly, to tears. I can completely level with John Grogan. Throughout the book he described Marley as a thundering lug of a canine, the "world's worst dog," with more transgressions than achievements in his thirteen years of life. 

I often thought this way of Oliver, the small little pooch who licked himself silly, his spitty little noises driving me bonkers enough to leave the room frequently. Oliver, who never wore a collar and instead, in his puppy years, used it as a chew toy. Oliver, who shuddered at the sound of our play tambourine and daily perched atop his "Oliver chair" to stare at the birds out the living room window. Oliver, who for most of his life I couldn't stand for more reasons than one. But once he was gone, for good, I missed him terribly. I still miss him, oddly enough. There are times I'll be in our house, and something still won't feel just right. The house won't feel right without an annoying eighteen-pound Lhasa Apso trying to find his way onto the couch. A part of me will still listen for his little nails clicking on the wooden kitchen floor. More than two years after we said goodbye, part of me still can't believe he's gone. 

John Grogan had his Marley; we had our Oliver. Funny how a four-legged beast can be the common denominator between so many strangers on this planet. And if only all things in the world were so simple as the friendship between man and dog.

this difficult little slice of heaven

Before my whirlwind year as a campus missionary begins in full in a little less than a month, I will complete my fourth (and no doubt final) summer on staff at the Wisconsin Lions Camp. In years' past I have described those 440 acres of property as a slice of heaven, a place where the outside world stands still and all that matters is that the dozens of children at camp that week have an awesome time. When I'm at camp, immersed in my work there, it doesn't matter who's running for president or what stock market is plummeting that week. What matters while I'm at camp is combatting this camper's homesickness, or spending time with that group of campers who are playing in the swimming area. None of the rest of the world matters, and to me, that oblivion is treasured. This year, it's been hard. I don't know what it is about this year, but it's been a difficult slice of heaven to savor at times. There have been a fair share of my own personal struggles this year while at summer camp - perhaps it's the anxiety for what awaits me in the fall, perhaps it's other, outside factors, perhaps it has a lot to do with the separation from my family in what has been several trying months. Whatever it is, this summer has been a challenge, and this summer I've learned that it's those little moments - peeking in on a cabin, only to be invited to hear a bedtime story, teaching a younger camper a favorite song at the dance, or helping a child without sight experience the camp world to the extent he can - that make this experience entirely worth it. Sure, it's been a struggle. Sure, there have been times I've failed miserably or had my confidence entirely shaken. There's been hurt, there have been tears. But if I can provide just a moment of happiness for one child, in one week - my mission has been accomplished this summer. If I can rise above my challenges with this difficult slice of heaven and bring a memorable experience to even just one camper, my job will have been entirely worth it. And it's those little confirmations of campers' happiness - the smiles, the "I-don't-want-to-leave-camp" Friday conversations, the "thanks-for-everything" goodbyes, that remind me why I've returned to this difficult little slice of heaven for four summers. In my own selfish sense, I feel my small contributions to these children contribute in part to God's work on earth. The time, the effort, the energy I expound on these kids, however grudgingly some days, is, in a sense, doing the work of God on earth. I've been His hands, His feet, His voice, His ears, His eyes, to hundreds of children for four amazing summers. And this belief, which I often have to remind myself to keep at my core when things get really tough - is another reason I return to this slice of heaven. It is my prayer this week, as I retreat from camp for seven days to focus on moving to Madison and beginning my missionary work this fall, that I will stay true to these innermost beliefs of the past four summers and close out my work at camp as best I can as His feet, His eyes, His ears, His voice. "Christ has no body but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks Compassion on this world, Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good, Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, Yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours." - St. Teresa of Avila