Kevin says these are his only two original sayings, but I’m thinking he must be wrong…if only because he hates to be wrong so bad. ;P
He says all of this is “very true.”
Perhaps we can learn more about a building from its looked-over nooks and crannies than from the brass chandeliers in its polished front foyer.
How true is this of people?
Of ourselves?
Last year sometime, we got a DVD in the mail from the monks at Clear Creek Abbey in Oklahoma, northeast of Tulsa. It shows them going through their days: praying, singing, and working. “Ora et Labora” is one of their mottos: Pray and work.
We have no idea why we were sent this. We probably got on their mailing list through another Catholic organization we support or something. And they were probably hoping to elicit a donation from us.
Frankly, I thought the video was a little boring, although it was interesting in its way. Kevin, on the other hand, was fascinated by it. He watched it over and over, usually while he was doing other things.
Fast forward to February of this year, Friday the 18th to be exact (according to Kevin).
For a couple of months around that time, there was a table in the commons of our church with used religious items and a box for donations. Kevin saw a Benedictine medal on the table. Two inches in diameter, the medal is pretty heavy and made of some kind of metal. It commemorates the 150th anniversary of the Benedictine sisters’ coming to America.
He paid a dollar for it, but that medal has become immeasurably valuable to him.
That very day, he put it on a chain and started wearing it, and it inspired him to research all of the inscriptions on it, which led him to research the Benedictine order.
Then, on July 3, our new priest Father Tony blessed the medal, and he’s worn it ever since.
At that point, Kevin says he began to officially live his life as a spiritual Benedictine oblate.
The word oblate means “to offer.” An oblate in the Benedictine order is a lay person, meaning someone out “in the world” as opposed to in a monastery, who follows the Rule of St. Benedict, while possibly also being fathers and husbands (or mothers and wives, since women can be oblates, as well).
On July 15, Kevin emailed Father Joseph Mary Lukyamuzi, director of oblate formation at Mary Mother of the Church Abbey in Richmond, who encouraged him to continue on his path, offering his assistance along the way.
And then, today, Kevin’s journey came full-circle: The Clear Creek Abbey rosary we ordered earlier this week came in the mail.
All that time Kevin watched the Clear Creek video, he didn’t realize that the monks he was watching were Benedictine monks. At that time, he hadn’t studied anything about the Benedictines (or any of the many orders), and the video doesn’t spend a lot of time on the distinction. It wasn’t until he’d begun researching the order that it hit him.
God does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t He? ๐
Beauty in all its imperfection.
Not despite.
Because of. Due to.
None the worse for wear.
Today was Attie’s last day of preschool camp, both a happy and sad occasion.
None of us can believe that these four weeks are over already!
On his first day, we had to enlist my parents to get him to and from school because it was the day the moving company moved most of our stuff into the new house โ which is, by now, more like the we’ve-always-been-here house โ only it’s not a house at all now; it’s Hawke Haven. ๐
The second day of preschool, and all the other days since, Attie has ridden bus 48 to school. We thought he was going to be a little hesitant, especially after he’d expressed concerns about school buses not having seatbelts.
But he wasn’t at all. He said “bye” and stepped right up there like a big boy!
And now, four weeks of 9-to-1 have passed like lightning, leaving way too much stuff still not in its place here (and way too little time left before I go back to work). Streak!
Academically, Atticus probably didn’t learn a whole lot. He already knew his letters, numbers, colors, shapes. (This is the kid who’s been reciting Latin for a year and has the equivalent of a photographic memory for songs, lyrics and key.)
But he learned a lot of new cool songs to go along with them from Miss Lane’s “board.” (We found most of the songs he’s been singing at HarryKindergarten’s YouTube profile. Check him out if you want to jumpstart your little’s learning. ๐
Also, socially, there was so much he needed to learn: raising his hand to contribute to class discussion, working quietly, staying seated, cooperating with other kids, walking through the cafeteria line with a tray โ all with teachers who expect some mess-ups and are trained to help kids learn from them.
Kevin and I went to the school today for a pizza party program. His teachers, paraprofessionals, principal, nurse and secretaries all knew Atticus and told us how much they had enjoyed him.
Miss Lane said he would come up to the Smart Board and read the short words before the whole class watched and sang along with the videos.
The principal, or site coordinator, Ms. Harris said Atticus had helped her write the word “Finish” on the sidewalk for last week’s tricycle races. And then he just had to show her how to write his brother Lucas’ name, too. ๐
In a few short weeks, Atticus will start kindergarten.
There will be new people to meet, new places to see and fit into, new processes to follow and remember, new skills to master, but we know he’s ready, and he really can’t wait.
Today, when he came home on the bus (he wanted to ride it one last time, even though we offered to drive him home), he broke down on the sofa, crying his heart out because preschool was over.
I hugged him close, dried his tears, and reminded him of the new experiences he was going to have soon.
None of that would be possible if this didn’t end.
It’s a hard lesson for all of us, isn’t it?
This year marks the first in many that we won’t be spending the end of July in New York City.
Usually, we save up all year long to take a few days alone, Kevin and I, exploring the city. This year, however, all savings went toward a downpayment on our new home. Totally worth it, yes, but we’re still in #miss mode.
We decided to take this week, when we’d originally planned to make the trip, and document the years we’ve enjoyed.
Six years ago next week, we sold whatever we could — jewelry, a guitar, a knife collection, etc. — and scraped together the money to spend a few days in Manhattan … and get married!
We left Danville on Monday, July 25, 2005.
Although I’d been twice (once with students to Columbia’s journalism camp and once to sing with a band at the Hard Rock Cafe), it was Kevin’s first time in New York. You should’ve seen his widened eyes and dropped jaw! Or his panicked look when we rushed onto the first subway car at the last minute. So precious! ๐
That first train ride took us from near the Howard Johnson’s on 8th Avenue, where we stayed that trip (it’s another hotel chain now) downtown to City Hall, where we waited in line sweating like crazy in the heat to get our marriage license.
After we explained their marriage code to them (long story! :P), we finally left with that license, but it was so late by then that we had to wait until Wednesday to get married…
At 10:20 a.m., on Wednesday, July 27, 2005, we were married in the Manhattan City Clerk’s office. Our witness was a lady who lived in Harlem and got married just before us.
When we left City Hall, we walked right into a “Law and Order: Criminal Intent” set.
We headed up to Times Square, had lunch at TGI Fridays, and experienced “Phantom of the Opera” for the first time!!
After crashing for hours at the hotel, we rushed down to the Empire State Building, getting in line just before 11. We knew they took the last elevators up at 11:15, and we wanted to be up there on the night we were married, so we’d bought our tickets in advance.
So when the guy in charge of the line, already on a major power trip, told us they were closing early, I got pretty upset to say the least. I got on the phone, called directory assistance (no smart phones at the time), and called the manager of the Empire State Building to complain. ๐
Within five minutes, that manager had come down personally to escort us to the elevator!
We spent the final 15 minutes of the day we got married on top of the world. ๐
And then we ran uptown to Central Park and found the last carriage ride of the night.
It was definitely a day we will never forget. ๐
It caught my eye as we were walking the other day.
A husk.
Kevin kicked it.
It was empty and brittle.
Yeah, I was a little grossed out.
It was pretty big, bigger than a quarter. A bug…
A shed skin.
Something crawled out of there.
And it made me think…
How often have I felt like that?
A shell of myself.
Numb.
All the color drained from my world.
It’s been a while,
but I have been a husk of myself before.
And most people probably didn’t even know.
Because I was smiling. And laughing. And singing.
As usual.
I was a great faker, the real me shrunk up so small inside.
So weak. So scared.
Maybe I needed to be there in order to get here.
Maybe I needed to experience the husk to appreciate the whole.
It’s probably more precisely a “curtain shadow,” but that doesn’t sound nearly as cool.
Plus, “shadow curtain” points toward that curtain between what we see and what is, the reality behind it.
In reality, this is a shadow created by the sun’s pouring through a kitchen window with a curtain above and below.
But what we see in it could vary widely. Kevin said it looked like a bunch of wolves atop the Rocky Mountains. I can see that.
Have you ever read Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave“? It’s one part of the education section in his book, The Republic. I had to read it for a philosophy class I took in college, and it’s one of just a handful of things that really stuck with me from it.
In the story, all these people (the “common man”) are chained to the side of a deep cave. It’s so deep that no sunlight gets in.
There’s a fire behind them that they aren’t able to see because their heads are chained, too, so they only see in one direction. They can’t even see the people beside them. The fire creates shadows on the wall they’re facing from this parade of sorts going on behind them. Watching it is their entertainment and sole vocation.
People are walking behind the wall the chained people’s backs are to, and they’re carrying objects on their heads. Weird, yeah. But the point is, I think, that these people think these objects are reality, truth, when in fact they’re only shadows of the original objects. And the whole behind-the-scenes transport by other people (whom these people don’t even know exist) adds another level of deception.
Well, as the story goes, one of these people breaks out of his chains somehow and turns to see all of these other people chained just as he had been. He sees the fire and realizes that all of those objects that represented his reality were merely shadows on parade.
This man — this philosopher — ventures out of the cave and sees the sun, so huge, so brilliant. He realizes that the fire of the cave was but a microcosm of this humongous ball of fire.
And then he wants to share all his discoveries with the others. Only they don’t want to hear it. They’re satisfied with their world view, no matter how short-sighted and twisted it is.
He’s left an outcast, no longer willing or able to play the game.
So is it better to see the reality or just stay in the chains?
Easier to stay, I guess. Better but harder (and more lonely) to break free and see.
Branch out, stretch and grow.
But don’t forget where your roots are.They’re heavy at first, those roots,
holding you back, weighing you down
when you’re thin and wispy,
when you just want to soar.One day, though, that same heavy
will seem security, anchor, bedrock,
your wisp thickened and hard,
your soar stunted and scared.So branch out, yes, stretch and grow.
But don’t forget where your roots are.ยฉ2011 Jo Hawke
This stoop is about five steps up from the ground, and still this weed finds a way!
We need to take a lesson.
