Hanging up the Robes

This past Saturday was Timothy’s last time serving at Mass. When Fr. Ross asked Timothy to stand and be recognized for his eight years of service, I was emotional.

Altar serving was always something our sons did. Nicholas was first, followed closely by Jonathan. For several years the two brothers served together on the altar until Nicholas left for college. Jonathan served alone until he left for college.

And then it was Timothy’s turn, and a photo taken before serving at his very first Mass shows a little boy, wearing a robe with sleeves down to his knuckles, looking slightly terrified.  

When each of our boys started high school and thought about quitting, Joe and I talked them out of it. After all, we told them, we are at Mass anyway so why not use altar serving as an opportunity for stewardship? And so, they continued serving at church, at a few weddings, and at several funerals.

Last Saturday, when Timothy served for the very LAST time, there was a young boy who was serving for his very FIRST time. And I took a photo—the young server, smiling and drowning in his robes, and Timothy, over six feet tall, ready to hang up his robes.

As a family, we are at a strange juncture of looking to the future while reminiscing about the past, of saying goodbye to traditions and routines, and hello to changes and new beginnings. High school graduation is behind us, college begins this August, and in less than two months our “baby” will be gone and Joe and I will be sitting alone at Mass.

I suppose that is why I was emotional.

As much as change can be exciting, it is different, you know?

And it takes some getting used to.

I love ...

I love hanging lanterns 

and sun-dappled pebbles 

and frogs that hang out 

and rustic front doors.

A Conversation about Bananas

During our son’s freshman orientation this week we were inundated with information. Speakers, break-out sessions, information tables, pamphlets, handouts. Our conversations revolved around classes, and tuition, and dorm fees, and dining plans, and … it went on and on. By the time we left our son at Russell Hall while we spent the night with my brother and sister-in-law, we were googly eyed.

But then I had a sweet conversation with my sweet eight-year-old nephew which provided a nice (and humorous) contrast to all that boring, grown-up college talk.  The conversation was about bananas.

Now, I like bananas, but I cannot stand banana strings—those long strands, which can be thick or thin, that dangle from a just peeled banana. If you know, you know.

 Some people are not bothered by the strings. Joe, for example. Once he peels a banana, he will eat it strings and all.

Ack. Bleck. I cannot watch or even THINK about it without triggering my gag reflex.

On the other hand, after I peel and discard a banana peel, I then spend several minutes inspecting the banana for any errant banana strings. I turn it over and over, poking here and there to make sure there are no strings. Only when it is string-free will I eat it.

So, at my brother’s house I was peeling a banana when I noticed my nephew watching me intently, a funny look on his face.

“Sometimes I don’t like bananas,” he said, with his mouth full of a freshly baked pastry. “You know those stringy things? They make me cough.”

And he made a face. 

“Whoa. Buddy. I totally get it!” I told him. “Banana strings make me gag.”

We then spent several minutes talking about banana strings and how gross they are and how they cause gagging, coughing, and pukey feelings.

Best conversation of the day.

 

For my nephew ...

Why did the banana go to the hospital?

It wasn't peeling very well. 

~~~~~

Why do bananas have to wear suntan lotion?

Because bananas peel!

Choosing Hope to Find the Joy

It may seem paradoxical to be reading The Book of Joy when the nightly news offers an endless barrage of doom and gloom. School shootings, political vitriol, gas prices, racial unrest, muggings, murder, mayhem ... honestly, where is the joy in the face of suffering, pain, loss, and bedlam? 

Then I read the following quote from Archbishop Desmond Tutu. 

"It is also good to recognize ... how incredibly noble people are. You know human beings are basically good. You know that's where we have to start. That everything else is an aberration ...the fundamental thing about humanity, about humankind, about people, is that they are good, they were made for good, and they really want to be good."

The Archbishop went on to say that we must keep a more holistic view. Yes, terrible things happen; yes, there is so much doom and gloom. But we must have a sense of proportion and a wider perspective. This doesn't mean sugar-coating events or looking at the world through rose-colored glasses; instead, we must look with honest eyes at the whole. 

And in doing so, we won't feel despair but hope. 

NOT optimism (which depends on feelings) but HOPE (which is based on the firm ground of conviction).

As I am typing this, I am trying to think of ways to apply the Archbishop's quote on a practical level--to right here and now while I enjoy my morning cappuccino. What can I do? Like the Archbishop, I fundamentally believe that people are good, were made for good, and really want to be good. But I also acknowledge that the goodness can sometimes be hard to see. 

Then I read another quote from the Archbisop: Despair turns us inward. Hope sends us into the arms of others.

So that's where I will start. With hope. Out in the world. To stand in the face of the bad, but celebrate the good; to witness the ugly, but bring forth the beautiful.

To open my eyes and see the world holistically and honestly, and still choose hope. 

To choose hope is to step firmly forward 

into the howling wind,  

baring one's chest to the elements, 

knowing that, in time, 

the storm will pass. 

 

~Archbishop Desmond Tutu

The Book of Joy