Happy Birthday to the Bambino on His 21st Birthday

Today, my bambino turns 21. I should probably stop calling Timothy “my bambino” but I’m the mom and I can do what I want😉; besides, how is it even possible that I am a mom to a 21-year-old?

So. Twenty-one. I could write an introspective post on what a mature, responsible young man he has turned out to be. Or that he is still holding a 4.0 grade point average, all while being involved in campus activities, the Catholic Center, and intramural sports. Or how he keeps us entertained, knows everything there is to know about cars, and would like to meet the guys from Top Gear. I could also mention that he does NOT like to read fiction (a definite flaw in an otherwise stellar young man) but you know that already.

What I really want to talk about is Timothy, my Travel Buddy. He may be Joe’s Sports Buddy, but he is my very own Travel Buddy. Whenever we accompany Joe on one of his work trips—Washington DC, Kansas City, California, etc.—Timothy and I are on our own while Joe attends meetings. We take the subway into DC, the train into San Francisco, and a rental car through the serpentine roads of Lake Tahoe. We map out our days, plan our meals, and look for adventure. He (begrudgingly) takes a selfie of the two of us. He has excellent navigation and map skills.

He is also a good sport because in his role as Travel Buddy he has been dragged to many an art museum—ALL the art museums in Washington DC, the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City (this one TWICE), the outdoor sculpture garden in New Orleans, the High Museum in Atlanta, and many, many more. Excluding myself, he has probably been to more art museums than anyone else in the family. See? A good sport. Of course, each visit comes with assurances of lunch, a souvenir (usually a Lego), and a promise that we will leave at a predetermined time. 

And yes, he groans and he moans and he complains but we manage to have fun ... especially with modern art because it makes us laugh. That red triangle on canvas? A piece of pizza! That rope sculpture? A brownie! When he is not associating artwork with food, Timothy is the most articulate art critic and uses words such as stupid, dumb, boring, and idiotic. 

All this to say that I love my Travel Buddy, whether or not he loves art museums.

So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Timothy!

 

 

lifetimes

 lifetimes

come in, come in!

such a pleasant surprise, this

sunshine at my doorstep!

excuse the dust, the clutter

we must …

but first, coffee? tea?

please, sit

 

YOU are here

you ARE here

you are HERE

 

remember when?

what happened to?

did you ever?

 

cascading thoughts

overlapping sentences

avalanche of words

babel, but not

 

laughing through tears

healing through scars

lives re-lived

 

echoes

from a lifetime of yesterdays

converge in the now

 

this moment,

the two of us

sitting at a kitchen table

with memories etched on its surface,

holding court

to a lifetime of tomorrows

 

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Speak to Me Sunday: A Fool for God

Once Upon a Time, two elderly gentlemen knocked on our door. They were missionaries wanting to spread God’s word and were so polite, lovely really, that we shared a conversation. We spoke about God and faith and how the two are becoming increasingly pushed aside in culture and society. They had pamphlets, but I told them I was secure in my faith and to save them for others who might need them more. I thanked them for sharing God with others, we shook hands, and they left.

A few minutes later, I had an idea: I should have offered those nice gentlemen bottled water and snacks for the road! It was a thought that came out of nowhere and so I felt it was divinely inspired. It was not too late!

I gathered the items, packaged them nicely, and looked out the window. The gentlemen were no longer on our street. No problem! I grabbed my keys, jumped in the car, and drove around the entire neighborhood looking for them.

And I could not find them anywhere.

Okay, then. I drove back home a little deflated because things did not turn out as I imagined they would. And I was confused. Hadn’t I answered a spiritual prompting? Hadn’t I been obedient to the whispers of the Holy Spirit spurring me into action?

Apparently not. Truthfully, I felt a little more than a little foolish. This is not the first time I listened to the Holy Spirit, acted on it, only to arrive at a complete and total Dead End.

Had I been a fool for God?

I argued with myself. How does one know if a conviction, or a spiritual prompting, is valid unless acted upon? Does it not take faith to step forward when the outcome is unknown? And does it not take courage to act on something as tenuous as a thought, a feeling, or a spiritual prompting?

In the ways of the world, a “yes” to any of the above can be seen as foolish, but a fool by the world’s standards can be transformative by God’s.

Thinking back to that day with the missionaries, I came to realize that it did not matter my actions did not turn out the way I had imagined they would, that my good intentions fell flat.

Instead, what mattered was I felt a spiritual prompting, and on blind faith I acted.

And sometimes, it is the action (and not the result!) that is the point.