Friday, December 21, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
MR WASHINGTON: George. Do you know who chopped down the cherry tree?
GEORGE: As I recall, Sir, the yard was pretty much a disaster when we settled here.
MR WASHINGTON: True enough, son, the landscaping on our property has been an ongoing challenge. But, even so, there was a particular cherry tree growing right here in this yard. I enjoyed it's company this very morning, pausing on this spot to watch the morning sunlight flicker like firey little bees buzzing through it's hive of pink blossoms. A cherry tree. The whole of it blissfully engaged in the process of producing sweet plump cherries. And, now, as you can plainly see, that very same tree has been reduced to a sad stump.
GEORGE: That does appear to be a stump, although I must submit that I am not a botanist, so as to what type or nature of stump, I cannot with surety say. And as to whether or not it is sad or glad, I also cannot know without further study.
MR WASHINGTON: It is a tree stump. A cherry tree stump. Can you not see how the grass is still glazed with cherry blossoms?
GEORGE: A worthy theory. I wouldn't argue against it, though I might still hesitate to fully embrace it.
MR WASHINGTON: Well, there isn't much tree remaining to be embraced, and yet, a cherry tree it was. Do you know who chopped it down?
GEORGE: Chopping there was. Chopping indeed. And if it was chopping, unauthorized by you, then I can assure you that I am no fan of said chopping, which there strongly appears to have been.
MR WASHINGTON: Well. It wasn't plucked, was it? It was chopped. My question to you, son: Do you know whom it was who accomplished this chopping?
GEORGE: Knowing a thing, I agree, is much preferred. If one can know a thing about a thing, then one does certainly know at least that thing. And knowing in turn makes conditions very inhospitable for doubt or ignorance. No. I do not care for ignorance. I will not stand for it.
MR WASHINGTON: And here I stand, as yet unknowing. Son. My son. You were attendant this day. Can you, or can you not, give a name to the trespassing lumberjack who has laid waste to this cherry tree, and in so doing, robbed this family of uncounted seasons of cherry pie?
GEORGE: Sir, I am most certainly your son, and as such you are my Father. I believe this from the depths of my too human boy-heart and would climb this tree and shout the world deaf with the fact of it, were there still a tree here. As your son, know that this day does not contain within it hours enough for me to confess fully my fidelity to you, and to adequately express the passion with which I support both your right to admire trees and your inclination to enjoy pies. And the cherry tree is an honorable and beautiful fruit bearing tree. Lovely to look at. More lovely to eat. Fie this day that has denied you both!
MR WASHINGTON: George. Son. If a proper name is too lofty a reach for you, then can you at least provide some gauzy visage of a description that may, upon some ponderment, lead to a name?
GEORGE: There is something that does lead to a name. Leads if not directly to the name that gripped the axe - if, after all there was an axe. We must be careful not to leap to certainties, but to speak mainly in suppositions. Keeping our eyes on the surmise. After all, we cannot leave out an ambitious and well handled knife or spade. Anyway, a name can be approached with much earnest conjecture, and if that name is not the chopper of the tree, it may yet be the name that incited another to chop said tree in an act of proxy.
MR WASHINGTON: Anything.
GEORGE: There is a story being told in town of a certain lad who has taken it upon himself to litter the countryside with apple seeds.
MR WASHINGTON: Apples?
GEORGE: Apple seeds. Littering. Literally. Littering. The entire country.
MR WASHINGTON: Apple seeds?
GEORGE: Exactly. Apple seeds. Apparently the boy wanders about as a vagrant, unfettered by any purpose other than the casting of apple seeds onto whatever path his steps take him, not discerning whether that be a farmers field, a mayor's garden, or a pastor's churchyard.
MR WASHINGTON: And this leads us to our cherry stump, how?
GEORGE: Well, imagine the offences so sown? No one has asked this boy for apple trees, yet there he is planting wherever he pleases. Can you appreciate the concern of one finding an apple tree where one thought he had planted pumpkins, or had maybe hoped for an uninterrupted view of a lake, or even a cow? Strawberries? Nay. Apples. Corn? Not this day. Apples. Barn? No room. Apples. Gazebo? Rest elsewhere. Apples. Cherry Tree?
MR WASHINGTON: Are you proposing that this boy's discarded apple seeds swarmed up and consumed our cherry tree?
GEORGE: Not at all. What I'm suggesting - and it is only a suggestion - I would not venture the conceit of presenting a fact - although it is a very convenient and well fitting suggestion - that this boy has by his senseless, and yes, I'll call it - cruel - his cruel carelessness, has created a resentment toward trees. A resentment that has taken it's own root and spread from county to county. A resentment that has now cast it's shadow in our own village. It would not be a stretch to conjure a farmer, who upon encountering a third or fourth, perhaps even an eighth errant apple tree, in a place where he had gone out seeking hens, or even cherries, then took up his axe and went forth like a crusader to rid the countryside of apple trees. But when he was finished with the trees, he was no longer himself. No, he had become as a human locust, pushed beyond reclamation of his reason.
MR WASHINGTON: And chopped down our cherry tree.
GEORGE: Johnny. His name is Johnny. The apple seed boy.
MR WASHINGTON: Son. Please go in and tell your mother that there will be no cherries for a while, and then come out and meet me in the woodshed.
Friday, August 17, 2012
1. Happy Friday. My cold bottle of Fat Tire Amber says that I could win a bike. That bike. The one on the label. Went to the web site. Who knows? Turns out, my state doesn't allow winning prizes from alcoholic prizes. The alcohol is cool. Just no prizes.
2. Kids got invited to swim next door. Yay for them. House is soooo hot.
3. I mean really, really hot. So hot, I'm going to offer it up and get some Purgatorians into heaven.
4. Celebrating a whole week of sleeping with my CPAP. If I told you this while wearing it, it would sound like, "C-aaaahhhhh braaaaaaahhhh weaaaaaahhhh aaaaaaaahh waaaaaaah Caaaaaaaahh PaaaaaaaahP."
5.Kids are home, hungry, and Disney has taken over the living room. The hot living room. Some Purgatorian just said, "Sweet!"
6.I didn't check Facebook for a week. It didn't miss me.
7. My Bride just suggested we take the kids out of the hot house to Denny's. Sweet.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Of Course a Child
And then, a child again, to recognize His face,
to watch for stars, hear angels, and believe.
Humbled be, as humbled He, heaven’s happy choice.
Awaken wonder. Hope anew. To manger, run. Rejoice!
T. Silva, Dec. 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
It's true, but I don't always like to think about it. We shouldn't be surprised when we run into opposition as we labor in the daily work of the Gospel. It is difficult to interpret the stress and discouragement with which I struggle as an ataboy pat on the back. A heavy handed, sometimes not charitable pat, but an affirmation just the same. An affirmation that I'm involved in something extraordinary, that my little corner of the local Church is making progress and faithfully carrying forward the Lord's will, especially at those times when every little thing seems to come crashing down. If it's painful, it's probably gainful.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
Life to me, of course, is Christ, but then death would be a positive gain. On the other hand again, if to be alive in the body gives me an opportunity for fruitful work, I do not know which I should choose. I am caught in this dilemma: I want to be gone and to be with Christ, and this is by far the stronger desire- and yet for your sake to stay alive in this body is a more urgent need. (Phillipians 1:22-24)
If the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished" (1 Cor. 15:13–18).
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Could this be a plug for Ted Nugent's appearance next week on Fox News Network's new show Money Rocks, or simply a shout out to the career and musical legacy of the loud rocker? I think not and not. Ted Haggard is still sorry, but otherwise seems to be moving on with his ministry/career. Ted Williams frozen head isn't saying anything. I'll put him in the not likely having anything new to "hear" column along with Roosevelt and Kennedy. Ted Turner? Well - this was a church window.
Then it occurred to me - Saint Theodore! Yeah, that's the ticket. I pointed my keyboard towards this mystery saint only to find out that there were quite a lot of Saint Theodore's. Monks, martyrs, bishops, martyrs, soldiers, and more martyrs. I read of Saint Theodore I and Saint Theodore II. Also Saints Theodore of Cantbury and Bologna, Cyrene, Egypt, Studites and Sykeon. And of course, Saint Theodore's of Tabenna, Tarsus, Pausilippus, Pavia, Stratelates, Antioch and Trichinas. Oh, and St. Theodore the Sacrist.
Holy, courageous, inspiring, often tragic, and yet ultimately victorious men. Still, I did not come upon any direct quotes from any of them to "hear." Then I found St. Theodore Guerin, the newest of the Sainted Theodore's, also known as Saint Mother Theodore Guerin. Yes - no Theodora, yet still a lady. Mother Theodore Guerin was beatified by John Paul II in 2008, and as it turns out, is very much quoted. What follows are a few of my favorites, and definitely worth "hearing." For more on this awesome Nun and Foundress, visit the internet home of the Sisters of Providence of St. Mary of the Woods.
Regarding the Eucharist:
“Send your heart a thousand times a day to adore our Lord really and truly present in the Holy Sacrament.”
Regarding the human quality and simplicity to Mother Theodore’s perception of God
“[God] shares our miserable dwelling with us. He remains with us day and night. Yes, while you are peacefully sleeping Jesus is watching over you.” “The spirit of faith consists in doing our actions for God, in His presence, to look upon all events of life as directed by Him.”
Very cool indeed. I'm glad I decided to "Hear-Ted." Thanks window.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Three boys and one fly ball. A collision of intent. The result: a missed catch and grass stains on the Sunday pants. The problem wasn't in the fit of the gloves, or in the eyes of the catchers. The problem wasn't even the uncomfortable Sunday clothes. The problem was the intent. Instead of intending that the ball be caught, each boy intended passionately to be the one catching the ball. Great passion badly played.
How often do I find myself making this rookie error in my daily life? Doing things my way. Failing to communicate. Unwilling to yield my opinion. Measuring the big wins by personal gains. Wondering why everyone isn't on the same page - my page.
Luckily, our God is an awesome coach. I can hear Him calling patiently from the dugout, His arms pressed against the chain link. "Ok guys. Let's talk to each other out there."
Sometimes life puts us in right field to watch some other teammate suck up all the action and glory at shortstop. Other times we're in right field praying the big lefty will pull to left field. Accumulating personal gain and avoiding personal pain. Mine!