Walking The Line

At my son’s high school, the main student parking lot is across the street from the school. Students must cross the street to get to the school. Unfortunately, to drop our son off, we must turn right at the same corner the students cross.

This is where I go crazy.

Most of the students do not cross the street in a straight line. Instead, they come about two thirds of the way across the street, then angle to the left, toward the gate they must enter. Because they take the angle, they remain in the street longer. This, of course, forces us to wait longer before we make our turn. Which tends to frustrate me in the hustle and bustle of getting everyone to school and work.

I’ve spoken with some of these students and they all believe one thing: Crossing at the angle gets them to the curb and the gate faster.

From the student’s viewpoint, their reasoning seems logical. That is, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Since they want to get to the gate, turning toward it while crossing the street saves them some steps. However, as they do so, they miss the consequences of their actions. They miss the frustration and delay they cause the drivers trying to turn right at the corner. And they expose themselves to danger.

All this got me to thinking about my walk with God.

You see, walking with God is like crossing the street. If you stay within the crosswalk and cross with the light, you get across safely and quickly. But if you wander off at an angle outside the crosswalk, thinking you’re taking a shortcut, you walk out of your protection. Which means you can get hurt more easily.

Too often, I have fallen into the temptation of taking the shortcut, thinking it would be OK.

Skipping morning prayers.
Watching that questionable programming.
Visiting websites best left alone.

More often than not, when I tried walking outside of God’s purpose for my life, I got into trouble. That’s the thing. I can choose to walk in the crosswalk of God’s merciful plan for my life, or I can meander outside the protection of His grace.

Staying in the crosswalk gets me to where I’m going, quickly, within His protection. Angling outside of his path exposes me to danger, potholes, obstacles and oncoming traffic.

I know, this seems so fundamental, even juvenile. But how often do we go our own way, thinking that we’ll get there faster or easier, only to find ourselves in trouble, or worse, in dangerous circumstances? The crosswalk is there for a reason; to protect us as we cross a dangerous place.

I recently faced a severe time crunch on a looming project deadline. I had three hours to complete a video for a trade show. However, my client wanted me to make changes to an animation within the video. To do this, I would have to recreate the animation elements, then re-edit the special effects for the animation. These changes would require two hours of work.

I was tempted to try and cut some corners in order to make things move more quickly. However, when I thought about it, I figured out my shortcut would actually take longer than the expected two hours. I took a few moments to pray, asking God for a solution.

He delivered.

In the pressure of the moment, I had overlooked a simple solution. Since the only thing changing were some colors in the elements, I could replace the elements without having to redo the effects. What I had figured would take me two hours only took me twenty minutes. All because I took a moment to ask God to show me the way.

God’s plan and purpose for our life is there for a reason; to protect us as we move through this life. So stay the course; walk the walk; follow where He leads.

It really is that simple.

Great Expectations

Tension ran high during the final seconds of the match as the home team made one last, desperate push toward the goal. Down one to nil, they needed the equaliser or the match was lost. The home team expected their two prolific forwards to come through again.

Both players charged toward the goal, defenders desperately trying to stop the inevitable. The hometown hero drove hard down the left into the 18-yard box, blasting a shot toward the right corner. The sweeper brilliantly deflected the shot toward the middle, only to have the hometown center put a curving shot toward the left corner.

The diving goalie fisted the ball to the left and into the waiting chest of the hometown midfielder, who cushioned the ball to the ground and fired at the goal. The ball smacked the post and bounced harmlessly away toward the corner as time expired. The only sound in the stadium was the whooping cheers of the visitors.

The home town fans expected one of their two great forwards to tie the match. The action in front of the visiting net made a score seem likely. When the mid-fielder took the shot, every fan in the stadium stood, expecting - knowing - that the equaliser was about to be scored. Imagine the deep disappointment when what seemed likely faded away into a scenario never considered.

During this Advent season, I find myself facing a scenario I never considered. The prevailing economic conditions here in the U.S., my continued unemployment and other circumstances weigh heavily in my life. I never expected to find myself in this kind of situation. I had hoped to find work quickly after graduating school last year. More often than not, I feel like the mid-fielder, having kicked the ball off the post. Things look kinda bleak, if I’m to be honest with you. Which is why my expectations surprise me a little bit.

You see, I find myself, surprisingly, not too worried about my economic status. In fact, I am remarkably peaceful on these things. God continues to provide for my family’s needs, so I gratefully count my blessings. But this isn’t why I’m surprised. I’m surprised because there is in me this deep, deep expectation that God will show himself to me in a way I haven’t known before.

For a time, this was, for me, like the pained silence after the missed kick off the post. Hopes and dreams shattered in a moment, leaving only the bitter taste of defeat. Still, I began to hear things again, like an old familiar melody. The are birds singing, even though it’s winter. The wind is dancing through the trees while they clap their empty fingers in rhythm. Someone is laughing, off in the distance. I can even hear my own heartbeat from time to time. Amid this music, playing within the silence, I am surprised by the simple joy within me as I look for Him.

I expect to hear His voice call out to me and see His smile as he warmly embraces me. I expect to sit with Him and speak with Him and hear what He has to say about the things going on today. I expect to encounter Him in prayer and in the Word. I expect to embrace Him fully in the Eucharist, and see to His needs in the poor and the hungry. I expect to find Him in the unlikeliest of places and hope to see Him when I least expect Him. I look for Him around every corner and scan for Him amid the faces in the crowd. Like the deer that pants for living water, I am delightfully surprised that my soul, my heart, and all that is within me is aching with a deep, deep longing for Him. I just want Him. I even think I am beginning to understand when the woman said “If I could only touch the hem of His garment…”

So I wait. With great expectations.

Let Me Introduce My Mother

I Didn’t Know Her
When I was in college, I sang baritone in four choirs. So did Diane.

Diane was a soprano gifted with an incredible voice. With a rich, warm tone and a range just short of three octaves, Diane was one of those gifted singers that could make anything sound perfect.

Vocal jazz - perfect.
Chamber music - perfect.
Choral music - perfect.
Broadway show-tunes - beyond perfect.

Diane was also strikingly beautiful. From her almond shaped eyes, her mane of curly auburn hair and the light sprinkling of freckles across her perfect nose, Diane was admired by almost every baritone (including me) and envied by more than one of the other ladies in the choir.

Just recently, I took my wife and son to an outdoor doo-wop concert featuring some old buddies from my college choir. When I went to congratulate my old friends after the concert, guess who I ran into.

Diane.

I must admit, I was stunned. Even after twenty years, she had changed very little, except for a few smile lines around her eyes. She was still a lovely woman. With those darned freckles. Although I recognized her immediately, I found myself unable to approach her and say hello. Why?

I realized that I didn’t know her.

Sure, my memories of her from college are all great. I remember her singing “America the Beautiful” with…oh gosh, I don’t remember her name…but I remember Diane. I remember she was kinda quiet, humble, smiled a lot, acted gently and generally seemed to treat everyone with kindness and respect. The truth is, I liked and admired Diane, even though I didn’t know her personally.

So when I saw her after the outdoor concert, I couldn’t bring myself to say hello. Oh, I’m sure if I had said hello, she would’ve greeted me kindly and graciously. But I didn’t know her.

So, instead of saying hello, I left, realizing I probably would never see her again.

I’m telling you this story because, for a long time, my experience with Diane was exactly the same as my experience with Our Blessed Mother, Mary.

“This Is My Mother”
From the time I made my first communion and learned to pray the rosary back in the spring of 1977, I viewed Mary the Mother of God with admiration - from a distance. The truth is, like Diane, I knew a lot about Mary.

She was chosen by God to bear His Son.
She accepted her calling with grace and dignity.
She raised Jesus into manhood.
She was assumed body and soul into heaven.
She gave us the gift of the rosary.

And like I admired Diane, I admired what I saw in Mary. However, I didn’t feel particularly close to Mary. But all that changed in the spring of 2003.

I was helping my friend, Mark Ferrel, during a ministry trip in Hartford, Connecticut. I video taped the meetings and services and helped out when I could. One evening, we conducted a retreat at a local retreat center.

As usual, we were late. I began to set up the equipment while Mark and the others stacked all the cases on a table in the back. During the retreat, for some reason, I began to think about Mary and how I didn’t really “know” her. So right there, in the middle of the retreat, I silently began to pray.

“Lord, I don’t know your mother. Please, let me know your mother. Please.”

As I prayed, I began to cry. I realized I deeply wanted to know our mother, but, for whatever reasons, felt I didn’t. As I cried and prayed in the back of the room, I began to see a vision in my heart. I saw Jesus come to me and gently grab my arm, while He beckoned me with His other hand. He led me to a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in a simple dress, covered with a white mantle.

“Daniel, I’d like you to meet my mother.”

He gently placed my hand in hers.

“She’s your mother too.”

As I heard our Lord speak these words to me, I smiled and began to weep. I looked into her face and could see her love. I knew she loved me.

Eventually, this vision and the meeting ended. I began to clean up, putting the camera equipment in their cases. With everything packed, I grabbed a couple of the cases off the table. I almost fell to my knees.

There, under the case, was a picture of Mary!

The same Mary our Lord had introduced me to! Her picture was there, under the glass tabletop! I marveled because I had never seen the picture before. In fact, all the cases were on the table before I came into the room. There was no way for me to see the picture until I moved the case. I asked our host about the picture.

“That is a picture from Medjugorje. A priest took a picture during one of Mary’s visitations and when he developed it, this image of Mary is what appeared.”

Jesus introduced me to our mother, then provided me with her picture.

I still have that picture. Right here in my heart.