Perspective on things human and divine
(Posted from my iPhone)
I’m not a computer expert. But whirring, strange sounds and smoke can’t be a good thing.
At least there wasn’t a fire. That would have mangled my new paperweight.
Dear friends, my computer is now resting in peace. Frozen. Think road kill in Antarctica. And since I’m a starving writer without a trust fund, my blog is unfortunately down for the count. Nonetheless, we will be back.
Your prayers would be most appreciated.
God bless!
The blending or interweave of dimensions––threads of creation in my view––whether it’s physical (length, breadth and depth), cosmological (time, matter and space), human (physical, mental, spiritual), or experiential (real, imagined or mystical) has always been a source of fascination for me.
However, it’s the mystical aspects of our experience––the realm of miracles––that I find so intriguing. Especially when one enters this realm and a life’s trajectory changes as a result.
First, my definition of miracles. I characterize subtle miracles as the wonders that filter through happenstance––only understood when connected retrospectively. Something that is beyond circumstance and clearly demonstrates God’s touch. The mind-blowing, heaven-rending miracles are for Moses, Padre Pio or the Fatima visionaries. As grand and faith affirming as those are, I’m going to tell you about a subtle miracle. Mine.
Due to a strange compulsion to pick up a book, I never would have begun the necessary introspection to discover and accept the grace of God. Because of one incredible woman’s courage, I did not jump into the void. By virtue of God’s introduction––His mystical hand––I began to turn away from self and look to Him as the source and summit of life.
Inspiration is multi-faceted. It can apply to a muse, to creativity or even blinding revelation. In those dark, God-denying days, as I was falling into terrible hopelessness, God chose a person of faith to inspire me.
We’re fairly close to Oscars time (February 24) and once again the culture takes center stage. After the latest horrendous killing of 26 precious beings, is it fair to ask if Hollywood is complicit in the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings?
I wouldn’t make that specific connection but clearly, violence in our culture is having a negative impact on the impressionable and unstable.
I have some experience with the entertainment industry. I spent a couple of years learning the craft of screenwriting and practicing the art but unfortunately, I never made a dime.
I gave up eventually and headed back to the financial thunderdome. But I never stopped writing screenplays. Let me explain.
I’ve sent my script The End of Man to a few intermediaries who’ve said they’d do their best to get it on the desks of entertainment executives. I have a feeling that no one has read it. Perhaps worse, they’ve all read it and hate it. No, I doubt that. I know it has potential. But it appears that the new tuxedo I was going to wear for this year’s Oscars will have to continue to collect dust. I was certain that someone would have invited me as an up and coming talent. So what if I’m old. Oh well, not to be. Shame.
If only I had a chance to rock the world with an acceptance speech. What would I say? Well, culture has certainly been on my mind…
The Walk for Life is this weekend in San Francisco. In thinking about the holocaust of babies, I came across a picture of four doctors posing together at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival; Doctors LeRoy Carhart, Warren Hern, Susan Robinson and Shelley Sella.
Three out of the four seem to be having a nice time. They were the subjects of the documentary After Tiller. (Dr. George Tiller, a late-term abortion provider, was murdered in 2009.) The doctors were most likely standing on a red carpet, a place of honor. Dubious distinction I would suggest.
They are the only four physicians in the U.S. who perform third-trimester abortions.
Please take a moment and look at the faces in the picture. If you’re like me, a flood of thoughts and emotions will pour over mind and body. Clearly, they are dedicated. They know the personal risks. Is care or even love for their pregnant patient their overriding concern? Or something else? I don’t know these people but I would like to—so that we could talk. Individually would be best. I would listen with as much compassion as I could muster then I’d pray that the Holy Spirit guide me. So that I could convince them to stop.
Dr. Robinson, who worked with Dr. Tiller, said, “We learned at his knee. Kindness, courtesy, justice, love and respect are the hallmarks of a good doctor-patient relationship.”
The irony of that statement doesn’t need my amplification.
At the outset, foryourmarriage.org is an initiative of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. The website discusses dating, marriage, parenting and much more. The dating information, in particular, reminds me of how misguided my romantic modus operandi used to be. Need evidence? Think of the following as a Public Service Announcement on the folly of superficial romance.
Valentine’s Day will be here in a few weeks so I should probably start planning my annual no-date. It will take six seconds. Since I’m not taking myself to dinner or giving myself expensive gifts or writing myself a poem to be memorialized in the Cupidic hall of fame, not much to do.
You see, at the present time I’m flying solo. Apparently, I’ve been given some cooling off time in the romantic fridge. It also seems that I’m living in a figurative desert. Since I’m not being rained upon by romantic possibilities, an umbrella is the last thing I need. God, is all this your doing? Was I really that bad at love? Can I assume this respite won’t last forty years?
Where do I begin?
I’ve loved six women in my life (fortunately, it wasn’t at the same time). Ultimately, I was not the man they wanted me to be so we quietly parted ways. My life was privileged having known them but I was too stupid to know it.
Any one of them would have been a great wife and mother (although I will say that religion was rarely part of the conversation since I was an atheist). They were smart, giving, beautiful and fun. Some of the relationships lasted a short time but one lasted for more than a decade. Nevertheless, when the time came to commit, I couldn’t do it.
Not so long ago, I entered the Catholic Church on my hands and knees. Humbled by an atheistic life that was propelled by selfishness, materialism and lousy steering, I crashed into a wall. So groveling for God’s favor is an apt metaphor.
In time, I was able to find a direction for my life–and stand–because the teachings of the Church became my true bearing. Buttressed by crystalline religious truths that melted away my cynicism and doubts, I eventually learned to walk in faith.
The path has been wondrous.
However, there’s an aspect to the Catholic perspective that draws me back to my knees–in a good way. Like a wide-eyed child who sees a butterfly for the first time, I’m in awe of the mysterious interplay between the natural and the spiritual, where mystics and saints have supporting roles in humanity’s epic drama. Directed by God, of course. It’s faith reaffirming.
Yet, there are extraordinary moments–supernatural private revelations–when Mary, the Mother of God herself intercedes in a person’s life and graces them with a glimpse of the Divine. Is the following story such an instance?
Claude Newman, an illiterate African-American man born in 1923, murdered his beloved grandmother’s abusive husband in 1942. Stealing the man’s money, Claude fled but was captured in a short amount of time. He was returned to Mississippi, found guilty by a jury and sentenced to die in the electric chair. [Note - As to motive, Claude may have murdered this man because he was caught raping Claude's wife.]
Awaiting execution, Claude passes the time in his cell block with four other men. One night, he notices a “trinket” around another prisoner’s neck, he asks about it, there’s an argument, and the trinket is thrown to the floor. “Take the thing,” the man says. Strangely compelled, Claude places it around his neck. He has no idea that it’s the Miraculous Medal of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
I did a bit of verbal riffing today?
Getting closer to God is one of my preoccupations––building a relationship wherein I’m strengthened by Him to meet the myriad trials of the day.
Of course, embracing all aspects of love is preeminent to closeness because without love in one’s life, we distance ourselves from God. It’s tantamount to watching a flower drift away with the ebb tide.
When it comes to friendship with God, something else besides love comes to mind. He has given us the gift of creation––most properly, man and woman lovingly united in marriage becoming one flesh to create new life––so that we are grafted to Him and joyfully participate in His plan and the world.
However, there is another facet of creation that I find fascinating. The creative process. As a writer, it’s plain fun to ponder the deep questions of man as well as the trivial. You never know where the exploration will take you. Moreover, the great rewards are those moments when thinking is interrupted––when inspiration takes control and you write something better than good. And you know those special words aren’t yours but that they came from somewhere else. The Gospel writers could shed some spectacular insight on this very subject.
So where am I going with today’s post? Today I feel like thinking. Let’s wander through the cracks and crevasses of my brain and see what’s written on the walls.
On my prayer meter, yesterday moved the needle quite well, thank you. Although, I do wonder whether my liberal sprinkling of “but” and “however” tarnish the process.
[Lord, please make me your servant of evangelization but if you want me to make a killing in the private sector so that I can give all the money away, I’m good with that. However, can we decide on a direction soon? Things are getting a bit dicey on my end.]
It’s just that I was trying to be so spot-on precise––I was talking to God and I was keen on not messing up. But inevitably, I did. While on my knees, I had this random thought that I was spending way too much time talking about me and not praying for others.
So what did I do? I cracked a joke, which immediately triggered self-reproach because the last thing I needed was for God to think I was irreverent.
However, this is what stress does to me. I begin to worry that I’m failing at prayer––because life is not improving. And at the moment, it seems most of my anxiety can be attributed to no job and funds shrinking faster than a thoroughly doused Wicked Witch of the West. The worrying––clearly a lack of trust (sort of) in God’s will––is the mental manifestation of pressure. The physical is the flip side of the coin and from experience; it can be a very warped currency.
Let me explain. A few years ago during a particularly troubling time, I was sitting down for lunch at a friend’s house, I picked up my glass of cranberry juice and within milliseconds, I began to shake uncontrollably. I was like the courageous and admirable Michael J. Fox––bless his heart––on a bad day. As if I was raucously celebrating a Super Bowl victory with champagne, the juice was splashing and spraying everywhere. I could’ve been a fountain in some Roman piazza. I was barely able to get the glass to my lips.
@MarcusASteele 【ＲＥＴＷＥＥＴ】&Please FoLLow, @IleshKandolaquA @Cr4zyUncleJoe @KatanaSonoQPK @IbraheemMopelol they FoLLowBack 
The Eucharist is a feast for souls and a celebration of divine union. The Eucharist makes sense, isn't nonsensical & reflects the quintessential Truth that the Body & Blood of Christ is present. 
@MarcusASteele Christ's light prevails in spite of heavy times.Experiences we encounter in life = means of redemption. Your light shines. My father was veteran of WWII, Korea and Vietnam. God rest your soul. I love and miss you. @KatherineTrunk Thank you! Unfortunately man's fallen nature has destined us to the fighting of wars until the second coming @MarcusASteele Wishing you a blessed Memorial Day. Over there. The oversized bully with that stupid smirk. His pockets full of your lunch money. He thinks he's untouchable. Think IRS. If you're standing at the precipice in the fog, one doesn't worry about the next step. America, be careful. Pray for clarity. Money, power, pleasure, honor. Aquinas nailed it. The 4 great temptations-our gods-our tickets to hell. Look at Washington.