Friday, April 26, 2013
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Sometimes I need a reminder...
Long-time readers of this oft-neglected blog might remember the stories I used to tell about my Sunday school class. I'm still teaching the same class. I'm in the middle of my third year, and boy have the record snows around here messed up the schedule! We'll be able to make up the time, so that's good, but Lent's going to be a long one, I'm afraid.
This is the time of year when getting motivated to teach class is always hardest. I don't know why. But between Christmas and that special "light-bulb week" somewhere before the last class in April, it's a slog. It's the time of year when I tell myself "this is it, I'm not doing this again next year."
But then inevitably I have moments like the one this morning.
After a pretty good class this morning, I had to run across the parking lot to read at the 10:30 Mass. I was a little harried, and the church was packed...at least three deep in the back. Probably the busiest it's been in weeks. At the end of Mass, I gathered up all my stuff, stepped out of the pew, genuflected and as I stood up, was greeted by the smiling face of a former student. But not just any former student.
Long-time readers will also remember my stories about my student, Alex, who battled a brain tumor toward the end of his first year in class. The tumor meant that his sacraments had to be administered from a hospital bed prior to surgery. But he returned last year to be confirmed. He was still undergoing chemo treatments, and wore his trusty knit cap for his confirmation.
This was the smiling face I was greeted by this morning -- minus the knit cap and his braces. He's doing great, and apparently saw me reading and wanted to come up to say hello.
The Lord knows I need little reminders of what it's all about to keep me motivated this time of year. This morning, my reminder came in the form of Alex. :)
This is the time of year when getting motivated to teach class is always hardest. I don't know why. But between Christmas and that special "light-bulb week" somewhere before the last class in April, it's a slog. It's the time of year when I tell myself "this is it, I'm not doing this again next year."
But then inevitably I have moments like the one this morning.
After a pretty good class this morning, I had to run across the parking lot to read at the 10:30 Mass. I was a little harried, and the church was packed...at least three deep in the back. Probably the busiest it's been in weeks. At the end of Mass, I gathered up all my stuff, stepped out of the pew, genuflected and as I stood up, was greeted by the smiling face of a former student. But not just any former student.
Long-time readers will also remember my stories about my student, Alex, who battled a brain tumor toward the end of his first year in class. The tumor meant that his sacraments had to be administered from a hospital bed prior to surgery. But he returned last year to be confirmed. He was still undergoing chemo treatments, and wore his trusty knit cap for his confirmation.
This was the smiling face I was greeted by this morning -- minus the knit cap and his braces. He's doing great, and apparently saw me reading and wanted to come up to say hello.
The Lord knows I need little reminders of what it's all about to keep me motivated this time of year. This morning, my reminder came in the form of Alex. :)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A wonderfully unexpected journey
It's been more than a month since I last posted, so I guess it's time for an update!
Like I wrote in my last entry, my Metro commuting days have come to a merciful end, and I have embarked on a new and entirely unexpected journey. Looking back I really couldn't tell you how this all happened. It just did. I mark my one-month anniversary this Thursday, and I still pinch myself on a regular basis.
I don't really have the words to articulate how much I love my new job. Aside from the surface things -- the money, the location, the greater responsibility -- this opportunity is really turning out to be something special. I haven't felt so "at home" in a situation since I was a college student.
When I was in high school and was first bitten by the journalism bug, I dreamed of doing such noble things -- giving voice to the voiceless and righting wrongs. With my pen and paper and keyboard, my writing could have an impact, my work had a purpose for the greater good. Well, I did write a few stories that fit that description and I will be forever proud of those efforts. But not everyone in the business strives for or considers such lofty ideas.
For the first time since I realized the power of the pen, I'm waking up in the morning filled with that same sense of purpose. My byline isn't on the front page of the paper or online every morning anymore. And I'm not chasing after the governor or some other high-profile state official.
No, instead, I'm traveling up and down the Northeast coast meeting and getting to know a group of men who've given their lives to the service of the Church, specifically the poorest and most abandoned of her members. My abilities are now at their service. My words -- written and spoken -- and my photos are the tools that will help them support themselves in the future, and, God willing, draw more to their ranks.
I really don't know how I got here, and I don't know how or why these men have so quickly found their way into my heart, but I know my priority every day is to do my best for them. They are and have been a gift to so many. My prayer is that they continue to be such a gift for years to come.
Like I wrote in my last entry, my Metro commuting days have come to a merciful end, and I have embarked on a new and entirely unexpected journey. Looking back I really couldn't tell you how this all happened. It just did. I mark my one-month anniversary this Thursday, and I still pinch myself on a regular basis.
I don't really have the words to articulate how much I love my new job. Aside from the surface things -- the money, the location, the greater responsibility -- this opportunity is really turning out to be something special. I haven't felt so "at home" in a situation since I was a college student.
When I was in high school and was first bitten by the journalism bug, I dreamed of doing such noble things -- giving voice to the voiceless and righting wrongs. With my pen and paper and keyboard, my writing could have an impact, my work had a purpose for the greater good. Well, I did write a few stories that fit that description and I will be forever proud of those efforts. But not everyone in the business strives for or considers such lofty ideas.
For the first time since I realized the power of the pen, I'm waking up in the morning filled with that same sense of purpose. My byline isn't on the front page of the paper or online every morning anymore. And I'm not chasing after the governor or some other high-profile state official.
No, instead, I'm traveling up and down the Northeast coast meeting and getting to know a group of men who've given their lives to the service of the Church, specifically the poorest and most abandoned of her members. My abilities are now at their service. My words -- written and spoken -- and my photos are the tools that will help them support themselves in the future, and, God willing, draw more to their ranks.
I really don't know how I got here, and I don't know how or why these men have so quickly found their way into my heart, but I know my priority every day is to do my best for them. They are and have been a gift to so many. My prayer is that they continue to be such a gift for years to come.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The end of my Metro days
Yes, yes, I know, I fell off the face of the earth there for awhile. But Easter, interviewing for a new job, accepting said new job, preparing 26 kids to become Catholic, and resigning from my existing job have all kept me kinda busy.
At the moment I'm enjoying some long-awaited downtime before I start this new chapter in my life. Last week was my last one as a commuter on the D.C. Metro, and true to form the nation's capital's public transit system just couldn't let me go without a little drama on my last afternoon ride home.
I had a seat in the middle of the first car on the train. We were stopped at the last station in the District. The doors opened, people got off the train and there was the usual few second lag before the driver closed the doors again. In that lag of a few seconds, a black kid, probably 18 or 19, comes running on the train through the first door in the car. He was pursued by a police officer -- short black guy wearing a navy blue vest that said police on it. The kid exited the train through the car's middle door, still pursued by the officer who was yelling into his radio that the kid was coming back toward what we all assumed was more police officers.
There was zero reaction among the train passengers, by the way, through all this -- no screams, no talking. Everyone simply looked up from what they were reading or watching on their iPods and watched the cop chasing this kid.
When the cop and the kid exited the train, we all started craning our necks to see behind us where it seemed the kid had been caught and the chase was over. But then, a few seconds after the kid and the cop left, another police officer boarded the train through the door the previous two had just exited. This was a short white guy, again same blue police vest...this guy had his gun drawn and just stood there looking around the car.
At this point, a number of passengers spoke up and told the cop, "they went that way!," pointing in the opposite direction. The cop looked bewildered and hurriedly left the train. How he got on the train without seeing the swarm of his colleagues around this kid, I'll never know. But he left us all on the train in stitches. Everyone got a good chuckle out of it.
Once the second cop had left the train, the doors closed and we proceeded on our way. There wasn't really any delay...all of this happened in the space of maybe two minutes.
But I guess I simply couldn't end my days as a Metro commuter without a little drama.
At the moment I'm enjoying some long-awaited downtime before I start this new chapter in my life. Last week was my last one as a commuter on the D.C. Metro, and true to form the nation's capital's public transit system just couldn't let me go without a little drama on my last afternoon ride home.
I had a seat in the middle of the first car on the train. We were stopped at the last station in the District. The doors opened, people got off the train and there was the usual few second lag before the driver closed the doors again. In that lag of a few seconds, a black kid, probably 18 or 19, comes running on the train through the first door in the car. He was pursued by a police officer -- short black guy wearing a navy blue vest that said police on it. The kid exited the train through the car's middle door, still pursued by the officer who was yelling into his radio that the kid was coming back toward what we all assumed was more police officers.
There was zero reaction among the train passengers, by the way, through all this -- no screams, no talking. Everyone simply looked up from what they were reading or watching on their iPods and watched the cop chasing this kid.
When the cop and the kid exited the train, we all started craning our necks to see behind us where it seemed the kid had been caught and the chase was over. But then, a few seconds after the kid and the cop left, another police officer boarded the train through the door the previous two had just exited. This was a short white guy, again same blue police vest...this guy had his gun drawn and just stood there looking around the car.
At this point, a number of passengers spoke up and told the cop, "they went that way!," pointing in the opposite direction. The cop looked bewildered and hurriedly left the train. How he got on the train without seeing the swarm of his colleagues around this kid, I'll never know. But he left us all on the train in stitches. Everyone got a good chuckle out of it.
Once the second cop had left the train, the doors closed and we proceeded on our way. There wasn't really any delay...all of this happened in the space of maybe two minutes.
But I guess I simply couldn't end my days as a Metro commuter without a little drama.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Hope for us works in progress
I especially enjoyed this reflection at this point in Lent. Here's an excerpt (courtesy of the National Catholic Register's commentary section):
God is an artist who has given his works the tremendous gift of being able to participate in their own creation. In his Letter to Artists, John Paul II tells us, “All men and women are entrusted with the task of crafting their own life: In a certain sense, they are to make of it a work of art, a masterpiece.”
But becoming a masterpiece is not easy. It requires courage. The man who gambles his entire life for pennies will never win big. Or, as Kierkegaard puts it, “To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.”
Imagine if St. Joan of Arc had decided that it would be better to just stay in Rouen and be a nice, pious, good little girl? Or if St. Peter had decided that it was irresponsible to leave his fishing nets untended? If St. John the Baptist had tried to find a way of calling Herod to repentance without offending anyone? If St. George had been too modern and sensible to believe in dragons?
The courage required to become ourselves is, more often than not, the courage to be taken for a fool. “We are fools for Christ’s sake” (1 Corinthians 4:10). The respectable Christianity that is so often mocked and abused by atheist writers deserves every ounce of venom that it receives; Christ never called anyone to be respectable.
Why? Because heroes are never respectable.
They are very often respected (though generally not until after they have completed their quests), but, nonetheless, they are always a little odd. There is a kind of glamour that hangs around a Bilbo Baggins after he returns from the Misty Mountains, but the upright, ordinary folk will continue to warn their children that people who go in search of treasure are liable to become a dragon’s dinner.
Now, not everyone is called to be a public hero.
. . . . .
The soul that risks little cannot accomplish its own being. ...
Yet, it is frightening, because we do not know what we are called to become. Our identity is a mystery, hidden in the mind of God. It cannot be penetrated by our attempts at knowledge, “for no science can say who man is, where he comes from or where he is going” (to quote Benedict XVI’s address to a conference on “The Changing Human Identity”).
It cannot be discovered through navel-gazing and self-realization workshops. It can only be discovered in the process of living. ...
Read the whole thing here.
God is an artist who has given his works the tremendous gift of being able to participate in their own creation. In his Letter to Artists, John Paul II tells us, “All men and women are entrusted with the task of crafting their own life: In a certain sense, they are to make of it a work of art, a masterpiece.”
But becoming a masterpiece is not easy. It requires courage. The man who gambles his entire life for pennies will never win big. Or, as Kierkegaard puts it, “To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.”
Imagine if St. Joan of Arc had decided that it would be better to just stay in Rouen and be a nice, pious, good little girl? Or if St. Peter had decided that it was irresponsible to leave his fishing nets untended? If St. John the Baptist had tried to find a way of calling Herod to repentance without offending anyone? If St. George had been too modern and sensible to believe in dragons?
The courage required to become ourselves is, more often than not, the courage to be taken for a fool. “We are fools for Christ’s sake” (1 Corinthians 4:10). The respectable Christianity that is so often mocked and abused by atheist writers deserves every ounce of venom that it receives; Christ never called anyone to be respectable.
Why? Because heroes are never respectable.
They are very often respected (though generally not until after they have completed their quests), but, nonetheless, they are always a little odd. There is a kind of glamour that hangs around a Bilbo Baggins after he returns from the Misty Mountains, but the upright, ordinary folk will continue to warn their children that people who go in search of treasure are liable to become a dragon’s dinner.
Now, not everyone is called to be a public hero.
. . . . .
The soul that risks little cannot accomplish its own being. ...
Yet, it is frightening, because we do not know what we are called to become. Our identity is a mystery, hidden in the mind of God. It cannot be penetrated by our attempts at knowledge, “for no science can say who man is, where he comes from or where he is going” (to quote Benedict XVI’s address to a conference on “The Changing Human Identity”).
It cannot be discovered through navel-gazing and self-realization workshops. It can only be discovered in the process of living. ...
Read the whole thing here.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
And that has made all the difference...
It's Wednesday. Two more days till Friday. Can't wait for the rain they're calling for tomorrow so it washes the pollen out of the air.
The economy still stinks. Obama's still apparently on track to deliver the commencement address at Notre Dame. And we've got 18 more days till Easter.
But the good news is that a little more than 2,000 years ago, a poor young Jewish girl said "yes."
And that has made all the difference in the world!
Happy Solemnity of the Annunciation, the commemoration of the Word made flesh and dwelling among us!
The economy still stinks. Obama's still apparently on track to deliver the commencement address at Notre Dame. And we've got 18 more days till Easter.
But the good news is that a little more than 2,000 years ago, a poor young Jewish girl said "yes."
And that has made all the difference in the world!
Happy Solemnity of the Annunciation, the commemoration of the Word made flesh and dwelling among us!
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Muse: Morning colors
This is the first of what I hope will become a regular feature on this blog. A little bit of writing about whatever happens to strike my fancy that particular day. This morning it was the sunrise. When you live near the water like I do it can be spectacular!
The horizon warms to a pale golden glow, lightening the water from black to a deep royal blue and edging the blue-gray clouds with pale pink. Rays of light cast sheathes of mauve and deep rose on the tips of the tallest trees and on certain patches of forest -- but not all -- leaving most in an indistinct steel-gray shadow, as if the light were filtered through a pock-marked concrete wall.
The horizon warms to a pale golden glow, lightening the water from black to a deep royal blue and edging the blue-gray clouds with pale pink. Rays of light cast sheathes of mauve and deep rose on the tips of the tallest trees and on certain patches of forest -- but not all -- leaving most in an indistinct steel-gray shadow, as if the light were filtered through a pock-marked concrete wall.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Advent songbird
I was on the Metro this morning, on a running-late train, minding my own business with my nose in my Washington Post. We were stopped at a station. The doors closed and a man's voice behind me said, "Good morning. Excuse me, please." And he began to sing.
A lovely tenor with a foreign accent, Middle Eastern or Indian maybe, but I never saw his face so I don't really know. He sang three verses of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." He was on key and he did a wonderful job. If you've ever tried to sing that song in public, believe me it's not easy. That song is a serious exercise in breath control!
He finished his song to some scattered applause, wished everyone in the car a blessed day, and left.
I never know quite what to think when something like that happens on the train. Sometimes it's a person who's a little unbalanced and it becomes an annoyance. And I always wonder what's going through other passengers' heads in this politically correct, relativistic world.
But sitting there listening to that song this morning, it made me grateful that I live in a place where that man could do that. For all the rhetoric in the world, he still has a right to do what he did, and there is still enough of a Christian bedrock in our society that no one booed him or told him to be quiet or otherwise prevented him from reminding us the true reason for the season.
Happy Advent!
A lovely tenor with a foreign accent, Middle Eastern or Indian maybe, but I never saw his face so I don't really know. He sang three verses of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." He was on key and he did a wonderful job. If you've ever tried to sing that song in public, believe me it's not easy. That song is a serious exercise in breath control!
He finished his song to some scattered applause, wished everyone in the car a blessed day, and left.
I never know quite what to think when something like that happens on the train. Sometimes it's a person who's a little unbalanced and it becomes an annoyance. And I always wonder what's going through other passengers' heads in this politically correct, relativistic world.
But sitting there listening to that song this morning, it made me grateful that I live in a place where that man could do that. For all the rhetoric in the world, he still has a right to do what he did, and there is still enough of a Christian bedrock in our society that no one booed him or told him to be quiet or otherwise prevented him from reminding us the true reason for the season.
Happy Advent!
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Blessings of friendship
For anyone waiting for my musings on the election, don't worry, they're coming. Tomorrow.
But tonight I just have to celebrate friendship a little bit.
I happen to have a friend from college who entered the Poor Clares about a year and a half ago. She'd discerned that this was her vocation and she patiently waited for a number of years while she paid off her student loans before she was finally able to start her life with the sisters. Last Saturday, on the feast of All Saints, she became a novice, which means she received her habit and her new name. She also removed her shoes -- except for working or praying outside in their gardens, these Poor Clares go barefoot.
This afternoon a group of about two dozen friends got to visit with the new novice in the convent's parlor. The Poor Clares are cloistered, and according to old custom, our newly-minted sister visited with us from behind a fine wire screen. We could all see and hear each other, but we couldn't touch, couldn't hug. The closest we got was to touch palms through the screen; the warmth of our hands the only sensation of contact.
There was much laughter and scattered bits of personal and family news shared with the young woman none of us had seen since the Sunday before she entered the convent. But despite her new clothes and her new name (Sr. Marie Ancilla of our Holy Father Francis), the same sweet, silly, contemplative woman shown through.
It was truly a privilege to spend those 90 minutes that way, sharing in her obvious joy and seeing how the Lord was beginning to reshape her toward the mission to which He has called her. Of all the family members and friends she could have invited, I'll never know why I made the list, but I'm grateful for the gift of such a friendship.
Please pray for my friend, Sr. Ancilla ("ancilla" is Latin for "handmaid," a reference to Mary's "yes" to the angel's message that she would be the mother of the Savior). And know that she's praying for you, too.
But tonight I just have to celebrate friendship a little bit.
I happen to have a friend from college who entered the Poor Clares about a year and a half ago. She'd discerned that this was her vocation and she patiently waited for a number of years while she paid off her student loans before she was finally able to start her life with the sisters. Last Saturday, on the feast of All Saints, she became a novice, which means she received her habit and her new name. She also removed her shoes -- except for working or praying outside in their gardens, these Poor Clares go barefoot.
This afternoon a group of about two dozen friends got to visit with the new novice in the convent's parlor. The Poor Clares are cloistered, and according to old custom, our newly-minted sister visited with us from behind a fine wire screen. We could all see and hear each other, but we couldn't touch, couldn't hug. The closest we got was to touch palms through the screen; the warmth of our hands the only sensation of contact.
There was much laughter and scattered bits of personal and family news shared with the young woman none of us had seen since the Sunday before she entered the convent. But despite her new clothes and her new name (Sr. Marie Ancilla of our Holy Father Francis), the same sweet, silly, contemplative woman shown through.
It was truly a privilege to spend those 90 minutes that way, sharing in her obvious joy and seeing how the Lord was beginning to reshape her toward the mission to which He has called her. Of all the family members and friends she could have invited, I'll never know why I made the list, but I'm grateful for the gift of such a friendship.
Please pray for my friend, Sr. Ancilla ("ancilla" is Latin for "handmaid," a reference to Mary's "yes" to the angel's message that she would be the mother of the Savior). And know that she's praying for you, too.
Monday, October 27, 2008
What's really important
Like I said a few posts ago, I'm part of a two-woman team responsible for preparing 25 kids for some combination of the Catholic Church's sacraments of initiation (baptism, confirmation and Eucharist) in May. So far, the group is still exceptionally easy to manage. We'll see how they do at the end of the two-week hiatus we're currently enjoying.
It's hard to tell at this point how much they're absorbing what we're telling them. That "aha!" moment comes much later in the year.
But I had one of my own "aha!" moments last Saturday while I was reading the products of one of the "busy" assignments we give the kids at the start of each class. I had asked the class to write a thank-you note to God. At the end of every class, we go around the room and have the kids share one thing they're thankful for or one thing they're praying for...it's an introduction to praying. Most of the responses have something to do with "a great day," "life," "food," "good grades on a test," etc. Your basic stuff kids come up with when put on the spot.
But what I discovered while reading their thank-you notes was a stark contrast to what I expected to find. I'm thinking a group of mostly 8- to 10-year-olds are going to be thanking God for things like video games or a favorite toy.
Nope.
There were thank-yous for:
food
a roof over their heads
parents who give them what they need to do well in school
the ability to play soccer
good friends you can trust
family who loves them
These are basics. A reflection of the current mood of the nation? A factor of a 9-year-old's reaction to an assignment from his Sunday school teacher? I don't know.
But I do know that that kind of mentality is sorely needed in a lot of places in our world these days. Because it's those basics that form the foundation of a good life.
It's hard to tell at this point how much they're absorbing what we're telling them. That "aha!" moment comes much later in the year.
But I had one of my own "aha!" moments last Saturday while I was reading the products of one of the "busy" assignments we give the kids at the start of each class. I had asked the class to write a thank-you note to God. At the end of every class, we go around the room and have the kids share one thing they're thankful for or one thing they're praying for...it's an introduction to praying. Most of the responses have something to do with "a great day," "life," "food," "good grades on a test," etc. Your basic stuff kids come up with when put on the spot.
But what I discovered while reading their thank-you notes was a stark contrast to what I expected to find. I'm thinking a group of mostly 8- to 10-year-olds are going to be thanking God for things like video games or a favorite toy.
Nope.
There were thank-yous for:
food
a roof over their heads
parents who give them what they need to do well in school
the ability to play soccer
good friends you can trust
family who loves them
These are basics. A reflection of the current mood of the nation? A factor of a 9-year-old's reaction to an assignment from his Sunday school teacher? I don't know.
But I do know that that kind of mentality is sorely needed in a lot of places in our world these days. Because it's those basics that form the foundation of a good life.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Autumn glory
I love this time of year. In this part of the world, the leaves just started to turn colors about a week ago. We're nowhere near peak, but I don't always like the peak of the color. I don't feel like I really get to appreciate all the different colors at peak.
But this time of year, it's like someone's taken a paint brush dipped in fire engine reds and flame oranges and lemon yellow, and dripped the paint on a hunter green canvas. They're little spots of color here and there that shock you when you run across them.
And it's just great!
But this time of year, it's like someone's taken a paint brush dipped in fire engine reds and flame oranges and lemon yellow, and dripped the paint on a hunter green canvas. They're little spots of color here and there that shock you when you run across them.
And it's just great!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Life on two wheels: Lessons for living II
The Tour: When riding in a huge pack of 180 riders like that, you can’t really see where you’re going. You’re eyes are glued on the wheel in front of you, and you have to trust that the guy in front of you is paying attention and won’t let you run into a curb or a traffic circle or a traffic island that could cause you to crash.
Life: Sometimes we have no choice but to pedal along on blind faith and trust, huh?
*** ***
The Tour: Even for the most fit, fine-tuned athletes in the world, riding thousands of miles day after day in the heat of the summer through valleys and over some of the highest mountains in the world in all kinds of weather, isn’t fun. In fact, long about the 12th day, the commentators all start talking about the pain and suffering the riders are beginning to feel…pain and suffering that doesn’t end until the last day in Paris. You have a choice – do you stop, step off your bike, and retreat to the safety of your team car? If you do, that’s it, you don’t get back on your bike the next day and continue on. Or do you grit your teeth and push through the pain because tomorrow’s stage might suit you better?
Life: Living hurts some times. It’s hard. But pushing through the pain – learning how to suffer – ultimately leads to an even greater reward.
*** ***
The Tour: When you’re riding in the pack or with a handful of teammates, there’s less work for you to do. And, thanks to the physics of it all, if you drop out the back of the pack, it can be almost impossible to catch up on some days, but you definitely will expend much more energy than you would otherwise.
Life: Stay in the boat! Life is a lot easier that way!
*** ***
The Tour: A moment’s inattention or distraction can mean disaster. That’s how most crashes happen – a glancing brush of wheels, a moment’s turn away from the road and you miss the traffic island, a slight miscalculation on a curve.
Life: It’s like that driving, too!
*** ***
The Tour: The leader of the Tour, the man in the yellow jersey, and his team, must defend the jersey. You will be attacked as the leader and if you want to keep your standing you have to fight for it.
Life: There are lots of things you work hard for and then have to protect to keep it. But those are the things that are usually worth fighting for.
Life: Sometimes we have no choice but to pedal along on blind faith and trust, huh?
*** ***
The Tour: Even for the most fit, fine-tuned athletes in the world, riding thousands of miles day after day in the heat of the summer through valleys and over some of the highest mountains in the world in all kinds of weather, isn’t fun. In fact, long about the 12th day, the commentators all start talking about the pain and suffering the riders are beginning to feel…pain and suffering that doesn’t end until the last day in Paris. You have a choice – do you stop, step off your bike, and retreat to the safety of your team car? If you do, that’s it, you don’t get back on your bike the next day and continue on. Or do you grit your teeth and push through the pain because tomorrow’s stage might suit you better?
Life: Living hurts some times. It’s hard. But pushing through the pain – learning how to suffer – ultimately leads to an even greater reward.
*** ***
The Tour: When you’re riding in the pack or with a handful of teammates, there’s less work for you to do. And, thanks to the physics of it all, if you drop out the back of the pack, it can be almost impossible to catch up on some days, but you definitely will expend much more energy than you would otherwise.
Life: Stay in the boat! Life is a lot easier that way!
*** ***
The Tour: A moment’s inattention or distraction can mean disaster. That’s how most crashes happen – a glancing brush of wheels, a moment’s turn away from the road and you miss the traffic island, a slight miscalculation on a curve.
Life: It’s like that driving, too!
*** ***
The Tour: The leader of the Tour, the man in the yellow jersey, and his team, must defend the jersey. You will be attacked as the leader and if you want to keep your standing you have to fight for it.
Life: There are lots of things you work hard for and then have to protect to keep it. But those are the things that are usually worth fighting for.
Life on two wheels: Lessons on living I
The Tour: In the end, despite all the technological advances in the construction of the bicycles, aerodynamic improvements in bike helmets, new formulations in the nutrition bars and gels the riders eat while riding, etc., the only way for a rider to advance and become a better rider is to put in the work. In the end, it all comes down to the individual rider and his abilities.
**** ****
The Tour: On a team of 9 riders, everyone has a role. Sprinters are the fast guys…they don’t do mountains. Climbers live for the high peaks of the Alps, the 8 percent gradients and the thin air. All-around riders are good at just about everything, but they can either be a workhorse or the one everyone works for to give him a chance to win the entire race. And then there are the riders who spend three weeks as what is known as “domestiques.” They’re the ones who go back and forth between the front of the group and the team cars in the rear to ferry water bottles and food to the guys at the front. They likely will never win a stage, but without them the winner couldn’t win.
Life: Talk about unity among many parts. And what would we do without the servants among us?
*** ***
The Tour: The team leader, the guy with the best hopes of winning the race, historically, cannot win without the support of a team. A road race is technically won by one man, but the race isn’t a solitary activity. The sprinters need the help of their teammates to lead them out the front of the pack, give them a slipstream to follow before they break free and fly to the line. The climbers preferably need a teammate, but will settle for competitors, in the mountains to share the work of the climb. The winner needs a team around him to help him protect him from falls, to sacrifice their own bikes in the event of a mechanical malfunction, to help him preserve his energy by riding in their slipstreams.
Life: While you can go through life as a loner, it’s a lot easier and more enjoyable with help from family and friends, isn’t it?
*** ***
The Tour: Teammates will sacrifice everything for their team leader and, ultimately, for the team itself – water bottles, bikes, food, bodies whether by expending the last ounce of energy you’ve got or being the first one to hit the deck at a high speed (never on purpose, but you expose yourself to that danger).
Life: There are people in life that are worth sacrificing for. And no matter how much pain it brings you, sacrificing for those people brings benefits that far outweigh the suffering. And, on the flip side, as the person on the receiving end of the sacrifice, sometimes you have to let people serve you.
**** ****
The Tour: On a team of 9 riders, everyone has a role. Sprinters are the fast guys…they don’t do mountains. Climbers live for the high peaks of the Alps, the 8 percent gradients and the thin air. All-around riders are good at just about everything, but they can either be a workhorse or the one everyone works for to give him a chance to win the entire race. And then there are the riders who spend three weeks as what is known as “domestiques.” They’re the ones who go back and forth between the front of the group and the team cars in the rear to ferry water bottles and food to the guys at the front. They likely will never win a stage, but without them the winner couldn’t win.
Life: Talk about unity among many parts. And what would we do without the servants among us?
*** ***
The Tour: The team leader, the guy with the best hopes of winning the race, historically, cannot win without the support of a team. A road race is technically won by one man, but the race isn’t a solitary activity. The sprinters need the help of their teammates to lead them out the front of the pack, give them a slipstream to follow before they break free and fly to the line. The climbers preferably need a teammate, but will settle for competitors, in the mountains to share the work of the climb. The winner needs a team around him to help him protect him from falls, to sacrifice their own bikes in the event of a mechanical malfunction, to help him preserve his energy by riding in their slipstreams.
Life: While you can go through life as a loner, it’s a lot easier and more enjoyable with help from family and friends, isn’t it?
*** ***
The Tour: Teammates will sacrifice everything for their team leader and, ultimately, for the team itself – water bottles, bikes, food, bodies whether by expending the last ounce of energy you’ve got or being the first one to hit the deck at a high speed (never on purpose, but you expose yourself to that danger).
Life: There are people in life that are worth sacrificing for. And no matter how much pain it brings you, sacrificing for those people brings benefits that far outweigh the suffering. And, on the flip side, as the person on the receiving end of the sacrifice, sometimes you have to let people serve you.
Life on two wheels: The chess game
For those unfamiliar, the Tour de France is the granddaddy of all road cycling races. It was the first tour and is the most storied. The riders, in teams of 9, strap on their helmets and get comfortable on their bikes for a three-week, 2,000-plus mile trip around France. There are 21 stages of an average 100 kilometers each day and two rest days where there is no racing.
There are flat stages that offer the best opportunities for the sprinters to win; there are two time trial stages that pit each rider against the clock…the fastest man wins; there are five mountain stages, divided among the Pyrenees and the Alps. To complete the Tour, all you have to do is finish each stage within the day’s time limit.
But to win the Tour, to climb the top step of the podium on the Champs Elyssees on the last day, to stand on that podium in the yellow jersey of the race’s leader, there are certain things that are necessary.
Of course, you have to put in the hours of training. You need a good bike and need to know something about the aerodynamics of your particular body on that bike. But you also need a team.
Cycling, a little contrary to what you might think, is a team sport.
And watching the team dynamics and the strategy – they don’t call the Tour a “chess game on two wheels” for nothing – has left me thinking about how much the Tour can teach life lessons and, in some ways, be a metaphor for life.What the next post are a few things I’ve noticed in the last three weeks. Some of these are applicable to a lot of sports, but I think this event sheds a particularly narrow light on these universal principles.
There are flat stages that offer the best opportunities for the sprinters to win; there are two time trial stages that pit each rider against the clock…the fastest man wins; there are five mountain stages, divided among the Pyrenees and the Alps. To complete the Tour, all you have to do is finish each stage within the day’s time limit.
But to win the Tour, to climb the top step of the podium on the Champs Elyssees on the last day, to stand on that podium in the yellow jersey of the race’s leader, there are certain things that are necessary.
Of course, you have to put in the hours of training. You need a good bike and need to know something about the aerodynamics of your particular body on that bike. But you also need a team.
Cycling, a little contrary to what you might think, is a team sport.
And watching the team dynamics and the strategy – they don’t call the Tour a “chess game on two wheels” for nothing – has left me thinking about how much the Tour can teach life lessons and, in some ways, be a metaphor for life.What the next post are a few things I’ve noticed in the last three weeks. Some of these are applicable to a lot of sports, but I think this event sheds a particularly narrow light on these universal principles.
Life on two wheels: Mesmerized by the bikes
One of the great spectacles of sport ended today. The almost superhuman, epic journey of 180 men and their bicycles through the valleys, flats, hills and mountains of France known as the Tour de France. (And, I'll admit, that's one of the reasons for the lack of posting lately.)
It’s a beautiful event that has, sadly, been under a pretty dark cloud in the last few years as the transgressions of entirely too many have sullied the reputations, dreams and livelihoods of everyone else. But the three-week odyssey that ended with a triumphant circuit of the Champs Elysees in Paris, I believe, started a new chapter in its 100-plus year history this year with the rise of a number of impressive young riders and a handful of new teams that have taken a stand against the cheaters and for the beauty, integrity and courage of the sport.
I was first introduced to cycling three years ago while watching the final days leading up to Lance Armstrong’s final of seven straight victories in the Tour de France. It was a historic moment in the world of sports and I’m a sucker for historic moments. I never watch the World Series, but the year the Red Sox foiled the curse, I tuned in with everyone else. I never watch college basketball, but when George Mason went to the Big Dance, I watched, and I did the same for the University of Maryland’s women’s team when they won their first championship.
But after witnessing the end of the Armstrong era, I couldn’t help but tune in again the following July to find out who would step up…again, an historic moment in sports. I watched the tour from start to finish. I found myself glued to the TV every night for three weeks straight – mesmerized by the glory of the French countryside, the dazzle of 180 multi-colored jerseys flying through fields of sunflowers like a cloud neon Skittles, the drama of the sudden and sometimes spectacular crash, the dashed dreams, the heroic triumphs over injury and physical suffering.
And I was hooked. I’ve watched the last two years, start to finish, and I have to say no other sporting event captures my imagination quite like the Tour.
It’s a beautiful event that has, sadly, been under a pretty dark cloud in the last few years as the transgressions of entirely too many have sullied the reputations, dreams and livelihoods of everyone else. But the three-week odyssey that ended with a triumphant circuit of the Champs Elysees in Paris, I believe, started a new chapter in its 100-plus year history this year with the rise of a number of impressive young riders and a handful of new teams that have taken a stand against the cheaters and for the beauty, integrity and courage of the sport.
I was first introduced to cycling three years ago while watching the final days leading up to Lance Armstrong’s final of seven straight victories in the Tour de France. It was a historic moment in the world of sports and I’m a sucker for historic moments. I never watch the World Series, but the year the Red Sox foiled the curse, I tuned in with everyone else. I never watch college basketball, but when George Mason went to the Big Dance, I watched, and I did the same for the University of Maryland’s women’s team when they won their first championship.
But after witnessing the end of the Armstrong era, I couldn’t help but tune in again the following July to find out who would step up…again, an historic moment in sports. I watched the tour from start to finish. I found myself glued to the TV every night for three weeks straight – mesmerized by the glory of the French countryside, the dazzle of 180 multi-colored jerseys flying through fields of sunflowers like a cloud neon Skittles, the drama of the sudden and sometimes spectacular crash, the dashed dreams, the heroic triumphs over injury and physical suffering.
And I was hooked. I’ve watched the last two years, start to finish, and I have to say no other sporting event captures my imagination quite like the Tour.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Civility lives
In addition to the random characters that abound on public transportation, every so often riding mass transit gives you a front row seat to some extraordinary acts of human kindness and civility. In a world where people are capable of walking past an elderly man lying in the street after being hit by a car, or ignoring a mentally-ill woman who's collapsed on the hospital waiting room floor, it's nice to know that people still notice each other.
I was on the Metro the other day, a few stops from mine. Living in this area there is often a smattering of military personnel in uniform riding the rails. On this particular day there was a young black woman in Army fatigues standing in the aisle next to my seat, peacefully zoning out a bit with her iPod. All of a sudden, out of a group of people further down in the car, comes this young white guy. He was maybe in his early 20s, maybe a little younger. Looked a little rough around the edges -- white t-shirt, raggedy black shorts, a biker's glove on his right hand. He walked up to the woman in uniform standing in the aisle and wordlessly stuck out his hand.
She looked at him a moment, took the earbuds out of her ears, and looked at him.
"Thank you," he said. She took his hand, and then he turned around and walked away.
I wasn't close enough to hear if she gave any response. But she put her earbuds back in and she and I both exited at the same stop.
It was a touching scene, especially because it took place in such an intimate space. This wasn't a crowded shopping mall or a bustling airport terminal. This was a subway car, a half-empty car at that, during the morning rush when there isn't usually much noise other than the scream of the air and screech of steel as the trains move through the tunnels. People are either reading their newspapers, catching a few more winks or zoning out on their iPods. In a word, this guy had a captive audience.
And yet there was something about this young soldier that prompted him to thank her for her service to her country. Something that transcended race, gender, feelings for or against the U.S. involvement in Iraq, and everything else that prevents people from reaching out to others in a show of human compassion and solidarity.
I think that something was this young man's sense of patriotism, yes, but also human decency. It is, afterall, polite and decent to thank someone when they've made a sacrifice for you, isn't it?
So just in case you were wondering, it does still exist.
I was on the Metro the other day, a few stops from mine. Living in this area there is often a smattering of military personnel in uniform riding the rails. On this particular day there was a young black woman in Army fatigues standing in the aisle next to my seat, peacefully zoning out a bit with her iPod. All of a sudden, out of a group of people further down in the car, comes this young white guy. He was maybe in his early 20s, maybe a little younger. Looked a little rough around the edges -- white t-shirt, raggedy black shorts, a biker's glove on his right hand. He walked up to the woman in uniform standing in the aisle and wordlessly stuck out his hand.
She looked at him a moment, took the earbuds out of her ears, and looked at him.
"Thank you," he said. She took his hand, and then he turned around and walked away.
I wasn't close enough to hear if she gave any response. But she put her earbuds back in and she and I both exited at the same stop.
It was a touching scene, especially because it took place in such an intimate space. This wasn't a crowded shopping mall or a bustling airport terminal. This was a subway car, a half-empty car at that, during the morning rush when there isn't usually much noise other than the scream of the air and screech of steel as the trains move through the tunnels. People are either reading their newspapers, catching a few more winks or zoning out on their iPods. In a word, this guy had a captive audience.
And yet there was something about this young soldier that prompted him to thank her for her service to her country. Something that transcended race, gender, feelings for or against the U.S. involvement in Iraq, and everything else that prevents people from reaching out to others in a show of human compassion and solidarity.
I think that something was this young man's sense of patriotism, yes, but also human decency. It is, afterall, polite and decent to thank someone when they've made a sacrifice for you, isn't it?
So just in case you were wondering, it does still exist.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Did I hear that right?
When I overheard this conversation last week on the shuttle to my building from the Metro, I almost couldn't believe my ears. I didn't think people actually talked like this outside the movies. But apparently somebody does.
Here are the snippets of the phone conversation. The names won't really make much sense because I wasn't actually taking notes. I typed this up when I got to my computer at work. It was just too priceless not to record. But it's what I overheard as another passenger, a young professional black man, was talking on his cell phone one morning.
So Storm and Quick are at the girl’s crib. They bounce from the crib to go to the store. To the PNC to localize it for ye.
Then Quick’s cell phone rings but he duzn’t hear anybody talkin’. It sounds like scuffling, like muffled movement. And then he hears this girl’s voice saying, ‘they’re fightin.’
So they bounce from the store and head back to his crib. They go up to the dude’s crib, up to his apartment. And there’s big guy on top of Quick….beatin’ him. So of course he jumps in ‘cause that’s his people.
They break it up or whatever and a course the police are called. And this dude’s arrested and charged with assault and robbery and sumthin else.
But it turns out that this dude was fightin’ with his girl and the fight got physical. Then she left the crib to go to this dude’s and then Quick followed her and kicked in the dude’s door. So the big dude was just defending his crib. This guy kicked down his door!
So it’s just ridiculous.
Here are the snippets of the phone conversation. The names won't really make much sense because I wasn't actually taking notes. I typed this up when I got to my computer at work. It was just too priceless not to record. But it's what I overheard as another passenger, a young professional black man, was talking on his cell phone one morning.
So Storm and Quick are at the girl’s crib. They bounce from the crib to go to the store. To the PNC to localize it for ye.
Then Quick’s cell phone rings but he duzn’t hear anybody talkin’. It sounds like scuffling, like muffled movement. And then he hears this girl’s voice saying, ‘they’re fightin.’
So they bounce from the store and head back to his crib. They go up to the dude’s crib, up to his apartment. And there’s big guy on top of Quick….beatin’ him. So of course he jumps in ‘cause that’s his people.
They break it up or whatever and a course the police are called. And this dude’s arrested and charged with assault and robbery and sumthin else.
But it turns out that this dude was fightin’ with his girl and the fight got physical. Then she left the crib to go to this dude’s and then Quick followed her and kicked in the dude’s door. So the big dude was just defending his crib. This guy kicked down his door!
So it’s just ridiculous.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Still processing
So, it's been a week since the pope returned to Rome from his U.S. pilgrimage. And I had hoped by this time to post some thoughts/reflections/observations gleaned from personal experience and, especially, the pope's various public addresses. But I have to confess I'm still processing much of that.
I will say that I agree with the responses of many commentators who've said that Americans now feel like we've really gotten to know this pope. Prior to this visit, we knew him as he was portrayed in the media prior to his election as pope -- as the Vatican's doctrinal watchdog. Rather a gruff, unyielding caricature. And then, upon his ascendancy to the chair of Peter, we learned that this eminent theological scholar is actually quite shy. I remember noticing his stiffness and reserved manner in the early days of his pontificate.
But what I saw during his six-day trip to the U.S. was the gradual growth of a smile. I don't think I'd ever seen a real, genuine smile cross his face in any other public appearance....it always looked like this forced grin plastered on his face for the sake of manners and the cameras.
But during this trip, it warmed my heart to see him genuinely, warmly smiling on a number of occasions -- most involving greeting the general public. If there's one image that sticks in my mind, that's it.
Like I said, I'm still digesting the bulk of his speeches, but here are some one-liners, as it were, that have stuck out so far:
"Any tendency to treat religion as a private matter must be resisted." (address to U.S. bishops, I believe)
"Those who have hope must live different lives." (homily, Nationals Park Mass)
"What is God whispering to you?" (address to seminarians and young people, NY)
I will say that I agree with the responses of many commentators who've said that Americans now feel like we've really gotten to know this pope. Prior to this visit, we knew him as he was portrayed in the media prior to his election as pope -- as the Vatican's doctrinal watchdog. Rather a gruff, unyielding caricature. And then, upon his ascendancy to the chair of Peter, we learned that this eminent theological scholar is actually quite shy. I remember noticing his stiffness and reserved manner in the early days of his pontificate.
But what I saw during his six-day trip to the U.S. was the gradual growth of a smile. I don't think I'd ever seen a real, genuine smile cross his face in any other public appearance....it always looked like this forced grin plastered on his face for the sake of manners and the cameras.
But during this trip, it warmed my heart to see him genuinely, warmly smiling on a number of occasions -- most involving greeting the general public. If there's one image that sticks in my mind, that's it.
Like I said, I'm still digesting the bulk of his speeches, but here are some one-liners, as it were, that have stuck out so far:
"Any tendency to treat religion as a private matter must be resisted." (address to U.S. bishops, I believe)
"Those who have hope must live different lives." (homily, Nationals Park Mass)
"What is God whispering to you?" (address to seminarians and young people, NY)
Friday, April 18, 2008
More pope photos/resources
Because I'm very proud of the work done by my colleagues, check out the Catholic Herald's Web site for more photos of the pope's time in D.C.:
www.catholicherald.com
Click on the "more photos" link on the right to see more shots. (Disclaimer: the "more photos" site is hosted by a third party; the Diocese of Arlington is NOT responsible for the advertising on that site.)
Also, if anyone's interested in reading some of what the pope said this week, check out the Vatican's Web site for the trip for texts in English.
www.catholicherald.com
Click on the "more photos" link on the right to see more shots. (Disclaimer: the "more photos" site is hosted by a third party; the Diocese of Arlington is NOT responsible for the advertising on that site.)
Also, if anyone's interested in reading some of what the pope said this week, check out the Vatican's Web site for the trip for texts in English.
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