Dear Family,
June 1 begins Hurricane Season, and since it didn’t take any hard breathing I found myself checking out the evacuation zones in our neighborhood. It’s pretty simple: Leave!
That got me to thinking about “where should I go” and “what should I bring” and on and on. It’s the old “What if” syndrome. Those two words are second only to “If only” in my lexicon of words I hate myself for using.
For one thing, it makes me realize that my trust levels might not be what they should be considering that I’m supposed to be a “Man of Faith.” Aren’t we all! The truth is that the last four months left little room for either of those two verbal bookends.
There have been a lot of great people in my life, professional, personal and parochial. As my little phases of illness rolled by, people were all there to help me with the next steps as well as the current events. Not too much room for “if’s”... In the last couple of weeks, the deaths of Msgr. Noel Fogarty and Father Harry Ringenberger got me thinking. Noel was the center of a whirlwind of
pastoral activity for 58 years of ministry. Harry – a classmate from the seminary – had been very limited by health for a number of years. So different, yet each important to my album of living. The sadness was my own health kept me from both their funerals. In heaven they are beyond disappointment, so I don’t think they missed me.
But I missed me. I wanted to be there. Yet, there is no room for “if only” so I’ll pray for them with a special fervor. I will also try and do all I can to get to a point where I can payback the compliment of all the great attention I have received from those professionals, personal friends, and parish folk I mentioned above, not because I have to, but simply in gratitude. And if it can’t be to them, then I’ll sure try and show those same virtues to others.
This last week saw me go through a procedure that I think we are all hoping will finally bring an end to my adventure. (And I don’t mean with a funeral.) Part of it is doing something with talcum in my lungs. I have this mental image of all of you wondering where that cloud came from every time I cleared my throat. Or maybe jumping up and down and leaving a trail of white powder behind me. Trust me. It will be a legal substance.
A bigger event than talcum powdering also happened last week: my sister Pat’s birthday. I’ll never tell. Just let me say I think she and ‘maturity’ are on far better terms with each other than I am with the “golden” years. Another sister, Judy, sent me a card that asked where golden came from anyway.
But you know what: this has been a very good – and maybe even golden - moment when the necessity of coming up with something brilliant for the bulletin got me to thinking about a lot of wonderful things. Not only the people of the three “p’s” but also thinking about the fact that all six of my sibs are living, and given our Irish genes are probably going to keep on doing so for a while. I doubt I would have had such good thoughts if a momentary lack of air hadn’t forced me to sit still and think about it.
Now you have become, for better or worse, the recipients of this breathless adventure. If that doesn’t work for you, then accept the challenge of sitting down and coming up with your own “golden.” It’s a powerful way of acknowledging that we are first and foremost people of faith, faith that leads us to an eternal life with confidence – where we won’t leave white puffy clouds behind us, but put our behinds on white puffy clouds.
In Jesus,
