Just Like Ed

Two losses in my life have not been people that I loved then departed, they have been losses that occurred before I had the chance to love.  My dad's oldest brother passed away before my dad got to high school, and my mom's dad passed away when my mom was in college.  These people would have otherwise been a part of my inner circle, but it was not to be and I know them only through few and far between anecdotes.

In the case of my maternal grandfather, it is very strange to me to think that I get fully one quarter of my DNA from him; he is not someone I know, not someone whose idiosyncrasies I could identify on my own, not someone I have stories about. And yet, he is part of me.

In a small collision of worlds, an uncle through marriage on my dad's side of the family knew my Grandpa Ed, worked for him for a time.  What's interesting is that this uncle says that he looked a great deal like my youngest brother, Danny.  I've heard this before, my grandmother even once commented that Danny had a cowlick in his hair that was just like my grandfather's.  But what my uncle says is that not only does Danny have similar physical characteristics, but he carries himself the same way and has the same mannerisms, facial expressions, gestures.  These are not things that my mom shares, so it seems like an extremely slim possibility that these are learned behaviors.  In this case, Danny (or certain things about him) is evidence of the presence of my grandfather.

In my younger days, I mostly had friends who were a lot like me in terms of many things, such as life goals, values, etc.  When I went to OSU, for the first time, I had a large group of friends where we were all different from each other in several key ways.  I guess you could say I was the "religious" friend, being the only one that regularly practices a particular mainstream religion.  Growing up I had heard several defenses for not having many, if any, not-Christian friends (mainly from a particular magazine I read at the time) unless I was trying to evangelize them, but I was uncomfortable with being "friends" with someone just for the sake of making them a project.  Besides, I love these people a whole lot.  They all know where I stand with regards to religion, they know they can ask me questions, and I hope and pray that the good I do can somehow, sometimes be connected to my beliefs but this is by no means the sole purpose of my friendship with them.

If I believe wholeheartedly in my religion, then based on what Catholicism teaches, God should be absolutely the #1 priority in my life.  This is what I believe, and I struggle mightily to live my life that way.  (I fail a lot and continue to try and do better--it is a lifelong process, as expected.)  I, then, have heard the argument that I should only be giving my time to people who can bring me closer to this goal, and on rare occasions I have been challenged that if I am not actively evangelizing my friends who are not Christians, then I have no business being friends with them.

However, just like many of my grandfather's traits have shown up in my brother without my brother knowing my grandfather, I believe that God's divine nature is revealed through His creation, whether they know Him or not.  Perhaps selfishly, but I am honestly not part of my friend groups based on what I bring to those groups, although it is my hope that I bring something to my friends; I am friends with my friends because of the fulfillment, enjoyment, and companionship they bring to ME, based simply on the amazing and wonderful beings they are.  They reveal to me something important about God's nature.

Last night, I took Zach to a concert as a belated birthday gift.  They are a favorite band of Zach's and I only had ever heard one of their songs.  Far from being a Christian-themed band, I came away from the concert feeling uplifted, almost as if the concert had been a spiritual experience, and perhaps it was.  The musicians were so talented that I was blown away, even though some things about the venue were physically uncomfortable.  I believe that music is joyous and beautiful and that God is presence in its making and performing, even if His name is not explicitly on it.  The same could be said about nature, about art, pets!

Yet, in my belief system, humanity was the crowning jewel of creation, and we are God's most treasured and beloved creatures; His characteristics are built into us, and we must recognize that in one another.

With God, all things are possible

I know of a few families lately hit by seemingly unbearable tragedies, one of them striking closer to home because both the bereaved and deceased have been good friends to me.  It's amazing how life keeps moving, how you go along with the daily routines when it's not someone who was part of your daily life, but when you stop to think about it, it just becomes unthinkable, unimaginable.

I find myself so amazed by survival in these circumstances.  I have serious doubts about my ability to withstand any such tragedy, about my ability to even want to.  So, especially since we Catholics are in the middle of lent, I have been doing the only thing I can think to do: pray.  I feel like I am benefiting unfairly from someone else's crisis, but knowing these people going through these life-changing tragedies has made me more prayerful.

The other day, I was praying a sort of meditative prayer, when I suddenly felt inspired to pray for joy for these people.  The moment the thought popped into my head, I felt annoyed, perhaps even angry with myself.  "Who am I to ask for joy for them?" I thought.  "Is that even appropriate?  Is that even possible?"

Whoa.  I just totally questioned God's power and His grace.

I literally questioned whether it was possible for Him to give joy to someone who was mourning.

Isn't that what He does?  Isn't that part of what makes Him quintessentially God?  Bringing joy to those who are weary with sorrow?

It can be annoying when people try to cheer us up.  It can feel invalidating, and sometimes it's about their inability to handle our pain rather than a genuine desire for us to feel better, or sometimes it's a mixture.  (Of course, sometimes it's genuine too.)

But joy is not happiness.  Happiness is fleeting.  It is an emotion, and it's a great one and we all should be able to experience it.  That, also, is not a bad thing to pray for.  Joy, however, is more permeating.  It is more like hopefulness and steadfastness and a sense of spiritual connectedness.  It is a source of strength, and at times of happiness, and it's not too much to ask, for anyone, no matter the circumstances.

I can't believe there was a moment where I doubted that it was a good thing to pray for.