Monday, April 21, 2014

Thriving

Two days into my 4th decade (holy buckets!) and so far so good. We celebrated with a bang (really poor pun intended) by going out to the trap shooting range. This was my first time out, and it was so obvious. The kick back nearly knocked me over the first time, there are pictures of me with my front foot off the ground following the shot, and my shoulder is bruised from the butt of the shotgun. That, and I missed every clay the first round. It took Kelly telling us--after hitting about 5 out of her first 6--that you're just supposed to line up the sights with the clay. Oh, of course! Why didn't we think of that! After that my hit rate got much higher and my foot started staying on the ground. Overall I'd call it a success.

The family that shoots together...
Not the best form, but I got better as I went along
Before that we had thoroughly embarrassed ourselves on the tennis courts, and I have yet another thing to work on the next 30 years of my life.

And after that we had a Zapapas-style dinner and board games. The "Zapapas" version involves interruptions during grace, lots of cheese and sour cream, craft beer being spit out laughing (cough, Michelle, cough), multiple dessert options, and cheating at Mexican train (cough, Kelly, cough).

Birthday cupcakes!
Regardless of my age, I know that my life has been very blessed, and I'm grateful for the occasion to reflect on that. I can't even tell you how I've seen God's hand in my life over the years, and I know that He has great plans for the future, so I'm looking forward to it. And looking forward to the real celebration--IRELAND! More posts to follow when I get back.



Thursday, April 10, 2014

Animal behavior

Most of the time I can't sit at my computer for longer than five or ten minutes without being interrupted by the dog wanting in. Or out. Or back in. Or to be paid attention to. Or let back out. Like I don't already have enough things distracting me. He doesn't seem to understand my well-intentioned rants about how he just went out (or in) and how I'm not at his beck and call (I am). He also doesn't seem to respond well to yelling. He thinks "No!" means "Run up here and whine closer to my face so that I will be more motivated to let you out."

It's not his fault. From what I can tell from all the latest biology (and my one animal behavior class in college), animals are just that. Animals. They have no higher order thinking. They are motivated by food, water, safety, and instinct. If that instinct tells them they must bark incessantly at the truck that has been parked outside the neighbor's house all week long, they must. do. it. If there is a treat in my hand, you can forget whatever is coming out of my mouth, even if it's a command Kolbe has known for years (he will occasionally do a perfunctory "sit" or "shake" if he thinks it will get him the treat faster, but it's half-hearted at best and he quickly returns to begging position).

My parents' dog is even worse. She has no concept of restraint. Just because you just kicked her skidding across the entryway hardwood floor does not mean that she shouldn't jump up on you a sixteenth time. Because. she. must. If you even think about interrupting her 56 seconds of inhaling her food...well, I actually don't think we've tried that yet, but I bet it wouldn't be successful.

All this to say that I'm glad we're not like animals. At least, not the non-verbal, soul-less kind (don't tell my mom dogs don't have souls). We have intellect and will. We can assess a situation and choose how to act. I am (usually) capable of forgoing the nap if I know I need to do laundry, or the third cookie if I am already ransacking the house for Tums. You can't reason with a dog. You can train him. You can try different styles of motivating. But if you're not appealing to something quite at the base of his hierarchy of needs, forget it. Sometimes if you're not appealing to one of my little sister's higher needs, you can forget it also--she will always go for the instant gratification.

Back to the point...It's why I get so furious when people whip out the argument of "they'll just do it anyways" in response to preaching abstinence or modest dress or responsible drinking or any such thing. Okay, yes, teenagers do not have fully developed frontal lobes and cannot always fully comprehend the consequences of impulsive action. That does not mean we have to abandon all boundaries of acceptable behavior. If you set expectations and give them a reason to tame their animal passions and desires, they are capable of it. Form the intellect and the will. Appeal to something greater, like virtue, instead of settling for the lowest common denominator. It's why fasting is so important (and why it's so hard). We are denying the body something it wants (be it food, or something else, like music, warmth, sleep, etc) because the mind is capable of controlling it. If it can work with the Dove promise sitting on the counter, maybe it can work with even greater temptation. But only if we work at it.

It's my hope that as Lent winds down, I can take the fasting spirit and move forward, taming the shouts of my body--"I'm hungry! I'm tired! I'm cold! I'm bored! I'm uncomfortable!"--in order to do what I know I am capable of. Also, I'm going to try not to yell at the dog so much. Maybe.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Dandelions

We've been blessed to have Fr. Scott Traynor doing our parish Lenten mission the last few weeks (actually, it's not just our parish; we just get to host), and amazingly, I haven't had to work for most of it. This last week, he introduced us to "Dandelion Theology", which is not a new concept, but a unique way of looking at things. Hopefully they'll post the April 2nd talk here soon, so you can get a better understanding, but here's the basics:

Imagine a little boy wanting to show his love to his mother. He cannot afford an expensive bouquet, so he gathers up a handful of dandelions from the yard and proudly presents them as if they were roses. Of course, his mother, knowing that they are not just weeds, but a token of his love and himself, which he is giving to her, effuses over them--"Thank you. They're beautiful. I love you too."

It's easy to imagine us as the boy, offering God the weeds of our work and praise, wishing we could give him something more. But in this analogy, we are the mom; God is the boy. If he were to offer the fullness of His love, we would be so overwhelmed and unable to take it all in. Instead, He offers us small tokens of Himself--in flowers, phone calls, sunsets, hugs, bread and wine--so that we might say "Thank you. They're beautiful. I love you too."

In the last few days, I've taken to recognizing the dandelions in my life and naming them as such, thanking God for those tokens: a toddler's warm hug after bath time, beautiful snow decorating the tree branches, a way out of an awkward situation, laughing out loud, an enthusiastic greeting from a coworker. Lent is a perfect time (although there's not a bad time) to stop and smell the dandelions. They are always there, but I think too often we're so busy that they are brushed aside as easily as weeds, left to wilt instead of bear fruit.