More Daisies

Ever since I moved into my house I have found myself mowing the lawn every week, usually on the weekends. Where I once used to think about my evening plans on a Friday afternoon, this past month my mind has been more consumed with mulch, weed killer and what I can buy next at Lowe's. How quickly my priorities in life have changed.

As I look down my street, I see that my neighbors have also cut their grass. There we all are, perfectly trimmed and manicured homes in a row. In a small sense I feel more grown up as I see how I am fitting in around the neighborhood. It’s funny how personal responsibility tends to make us more anal about things.

When I was a kid I never had dreams of wanting to maintain a house, a career or anything of the sort. My ambitions were to do great things, set my own path and be original. Instead, I’ve caved in, sold out, drank too much of the kool-aid and have become one of “them.” And for what? Is it absolutely necessary that I maintain my yard week after week only to look at it from afar on ocassion from my kitchen window? It’s not like I’m out there running around, playing catch on it or anything. Like most things that we adults have...it’s for show.

I think back to the naive kid I once was and how complicated my grand ideas were. I try to retrace my steps to when I was 10, 14, 18 and I remember the passion I had for the things I loved. There are few interests outside of writing (such as this) that I continue to hold from childhood. Fast forward to today and I see how simple my mind works. I suppose, most of the things that I do are for selfish reasons. I want my carpet to be spotless, my truck filled with gas, my clothes pressed and my yard mowed. Is it worth anything in the end? Am I wasting precious moments of my life? Why Am I so worried and caught up in the minor details that society has deemed as necessary?

I don't hold the answer to those questions. Just as soon as I think I have made a turn in my life and that I am on track to do the right things, my past throws me a curveball and makes me step back and reevaluate what's most important. As I do that, I laugh at the man I see in the mirror now who views the world through a small scope and how everything affects "him," rather than how I can affect the world. As we grow older, I sometimes think we lose more than we gain.

If I had to do it all over again, I’d pick less grass and more daisies :)

If I had my life to live over again, I'd try to
make more mistakes next time. I would relax. I would
limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this
trip. I know of very few things I would take
seriously. I would take more trips. I would climb
more mountains, swim more rivers and watch more
sunsets. I would do more walking and looking. I would
eat more ice-cream and less beans. I would have more
actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones. You see, I
am one of those people who lives prophylactically and
sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day.
Oh, I've had my moments; and if I had to do it over
again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to
have nothing else. Just moments, one after another
instead of living so many years ahead each day. I
have been one of those people who never go anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a gargle,
a raincoat, aspirin and a parachute. If I had it to
do over again, I would go places, do things and
travel lighter than I have.
If I had my life to live over, I would start
barefooted earlier in the spring and stay that way
later in the fall. I would play hookey more, I
wouldn't make much good grades except by accident. I
would ride on more merry-go-rounds. I'd pick more
daisies. -- Don Herald.

Saint Damien

Untouchable

He was once described as a “coarse, dirty man, headstrong and bigoted.” 

Aside from being bigoted, this introduction is a fair description of what Father Damien was. Separated from the rest of society, Father Damien spent his best years with those stricken with leprosy. While being considered coarse and dirty is far from the holy attributes that one would expect from a soon to be canonized Saint, that is just what he is.

Father Damien asked to go to Kalawao in 1873 in order to serve and comfort the six hundred leprosy sufferers at the isolated settlement on the island of Molokai. Newly arrived, full of vigor and health, the young priest took to his duties without the slightest hesitation while caring for people who most refused to acknowledge. Isolated from the rest of the population, these lepers were sent to Kalawao not to live but to die.

What was so remarkable about Father Damien was not his extraordinary ability as a preacher, for his words were simple and to the point. Nor was it his plain and rugged carpentry skills that he used to build much of the infrastructure from churches to residences. The most remarkable aspect about this man was his heart. 

Father Damien can be best summarized by one of his biographers, Gavin Dawes who remarked, “He was no savant, no sophisticate, after all: just an earnest peasant hard at work in his own way for God.” With very few personal belongings or possessions, Father Damien took to God’s work with mostly a tool belt, bible and the clothes on his back. He asked for nothing in return but for the help towards his mission and the dignity of the people he had served. Although he died a peasant and a leper, this year we honor him as our newest Saint.

Last month as I stood before the grave site which once housed his body, I shook my head in disbelief at how such a person with such a common upbringing could take on a task with complete disregard for his own health and welfare and do uncommon things for people who had written off by the rest of the world. Today, his works still have meaning and are a great reminder to us that we can reach out and help strangers, comfort those less fortunate without an individual purpose other than to do God’s work. 

As a Hawaiian prayer was being sung in the background by a group that will be going to the Vatican this fall, I thought to myself "remember this Josh: FEEL THIS." At that moment, it was just where I needed to be. I couldn't think of a better example of self sacrifice than the grave site before me.

Like Saint Theresa, Father Damien lived with a kind of humility that makes me feel like the most selfish human being on the planet. He lived and worked each day caring for the sickest people in the world, with the knowledge that he would never leave that island. Indeed, Father Damien would not leave Kalawao. He died of the very disease that he had worked so hard to stop. When asked if he wanted to be cured he replied no and instead saw leprosy as only shortening his road to heaven.

Up close Father Damien was not the saintly figure that we read about growing up. He was tough, impatient and came across as demanding, uncompromising and rude to outsiders. It has been said that “saints look better at a distance.” Although there may be some truth behind that statement, Father Damien is one that you want to get see up close. He is a figure whose heart and soul you want to touch. He is a man whose story only gets better and more intense as you begin to peel back the layers and investigate the man who gave all of himself for strangers. In fact, the more you know about Father Damien the more of his spirit will begin to be revealed. He helped those that were deemed "untouchable," and through his extraordinary strength this is exactly how I think he ought to be remembered.

A Phone Call Away

I debated whether to pick up the phone and call the people who were on my mind. I do that from time to time. I’ll pick up my phone, scroll through a list of names only to put it back down and resume my daily routines. This time was different though. As I came across her name in my phone, emotions poured out of me as I just stared at what once was. The feeling stayed with me for several minutes as reality sunk in. I couldn’t escape the emotions that consumed me as I struggled to move on to the next contact. Instead, I just stared at her name realizing that I would never have the opportunity to call that number again.

On May 20th, 2009 I lost a friend and comrade to an IED outside of Kabul Afghanistan. For the next several days I couldn’t shake the thought of her from my mind. Memorial Day brought new meaning this year and was another reminder of the connection that she will forever be associated with. Selfishly, I tried to think of every memory of her that I could as a way to remember how much she had meant to me and those around her. As I went through the rolodex of great memories, I could only dwell on the ones that I had missed. I thought about how I never sent her a care package or thought about her much while she was on her deployment. I thought about the times when I came up with excuses every time she had asked me to play tennis. I thought about our broken plans. I thought about the times when I scrolled past her name in my phone and never bothered to make that call. Indeed, the void memories that I didn’t have but “could have” had with her will haunt me for the rest of my life. I am overwhelmed by guilt and regret.

It’s amazing the simplicity of a phone call. Anyone can pick up a phone and touch a few buttons and in an instant get a hold of someone thousands of miles away. Today, we have resorted to less conventional and less personal methods such as email and the like. We pass up on the chance to talk to longtime friends thinking that they will always be there and that their number will never go away. Well…I’ve seen a number go away. Although her name and legacy will never escape my thoughts and prayers, I know I can never go back in time and make the calls that once seemed so easy to make. How ungrateful I was. How many times had I seen a number and blocked it? How many times had I allowed a call to go to voicemail and how many missed calls had I not returned?

How many calls had I not made?

I have a tendency to talk myself out of things. In fact, I’ve actually been quite adept at it. If I’m tired, I know exactly what cards to play to convince myself that I don’t have the energy to do something. When I’m scared about trying something new, I insert streams of my distorted logic to justify my fear. And when I’m thinking about calling back home to friends and family I’ll think more about the time difference and how busy the person on the other end is than about how much I’d really like to catch up.

And so the death of my friend has awakened me to a new appreciation for life. Instead of trying to get out of things, I’ve decided to take chances and simply say “yes,” when otherwise I would have said “no.” Next week my schedule is filled with plans that will encompass new adventures, perhaps some uncomfortable moments but nonetheless experiences that I wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t picked up my phone and reached out.

I picked up my phone today and called one of my best friends. As the phone rang I was nervous since I had not spoken to him in a while. With each ring I wondered if he’d pick up and for a moment, almost wished that it had just gone to voicemail. I was unsure what to say and thought of reasons for this impromptu and perhaps random phone call. I knew that by today’s standards calling a distant friend out of the blue just “because” is more unusual than it is common. After several rings, he picked up the phone and I heard his voice…I let out a sigh of relief. It didn’t seem to matter what we talked about, I was simply glad that I had not passed up on the moment. After almost not making that call, I can honestly say it was the best five minutes that I’ve spent all week. It didn’t take courage or wisdom. It just took a little bit of initiative and two people picking up their phones. I had almost lost sight of what is truly important in life.

I'm damn glad that I made that call today.