Tag Archives: weightlifting

Throw Some Marlboro Reds in there Too!: Teddy, Barron, and Jorge

Today Our Lord and St. Francis de Sales have presented me with several topics about which to muse. So let’s gooooooo, as the kids say. Who am I kidding? I say it too.

Topic #1: Francis celebrates world no tobacco day (or whatever it’s called)

I am informed that Bergoglio recently “celebrated” World Anti-smoking Day or similar. So here’s a tale for you. Those who know me have heard this story before. I was just shy of my 18th birthday when I started smoking. Ooh, rebel, right? Although I didn’t know why at the time, the smokey lung noose of a Marlboro always seemed to have my number. A few months later I began my seminary studies. My ordinary at the time was the now Mr. Teddy McCarrick. Flash forward to the summer of 2018 when I came across an article in the midst of that man’s downfall. The article quoted several anonymous Newark priests detailing what they knew about Uncle Ted’s proclivities. Keep in mind, I had been a very innocent young man at 18 and truly did not know what lay beneath that festering surface and thank God for that! “McCarrick,” they said, had no preferences. He’d go after anyone. Fat, thin, short, tall… As long as he wasn’t a smoker he was fair game. McCarrick hated smokers.” A chill went down my spine. I showed the article to my wife who quipped, “I will never again ask you to quit.”

The Gipper’s doctor even told him to light ’em up.

So take your world day of boring people no tobacco and pound sand. On second thought, that might appeal to some of these people. I’m not saying the Blessed Mother put that first nic stick in my mouth or flipped the ol’ Zippo for me, but my mom had asked me to pray a Memorare every day for protection (from what or how she knew is still beyond me) and Blessed Mother sure came through.

Who wouldn’t put up with emphysema and heart disease to avoid being sodomized by a satanic cardinal?

Speaking of unseemly reality here’s

Topic #2: We don’t flex for the mirror. We lift weights because we’re men and it’s hard.

With all the stories about A certain former auxiliary bishop of Los Angeles and his penchant for being surrounded by “bodybuilders” I thought I’d take a moment to remind everyone that no man – priest or bishop especially – should be deliberately showing off his guns. Or his pecs, delts, tris, abs, or any other part of his body. I’ve said it before. Cassocks are brilliant. Not only are they flattering (black covers a multitude of gluttonous sins) but they double as a symbolic “tomb”. The cleric is not a businessman. He is another Christ. He is to die to himself for his people. What better way to remind him of that daily death than by entombing himself in black robes?

It seems the good bishop, in addition to surrounding himself with lunkheads, has been known to wear the occasional tight fitting clergy shirt from time to time. I think that’s actually an official Toomey cut. I’d tell you to Google that and vomit or you can take my word for it. I have a cast iron stomach. Eh, what the heck. I’m in a sporting mood. I’ll include the pic. But it’s not just Barron posing down the camera. On his staff, the bishop employed a priest who couldn’t help himself when it came to posting pictures of his oiled and pumped-up physique. Read that again. A priest. I will NOT include his picture because it’s just gross.

Tough guy…

Here’s the thing… I lift weights. I started a few years ago in earnest after my second spinal fusion. I find it’s a great way to handle a lot of things. It reduces stress. It builds a strong frame. It’s a great hobby. I truly enjoy it. But if I’ve learned nothing from the great Fr. Chad Ripperger it’s that 1) the nature of a man is to want to do difficult things, 2) a man needs to do those difficult things for the benefit of others, and 3) a real man is humble and the antithesis of vanity. Lifting weights is hard as hell if you do it right. What’s even harder is getting up at 5:30 to do it on an empty stomach. I lift weights to be strong for my wife and kids. It’s my job to protect them and to work by the sweat of my brow for them. I want any fool who’s inclined to mess with them to see me and think twice. And God help the turkey who’s idiot enough to actually throw down because he’d get his head bashed into the pavement. Repeatedly. Sorry folks, I have but one setting. Are the benefits to my appearance also great? Sure. This is where true humility kicks in. These aren’t my gainz, bruh. They belong to my family, from God. There is truly no reason I should be able even to walk after the times my spine has been taken apart and reassembled and yet here we are.

My advice to the bishop and his friends? Lift weights. And when you’re done, step away from the mirror and put the camera down. A further question here is why is any grown man taking selfies at all? I shudder to think of the number of times I fell into that trap. You live and you learn. It’s cringe. Don’t do it. And if you’re an aging bishop, especially don’t do it. Social media was invented by minions of the devil. Remember, Satan wants men turned into 12 year-old girls because he loathes the image of God. With every selfie post you get a dopamine hit but your testosterone drops.

Topic #3: Bergoglio still isn’t pope.

I was struck by the Gospel at mass today. It begins thus:

“At that time, Jesus said to the Pharisees, Amen, amen, I say to you, he who enters not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbs up another way, is a thief and a robber.”

Jn. 10:1

From the politicking ahead of the “conclave” to the Sankt Gallen Mafia to, my favorite and the key to this whole mess, the substantial error laid out in Canon Law, it should be obvious. And it is obvious. There are many who are on the cusp of admitting this now. If you need further resources to help push you over the edge, check out Anne Barnhardt’s brilliant work here, Dr. Ed Mazza’s invaluable contributions here, and even Patrick Coffin’s summary presentation here.

Lord Jesus Crucified, have mercy on me a sinner!

Mary Help of Christians, pray for us!

St. Francis de Sales, pray for us!

He Doesn’t Just Write?

…but he needs to do that more.

I came home from what is more and more the most fulfilling job I’ve ever had and got to work on a carpentry project I’m working on for Christmas. Take a gander.

Of course the Christ Child was born in a manger, not in my garage next to my weights.

I’m not great by any means but I’ve been taking stock lately of a few things. The thing I would most like to be proud of in my life is my vocation as husband and father. On that front all I can say is I am trying every day. I am a teacher and vice principal. After my family, in my adult life, few other things have brought me such joy. I am a writer who has never claimed to be much good although I do know my way around a few decent turns of phrase. I am a man who likes to challenge himself in the gym, not stopping or giving up until I’m satisfied. I will probably never be satisfied and that is just OK with me. It simply means I will always be challenging myself. And I think that goes for every aspect of my life.

On the writing front in particular, I have been reading old posts to my children. It is fun rediscovering our life together; but not nearly as much fun as seeing the joy and hearing the laughter from my children who really get a kick out of my writing. Also on that front, I have noticed that I have at seven separate times in the past few months started writing new posts only to save them as drafts. Perhaps I will one by one finish each post and publish them. I might even provide context.

Until then, the family is beautiful, school is wonderful, I am building back up in the gym and getting stronger, and Baby Jesus has a comfortable place to sleep in my garage.

Image

Update to “Getting Old”…

Look what just came in the mail from Amazon. Well played, God…

Advice for My Kids? Don’t Get Old!

As an influencer-dad I am frequently asked my advice on important topics.

If only that last sentence were true…

But I do like that term “influencer-dad”. I think I’ll stick with that. Maybe even put it in the tagline of the blog.

Anyway… my two adoring children do occasionally ask my advice. Usually, however, it is not on important topics. In fact they typically ask me things like “Hey Dad, how can I make sure my hair doesn’t fall out like yours?” or “Hey Dad, I have to write a report for history class on the Battle of Gettysburg. Can you tell me what it was like?” Answers? “Don’t have kids” and “I’m not actually that old”. On that second question I should be thankful they didn’t ask me to describe the Battle of Hastings.

As time goes by, though, I can attest that, despite my youthful visage, I am really getting older. I just don’t think of myself as “getting old”. I learned that trick from my mom. “Always being surrounded by so many kids,” she would say, “kept me young.” If that’s the case I should be positively fetal given the couple thousand high school kids I’ve taught over the years. You see, friends, I spend my days with the teen set. It’s hard not to stay young when you’re constantly immersed in the absolute latest slang, styles, and silliness.

And despite rumors to the contrary I have NEVER played the part of the middle-aged dad meme. I take that back. I do wear cargo shorts AND I put stuff in the pockets. What am I supposed to do? They’re useful, those pockets. Other than that and the strategically placed bad “dad joke” I like to think I am in control of the aging process. Look, if I can stare having my spine taken apart and fused back together and still be as active as I am I think I can handle a few more years on the old body.

My daughter’s x-ray from her broken wrist. She doesn’t have gout. She’s young.

Late last week I began feeling a sharp pain in my lower right leg. It’s a pain I’ve experienced on and off ever since I was in my late teens. It comes on roughly once every year or so and goes away after a few days. This time the pain intensified to where I had real difficulty walking by Saturday night. I chalked it up to having gone back to school, being on my feet all day, and switching shoes every afternoon (from black oxfords to sneakers). On Sunday morning my wife took note of me hobbling into mass and thought otherwise. “Go get an x-ray,” she insisted. You see it wasn’t just my ankle now but also my opposite knee and a couple of toes that I had broken about a month ago. I hate doing that – not because I dislike the medical profession but because of the time and expense involved. What could they tell me anyway? “You’ve clearly got some kind of old injury that flares up from time to time. Take Motrin and rest.” Also, it was Sunday so that meant either an ER which seemed like massive overkill or an urgent care center. I haven’t had a ton of luck with these places in the past.

I went in, taking my visiting sister with me for fun. She’s always good for a laugh. First they put me on a scale. A few lbs. heavier than I would have liked but not too bad. Blood pressure was a little elevated too but that’s a symptom of being in pain. “Do you smoke?” they asked. Still not sure what that has to do with anything. Also, it should be in my chart. I’m of a mindset that says “I want you to earn that degree. I’ll just sit here mute and let you figure it out.” I might even give them my copay if they get it right.

After a while a doctor came into the room. He asked some questions and then laid it out for me. Turns out it’s either gout or rheumatoid arthritis. Gout seems most likely so we’ll treat for that. Yep, it looks like my high-protein diet coupled with the fact that I went from drinking about a gallon of water a day to almost none set it off. On that last point, I intended to fill my water bottle frequently throughout the day but the amount of time between classes is really short especially when there are kids who need to be redirected into their classrooms under threat of demerits. He put me on an anti-inflammatory and everything seems to be un-inflaming.

Meanwhile my sister went all Jersey on the x-ray tech who thoroughly enjoyed the display. The kids (my own and my students) should get a kick out of this one. One more thing for them to mock about their “old” teacher. I was young once. The funniest thing is that when I was young I wasn’t interested in my fitness. Now that I’m old I find it crushing to be told not to workout until this or that malady heals. It’s tough but I’m embracing it as best I can. They say with age comes wisdom so there’s that.

I’m old. I can make my own!

“One more thing,” the doctor said to me. “For now you should avoid high protein foods.” That’s going to be really tough for me. Gotta get those gains somehow. “OK, doc, anything else?” I asked. “Oh yes,” he said, “try not to drink beer if possible.” And here’s where that wisdom kicks in. “Doctor,” I said, “I really don’t drink beer.” Then a long pause. “How’s gin?” “You should be fine!” said the medic.

See, I know how to game this getting old thing. Why a younger, more foolish man would want nothing to do with gin. On the other hand, the passage of time has taught me how to hate myself and others just enough to find drinking a bottle of infused perfume perfectly delightful. So when you hurt yourself because you’re old and that’s what old folks do, drink gin. And THAT is my advice to you, children.

The Rest

My dear mother commented on my last blog (but on the reposting of it on Facebook, not here). I had mentioned that I think I got my “grit” from her. I learned long ago, kids, that your grandma was one tough cookie. I also learned that toughness does not mean one has to be cruel or brutish or a boor. She’s also one of the kindest, warmest, and most loving people you’ll ever know.

Her comment simply read “I love your grit as well.”

Thanks, Mom!

The Rest Is Over

Inspired by these words, children, I think your old man has had about enough rest and recuperation. A compression fracture certainly isn’t the end of the world. Come to think of it, the doctor didn’t even put me under any specific restrictions. That could be because it was almost 6:00 on a Saturday evening and I was their last patient. Nonetheless I believe in the old adage of listening to one’s body as a guide to pain management. And this body of mine is saying “Go on now, old man, time’s running out. You’re not getting any younger and you NEED to do something.” I still have these nifty painkillers they gave me and I’ll continue to take them as needed.

But tonight I was called out on four jobs requiring me to move a few hundred pounds worth of medical shipments. I was leery but you know what? I did it. I figured it out. I didn’t hurt myself (at least the pain hasn’t set in yet) and I survived.

I’ll probably never look like this dude. My feet point in different directions. And I only have two of them.

You know what that means? I’m getting back to the gym tomorrow. And when you read this years from now you’ll see that your dad was nothing if not determined. He’s determined not to be sidetracked. He’s determined not to let pain rule his life. He’s determined not to get soft. And he’s determined to continue to go after the hard things in life. I still don’t think I’ll go anywhere near a trampoline anytime soon but free weights?

Never Give Up

I can’t let myself down. I’m going to get shredded if it kills me

I can’t let you kids down. You deserve a dad who can physically do all you demand of him.

I can’t let the high school athletes down. They look up to me. On this last point I’m mystified because if they could have seen me when I was their age they would have kicked sand in my face assuming we were anywhere near a beach.

Life goes on, my children.

And for everything else… say it with me. “There’s Percocet!”

BACK to the Grind

Man 1: “Do you like Kipling?”

Man 2: “I don’t know. I’ve never kippled.”

My dad was fond of telling that old joke when I was growing up. In reality, I like some of Kipling’s work. The Just So Stories come to mind. But the focus on Kipling was not why I repeated it here. I opened Facebook this morning and saw a picture of my father (with my mom and me) and for some reason I thought of that line. Still that joke must have made an impact on me. Every now and then my son will turn to me and ask: “Daddy, do you like… Kipling?” We both laugh like little kids.

Where were we my faithful follower? Ah yes, I broke my back. I don’t want to beat a dead horse. That wouldn’t be fair to the horse and simply a desecration of its body. But this is significant. First, it hurts. Second, it really hurts. Finally, it hurts a lot.

Let’s get caught up, shall we?

Determined to do hard things I realized that lifting heavy weights wasn’t enough so I started doing bizarre gymnastics-like things called calisthenics then my wife went out of town and I gave in to the whims of my children and, having prayed to share in the Passion of Christ, did a frontal flip on a trampoline at the age of 41 with two spinal fusions under my belt (literally), and broke my back. This was followed up with a visit to an urgent care facility wherein two pit bulls had been shot and killed by police earlier in the day after mauling their owner to death. That sound about right?

In my last post I quipped that I must be pretty tough that I went almost 24 hours without treating it before being seen. You see, although I probably get my love of dad jokes from my dad (go figure) I think I definitely get my grit (if you can call it that) from my mom. I still vividly remember her when I was a child and a fall from a second story window in a house fire had left her in traction for weeks. She willed herself to get out of that hospital because, as she said: “I had kids at home to take care of. What was I gonna’ do? Lie there forever?”

Do you like him?

This morning I walked into my classroom and was greeted by 18 of the happiest faces you could hope to see at 8:45 in the morning. They rose to their feet (as they always do, they’re very polite) and said good morning. Then, having already heard through the grapevine that I was injured they began asking with mouths wide open how it was possible that I was with them. I told my story.

Then it was on to my senior class who literally bowed down for me when I came in. They informed me that two of their classmates were out sick because they “didn’t feel well today”. They then told me they would be texting those two to inform them the the “legend” (their teacher) was a machine, a beast, and the most incredible human being they’d known because he didn’t let no broken back stop him from getting to work.

“Kids,” I said, “I had to demonstrate my toughness for you.” It’s an old teacher trick.

The juniors were last and just as mystified as to my presence. “Kids,” I said, “Who else was going to come in here today and have as much fun with you as me?” They appreciated my being there as much as I appreciated their presence. One of them in particular, an athlete, picked up on my fear of getting soft over the next few weeks. He offered me some advice on exercises I could do and diet tricks to keep in mind during the time when I wouldn’t be able to lift. Nice young man.

Back to the doctor’s office on Saturday, the doctor who came in to speak with me after looking at my X-ray asked me “Do you, um, like, do you lift weights or anything?” I gave a bit of a smirk, nodded my head, and said “Yes, yes I do.” “That’s what I figured,” she said. “It probably saved you.” She had just spoken with the neurologist on the phone because she was concerned with where the break was. It seems that a break like mine could easily have left my paralyzed but for my brute physical strength and charm. I tossed the “charm” in there for fun. But really, being in decent shape allowed me to thrust myself out of the dangerous position I was in and I’m glad that I can see a payoff for all the hours in the gym.

Tonight I’m back out making pick-ups and deliveries as part of my courier job. I’m hoping none of the parcels tonight are particularly heavy but as I previously stated “for everything else, there’s Percocet.”

I think Dad would be proud. I didn’t let a little thing like a broken bone get in the way of continuing to do what I need to do for my family. He taught me well. And Mom? Do I even have to ask? I think she’s probably wondering why it’s even a thing. After all, if memory serves, she broke several vertebrae in that fall. She’s probably reading this and thinking “When’s he gonna’ shut up about it? It was one bone!”

And my kids? Well, one day we’ll determine if we actually like Kipling.

Harvey Millican Is a Complete Idiot: Part II

I am sure the vast majority of men (indeed of all humanity) and particularly of Catholic men do not recognize the inherent sinfulness of laziness. St. Don Bosco is famous for chiding the young men in his care to remain physically active. “Laziness teaches us all kinds of vices,” the great patron of youth would say. Of course, he would say it in Italian but you get the point. As a further warning, laziness is enshrined as a capital sin under its more severe form called “sloth”. Also, for those in the know and as Fulton Sheen would attest, it’s pronounced /slōth/. With a short “o” we’re talking about the lazy, three-toed tree-hugger from Brazil.

Do Something, Anything, but Avoid Being Idle

Going back to that theme of doing hard things I had made it my quest to lift hard and heavy and often, to run, jump, and planche forward so that I could be better. I knew that laziness had no part in this plan and that it would, in fact, sink any effort to be more manly (in a truly Christian sense). I became cognizant of all the times I had given up time I could have been doing hard things in order to do no things. And I determined to do more of the former and less of the latter. Besides, I thought, being more active would set a better example for my ten year-old son who’s been exhibiting his share of wanting to “do nothing” lately. Hey, I was a ten year-old boy once. I get it. Doing hard things is, well, hard. But the payoff is huge – huge gains physically and eternal life ultimately.

Over the past year I started to notice myself getting physically stronger. This means nothing except that I would now have a benchmark so I would know I was progressing and progress is good. Stagnation is a benchmark of laziness. I noticed as well that my prayer life was improving. As I forced myself out of bed early simply to deny myself sleep I would use the time to pray. I prayed as I poured my coffee. “Dear God, get this caffeine into me NOW! Amen.” I prayed as I struggled not to get back into bed. “Dear God, the floorboards are so cold. WHY?! Amen.” I prayed as I got into the shower which, thanks to Exodus 90 is a cold shower. “Dear God, Take me swiftly into thine eternal light! Amen.” On that last point I often wondered as to the propriety of praying in the shower. I reasoned, of course (of course), that the Good Lord created me naked so He probably wouldn’t be too embarrassed. But boy was that water cold.

I came to embrace the sacrifices because I wasn’t merely giving things up – time, sleep, my body to the pain – but I was gaining. I gained time with Our Lord in prayer. I gained satisfaction in improving myself and setting a better example. I gained a few lbs. of muscle which was cool. Regarding that benchmark I mentioned, I noticed I was lifting heavier weights. When I started I struggled to do biceps curls with 25 lb. dumbbells. Now I start a “rack run” with 55’s. I feel good. But it must always be seen in context. I drop the weights and thank God I can do these things. I drop the weights and I ask God to strengthen me to protect my children. I drop the weights and realize my big foot was just a bit too far in front of my body. 55 lbs. of iron on a big toe really, really hurts.

Shedding one’s laziness is a lifelong endeavor, at least for me. A year into this mindset and I still fight the temptation, when offered a choice of doing something active or doing something sedentary, to force myself toward the active. Example: I come home from a long day of work (at my first of two full-time jobs) and, having picked up the kids from school, the question is posed “Daddy, will you go on a bike ride with us?” or “Daddy, will you do gymnastics with us?” or “Daddy, will you do flips on the trampoline with us?” What the children are actually asking is “Daddy, will you run alongside while we ride our bikes for three blocks until we get tired and make you carry the bikes and us back home?” or “Daddy, will you move furniture in the living room to put down the mat and do handstands for our entertainment?” or “Daddy, will you bounce on the trampoline while we sit in the middle of it and let your weight propel us high in the air?” The answers are yes, yes, and yes. The reward for this sacrifice of giving up watching the evening news is the joy of spending time with two awesome people who seem to think I’m Joe Weider.

A COMPLETE Idiot

So let’s talk about my progress with calisthenics. You didn’t think I mentioned the gymnastics mat and the trampoline for nothing, did you? About three weeks ago I set out trying the basic wall-assisted handstand. Like my experience with pull-ups about a year ago I knew that this would take a bit of time until it “clicked”. In other words, I had to figure it out by just throwing myself into a flip against the wall until I got closer and closer to actually doing it. When it clicked it would be a recognition in my body’s muscle memory and then I wouldn’t be able to “un-do” it. Think of toddlers learning to walk. They struggle but they don’t give up because it’s hard. And then one day they shed the last bits of their fear – in this case fear of not holding onto anything – and they take that step and Shazam! They don’t seem to ever forget how to walk after that. When I figured out pull-ups it was about figuring out which muscles to activate. And then I got better and better. Pushing past my fear of falling on my head I started tumbling headlong on the mat toward the wall in my living room. What stunned even me was just how quickly I “got it”. Within a week I was able to hold a handstand against the wall for 30 seconds. I’ve been working at it for about fifteen minutes daily the past two weeks now and starting to work in something that resembles a handstand push-up. And as for that trampoline? Here’s where you learn why I called myself out as a complete idiot in the title. Remember Aristotle’s definition of virtue and how it stands in the middle? Sometimes in life we gain so much confidence that we exceed the virtue and head right back into the realm of extreme vice (or in my case stupidity). Two nights ago, with my wife still out of town (she was winding down a week-long business trip) I picked the kids up from school and play practice. I was so enjoying the time I had been given with them that I took them for pizza (meatless, it was a Friday after all). We came home and were joined by my college-aged nephew who goes to school nearby. And then came the shouts of “Daddy! Bounce us on the trampoline!” One of these days I’ll get them to bounce me.

Standing on the springy blue “floor” of the trampoline I heard all kinds of things. I heard laughter. That’s beautiful. I heard music. I had brought a bluetooth speaker into the yard so we could have a dance party. I heard one of the kids implore me “Daddy, do a flip!” On a trampoline I’ve done these flips a hundred times.

But this time was different.

I thought about it. Let’s tie it all together. 1) Sacrifice yourself for the kids. 2) Do hard things and be a man. 3) Avoid laziness like the plague. 4) Make it a prayer.

“God, help me amuse me children and gain strength. Amen.”

I bounced. I bounced higher. I bounced even higher. Then I launched and lurched forward. But something was different. Normally there are only three of us on this thing. Today my nephew was on it too. I don’t know if I was distracted or simply not paying attention. I flipped and did not roll forward enough. I landed on my head. I heard the most ghastly snap like when a person cracks his knuckles. And then I lay motionless for 45 seconds while the kids and my nephew laughed thinking the old man was playing a prank. Finally my nephew was able to hear my gasps. “Help… Me… I… Can’t… Breath…” It hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced. He cleared the kids out and helped me roll off the trampoline. I could stand and walk, though with much pain, so I knew I wasn’t paralyzed. I’ll spare you the details of the rest of the evening except to say that I took a painkiller left over from my last surgery and rested as comfortably as I could. The ER on a Friday night would not have been able to do anything for me.

The next day I finally decided to go to an urgent care center that only handles orthopedic injuries. I was still in tremendous pain. Because of the previous spinal fusions in my lower back I wanted to insure I hadn’t done anything too damaging. A X-ray revealed a pretty nasty fracture of a vertebra in my mid-back. Turns out the lumbar fusions prevented me from rolling out of that flip the right way, hence something had to give. And there’s nothing they can do for me other than painkillers and rest.

There you have it, kids. Daddy sacrificed his body for your entertainment.

I literally broke my back (albeit this time unintentionally). And believe me, God has given me the grace as a father to know just how to use this bit of information to guilt you guys into a virtuous life. “Son, you won’t take out the trash? I guess I’ll do it… Owwwwww! No, don’t worry, my boy, it doesn’t hurt that bad. It’s just a minor – ouch – inconvenience. Not like I didn’t do that back-breaking flip for you…”

But did I hit the goals? I already mentioned 1) having sacrificed my body. 2) A 41 year-old man with titanium hardware in his spine doing a flip on a trampoline counts as “hard”, so, check on that one. 3) I didn’t say no when they asked me to play with them so I’m good on the “avoid laziness” thing. And I even said the following: 4) “Jesus, are ya’ comin’ for me?” as I lay immobile on the trampoline so, prayer, done.

Not a radiologist? I circled the break.

Sacrifice, Lent, the Passion, and True Joy

When I was growing up I was always captivated by the mosaic of the second station of the cross in our parish church in New Jersey. Jesus accepts His cross. In the tiled image Our Lord is depicted with arms outstretched and an expression of joy as the cross is presented to Him. He looks like a young man who has just encountered the woman he’ll marry and he recognizes the joy of love at first sight or like a parent, separated from a child at birth who is finally meeting that child.

This image of joyfully embracing the cross is the finally piece of the puzzle. Yes, I take physical pleasure in lifting weights and in laughing with my kids and in doing hard things and seeing hard gains. I thought of that image and began to ask God, naked in my cold, morning shower, to help me this Lent. “Father, if You will it, I can be made whole. I am a sinful man and Your Son sacrificed Himself for my salvation. I don’t fully understand what I’m asking but please, in Your mercy, let me suffer with Him.”

On this Lenten Friday, missing my wife, rejoicing in my genetic minions who grow more and more like their old man each day, grateful for all He’s allowed me to accomplish, striving for perfection, hoping in His grace… On this day He broke me. But He broke me because He loves me and He gives me a chance to feel that death I must undergo in order to rise to new life. I won’t overdramatize it; but this hurts. I will now have to sacrifice working out because I simply can’t if I want to heal. I’ll have to devote that time to even more prayer and meditation. I might lose those precious gains of which I was so proud and thus exhibit only three abs instead of six at the beach this summer and then I’d have to embrace humility. And it HURTS.

But I’m sure Our Lord’s back was broken under the weight of that cross and he received it with a smile.

Amen.

For those wondering what any of the things I’ve been trying should ACTUALLY look like…