Transfixus Sed Non Mortuus

Here I Stand, Pierced and Transfixed

Browsing Posts tagged family

Dear Future Mom

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Today is National Down Syndrome Day! Check out this beautiful video about it:

“What is That?”

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I think the relationship between a father and son is very special. I know that my relationship with my own father has had a lot of ups and downs. It usually coming from my own failures to see the love my father is constantly giving to me and the hope that he has for me. Often, he’s done things that were hurtful to me, but I realize now that a lot of that hurt was because I refused to honor him for the person he is, flaws and strengths brought together in a remarkable person of grace and dignity. It’s up to me to do my best to remember that.

My Beautiful Lady

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A little story about Jane and June…

My Dog Died

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Last month, my family’s dog died. His name was Cappy.

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Having been married only a year and a half, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that marriage isn’t for me.

Now before you start making assumptions, keep reading.

A Moving Weekend

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This weekend, I was able to take some time to go to Wisconsin to help my brother Dan move. He was moving from Marshall, WI to Palmer, WI (about an hour away). After work Friday, I headed out there with my other brother Joe and our friend Dave. It was a long drive and we arrived around 11:30pm (Central Time). We got up early the next day and basically helped with the moving from 8am till 1:30am the next morning.

I got up and watched the sun rise and took this shot of the sun peeking through the trees:

I saw this spectacular moment after a hard night of moving

I saw this spectacular moment after a hard night of moving

I am very grateful for the chance to hang out with my brothers and to also see a bit more of the country.

A Father’s Love

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The other day, I was riding my bike down Packard. The sun was squinting through some big puffy clouds and the weather was fairly mild for the winter. There wasn’t a spot of snow on the ground, so I was riding gently along admiring all the things I passed.

As I was coming up on one particular parking lot, I noticed a very tall thin man in a black coat and hooded sweatshirt. He was facing partly away from me and I took note of him because his back was arched over while he walked. It looked very strange to me. However, as I drew nearer to him, I realized that in his left hand was a small toddler’s hand. The toddler had on a fluffy pink coat that made her look like a little pink marshmallow. He was bent over so that this girl (who I assume was his daughter) could walk with him.

I was nearly past them when the little pink marshmallow pulled her daddy’s hand down nearly to the ground and she seemed to be concentrating on the ground in front of her. This big dude just went right along with it, and was as patient as a saint while she studied the ground with deep earnestness. I slowed my bike a bit to see what she was looking at.

She gently reached on the ground and picked up an old maple leaf. Then, she brought it close to her face as if she was taking in every detail. Very gently she motioned for her dad to take the cold wet leaf. She placed it in his hand and he brought her up to his face for a kiss. I kept riding.

That small moment in time made me think about a father’s love. The love that man had for his daughter radiated to me, a random passerby. It definitely looked like he was arching his back in a very painful way so that his daughter could walk alongside. I thought about how I might have caused my own dad pain in trying to walk upright in this life. But I also saw the love of his daughter. A leaf that might mean nothing to the rest of the world suddenly had a lot of meaning for that dad because it was a gift from his daughter. I thought about what gifts I might have given my own dad that might not have much meaning outside of his and my little world. These things kept me thinking about a father’s love in general.

A father’s love has to be malleable, durable, and strong. A father’s love has to be gentle, patient, and kind as well. I think that I don’t always know how best to show love, but a father’s love always shows the best and brightest.

Making Bread

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The other day, a friend and I were discussing bread and how it’s a deeply comforting type of food. It reminds me of my mom baking bread.

I seem to remember warm summer days where the light poured brightly and wide into the dining room. That is where my mom would measure out the flour into the sifter. She would gently tap a butter knife over the measuring cup and then scrape the knife over the cup to ensure that it was a level measure. Then, she would dump it in the sifter. If none of my siblings were around, I would be able to take the flour sifter and sift the flour into the seemingly gigantic white bowl. I loved the sound of the sifter as I turned the handle and watch the snow-flour fall.

I would watch as my mom would add all the ingredients and prepare the active dry yeast. She would heat some water until it was “just right” and then dump a packet of the yeast in. After stirring a bit, she would add the yeast to the dry mixture, and mix it all up in the giant white bowl.

Then, we waited for the best part. She would put a towel over the yeast and set it on top of the gas stove (not turning any burners on). I would watch the towel sometimes, but I would usually tire of towel-watching. But lo, when I would come back, there would be a bulbous shape expanding under the bowl. At long last, the part I would wait for had arrived. It was time to punch the dough!

This was always my siblings and my favorite part of the bread-making process. We would karate chop the bread, or give it a right hook. Perhaps a left jab seemed more appropriate. Either way, it was fun to punch the gentle mixture. I always had a lot of fun with it.

Those were the days, my friend!

The Day I Ran Away

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I think that for the most part, I was pretty happy-go-lucky as a child. I loved to be a part of my family. However, I wasn’t that way all the time. Sometimes, normally loving siblings became my rivals. Sometimes, I felt that parents were being unfair. I think these things happen as we grow, and it certainly happened to me from time to time.

I don’t remember the exact reason, but I remember I once decided to run away from home. This moment is on the edge of my memory, and my guess is that I was either in kindergarten or first grade at the time (so probably between 5-7).

While some of the details are shaded from my memory, I do remember how I felt and thought. I told myself that I would go far, far away so that no one would ever find me again. That would sure teach them. They would be missing me by dinner, and oh, how they would look for me, but oh, how upset they would be that they couldn’t find me. I was completely indignant and angry at something…what it was, I cannot recall.

I packed up the only suitcase-like object I owned…a plaskool doctor kit, similar to the one here: I’m pretty sure that thing couldn’t have been more than ten inches long and about four inches wide. Yet, I remember thinking that I had everything I need (a la “The Jerk”) as I set off angrily out the back door.

I made it about one hundred feet in the back yard just next to the lilac bushes in my parents’ yard. One of my brothers ran up to me and stopped me. As he asked me what I was doing, I burst into tears. I told him I was running away. I spilled my guts to him about whatever was bothering me so much. I can’t even remember what he told me after that, but it seemed we talked for a long time right there at the edge of the lilacs. Needless to say, he talked me out of running away.

I remember feeling really foolish afterward, but I don’t think my brother nor I ever talked about it again. I think it helped us bond as brothers in the long run because I remember feeling a lot of gratitude for his help in keeping me from running away.

There have been times in my life since where I’ve really wanted to hide from it all and just “run away” from my life “for a while.” Yet, if I actually give it some thought, I realize that this life is an amazing ride, and one that I shouldn’t want to run away from, whether I’m in the midst of deep pain or highest happiness. If I keep those kind of thoughts in mind, I do have joy.