Congraduations

Dear Graduates (and anyone else listening in),

Congratulations! We rejoice with you on this milestone in your lives. We know your parents are proud of you, and glad to see you growing into responsible adults.

If you are anything like I was a few years ago, you probably have lots of emotion surrounding this time. You are filled with excitement and anticipation of what is going to happen next, but perhaps a momentary sadness for the child you remember being, a child with dreams and plans and things that seemed so important at the time, although they have been forgotten long ago. And you stand face to face with the only constant in this polynomial of life: change.

For most of you, change will take the form of college. Many people will tell you to enjoy these four years, because they will be the best years of your life. To me, that sounds like an awfully early highlight, so instead I say, enjoy them, because they are now.

College is an amazing privilege. And it, like most of the rest of life, is what you make of it. If you are really desiring to learn and grow, you will be able to, even if what you are learning is not what you expected. And you can learn these things if you're not going to college, too.

You might learn that there are people in the world who are smarter and more talented and nicer than you. It's a hard lesson, but blessed are you if you learn it early. It will make the rest of life a lot simpler.

You might learn that you don't know as much as you think you know. The more education you have, the more you will become aware of your own ignorance, and the fact that you could spend the rest of your life studying important people and ideas and never know enough. This may be depressing, but it is useful, and can provide incentive for a habit of learning. "Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire," said W.B. Yeats. Memorizing and regurgitating information for tests is not education. Thinking is education. Arguing sometimes is. Asking stupid questions is a big part.

You might learn that the people you think know things aren't always right. You will hopefully be challenged to think for yourself, and even if you're not, do it anyway. Ask yourself if what you are being told lines up with what you can see of truth.

Truth is not relative. But our understanding of it is, and that goes for your professors too. Unless they claim to have divine revelation (and if anyone does, he might have some problems), professors are making assumptions and looking at information based on their primary beliefs (see Kant's theory of knowledge-- and if you understand it, please explain it to me). Some of these primary beliefs may be skewed, thus skewing their interpretation of the evidence before their eyes.

You might learn that knowledge isn't all it's cracked up to be. "Thinking themselves wise, they became fools." Some of the most brilliant men alive have narrowed themselves because they will only believe something if it is observable and repeatable. Materialism limits thinking. As G. K. Chesterton wrote, "Even if I believe in immortality I need not think about it. But if I disbelieve in immortality I must not think about it."

A pursuit of knowledge as the highest good can lead to confused and disorienting circles. J. Budziszewski wrote of his thoughts when he was a nihilist, "I concluded that reality itself was incoherent, and that I was pretty clever to have figured this out—even more so, because in an incoherent world, figuring didn’t make sense either.” Knowledge for it's own sake is futile. It must be in pursuit of something-- or maybe Someone-- else. Knowledge can never explain the "why?" of life.

So don't take anyone's word for it (including mine). Have the courage to find out for yourself.
Happy Graduation to you all! But even more so, Happy Beginning.

what is spring? part 1

"The dogwood blossom," she said, "is a reminder of the cross, with dark brown and red stains, which are the blood of Jesus."

Why I'm not writing about my mother

Trying to write about my mother is hard. Very hard. It's too close, too immense, too real. My palette of words dries up. It's like trying to capture the splendor of the Grand Canyon standing down inside it, when all you can squeeze in are some rocks and maybe a wildflower or two. Yes, they make up part of it; but the parts are not equal to the whole.

Or maybe it's like trying to take a snapshot of a prairie sunrise, when the world is clean and the sky is big and the sun is soaking up shadows with a whole day's worth of light and the clouds are colors we can never come up with names to describe that look like glimpses into heaven. You hear the "click," and wait anxiously to see the results, sure that this will win some kind of photography award, and when you see it, you say "That is not it at all. That is not what it meant at all."

I could give you reasons I love my mother. But they might sound like bragging. And what child doesn't think her mother is the prettiest, smartest, nicest, and generally best? I can't help it that mine really is.

I think what it comes down to is, as a character said in a book my mother would know, "Mainly, I love you for existing." I love her because she is the mostest, realest, bestest her there could be. She has done many things deserving of love, but being is the real reason I love her.

Maybe I can write about mothers in general. I think their importance and influence has been understood much better at some points in history than it is now. There was a time when people said that "the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world."

But I think people are afraid to say that now. Little girls have much more freedom to pursue careers and activities, and are encouraged to dream big. Freedom is wonderful-- I have always wanted to be a writer when I grow up, and love being able to chase that dream. But at the same time, I think a (perhaps unintentional) stigma is attached to being "just a mom." Being "just a mom" is big enough and real enough and enough to be a height to which any woman can fearfully aspire.

Women (and girls) are told that they shouldn't have to sacrifice their careers and their happiness for their children. But the essence of motherhood, just like the essence of any love, is sacrifice.

I have been very blessed through the pictures of motherhood that I have seen growing up. Not just in my own mother, although she is the one I know the most through experience. I also have a wonderful picture in my grandmother, and in other mothers I have observed, who I can appreciate even more now that some of my friends are mothers.

But I believe some of the most important people that we will never know about are the mothers who shaped the way their children thought, and instilled in them thoughts that mattered. And their children listened because they had seen their mothers living what they believed through their love and sacrifice.

As I grew older, I came to understand that my mother didn't wash all those dishes and laundry and cook meals and get up in the middle of the night when we couldn't sleep just because she loved doing those things so much. Nor was it because she was forced to by some law of nature that I took for granted, which made her be there whenever I needed her. But she loved us, and so she did those things even if she didn't like them.

This Mother's Day, let's each remember the first influence on our lives, who may be someone other than a birth mother, but who lived that position by choice. And let us tell them "thank you," and "I love you," even if that will never come close to expressing what we really want to say.

There is a lot more I could say if I were writing about my mother. But I'm not, so I can only say that I still want to be just like her when I grow up.

Don't talk to me....until I've had my coffee

I admit it: I have a drinking problem. I imbibe far more of the brew known commonly as "joe," "liquid sleep," or "coffee" than I probably should.

Both my parents drink coffee. I remember at a young age carrying my dad's cup to him and being rewarded with a sip. So began a life-long love affair.

My dad told me I couldn't drink coffee, because it would stunt my growth. I stayed away from it until I was about 16 on that principle, and then decided I wasn't going to grow much more anyway. Of course, it could be true: if I had consumed coffee before I was 12 I might not have reached my full five feet and two inches.

I was not really supposed to drink coffee until I was 18. The problem with this was that I started working at the donut shop when I was 15-- early mornings, the smell of donuts, and as much coffee as I could drink. All this added up to an unofficial cup every once in awhile.
But my dad had told me I didn't really like the coffee, just the cream and sugar in it. So when I did start drinking, I took it straight black, since I am a good-natured person who would never try to prove something... or not.

My coffee problem only grew when I went to college. The biggest problem with it was that the dining hall coffee was almost undrinkable. You know how the south had to use substitutes during the Civil War? Well, I think some places in Virginia never went back to the real stuff. This "coffee" had the deep, rich vibrancy of tar. But, as one of my classmates pointed out, the coffee improved with desperation.

If a person added a packet of hot cocoa mix and 3-6 flavored creamers, and then held her breath and gulped, it would go down and keep her awake. And if she didn't have time for a cup of...that, a serving of chocolate-covered espresso beans was also very effective. How big is a serving, anyway?

I had a roommate who was rather sensitive on the issue of coffee. I'm not sure why, but she decided to make it her mission in life to rid the earth of it. She (fruitlessly) spent four years of her life trying to save me from the vile black brew. Her ceremonial speech in rhetoric blamed it for the evils that plague mankind, and used me as an example of what it can do to a person.
Of course, I spent four years (of which I have not yet seen fruit) trying to convince her that coffee was really wonderful, and she really didn't want me to stop drinking it.

I did try to give it up recently. I had decided it was not good for me to be dependent on any material or liquid thing for happiness. And I had noticed that I have these funny things called mood swings that I have to be careful about displaying around the general public so they don't get worried. I also have to be careful about displaying them around my family, because they don't get worried, whatever else they may get.

Anyway, I had been cutting back on the amount of coffee I consumed, and decided I could go without it for a whole day, and I did.

But I took up coffee drinking again the next day, by popular demand of those who had to be around me.

I have often wondered who was the first person to look at a coffee bean and say, "I think I'll grind that up and boil it and drink whatever comes out." Someone told me recently it was a priest who noticed that a flock of goats were friskier after chewing the berry and decided it might help him to stay alert for worship. That sounds like a good idea.

I think I heard somewhere that drinking coffee can help prevent diabetes. That has the ring of truth to it, if you ask me. I know it is America's top source of antioxidants (isn't it?), which are something that everyone needs, although I'm not entirely sure what they do. Chocolate, I hear, also has antioxidants in it. What a coincidence that they go so well together!

Who said that we should practice "moderation in everything?" Maybe it was me. But even if it wasn't, I think it's a good idea, whether it's drinking coffee or working or sleeping. Balance is something I should continue to seek.

And in the meantime, maybe I'll put on another pot.