From Worry to Righteousness

In the 6th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (6:25-34) and the 12th of Luke's (12:22-34), Jesus speaks a monologue that, if taken seriously, can fundamentally change the nature and feel of our experience. It is in these passages that we can truly see that Christ calls his followers to more than mere belief and practice—he requires single-minded devotion that, if adopted, leads down only one road: the path of an exceptional life. This word “exceptional” is not to be taken lightly, because within it lies the paradox and the point of Christian life in this world.

Christ calls us to live exceptional lives. We should not take “exceptional” merely to mean “exceedingly good;” on the contrary, we must understand “exceptional” to mean, as the Doubleday Dictionary will testify: “unusual or uncommon, esp. in a superior way.” An exceptional life is more than an atypical life—it is a life which generally ignores conventions and precedents, breaking some and following others, merely because it is not guided by such petty things. It is a life that is wondered at by most, frowned upon by many, applauded by few, and truly understood by even fewer. It is an enigmatic existence. For some, it is too revolutionary; for others, not revolutionary enough. But revolution in this sense is not its end, nor its means, nor its concern. Some might admire such dismissal of societal norms for the sheer audacity of it all, but those who truly understand exceptionalism see that outside reactions are totally irrelevant to the follower of Christ. The exceptional human being is more like Henry David Thoreau, in happy solitude at Walden Pond, than like the flashy Vietnam protester yelling in the streets. “It was never between you and them, anyway—it was between you and God.” (Mother Teresa)

Christian exceptionalism is not childish rebellion or self-righteous protest; on the contrary, it is a quiet and peaceful resolution to follow the precepts of a higher reality, a Truth that has been revealed, and that makes every other affair in this world seem charmingly unimportant by comparison. So what does this sort of person look like? One might play upon the outskirts of truth by recalling what Tony Bennett once said in an interview: that he had always tried to make his voice sound unique. He knew that if he tried to sing like everyone else, he would end up just another nameless member of a chorus somewhere. But by cultivating a unique and personal sound, he has become one of the most popular and long-lived entertainers of the 20th century—his music spanning decades and eras, and continuing to this day.

Now this example is not meant to idealize the goal of worldly success or glory, but of maximizing one’s potential effectiveness in a given area. As Bennett did with singing, the Christian must do with life. And a key part of an effective life is obeying a higher order of reality than that of this world, and that necessarily makes our lives exceptional. The time comes for everyone to step out of the chorus and sing solo.

Society tells us to seek money and worldly success; Scripture tells us to despise it (Mt. 6:24). Society has “liberated” us to follow our passions; Scripture tells us to crucify these passions (Gal. 5:24). Society tells us that what we see is all there is to believe; Scripture tells us that what we don’t see is all that is worth believing in (2 Cor. 4:18).

If we hear the Truth and honestly accept it, we must base our lives upon it. And that may put us in situations that are uncomfortable—but if we remember that it is the eternal which we desire, not the temporal, then any momentary discomfort will seem far less dire (2 Cor. 4:17).

This brings us back to that 1st passage mentioned at the beginning, in which Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow, about our worldly concerns and temporal endeavors. Stop and think about how often you actually live like that. The 10 Commandments we can mostly handle; the Beatitudes are tough, but doable in theory; but this—this is something entirely different. Jesus is not just calling us to reform our behavior toward higher ideals, he is now directing us to change our basic attitudes. Jesus is calling for a fundamental conversion of our philosophy of life: a turning from tension to ease, from anxiety to gratitude, from worry to righteousness. What could be more counter-cultural than that, and what could be more difficult?

Everyone worries about something, it seems. But Christ’s admonishment on the Mount blows our worry out of the water of consciousness by showing us that incessant worry is a form of idolatry; if something other than God and His righteousness dominates our thoughts on a given day, we are placing an idol on a pedestal above the cross. That is why Jesus refers to the worrywarts as “you of little faith.” Not only do they lack the faith that God will deliver them from their troubles, but they also lack the devotion to think of God (and, thus, His compassion and power) on a regular basis. Such moment-to-moment consideration of God would be enough to obliterate any worry.

Perhaps the most appealing part of this monologue, though, it its practical sense. As humans, we have struggled, probably since our caveman days, with worry. We have strained against the door of uncertainty, trying with every ounce of our being to get through it and discover how our problems turn out. Jesus is essentially telling us that this door is opened and closed by only One, Who alone knows what is best, and actually wants this for each one of us. So there’s no need to strain. We can stand calmly and enjoy our surroundings, catch our breath, patiently waiting for the door to be opened. Then we can step inside and enjoy the present moment, the quiet joy of watching the will of God unfold.

Weather or Not

I can definitely see the sun today.

What on earth am I talking about, you ask (if, indeed, there is anyone reading this to ask)? Simply this: my life right now feels like a clear day, in which I can see far ahead down the road.

And the future looks bright. Now beginning my second year of grad school, I will be applying for jobs in mere months. It occurred to me today that in less than a year I will likely know where my first full-time job will be. In other words, I will soon be approaching one of the biggest milestones I've ever reached. Best of all, I am confident that however it ends up, the outcome will be favorable and graced.

Like I said, it's a sunny day right now.

But not everyone can feel the sun's rays. We've all had times in our lives when things don't seem so clear, so happily secure. Negativity and bad breaks sometimes add up to the point that we doubt ourselves, our authenticity, and our purpose. These blue-grey days are tough to endure, because they sap us of our energy. Bereft of a dynamic spirit, we are tempted to despair. The human machine, being imperfect, sometimes weighs our spirit down in this way. But our spirit was meant to fly, and to take this mortal coil along for the trip. So when we get down, we need to turn to God to lift us up again. And He will, because He's always there--even when we aren't aware of Him.

Anyone who feels like their life lacks direction or purpose, take heart. You're in the middle of a cloudy day, that's all. Once the weather clears up, you'll see that the sun was up there the whole time. God's watching over you, even though you can't always feel His presence. Just keep doing your best, and things are going to clear up! How do I know? Because I've seen the sun. And once you've seen the sun, you can't get fooled by cloudy days.

Warmly,
Joezilla

Simply Entertaining

Sometimes it’s good to keep it simple. In the days of jaw-dropping, mega-budget, knock-your-socks-off, blow-you-away, over-hyphenate-your-phrases blockbusters like The Avengers and The Dark Knight Rises (and in light of their impressive success at the box office), I was starting to wonder if every action film would now be an attempt to top those which preceded it (a feat that Avengers essentially accomplished, and Rises definitely tried to accomplish). After all, this trend had been building for the better part of a decade—look no further than the climax of Pirates of the Caribbean 3, which featured Jack Sparrow dueling a man with a computer-animated octopus head on the mast of a ship that is simultaneously caught in a whirlpool and being attacked by both another ship and a mythical sea beast. And, oh yeah, it’s raining. Is that a run-on sentence? Yes, but only because it describes a run-on scene.

The Avengers would seem the epitome of such excessive filmmaking, but it manages to dodge this bullet (so to speak) with an ensemble of likable characters, the wittiest script since True Grit, and, amidst its super-sized muscles and explosions, a clear purpose and objective in every scene. The viewer’s questions are rarely left unanswered, and every piece of action serves some purpose in telling the story. You can call The Avengers excessive, if you want. But it’s excessive like a good buffet, which is to say extremely satisfying and quite fulfilling every now and then.

But not every movie can be The Avengers. And as Dark Knight Rises demonstrated, in the arena of summer blockbusters, there’s only room for one impending nuclear threat. If audiences are routinely presented with nuclear bombs aimed at Manhattan, the whole prospect will just become sort of blasé. And that, we can agree, is a bad thing—both for movies and national security.

But the fact is, not every action movie can top its predecessors. When makers of such films attempt to “keep up with the Joneses,” the result is a very stale crop of movies. And is there anything worse than being bored by an action movie?

In the aftermath of Avengers and Rises, then, it would seem that the ironic goal of the next big action movie would have to be minimalism. Enter The Bourne Legacy, starring Jeremy Renner (a.k.a. Hawkeye from The Avengers). Legacy is just what the PG-13 action genre needed right now—a simple and direct story that is modest in plot, scale, and action.

The story of Bourne Legacy is very simple: the government is trying to track Renner down, so he has to escape. Along for the ride is the beautiful and apparently ageless Rachel Weisz, who spends 90% of the film gaping like a deer in headlights—but in a very appealing way.

The plot also seems less serious, less seething with anti-waterboarding rage, than its predecessors. Of course, the sinister government officials (a trademark of the Bourne series) are still there, gravely staring at giant video-walls as they always do. But the whole affair seems less like it’s trying to tell us something serious, and more like it’s just trying to give us a fun time. And generally, that’s what we want in a movie.

The scale of Bourne Legacy is simple, as well. Going against the globe-trotting grain of recent films (such as Mission: Impossible 4, another excellent action film co-starring Renner…hmm, noticing a pattern here?), Legacy features only one plane ride. The bulk of the action takes place in Manila, a suitably dusty urban setting for the rooftop gymnastics, fast-paced car-chases, and perfectly-calculated arrivals that are another trademark of the Bourne movies. But the setting is relatively understated.

Most important of all, though, the action is simple. Basically, this movie is the anti-Pirates 3. Its climax is a motorcycle chase. No nukes aimed at the Big Apple. No world-devouring alien approaching from a black hole. Just a bad guy, a good guy, and a pretty woman, weaving through crowded traffic on cycles. It’s a scene that could have appeared on the big screen fifty years ago, and it’s just as effective now as it was then.

It’s nice to see that we haven’t completely lost our ability to enjoy the simple things in life.

Happily,
Joezilla

P.S.: How wonderful it is to see a chaste romance in a Hollywood movie! Once again, Bourne Legacy manages to deliver the goods without overdoing it. Let’s hope this is a trend that catches on. Keep praying, though… ;)

Why We Fear Habits

Dedicated to the memory of Stephen R. Covey.

It all started with a toothache. Enjoying a lavish all-you-can-eat dinner in the middle of a vacation with my family, I happily chomped into some peel-and-eat shrimp—and discovered I had not peeled as thoroughly as I should have. The result was a sharp pain in one of my molars, that sudden and unexpected kind of pain that scares as much as it hurts, thanks to its uncertain origin.

But in this case, I knew the feeling all too well. This strange toothache likely meant the beginnings of a chipped tooth, a minor dental malady I’d experienced the year before.

My Mom suggested I see the dentist ASAP upon arriving home. I resignedly agreed, reflecting on my decided lack of flossing since my last visit. I have an excellent dentist, and I have made it a sort of personal tradition to try to buoy his faith in mankind by showing for appointments with impeccable flossing habits—the Holy Grail of dentistry. Having kept a dreadful routine of biweekly or—I shudder to admit it—monthly flossing, I felt in no condition to visit the dentist any time soon.

But my Mom replied—and note this well, dear reader, because it is the core of what I have to say here—“Don’t worry. You can accomplish a lot in a little time.” I resolved then and there to floss that very night—which I just did before writing this. I may wake up tomorrow with slightly sore and swollen gums. It will be up to me to work through the initial phase of discomfort and ready myself for my impending dental visit. And if I stick to it, I will be fine. My Mom was right—a lot can be accomplished in just a little time.

We are afraid to revive neglected habits. Why? Because we fear that we will not be able to surpass or even reach our prior achievements. Can the former runner still run that 6-minute mile? Can the high school clarinetist still hit those high notes? Has the history buff forgotten who the 18th President was? It would take a long time to remaster these skills or relearn these fields of information, and always with the looming uncertainty in the background, the question of creeping Doubt: “Could you still be any good?”

The question, though, is irrelevant. People pursue passions because they love them, not just because they are proficient at them. Generally the two go together anyway, but even a rank amateur is still, as G.K. Chesterton pointed out, a “lover” of the thing pursued, because the word “amateur” literally means “lover.”

So if this is your fear, cast it out for the irrelevancy that it is. Perhaps you will only run an 8-minute mile now—but the point is, you’ll be running a mile again! And the same could be said for any revived skill or hobby.

The other fear we often face in reviving an old ability is more absurd, but perhaps even more common: we avoid reviving a habit simply because we fear we might not keep up the habit. Let’s face it, we’ve all been there. We start a habit, it goes well for three days, or maybe a week—and then it all goes down the drain. Something comes up; life gets in the way, as it is wont to do. How is the busy working man or woman supposed to find time to pursue passions?

Hmm. This is a tough conundrum, isn’t it? Well, actually, no. It’s not. There’s a simple solution, and here it is.

Set aside a small amount of time each day (between 5 and 15 minutes) to devote to practicing/building/enhancing/expanding/exercising/refining/reviewing whatever it is that you want to improve. It’s not rocket science, but the two ingredients essential:

1. Small amount of time (5-15 minutes). Less than 5 minutes is so inconsequential as to be nearly pointless, and is easily overlooked or forgotten in a busy schedule. More than 15 minutes begins to be a serious problem for those same busy people. But 15 minutes or less is impossible to refuse. If someone can’t set aside 5 special minutes out of their day, they need to fix their schedule so that they can.

2. Everyday. Fitness guru Jack LaLanne, who died seriously ripped at the age of 96, always insisted that a healthy person work out every day—never miss a workout, even if it has to be a small one. Now for Jack LaLanne, this meant several hours of swimming and weightlifting. For us, it might be a 5 minute jump-rope session, 10 minutes of studying Spanish, or 15 minutes of noodling around on the piano. But the consistency is the point. In his excellent book The Rhythm of Life, Catholic author Matthew Kelly points out that coastlines are changed by daily, repetitive crashings of water against rock. One splash of water, no matter how large, will not reshape an entire coast. Only the reliable, regular waves, rolling in from the deep blue day after day, year after year, century after century, can change the shape of a continent. The force of habit, says Kelly, repeated day after day in a disciplined routine, can have the same effect by reshaping one’s life.

So why worry about dropping a newly-acquired habit? Set a modest goal, and go for it. If you don’t succeed with that, figure out why. If it was a problem of willpower, gather your spirit and try again. If it was a problem of circumstance, address the circumstance or alter the goal.

I believe that the world would be a much greater place if everyone was actively involved in some passionate pursuit of a hobby, skill, sport, art, craft, or otherwise that adds to the world in some way, even if it is just their own world or those the ones closest to them. The human being is a wondrous creation capable of many wondrous things.

So what are you going to start going today? Start a new hobby, or dust off an old one. Give yourself the opportunity you need to, in Stephen Covey’s memorable words, “sharpen the saw.”

Good luck, and God bless you!

Determinedly,

Joezilla

Hero

Humanity has always been captivated by the idea of the hero.  We have never stopped telling stories about heroes.  Why is that?  I think it is because we thrive on examples.  We can do a job much more effectively if we see someone else do it first.  In the same way, we can be better people if we see someone else model the right attitudes and behaviors.  So we look to heroes to give us that inspiration, that push in the right direction.  If our desire to be a hero is great enough, we start to live like a hero.  And living like a hero is the only way to become a hero.


Lately the movie Captain America has been on my mind.  In a strange way, I was pulled into the heartwarming but heart-wrenching story of the Cap.  But more than that, I was drawn to the character as he is portrayed in the film, as well as its mind-blowingly awesome sequel, The Avengers.


In Captain America you have the quintessential fish out of water.  Plunged into science-defying (but plot-satisfying) sleep for 70 years under polar icebergs, Captain America is thawed out to a rude awakening just in time to answer another call of duty: the Earth and its inhabitants are now threatened by an enemy both supernatural and extraterrestrial.  What does Cap do?  Does he mourn the lost promise of love he left behind in 1943?  Does he wallow in the unbelievable changes the world has gone through since his era?  Does he change who he is to blend in with his surroundings?

Well, yes to all of those, for a time.  He is human.  He mourns.  He wallows.  He even responds uncertainly to the pressure of his new surroundings.  But soon enough, when the need arises, Cap gets out of himself, suits up for action, and proceeds to risk life and limb for what he believes in, which is protecting the innocent, fighting injustice, and promoting the ideals of our free country.

God has used this fictional character to turn my heart toward an important truth:  Heroism is about doing the best thing possible whenever you have an opportunity.  But we also learn that a hero quickly becomes a loser (and sometimes an instrument of evil) when he starts to focus on himself.  What is inspiring about Captain America is that he never does this.  It's always about the mission, the objective, the well-being of others.  Self-sacrifice is not a stumbling block, not even the subject of a moment's hesitation.  Giving it all he's got is standard operating procedure.

In many ways, he reminds me of the very real Theodore Roosevelt, who said:

The true Christian is the true citizen, lofty of purpose, resolute in endeavor, ready for a hero’s deeds, but never looking down on his task because it is cast in the day of small things; scornful of baseness, awake to his own duties as well as to his rights, following the higher law with reverence, and in this world doing all that in him lies, so that when death comes he may feel that mankind is in some degree better because he has lived.

Was Theodore Roosevelt the real-life version of Captain America?  In his youth, he was a tiny whelp of a child, weakened by asthma.  Through sheer determination and unrelenting discipline, he conquered his weakness and grew into a brawny barrel of a man.  More importantly, he grew on the inside as well.  Roosevelt became one of the most dynamic, confident, and inspiring leaders this country has ever seen.  He represented our country to the world as a place of freedom and opportunity, looking out for the poor and downtrodden workers while refusing to dump all the country's problems on the rich.  He paraded a brand-new, state-of-the-art fleet of battleships around the world, painted stark white--a stunningly eloquent symbol of America's commitment to peace and its power to defend it against bullies.  Was Theodore Roosevelt Captain America?  I'm convinced.

Heroes like these, both fictional and real-life, point to the person I would call the quintessential human hero of our history: the Virgin Mary.  Catholicism teaches that Mary was conceived without sin, and lived a sinless life.  So great was her virtue that at the time of what would have been her earthly death, she was simply "assumed" bodily into Heaven.  No Purgatory, no penitence, no perfecting necessary.  She was simply the ideal that all the rest of us poor human saps should live up to.

Mary comes onto the scene in the Bible with such an inspiring message.  On her lips is the motto of all true heroes:  "May it be done to me according to your word." (Luke 1:38)  This, ultimately, is what life is all about—discerning the will of God, our marching orders for life, and answering that call of duty.  Each day when we get up, we must spring into action, unhampered by negative pressures from both without and within, never losing sight of that purpose.  At the end of the day, if we have looked up to God and said "May it be done to me according to your word," and really offered our day in accordance with His will, then we are heroes.  And, ultimately, we are happy.

So I'd like to thank God for both Theodore Roosevelt, and all the people who contributed to the Captain America film.  Both of these rather macho figures ironically but understandably pushed me toward a greater devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and a more personal understanding of why she is given such great honor in our tradition.

I could talk about heroes all day.  But then I'd have no time to actually try to be one.  Perhaps you, too, need to connect with Home Base and figure out what exactly you're supposed to be doing.  I hope your communication is successful and clear.  See you in the trenches.

Hail Mary!

Joezilla

Reconciliation

Imagine being able to tell someone the worst things you’ve ever done in your life, the dirtiest little secrets that you couldn’t imagine telling anyone else about. No human person could let it slide completely. We strive for unconditional love (and some are able to come inspiringly close to achieving it completely), but there is no human being alive whose perception of us would not be at least slightly altered by such an airing of our dirty laundry. As such, we tend to put up barriers between ourselves and others. Despite what some might say, this is at times a wise course of action. Jesus taught us not to “give what is holy to dogs, or throw your pearls before swine, lest they trample them underfoot, and turn and tear you to pieces” (Matthew 7:6). I think it’s completely possible for us to throw our own dignity to the assorted dogs and swine of the world. Personal stories and unflattering details about our past need not be worn on our sleeves, because such information can be exploited by negative people.

That said, it is wholly unhealthy to barricade ourselves from the world. Humans thrive on social contact with each other, even seemingly insignificant social contact. How, then, are we to address the problem of these dirty little secrets, the sins of our past that sometimes seem to stick in our minds and hearts, gumming up the emotional works? We may shudder at the thought of sharing them with others, and so they remain locked in the confines of our own person.

For those who believe in God, there is a solution to this problem: God forgives us. God, the One to Whom we ought to be most sorry for any of our sins (because sins against other people are sins against precious aspects of His creation), holds nothing against us. Living on earth as Jesus of Nazareth, God died for us on the cross in order to forgive our sins. In a perfect world, we could fully turn to God after committing a sin and, if filled only with humble repentance, accept His unconditional love and forgiveness.

But as fragile and imperfect human beings, this task is exceedingly difficult. No, it’s actually impossible. We cannot fathom God. We cannot fully empathize with His unconditional love, because we cannot fully practice it ourselves. Accordingly, we cannot express repentance directly to Him and feel fully forgiven without retaining some shred of doubt, some question in the back of our mind.

As Catholics, we are graced with a special gift, the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Sacraments are physical signs of God’s presence in our lives, shown through specific interactions and objects. I like to think of them as portals through which God breaks into our lives more directly than anywhere else.

In Reconciliation, we have the opportunity to face another human being, a priest empowered by the grace of God, and in so doing face Christ himself, listening to us pour our hearts out, share everything we’re afraid to tell another, everything that shames us and brings us down. In Reconciliation, we plumb the depths of our shame, hit the rock bottom of our souls, scoop out all of the clutter, and let the light shine all the way in. It doesn't feel good at first, because we have to be ready to spit it all out. Sin doesn't taste as sweet on the way out. But once we let it go, we're emptied of our evil--and ready to let love take its place.

Reconciliation gives us the chance to tell God we’re sorry, and realize (through the personal presence of the priest) that God is a personal being, a personal being Who loves us unconditionally. He wants to make us better. Reconciliation is not about punishment for our sins. It is about abandoning them in the face of God’s amazing love and listening to how we can improve ourselves for the future. This is also why I believe that face-to-face Reconciliation, while it is singularly difficult for me to bring myself to take part in it, is also the most rewarding and grace-filled experience of the Sacrament that I have found.

I have heard about an experience of this Sacrament in a past era which involved an angry priest yelling at a penitent for his sins. Although I do not doubt the power of the Sacrament even in such a strange and uncomfortable situation (regardless of how the penitent felt afterward, which was probably not very good!), I cannot thank God enough for bringing our Church to its modern understanding and practice of the Sacrament. The priest is not there to judge us as God’s inquisitor, but to love us as God’s representative, and to call us to “sin no more” by offering a penance that will bring us closer to God and begin the process of improvement.

What a gift we have as Catholics—the chance to feel, through the physical presence of a fellow human being, the personal and unconditional love of the living God! The ultimate feeling that comes with Reconciliation is freedom, the blessed kind of freedom that is based in living a totally true life. When we confess our sins, there is not a trace of falsehood left within us. We have left nothing inside to be hidden from the world. Jesus was right:

Peacefully,

Joezilla

Life's Classroom

One of the greatest things about life is that it offers quiet, whispered lessons every day. It takes a lot of willingness, a bit of inner peace, and a dash of grace to hear these lessons, but I know from experience that they're there for the taking. I offer today as a wonderful example.
I was blessed with a wonderful combination this morning: beautiful weather, crackling enthusiasm, and a large chunk of free time. Accordingly, I was able to spend a few minutes raking dead grass in the yard—and, I must add, enjoying the nature! All this would have been great, but God topped it all off with some wonderful inspirations. These are those little lessons I'm talking about. I hope you enjoy them, as well.

First, I realized as I raked that happiness comes with habits. Let me be clear here. We can all have a happy moment (for instance, winning the Lottery) or a happy experience (like a dinner with old friends). This is happiness as a feeling. True happiness, what I like to call deep happiness, is more of a trait that we can nurture or neglect, much like a muscle or a skill. Happiness must be exercised. Inner peace must be a goal. This starts with physical relaxation (not sitting in an easy chair, but striving for relaxed and unhurried motion in daily life--eliminating unnecessary tension in the body), but it also requires other work, both inside and out. Gratitude must be clung to like a lifesaver, because that is precisely what it is. G.K. Chesterton wisely observed that "Thanks are the highest form of thought." Acts of service should make visible the love we have for those in our lives. Of course, there's much more, but what I realized today was that happiness, like all good things (and some really bad ones!) requires habitual action.

The second lesson was about excess—and, if I may be bold, the nature of God. I was struck by the vibrant brightness of the day out there. The sky was not just blue, it was an insanely deep, bright, fall-into-it-if-you-stare-at-it-too-long kind of blue. The evergreens weren't just green, they were a glowing, smiling, healthy, look-at-me sort of green. The birds were boisterously chirping in some great treetop debate that somehow involved the whole neighborhood. The whole of nature seemed so happy. I was filled with inner peace.

But that's the strange part--this scene was anything but peaceful on the outside. My eyes were buffeted with light and color, my ears were filled with wind and cheep-cheeps. But it soothed my spirit. Why? Well, I think it's because our God is not one of moderation. Moderation is an earthly concept, and a blessed one--it frees us from the captivity of our humanity, allowing us to set our sights on something higher than our animal impulses and desires. Moderation is one of our greatest defenses against evil. But once this life is over, moderation, I think, will be a thing of the past. If Heaven is placement in a divine family typified by perfect Love, who needs to be moderate there? I think Heaven will be excess, in the best sense of the word--God's love filling each member of the Kingdom to a degree that is now unfathomable to our mortal minds. For now, all we can do is marvel at the blue skies He sends us.

The final insight came from a quick climb of a tree. Ascending about 25 feet into the air, I was treated to an unusual perspective on the surrounding neighborhood. Seeing the trees, houses, and particularly the street from such an unusual angle flipped a switch in the back of my mind, and reminded me just how amazing everything really looks. The smooth curves of the road, expertly planned by some engineer decades ago, jumped out at me in a way I never appreciated while driving them. The houses, too, looked novel and fascinating from this unorthodox altitude.

Although I soon lost sight of this valuable perspective-shift, I remembered it while driving later in the day--and that strange elevated view of the road came back to my mind; suddenly, I was no longer just driving back from school, but instead driving on a strange and fascinating trip to a wonderful destination. That physical shift in perspective reminded me to appreciate all experience as unique. I'm indebted again to G.K. Chesterton, who said that "Every instant of conscious life is an unimaginable marvel." How true, indeed!

See what a little sunshine can do? =)

Happily,

Joezilla