I Have A Confession To Make

“I couldn’t accept it in theory, but it made sense in practice.” This was the statement I found myself making in a conversation with one of my closest friends about the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

We’re both devout Catholics who have always gladly partaken of the Sacraments applicable to our stage in life, but we have, admittedly, also shared some reservations about Reconciliation. This didn’t stop us from participating in it, but certain problems have tended to pop up in our conversations about it. The quote printed at the top of this post reveals the epiphany I am slowly enjoying regarding the Sacrament: I am now realizing how important regular Reconciliation is to a committed Catholic life. As I feel particularly inspired tonight, I would like to address the two chief concerns that have sometimes weathered away confidence in the Sacrament.

The first is the fact that Reconciliation consists partly of confessing one’s sins to another human being—imperfect, subjective, and susceptible to sin. Confidentiality might worry some, but I can assure anyone plagued by such worries that it is a truly confidential affair. Every priest I have ever heard speak about hearing confession has testified that it is a humbling privilege, and that they can feel the Holy Spirit working through them in their ability to listen, to speak words of comfort or advice, and to assign an appropriate penance. They also value the Seal of Confession—the priestly duty to keep penitents’ sins completely confidential—as highly as anything else in their profession. In short, they take Reconciliation seriously.

But this is not the issue that bothered us. The real problem with confessing to another man, one might argue, is that the action is ultimately just that—confession to another human soul. Why the need for an intermediary? Well, simply put, Reconciliation is a Sacrament, and like any other Sacrament, its administration requires someone who has been endowed with the authority and power to do so. Just as the consecration of the Eucharist requires an ordained priest, so Reconciliation requires a priestly intermediary.

You could, if you so choose, picture the priest’s authority and power as a sort of special machine that only he possesses. If someone who doesn’t have the machine—i.e. is not ordained—attempts to perform a priestly function, said function will have no certain effect. On the other hand, our faith tells us—with the same assurance that it tells us everything else—that a priest’s Sacramental actions are real—real in the highest sense, which is the supernatural sense. If I enter the confessional with my aunt Sally and proceed to confess my deepest sins to her, she can listen and offer advice and even suggest what I might do to fix my broken relationship with God—but she cannot offer the guarantee of complete and total forgiveness, by the power of Christ and in the name of the Catholic Church, that an ordained priest could and would offer. Furthermore, there is no guarantee that she will keep it silent.

Finally, strictly speaking, the priest is not the one who is forgiving you—he is acting in persona Christi, in the person of Christ. Jesus Christ is present in every confessional booth, listening to your sins, leading you back to him, and loving you fully all the while.

This leads to the next potentially questionable aspect of Reconciliation. Simply put, Jesus died on the cross, and through his passion and death he bore the weight of all of our sins—which were forgiven through his unfathomable act of sacrifice and atonement. Why, then, do we need to go and get forgiven again? Doesn’t Jesus love us anyway?

Well, to answer the last question right away, yes—Jesus loves us no matter what. St. Paul made this clear when he asserted that “Nothing can separate us from the love of God” in his letter to the Romans. Given this, why do we say that someone might not get to Heaven if they die without having confessed their sins?

In order to answer this question, we need to briefly talk about what Hell really means in Catholic theology. Of course, volumes and volumes could be written about this subject, but in a nutshell Hell is complete and eternal separation from God, brought on by—and this is the important part—our refusal to accept His love. The only way we can get to Hell is by saying no to God and slamming the door in His amazing face. God’s will for us is clear: He wants us to be united with Him, each person remaining unique but joined with Him and with one another in an unshakeable bond of intimate love unlike anything on Earth. In order to be united with God, Who is perfect, we must first be made perfect. Jesus gave us the Sacraments to help bring us closer to this goal before we complete the job in Purgatory.

That said, it becomes clear that Reconciliation is not the act of God listening, evaluating our penitence, and reluctantly saying, “Okay, I’ve changed my mind. I forgive you!” No—God doesn’t change. He’s perfect and He’s outside of time. No change there. Reconciliation is in fact about us, and how we change in the presence of God and His amazing love. This is not to say that a supernatural sort of transaction has not taken place, of course. On the contrary, God actually does wipe our slate clean when we are absolved. Our sins are forgiven, as the priest tells us after we are absolved. But God’s will has not changed, only our relationship with Him, and our ability to relate to Him once again. The disunion is mended. We are no longer standing in our own way, tripping ourselves as we try to walk toward God.

Jesus’ suffering and death did pay for all our sins. The New Testament testifies to this truth as much as it testifies to any other. However, like the debris accumulated in an air filter, sin has had an effect on us, and we need the Sacrament of Reconciliation to be wiped clean. It’s not about having God erase the checkmarks by your name on the heavenly report card; on the contrary, it’s about God making you ready to come closer to Him again. When we have consciously committed a sin we cannot get as close to God, because sin is separation from God. We cannot choose closeness and separation and expect to achieve either one. If we try, our spiritual life becomes superficial, dishonest, and dull. And under those conditions, we’re shooting ourselves in the foot before we start walking.

I like to call it Reconciliation. This is a more complete name for the Sacrament than “confession,” which forgets to include the whole absolution part—which is, needless to say, kind of important! Yes, I’m finally coming around on Reconciliation. I hope that this post will help you do the same, dear readers.

Authentically,
Joezilla

Here Comes Trouble...?

Why are troublemakers held in such high esteem? Not everyone does this, of course, but there is an unmistakable regard already conferred upon troublemakers by middle school which continues on up through all levels of education. Why is the kid who talks back to the teacher given special esteem by so many of his peers? Why is the football player who wields the towel-whip in the locker room worshipped by girls and deferred to by guys? Why does the hung-over frat boy, unshowered and uncombed, command any following at all—much less the rapt attention of the long-haired sorority-sisters in the back rows of Econ class?

These are not the frustrated ventings of a repressed social underling, I assure you. I thankfully was taught early in life that the best way to strike out against absurd social precedents (like the one in question) is to act as if they don't exist. Conflict will arise, of course—and that's when things get really exciting.

No, this reflection is merely based on a fundamental contradiction I sense in the idea of considering troublemakers "cool." When something is cool, we want to be a part of it. It is attractive. It appeals to us. Normally, for something to be appealing, there must be a high degree of mastery in some skill or art. Virtuosos are cool. If we see Yo-Yo Ma perform a demanding technical piece on the cello or John Mayer nail a mind-boggling guitar solo, we say "Cool!" Likewise, savvy people are cool. Think of the coolest person you know. Chances are they're good with words, in a down-to-earth sort of way. They know how to interact well. They understand the rules, and they work well within them.

Are you starting to see the contradiction? We usually respect and admire people who are good at things, who understand how to work within the rules of some discipline (be it music, juggling, conversation, or anything else) in order to produce something extraordinary.

But for troublemakers, it is the exact opposite situation. People who get in trouble don't understand the rules. They aren't savvy. They fail to recognize limits. It is no surprise that, when I consider the most audacious troublemakers of my own generation and experience, the ones who bucked authority even beyond the traditional precedents (and were esteemed by peers all the more for it), four of them are no longer alive. Troublemakers don't respect limits because they don't understand them. As opposed to the heightened sensitivities of the masters, troublemakers display a marked lack of a certain kind of sense. Tragically, this can be the death of them.

Of course, there are exceptions to this. In the face of an evil authority or an unjust rule, trouble must be made, and confidently—regardless of the outcome. Jesus of Nazareth was crucified on the grounds that he was a troublemaker, but he displayed a sensitivity the likes of which the world has not seen since. If telling people to honor God, stop sinning, and love one another is trouble, then count me in—and I'll bring the spitballs.

But that is a completely different situation. The modern bad boys are neither calling others to live better lives nor sacrificing themselves for ultimate causes. They're merely coasting through life—ignoring standards and risking their own necks in the process. Why does anyone pay any attention to them? More importantly for us, what can we do to combat this sorry tendency?

Christmas, The Bishop's Wife, and True Service

Hello there, and Merrrrrrry Christmas!

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In case you were wondering, dear reader (if, in fact, there is any dear reader out there to be wondering), the seemingly unintelligible jumble of symbols above is my patented new Santa Smiley (all rights reserved, of course!). If you're puzzled by this moniker, look at it sideways and everything will make sense. Ho-ho-ho!

Today I just watched the wonderful Christmas film The Bishop's Wife, starring Cary Grant, David Niven, and Loretta Young. It's a wonderful movie that could be best characterized with a single word: charm. The actors are charmingly entertaining—funny when they're supposed to be funny, touching when they're supposed to be touching, and at all times quite convincing in the clever little plot the movie relates.

It is a great film from a great era of film-making, but this is not what puts it over the top. On the contrary, the greatest charm of this movie comes in its superb and enlivening message.

I firmly contend that the best entertainment is the kind that makes us want to be better people. The best book is the book that, upon its finishing, causes the reader to throw it to the ground, jump up in a fit of ecstasy, and embark on some great adventure that will somehow better the world. The best song is that which grants its listeners a supernatural sort of energy upon hearing it or even thinking of it, the kind of song that galvanizes the dazed denizens of the doldrums (we've all been there) and renders them ready for righteous battle on some unknown front in the war of their own life. And the best movie is the kind that gives us a larger view of life—one that, by means of its broadness and great perspective, provides us with creative new solutions to old problems...as well as the hope and inspiration to carry out such ambitious endeavors.

The Bishop's Wife is just such a movie. Its headlining actor, Cary Grant, plays the role of the angel Dudley (what a great name for an angel!) with a paradoxical mix of vivacity and restraint—two typically contrasting traits effectively united by a peaceful air of sheer goodness—showing us a character who has an overwhelmingly positive effect on everyone he encounters. We can't help but be won over by Dudley as we see him in action, spreading faith and honesty with every word he utters and every move he makes. And there's a part of each one of us that longs to be like him—to be connected to God with such a firm bond as to walk each day with supreme confidence as we do good work.

Of course, there is more to this movie than merely an inspiring character (which is easily enough to carry a movie on its own—see Jimmy Stewart's Harvey if you need some convincing). The greatest message of the movie arrives in its final scene, as David Niven's Bishop Henry delivers one of the most poignant, effective, and spot-on Christmas messages Hollywood has ever produced. Here it is, in its entirety:

Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.

But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. We forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled—all, that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the Child born in a manger. It's His birthday we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that.

Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share: loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched-out hand of tolerance. All the shining gifts that make peace on earth.

What we see here is a call to action, in the greatest of spirits. It is a call to service, but not the kind of service we typically think of. The sermon does not explicitly tell us to go to Africa and feed the starving children (although many do, and render the world a great gift in doing so). It does not exhort us to go and build homes for disaster victims (although many do, and can joyfully make an irreplaceable difference in the life of a fellow human being in doing so). It does not command us to spend our every moment engaged in feeding the hungy at soup kitchens (although many do, and help provide a chance at success to countless souls in doing so). No, the sermon does not call us to anything that the world would call "great." It calls us to a different kind of service, a more fundamental one that can begin anywhere and continue into eternity—and, if put into practice, will change the world in a truer way than any work of human hands ever could.

This type of service begins in the heart, and consists of one simple step: Conduct yourself with love. Love for God, love for other people, and love for yourself. Mother Teresa summed it up quite well when she told us to Do small things with great love. If we conduct ourselves with love, then we will always produce good fruit in the world. Love the people you have contact with. Have faith that God made them and put them in your life for you to love them, as He Himself loves them. Love the places you frequent, the vehicle that transports you, the work that sustains your life. Love your church and your God, and don't ever forget to love yourself. If you find yourself looking in the mirror and finding that there isn't much to love, do two things:

1. Realize that as a creation of God, you are fundamentally worthy of love, no matter how bad a person you have been. St. Paul wasn't lying when he said that Nothing can separate us from the love of God. You deserve to be loved by yourself, because you are already loved by God—no matter what! Right the wrongs and move forward in confidence.

2. If there are flaws in your character that seem unlovable, change them! Resolve to change them, out of love for Him Who created you, out of love for those who must deal with your flaws, and out of love for you, who deserve to enjoy a higher, more successful existence. Choose to be dynamic.

"Conduct yourself with love." Of course, this is not a new message. Certainly it appears countless times in the New Testament. But seeing a movie like The Bishop's Wife is a great modern wrapping of this timeless message, a message that seems all too forgotten in the world.

This Christmas, and all the time, I commit myself to doing this kind of service as much as my fractured human awareness permits me—and I hope that you will do the same, dear reader.

I would like to invite you to join me in renewing a little Yuletide tradition that I previously kept in my personal journal, but sadly neglected to continue last year. The tradition, which I'm glad to have you aboard for, is that of writing and reading a prayer at Christmastime. Regardless of whether or not you are "a praying man," to quote George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life (it's a wonderful movie), I invite you to read through this. If you believe in God, then you know that praying this will do good things for the world. If you don't believe, then what's the harm in saying a few words? It would mean a lot to me. Here, let's begin:

Dear Father in Heaven,

On behalf of humanity, thanks for the awesome Christmas present! You came to us as a man, entering this world by the same way that all of us enter, coming as a baby. In the beautiful birth of that baby, You were and are the greatest Christmas present of all. Help us to realize that. Help us to listen deeply to the carols that tell of your birth, and grant us insight into what your coming really means for all of us and for our salvation.

We pray that you will not let us forget the small changes of mind and heart and hand that can make the world's difference for the person next to us—the smiles on our lips, the warmth in our tone of voice, and the fire of love in our hearts. May Your spirit ignite and rekindle that fire in our hearts, and may we be open to this nourishing flow that connects our human hearts with Your sacred heart.

And may we never forget the sacrifices of those who make us happy at Christmas and throughout the year—sacrifices that imitate the ultimate sacrifice you made for us up on Calvary hill. That was the final act of the life that began on the first Christmas night. Let us not forget that, either.

But most of all let us not forget that the life that began on that first Christmas still continues to this day—and the jolliest Christmas spirit is merely a reflection of that original Gift, the Gift Who changed the world. Let our faith in You nurture a servant's heart in all of us, that we may serve the world each in our own way, and help our fellow humans to have a Merry Christmas and the Happiest of New Years!

We ask all of this in Your name, Jesus.

AMEN.

Merry Christmas, and here's to the best New Year yet!

With Christmas Love,

Joezilla

Open Happiness

Has your joy ever been stifled by someone else's pain? Have you ever been tempted (or pressured by another) to be less happy than you feel because of the sadness in someone else's life?

Recently I was enjoying a pleasant, snowy December morning working at the church office when I learned of the death of a young parishioner's mother. A college-age person like me, he was far too young, it seemed, to have to deal with the death of a parent.

Before receiving this news, my thoughs had been focused on preparing for a church Christmas concert I was performing in. It had the potential to be a great concert, and I wanted to make my contributions as wholehearted and satisfying as possible. But how, I now wondered, could I think about and enjoy something so frivolous and carefree as a concert while someone else was going through a tragic period of suffering?

My ruminations continued, pushing the issue even further—at any given moment, I realized, millions of people around the world (and right outside my door) are enduring unspeakable pain, suffering, and tragedy. How can someone who is not experiencing such hurt possibly be happy (and try to make others happy) when his very happiness might increase their pain?

Well, read the previous sentence once more. Since when does one person's happiness increase another's pain? The only situation in which this could occur would be if the unhappy person became jealous of the happy one. This is a personal decision on the part of the unhappy person, and has nothing to do with the happy person.

There is no obligation to decrease your spirit because of another's pain.

When the bluebird of happiness chooses to perch on our shoulder, we are given a gift, and it is our mission to use the dynamic energy of happiness to help those around us.

If you are happy, your positive mood will often affect those around you in a discernibly good way—they will be warmed and uplifted by your presence. In fact, you may make more of a difference than you think. Your happiness could actually help prevent an unspeakable sort of tragedy in someone else's life, merely because of the effect you had on them. It has been said that a smile can stop a suicide. I believe those stories when I hear them. You truly never know whose life you might help change.

If someone reacts negatively to your happiness—if they lash out at you, mock you, or by any other method make you feel inferior or wrong for being happy—take heart. You have done nothing but reach out to them. Instead of letting their reaction get you down, you should resolve to stay in a mindset of peacefulness and thanks. And pray for the person as soon as you part ways.

Happily,
Joezilla

P.S.: "It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air." ~W.T. Ellis

You Haven't Got Mail

I'll never forget an experience that my brother once had on an airplane. The flight attendant was passing by, and he realized just after she had passed that he needed something from her. So he lightly tapped her arm in order to get her attention. She turned around and took his request (I think he wanted a drink, or had some garbage to throw away), then punctuated it by saying, in the most withering and gravely serious manner one could imagine:

"Here's a little free advice. Never touch the flight attendants."

Needless to say, her words lived on through oral tradition. To my knowledge, this is the first recorded account of the affair.

But why am I saying any of this? Well, I admit that the reason is a connection both tangential and tenuous, but I'm not ashamed of it: I have some free advice for you, dear reader (assuming you're open to advice, and, of course, that you exist). Here it is:

Stop checking your e-mail.

Allow me to add some context. Have you ever been waiting for an e-mail that just doesn't seem to come? Perhaps it is a social e-mail. Perhaps it is a financial matter. It might even be a CNN News Update (fat chance!).

But whatever it is, it can wait. If something is exerting that much influence over your life that you are unable to sit for ten minutes without checking your e-mail, you need to consider why that is. It's time to take back control over your life. Forget about waiting ten minutes—don't check it for an hour.

Okay, I hear what you're saying. "It's urgent! I need to answer it as soon as I can!" Well, that's understandable. Set a definite time, then, before which you will not check it. I've got some news for you: if it doesn't come in one hour, you're going to be in the same position you are right now. So wait the hour, or the half-hour, or whatever time limit the urgency of the situation demands. But don't stew in impatience. That's building a neurosis.

Destiny is decided in the little times, the "small hours" that Rob Thomas sings about in his wonderful song. You will not realize where your destiny took you until you can see all of the tiny decisions you made along the way, every day, each decision like the granules of sand and rock in poured concrete. There are far too many to fathom, but each is contributing to something larger. Be careful what sort of decisions you're including in your life.

Life is like concrete, fig. 1: Your life if you make bad decisions

Life is like concrete, fig. 2: Your life if you make good decisions (this concrete dome, called the Roman Pantheon, was built in ancient times, and still stands today)

So you see the difference a little consideration can make. What do you want your life to be like? Today is the day you decide that, when you choose how to respond to the events and challenges in your life. Good luck.

And remember: a bad habit is most easily overcome by replacing it with a good habit! So stand up and do some calisthenics instead of checking your e-mail. Now we're talking!

Peace,
Joezilla

"Patience obtains all things."
--St. Teresa of Avila

Guided Drift and the Paradox of Faith

"I am glad that I've been able to do what I've done and not been sidetracked along the way. A teacher of mine calls it guided drift. Isn't that wonderful? You're drifting, and yet you've got a rudder."

As Mr. Rogers so satisfyingly puts it in the quote above, life becomes a positive pleasure when we know where we're going and allow this knowledge of our course to give us peace. In order to live effective lives we need to have a purpose, a continuous thread that unites our individual days into a coherent work. That is why Mr. Rogers talks about having a rudder. We need to guide ourselves, and we need to rely on something to give us that guidance.

For a long time I looked at life believing that we all have some inspired moments, and we also have a great many uninspired moments. We must live (so I thought) on those inspirations to get us through the uninspired periods of life, which are far more common. There is a grain of truth in this. We do have peak experiences of happiness, hope, promise, joy, and love—followed by the proverbial descent back to planet Earth, in which we remember our troubles (and perhaps feel a little gloomy that we aren't so inspired anymore).

That said, I now realize that it is not enough merely to live on the inspired moments, like rations on a trip through the desert. No, I believe that God calls us to something greater than that. You see, people living solely on previous inspirations—and waiting for future ones—are not focusing on the day-to-day business of life. They are attaching themselves to that song that used to empower them so much, or they are voraciously rereading that one quote that used to give them such confidence, or talking to that one friend who always cheers them up...the list goes on and on. The point is, they are chasing that feeling rather than living it out. They could be cheering someone else up. Instead, they're focusing on how much they themselves need cheering up.

One of the greatest pieces of advice my Mom has ever given me is: "The best solution for depression is to do something for someone else—to get out of yourself." It is so true, and will doubtless lead to better spirits if we are feeling depressed.

But what about all the moments inbetween the highs and lows? What about the average days, when we drift through our daily grind with no sense of inspiration or mission? We need some thread of constancy to call us back to living our best.

The answer, as is often the case, lies in a common word with a life-changing meaning:

FAITH.

Faith is the answer. Now when I say "faith," I don't just mean "religious belief." I am talking about a lifestyle—a worldview that we can call up with an act of the will, and should work to maintain in every waking (and sleeping) moment. If we can manage to make it part of our modus operandi, it will change our lives—I'll place a 100% guarantee on that.

This worldview has two big components.

The first is the consciousness of God and His plan. The person of faith believes, deep inside, that there is a God Who loves us all and Who has a plan for every individual—a plan that, if followed, will bring them to the self-fulfillment of their highest dreams and deepest longings. I say "self-fulfillment" because we play a role in this plan. We create our own reality, at least in terms of how we respond to the outside world.

But the person of faith can take all of this in stride and proceed peacefully because he knows that if he follows God's commands, then things will go rightly for him. Life will be good. Unexpected events may happen (look at the story of Job!), but God has a plan. We can move forward in peace and happiness, because it all turns out okay in the end. It's pretty amazing, actually. Imagine being able to walk through life in perfect peace. In theory, we can do just that—because God has told us that He loves us and wants the best for us.

That's one part of faith. The other is prayer. God loves us, and wants the best for us. He also wants us to grow closer to Him. One way of describing Heaven, in fact, is a perfect relationship with God. Nothing gets in the way. We remain ourselves, but we are united with Him in some unimaginable and infinitely wonderful way.

But that comes later. Right now, stuff gets in the way. Lots of stuff. Problems, people, things, emotions, sins...the list once again goes on and on! But God has given us ways around these impediments. One of the foremost of these—one of the most foundational practices for a Christian—is prayer. Praying is communing with the Creator. It's a way of accepting His constant, daily calls and saying, "I love you too, God. Now what do you want to tell me today?"

For years, I have vastly underestimated the transformative potential of prayer in the individual life. But now I see that prayer is that thread of constancy. It is what keeps us close to God, even in the midst of struggles. Saying the Rosary or part of the Rosary (a decade or two) every day is such a great way to do this. It will have a lovely effect on your life. Fulton J. Sheen once described saying the Rosary as "saying 'I love You' to our Father." I believe he was right. If you've never prayed the Rosary before, feel free to check out this link for all the instructions and prayers: http://www.rosary-center.org/howto.htm.

Now, I know what you're thinking (if indeed there is anyone out there to be thinking anything): "Great. You've pontificated on faith, but you haven't answered the question of how we stop the roller coaster ride of ecstatic highs, gloomy lows, and wishy-washy times inbetween. I don't think that talking about faith means I'll never feel down again."

Ah, but therein lies the paradox of faith! Faith is not about inspiration or emotion. Faith is believing that your spiritual life is significant, that what you pray makes a difference. Faith is believing that when you pray—whether you feel inspired or not—you are doing something of unfathomable significance. Faith is a lifeline that carries us through whether we are experiencing a high, a low, or a "sideways." It does not guarantee us a life of constant inspiration, but it allows us to avoid that need altogether—because it gives us a higher perspective on life. When we lift our concerns up to God, He lifts us up too.

It's all about that guided drift Mr. Rogers talked about. Faith is our rudder, our guide, but it also gives enough peace to let us drift.

Here's to an hour, day, week, month, year, and life of guided drift,

Joezilla

The Coward, or the Tiger?

I stepped into the darkened room, and I knew something wasn’t right. “The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end,” as they say. Nothing in the room had changed, as far as I could tell in the nearly pitch-black, split-second survey I’d given it as I entered. That was not the problem.

There was someone else in there. Someone tall, well-hidden, and very close. Hiding next to the doorway! I instinctively tried to dash forward, out of his grasp, but it was too late—I felt an iron grip fasten itself around my neck.

Actually, I didn’t. Yeah, now that I think about it, nothing actually happened. There was no one in there. Come on—it was my bedroom! The worst thing that could be in there is one of my brothers trying to startle me—and, thank God, that hasn’t happened since 1996.

Yep, it was my imagination. And, so that you don’t take me for a delusion-prone lunatic, let me point out that I didn’t actually experience this as vividly as I described. It was more a little thought that popped into my head before I turned the light on: “Hey, what if there was somebody in here waiting for me, who wanted to kill me? Whew! Creepy! OK, turn on the light now.” An odd hypothetical question, to be sure. I’ll grant you that. But I wasn’t on the floor convulsing in a schizophrenic frenzy. Just to make that clear. Now where the heck was I?

Oh yeah. This little thought that popped into my head, it got me thinking. It got me thinking about how important a mindset can be. What if there was a hitman waiting for me inside my bedroom? In the mindset I had at that moment, I would have been scared to death—and guess where that would’ve led me? I’ll give you a hint: it’s what I was scared to.

There are different kinds of fear. I fear a nuclear war. I fear the results of our culture’s immorality. I fear several things in that way. But that fear is more of a thought process, more of a conclusion based on our principles. But there’s another type of fear, a visceral, instinctive one, like what I described in the opening paragraphs, that can be our downfall in perilous situations.

Put yourself in the hitman-bedroom scenario. Now replace yourself with a tiger. How would the hitman feel about grabbing a tiger by the neck? Not so eager, you see. Why is that? Well, the tiger would respond in a, shall we say, resentful way. The hitman has no right to grab that tiger by the neck, and the tiger has claws and teeth that will put forth that contention in quite a convincing fashion.

Here’s the fact, Jack: we all can choose to be the instinctive coward, or the tiger. There’s one of each inside all of us. Perhaps we’re not all tigers inside. Some of us might be gigantic Kodiak bears, or poisonous coral snakes. Heck, some of us are probably more like rabid chimps, or charging llamas. But the point is, we all have the potential inside of us—the sleeping beast, so to speak—who’s completely capable of unloading a potential can of Whoop-*** on anyone who threatens us.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be enough. The hitman might be able to choke the tiger, or shoot it. And another disclaimer—I’m not saying “never run—always fight! Hulk smash! Aargh!” No. I’m merely talking about that rare set of situations in which there is nothing to do but fight—and most of us haven’t ever been, and perchance won’t ever be, in those kinds of spots. But if we are, we need to be ready. Because destiny is decided in the instants, not the aeons. It’s the split-second decisions that make the most difference; they truly are the building blocks of life.

All I’m saying has been paraphrased by two great thinkers of yore, and they shall close this humble treatise:

I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
Yet have I something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand.

—Hamlet, from Shakespeare’s play, Act V, Scene 1

Don't hit at all if you can help it; don't hit a man if you can possibly avoid it; but if you do hit him, put him to sleep.
—Theodore Roosevelt (yep, that's him in the picture!)