The Caring Catalyst

Who Cares - What Matters

Monster Chasers

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To know one’s surprise or reminder, it was 
FATHER’S DAY
yesterday 
and I either talked with all of my kids, heard from them and actually got to see two of them.     .      .
ALL FATHER’S DAY GIFTS
of their own which I cherish 
and of course, I had some quiet moments to think of my own dad.       .       .
I also conducted a Memorial Service for a dad
who’s children planned that we would celebrate his life
on Father’s Day and aptly so.           .           .
I cry
. . .A lot 
Movies
Well written passages
Music 
Always music 
And this time certainly was no exception 

It’s more than a cleansing 
It’s a renewing
It’s a bare vulnerability 
That’s never made me feel more
Naked
And warmly clothed 
At the same time. 

It makes my heart beat 
So much differently 
And so much better

It makes me care deeper
Love without limits or any hints
Of conditions 

It makes me purely
A Caring Catalyst 

And I’m tempted 
Always 
To ruin 
THAT MOMENT 
knowing that it can’t last

But here’s the best news:
IT DOESN’T HAVE TO

It’s what makes the moment 
THE MOMENT 

AND YES,
A Lifetime can be lived in a moment 

And ohhhhhhhhh
look at the time
THAT MOMENT
THAT LIFETIME 
can can
BE
right now. . .

Especially if I’m about chasing away
A loved one’s monsters 
The only thing better than the title of
MONSTER CHASER
is actually
BEING ONE

Join me 
You lifetime-in-a-moment-Liver

 

NONE ALONE

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No One Noticed the Crying Kid at Gate 27—Except.          .          .

Marcus was just a janitor at the airport.

He’d seen thousands of travelers pass through every week.
But that day, he noticed someone different.

A boy—around 11 years old—sitting alone near Gate 27. Crying quietly.

Marcus walked over. “Hey, little man. You okay?”

The boy wiped his eyes. “I missed my flight. I was going to see my mom in Chicago… but they already closed the gate.”

Marcus’ heart sank.

He tried calling customer service—but it was too late. The next flight wasn’t until tomorrow. The boy didn’t have anywhere to stay.

That’s when a tall man in a hoodie walked over.          .          .

LeBron James.

He’d been sitting nearby, unnoticed, waiting for his own flight.

He leaned down to the boy’s level. “What’s your name, champ?”

“Eli,” the boy sniffled.

LeBron smiled. “Well, Eli… how about this? I’ve got a team that can help. You like pizza?”

Fifteen minutes later, Eli was laughing over pepperoni slices in the VIP lounge—with LeBron sitting beside him, talking basketball and life.

LeBron didn’t post about it. Didn’t call the press.

But the airport staff watched in awe as he arranged a hotel, bought new clothes for Eli, and made sure someone from his foundation would fly with the boy the next morning—all expenses covered.

When asked why he did it, LeBron simply said:

“Because no kid should ever feel like they’re alone.”
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So when was the last time that you had an opportunity to turn somebody’s worst day, their most unfortunate circumstance and situation into an unforgettable act of kindness yeah me too, BUT you know what.        .        .every single one of us are A Caring Catalyst enough for another chance to do just that again and again and again; so let’s keep rinsing and repeating.        .       . And making sure that everybody who’s misfortune we witness or even suspect, can have an unforgettable act of kindness done for them.         .        .        .

JUST A MOMENT: ARE WE THINGAMAJIGS?

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IN JUST A MOMENT or even less than one, we realize there’s so many things that make us up; so many thoughts we think, so many feelings we feel and sometimes when we don’t know how to label them or explain them, it’s like seeing something in our junk drawer or asking for something that maybe no one else knows that we just called a THINGAMAJIG.

Well, we are kind of walking, talking thingamajigs, aren’t we?  And sometimes what we can’t label doesn’t seem quite real until that feeling never goes away; and let’s face it, sometimes what we label just by labeling it, gets negated, even US.          .          .

So, if you wouldn’t mind,  pass the THINGAMAJIG  that describes what you’re feeling right now.  Try to describe it; try to actually feel it for what it is and if you can name it, great if not, lean into it and sit with it, even in silence, just for a while with this THINGAMAJIG thing we call ourselves.          .          .

LOVE LIKE THIS

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LOVE LIKE THIS
is one of our favorite songs from Ben Rector.      .      .
Erin and i don’t profess to have the greatest love story in the world
and that we love each other more and better than anyone else
in or out of the Universe.        .       .
and THAT’S
THE THING.          .          .
It’s not anyone else’s or competitive
it’s just
O   U   R  ‘   S

HOW I CAME TO YOU

So, it’s hard to explain
or even imagine how
I came to you
Mis-chiseled up
Broken
Discarded and trash heaped
with nothing to show for it
But everything to thank for it

First of all, they’re just numbers and we learn our 1-2-3’s at a very early age and then they become minuses and then they become additions and subtractions; they become divisions and they become multiplication too. Don’t they.    .    .these numbers, they come at us so fast and before we blink, we realize they’re days and then they’re weeks, oh yeah, they matriculate into months, and just like that.        .       .just like that, this new math tells us that they are years and how fast they come; I mean the pages of the calendar flip so fast, they could become your own natural fan in a hot room with no ventilation.

I guess that’s the good news and the bad news isn’t it?  That’s what these numbers have done to me, especially this year as I’m turning 70– that’s a number, and celebrating 45 years of ordination how could that be, but that’s a number?  And yeah, maybe.     .     .maybe the best of all 39 years of being married to a woman that is in many ways is a fantasy; a dream.  How can you marry a fantasy and let it be real flesh and bone and blood and heart, especially heart–but that’s Erin, and that’s who she’s always been and not just to me, but everybody that I know in my life right now, of course to our kids and grandkids, but literally to everyone else.

39 years ago to the day, we sat at a pool side, we had it all to ourselves because it was a Monday We were sitting there thinking that we may never see a 50th year anniversary and we still may not, but we didn’t think we would even see 39 or 40 years either because, come on, when you get to be 70 or 80 that’s old, or it seemed so when we were 30 and 31, but they too are, you guessed it, numbers, and yet after all these 39 years, I still feel that we are sitting by that pool, less than a day after we got married, older and better.    .     .      .

She’s the new math that makes sense to me. She’s all of my additions. She’s the subtraction from everything that distresses and frustrates me. She is the division that makes sure that everything has its compartment and place, and multiplication.       .      . she’s the multiplication table that holds no numbers and yet makes every second count so once upon a time’s become forevers no matter how quickly to the numbers seem to add up.

(I figured an Anniversary post deserved video parentheses)

ERIN’S

Quickly approaching the
“Oh, I can’t believe you’re 70”
phase of my life 
I was asked 
not so seriously,
“So what do you want to be for the rest of your life?”
Without a blinked pause 
I answered,
“Erin’s”

Yeah.          .          .forget all the numbers, forget all the new math,
I know as much as you’re reading this right now
what I want be for the rest of my life.            .           .
Erin’s

DAY DREAMING IMPOSSIBLES

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I have used his poetry and thoughts many of times on a Friday blog post and now that it feels like it’s kind of Summer and schools are letting out and vacations are beginning. I’ll quote the old song from a few calendar pages ago of the LOVIN’ SPOONFUL: “What  a day for a daydream, what a day for a daydreaming boy.     .     .”   So what dream this day will you dream up?  If you need a little inspiration just read the following from my buddy John Roedel:

Daydream with me
a place where nobody asks you where you came from—
because we will all remember
that we came from the same place.

Daydream with me
a time when guns all shoot water,
and no child has to wear Kevlar
or learn how to hide behind desks during a shootout.

Daydream with me
a post office that exists where we can send letters
to our beloveds who have become spirits—
and they can write back.

Daydream with me
a courtroom where justice is applied equally,
regardless of how much money
someone may have stored away in a vault.

Daydream with me
a church where nobody whispers about your wounds—
they just pass the bread a little closer.

Daydream with me
a magic garden where the flowers
are microphones for bees
who recite their poetry as they get drunk.

Daydream with me
a night sky where God changes the stars
every now and then
to tell us a really bad joke.

Daydream with me
a grocery store where the canned soup aisle
starts humming when it senses you’re about to cry.

Daydream with me
a forest made of our prayers
we thought were being unanswered—
but were just growing roots.

Daydream with me
the arrival of an even Newer Testament
where the Divine clarifies
that the existence of hell
was always just a rumor.

Daydream with me
a family dinner table where children
aren’t asked to eat the leftovers
of their parents’ guilt.

Daydream with me
a therapist’s office where grief is handed
a cup of tea and asked to speak freely.

Daydream with me
a song sung by a campfire
so heart-wrenchingly beautiful
that the moon opens her eyes
for the first time in five thousand years.

Daydream with me
a school that tells students
if they want to visit another planet,
all they have to do is pick up a pen and write.

Daydream with me
an election season
that doesn’t feel like we are being forced
to decide which brand of household cleaner to drink.

Daydream with me
a version of history class
where the textbook apologizes every few pages.

Daydream with me
when the most searched phrase on Google is:
“how to finally forgive myself.”

Daydream with me
a planet of people who aren’t surrendering
their control over to robots.

Daydream with me
the discovery of a magic wand
that can only cast the spell
of unfreezing hearts.

Daydream with me
a talking dog who goes on a media tour
to let humans know
that dogs need a lot more snuggles
than they currently get.

Daydream with me
a strange payphone on a beach
where people line up
to have a two-minute chat
with their inner child.

Daydream with me
a border made of wildflowers—
where the only thing being inspected
is your gratitude.

Daydream with me
a blind date where two people
instantly recognize each other
as lovers from a former life.

Daydream with me
a neighborhood potluck
where every casserole is a different kind of apology,
and nobody leaves hungry.

Daydream with me
a zombie invasion where the undead
aren’t interested in eating the brains of the living—
but just came back to learn how to salsa dance.

Daydream with me
a confessional box where the priest
won’t offer penance
until they admit one of their own sins.

Daydream with me
a bus stop where time pauses
just long enough for you to catch your breath
and remember who you were
before the world demanded so much.

Daydream with me
a morning where the sunrise waits
for the last person to wake up—
just so nobody misses it.

Daydream with me
an era where nobody uses their phone
to film someone else’s worst moment.

⸻

Maybe it starts like this.
Maybe dreaming isn’t an escape,
but a way to remember
what we’re still capable of becoming.

Yeah, “what a day for a daydream, what a day for a daydreaming boy.     .      .”
And as long as we’re going to do a little daydreaming, why not DAY DREAM BIG.          .           .
Sometimes the bike ride  to nowhere is the best somewhere you can ever be
.          .         .in your own topsy turvy day dream

JUST A MOMENT: TOGETHER WE GROW

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IN JUST A MOMENT

You inherently know that when you bring what you have to what I don’t and then someone comes and shares what none of us have
but now has TOGETHER, amazing things GROW.         .         .
A HANDFUL OF SEEDS ARE A HANDFUL OF NOTHINGS
UNTIL THEY MEET THE DIRT
THAT INVITES THE WATER
TO GROW.           .          .

BUILDING A LIFE

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SIMPLE QUESTION:

ARE YOU LAYING BREAKS,
BUILDING A WALL, or
CREATING SOMETHING THAT WILL LONG EXCEED YOU.          .          .          ?

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:

THE ANSWER
is how you
BUILD A LIFE

TO SAY NOTHING BUT THANK YOU

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I recently read a post from Parker Palmer who shared a beautiful memory of Jeanne Lohmann, who died at age 92 after a long and fruitful life, wrote poetry that I find best described by the words of Oliver Wendell Holmes:

“For the simplicity that lies this side of complexity, I would not give a fig, but for the simplicity that lies on the other side of complexity, I would give my life.”

We spend many years tangled in complexity and rushing past life’s simple pleasures. For me, one of the gifts of age is to realize that the simple blessings are the finest: a child’s hug, a pat on the shoulder, an encouraging word, a spring-blooming tree and, of course, hot showers, steaming soup, clear eyes and a clear mind.

Please take a moment to savor this poem, and savor every sip of that soup you may have for lunch today.

That elusive bird called “happiness” so often nests in small experiences of this sort—and so does the gift of clarity that we need to find our way through the fog of lethal nonsense that surrounds us today.

[Jeanne Lohmann’s books are at http://tiny.cc/t1vsxz.]

THANKSGIVING MEALS
COME AND GO
AND MOSTLY GET EATEN,
WASTED AND DISCARDED
BUT GRATEFULNESS
DOESN’T EVER SPOIL.         .         .
Right now, some 181 Days away from
THANKSGIVING DAY
What are you most grateful for
t   o   d   a   y ?

JUST A MOMENT: OUR CONNECTIONS

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We all know about connections and how important they are in our world today; in fact, it doesn’t mean or matter anything about social media unless we’re connected and not just to a certain outlet like Facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Snapchat, Instagram or any of the countless others.

No, no we are connected, but maybe not as connected as we’d like to think. We are right now at this very moment more advanced than we’ve ever been in our entire universe, medically, pharmaceutically, scientifically, technologically,  and yet, it’s not those things that heal us or that connects us; IT IS OUR RELATIONSHIPS.

Seriously, how connected are you, not just with your family, not just with your friends, but everybody around you?  In just a moment you know; in just a moment we also know how much more connected we could be than we think we are.            .            .

KINTSUGI

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“In Japan, kintsugi is the art of filling cracks with gold; because it’s believed that the cracks and wear of life make things more beautiful, not less. As wise as this is, I believe it’s not filling the cracks, but entering the cracks that reveals the gold. We carry what matters inside and experience waters that seed until the soul sprouts through our cracks into the world.

“And one day, against all odds, when no one is looking, we drop what we’re carrying—alarmed as it falls, afraid we will lose it, pained by how much it cost. Sometimes, whatever it is—a dream we’re close to living, an injustice almost resolved, a cracked sense of worth filled with the gold of our choosing—sometimes, whatever it is breaks like an egg on the floor. And we watch the yolk of something we care for run its bright colors into everything. I don’t know
how to say it or explain it, but this is the journey: not the race we make of things, or the filling of cracks with gold, but how the bright colors run into everything.”

Excerpt from The Endless Practice

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#marknepo #spiritualpoetry #spiritualinspiration #poetryinspo

KINTSUGI~~ I have blogged about this before on a couple of different situations; it’s a beautiful art and it’s an even more awesome concept, but it’s one of the most difficult things to wrap your head around–this brokenness that is a part of us all.  It seems just when we think we’ve healed, we realize that there are still some missing pieces and when we want to glue them back together again, even with the golden bonds of love, we fight it and fall all Humpty-Dumpty-like as if we can never be put back together again.  Guess what?  WE CAN’T, and that’s the good news, isn’t it?

Humanity at its best is always recognizing that we are all just a bunch of broken pieces trying to come together again and when we are at our best, we realize that the brokenness in me is the brokenness in you and the missing pieces we already possess. It’s just a matter of bonding them up again with that golden glue that just doesn’t make us better but more complete.          .          .

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssst.          .          .
None of the Kings men or their horses necessary

Professional Speaker, Author, Assurance Man