Your Spouse is first.

My wife and I went to a great concert on last Friday night, and the singer, an Irish tenor Mark Forrest, told a great story about Gregory Peck, how he converted to Catholicism towards the end of his life, and about a time that Mark sang at an award ceremony for Peck. During Gregory Peck's acceptance speech, he stated, that the only thing that really matter to him was, "being a great father," It was an awesome sentiment. But right when I heard it, I thought to myself that it was slightly out of order.

In my opinion the order that even kids prefer is for a father to be a great husband to their mom, and the great father part falls naturally in line. John Wooden has a great quote, "If you want to do something great for your kids, love their mother," It really makes perfect sense, because all kids love their moms. Its mom's that kids run to when they skim their knee, not dad's. Kids love their mom's. So whenever a father doesn't love his spouse, it creates an enormous credibility problem with the kids, because you have failed the only test your kids are giving you, you've failed the only test they want you to pass.

Men have a legitimate desire in their hearts, they want to be a great father. They want to provide for and love their kids. But sometimes the order gets messed up, the start needs to be with your spouse. Every time you hug your wife in front of your kids, or get her flowers, or say a kind word, its ultimately the kids who receive that love, because that's the action they want from you.

Having said all that, its true that life is rarely that easy. We have all done things and said things that hurt our spouse, and in turn hurt our children. But as the saying from the Church Fathers goes, "Every moment the world begins anew," applies here as well. If we haven't been the spouse we are capable of being, then there is no better time to start than today, with Easter 13 days away, there's no better resolution for the final days of Lent.

Great E-mail for Lent

Sorry for not posting this week, my sister sent this e-mail along to me last night, and I thought you would enjoy it, I will be back posting on Monday,

1. Keep skid chains on your tongue; always say less than you think. Cultivate a low, persuasive voice. How you say it counts more than what you say.
2. Make promises sparingly, and keep them faithfully, no matter what it costs.
3. Never let an oppurtunity pass to say a kind and encouraging word to or about somebody. Praise good work, regardless of who did it. If criticism is needed, crticize helpfully, never spitefully.
4. Be interested in others, their pursuits, their work, their homes and their families. Make merry with those who rejoice; with those who weep, mourn. Let everyone you meet, however humble, feel that you regard him as a person of importance.
5. Be cheerful. Don't burden or depress those around you by dwelling on your minor aches and pains and small disappointments. Remember, everyone is carrying some kind of a load.
6. Keep an open mind. Discuss but don't argue. It is a mark of a superior mind to be able to disagree without being disagreeable.
7. Let your virtues, if you have any, speak for themselves. Refuse to talk of another's vices. Discourage gossip. It is a waste of valuable time and can be extremely destructive.
8. Be careful of another's feelings. Wit and humor at the other person's expense are rarely worth it and may hurt when least expected.
9. Pay no attention to ill-natured remarks about you. Remember, the person who carried the message may not be the most accurate reporter in the world. Simply live so that nobody will believe them. Disordered nerves and bad digestion are a common cause of backbiting.
10. Don't be too anxious about the credit due you. Do your best, adn be patient. Forget about yourself, and let others "remember." Success is much sweeter that way.

Lent and the Tongue

My kids and I saw a couple walking their dog yesterday, and he was on a leash that was only connected to his mouth, but this small lease controlled the whole dog. It made me think about the image that St. James uses in his epsitle about the tongue. The two images that he uses are a large ship being controlled by a rudder, and a large horse being controlled by a brittle. This is such a huge lesson for us, the power of the tongue.

If ever there was a great resolution for Lent, its to give up gossip and verbiage. Because I am learning more and more that our tongue controls so much of our Christian Life. Its a small part of our body, but its a rudder for the whole ship. This is such a struggle for me, but I know its the fasting that God seeks. To fast from speaking negatively at all. We will approach the whole day with joy, if we can win the battle of the tongue!

Achingly Beautiful

As usual my best posts don't come from me, this is from Michael Novaks wife's eulogy at her funeral, it represents the heart of a Christian marriage. The Beauty here will furnish your soul all week.

Thank you, lady, for reminding me what it was like
To fall in love with Karen.
Fifty years ago. It was her eyes that did me in,
Blue as the sapphire stonesShe bought along the
Indian Ocean.Blue, with sadness deep behind them,
And merriment like candle’s flames on golden foil.
Eyes incapable of malice,Radiant from her heart.
We talked and talked, newly met,
Though we had knownEach other ever since forever.

We knew the darkness and the night —
That may have been our deepest bond.
We weren’t afraid of night.
A woman who has suffered much, as Tolstoi wrote,Inflames a lover’s heart.
I cannot say if Karen loved me.
That was a word she rationed,
As if in uttering it she lost her self –
Which fighting to hold safe so many years,
Impressionable and unconflictive(As she wished to be) she could not give away.
To say would utterly destroy her, poof!Like dust she’d blow away.
No, it was crucial that she act with love
But seldom say the word.
Crucial that she trust.Crucial to stay the Self
She had, so much embattled, won.

But oh! I loved her
And loving her burst into joy,
An oven suddenly ignited.
Who could not love her shyness,
Her evasive smile of pleasure.
Her self-dramatizing humor about herself?
Her idle dream had been to be an actress
A comedienne of dance and music,
Light of heart and blithe.
What she really wantedWas to be the next Picasso.
Kokoschka had told her that she could.

She was self-mockingly insistent
That her I married, for her mind,
To which I readily agreed
Although not wholly true.
Yes,Without her darkness of experience,
Without her wit,
Without her flashes to the heart of things,
My soul could not have been so deeply wounded.
But I was stricken also by her figureAnd her shy, shy smile.

Still later, then, her works of art I saw,
Which took my breath away.
A woman always struggling,
Always suffering,Conflicted, active, bold.Uncompromisingly,
She stripped away the skin from straining sinews
And showed live bones in pain(Or maybe only tension)
And underneath each face the mask of death.
She saw life trulyIn its awfulness and joy.
Fiercest angels did she wrestle.
“Every angel,” her Rilke wrote, “is terrible.”

Parting (in 1962), I handed her my novel,
About a soul stripped down to nothingness
Yet rejoicing in the dark(Where alone God can be found).
Her favorite books were Avila’s,
And The Dark Night of the Soul.Mine, too.
She thought I’d been pretentious,
She later wrote,
For handing her my book.
But she read it on the plane
One end to the other.
She slyly hinted that she liked it.

So we were free to love like children
Who had learned to trust,
Yet knew the fingers on the windowpane,
In darkness and in rain.We were made to meet.
Or so I felt in thirty minutes
Across the booth from her in Harvard Square.
Most extraordinary thing:I had described her in my novel
Two years before we met.
Lovely girl, an artist,Upon Bernini’s bridge at midnight
When the Tiber turned to silver
Beneath a silver moon.*

So I knew that I had known her
And would marry her.Knew, but didn’t say a word.
For four days we did nothing
But go out together.
She was fearless driving Boston streets.
was what convinced me
She was tough.
More tough than I.
Which was in my dream.

I knew I loved her, almost bam!
It took her longer:
Three close suitors in hot pursuit,
Each one aspiring lawyer as if
In answer to her lawyer father’s prayers.
One did love her mightily, I later learned.
Thank God she took a leap toward me.

We were apart all summer,
She at the Worcester School of Art,
And I in Europe, steadily describing to her
All I saw, and quietly insinuating…
We were meant to meet.
A hundred letters sent in all–Desperate to hold her heart.

Just last month,My sister found her photo,
Sitting on my parents’ lawnIn September, 1962.
My brother Dick (whom K. had met at Harvard)
Was on his way to Bangladesh,
And Karen planned her drive from Iowa
To pick me up, both Harvard-bound,To bid dear Dick farewell.(Little did we know it was forever.)

She sits upon the lawn her knees drawn up
In short black shorts, a Vee-striped blouse
Of orange and brown, and on her head
A turban striped the same.
A skinny, gawky kid in shell-rimmed glasses
Sits as close to her as decency permits.
Can that be me?
Even then I asked myself,Can this be me?
How can that fellow sit with such a oneIn total inner peace?

Our honeymoon some ten months thence,
On Minnesota’s Forest Lake–
My beloved walked into the bath,
A towel on arm but not a stitch of clothes,
And closed the door.
Let out a piercing shriek, fell back,
Slid downward noisily onto the floor.
Had burglers broken in?
Leaping to the door, I saw a bat attacking her.I
pulled her out, and stepped inside
To face the bat, and illumination struck my mind:
“So this is what a married man is for?”Gulping folded up a towel to swing
And watched its swoopsAs closely as a pitcher’s wicked curve
When it buzzed in and dove at me.
I caught it fairly, brought it down
But in the motion felled myself.
Here Karen showed her wit,Broke in, a basket in her hands
Which she slapped down upon the now-dazed bat.
“How do we get it out of here?”I asked with weak male reason.
She answered me with motion,
Returning with a cardboard square
To slip beneath the basket.
Cool as a cop she marched it to the darkened door
And flicked it up into the night.
What a cool, cool girl, I marvel,Then and now.

St Thomas (Aquinas) wrote, “Of all friendships,Marriage is by far the greatest.”
I used to tell my classes that,
And say that it is true.
The only thing – I used to warn – is this:
If you don’t like the truth about yourself,
Then don’t get married.When you live close in,
Illusions are expensive.So once the honeymoon is over,
Your lover’s duty is
To puncture every one of yours –One by painful one.
My lover pricked an awful lot of mine.
Especially my conceits.

Annoying faults my lover also had,
So I did edit them, much to her pain.
She had a low opinion of herself,
So one more fault was more than she could bear.
I added to her pain. I’m sorry that I did.

Oh, Glory! I loved Karen,Love her still.
Irradiant soul.Valiant, courageous, strong,
Yet soft and vulnerable.
Beautiful with full and loving sensual beauty.
Funny, amusing, telling tales about herself –
Confessing all her silly faultsBefore I found them out.
She was wonderful to hug.She loved to hug.
She needed many hugs –Or maybe I did.

And now she seems so close to me.
I commune with her incessantly
Since now she sees me even to my inner self.
I hear her laughing quite a lot
As I go bouncing light to light\
And wall to wall, a pinballIn a slanted box.
She enjoysMy blunders. Always has.
It seems she has told everyone(Before she died)

I worried her–“He doesn’t know a thing around the house.
“He cannot do it for himself.”
It isn’t true, of course. I do okay.
But in an obvious sense, b’god,The girl was right.

There is no other like her. She is unique.
I was lucky, lucky, lucky,
To be with her for nearly fifty years.
That is why I look at photos,
Read old letters,
and let the burning
Burn my soul.