Holy Family Shrine

(Originally written on February 21, 2009)

I was bitten by the adventure bug today, and by the afternoon I found myself at the Holy Family Shrine, located near Gretna, NE. The shrine itself is quite visible from Interstate 80. What I did not know prior to visiting this place is that there is a welcome center built into the hillside next to the chapel itself.

After wandering about and snapping pictures, I was back in the welcome center. Overhearing a conversation, I heard a woman who is a professional Celtic singer ask to sing a couple songs in the chapel. She sang a couple songs there, and I was totally amazed by the way the sound of her voice echoed throughout the space. Almost angelic, the sound seemed to open a door to the imagination, leading to another time and place.

What struck me the most about this place is that, though it's primarily a Catholic chapel, it's open to all visitors regardless of their faith or lack thereof. It's wonderfully peaceful, despite being barely a mile from the interstate. Every visitor is welcome to come and absorb the beauty of the surroundings, to meditate, to rest.

My most profound moment of the visit, was when I followed the singer and the small audience out to the chapel. The hostess of the welcome center, a devout Catholic, entered the building, paused and knelt and performed the sign of the cross before continuing into the chapel. I was brought back to a sense of reverence for God through seeing that. Here I had spent the first half hour casually wandering the grounds, snapping pictures. But in that moment I was reminded that I am at a Holy place, a place of worship. I initially felt a bit of guilt for not being more aware of where I was, but in the end I was filled with peace and a sense of renewal.

Though my visit lasted less than two hours, I came away from the experience filled with a sense of wonder for the architecture of this beautiful place, as well as a renewed reverence for God. It was so refreshing just to get away for a short time, to explore a new place, and revel in the thrill of discovery both emotionally and spiritually. I do plan to return to the chapel, and cannot wait to see this place when the weather is warmer and the plants will be greener. I definitely recommend visiting this place.

Jordan

Αγάπη

ἡ ἀγάπη μακροθυμεῖ, χρηστεύεται ἡ ἀγάπη, οὐ ζηλοῖ, [ἡ ἀγάπη] οὐ περπερεύεται, οὐ φυσιοῦται, οὐκ ἀσχημονεῖ, οὐ ζητεῖ τὰ ἑαυτῆς, οὐ παροξύνεται, οὐ λογίζεται τὸ κακόν, οὐ χαίρει ἐπὶ τῇ ἀδικίᾳ, συγχαίρει δὲ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ· πάντα στέγει, πάντα πιστεύει, πάντα ἐλπίζει, πάντα ὑπομένει. ἡ ἀγάπη οὐδέποτε πίπτει·

In any language, they are among the most famous collection of words ever written. But when you really look into the definitions of the word LOVE, they truly embody the power love can hold. Is it possible to give that kind of love to someone in that many ways and to that magnitude of meaning, without putting them on a pedestal which could doom that very love to failure? Is it possible to receive it and not be overwhelmed to the point of feeling the need to run from it? Perhaps if a mutual understanding exists between the giver and receiver, it would truly not fail. After all, it is written, "Love never fails." So, why does it prosper in some lives, but can be a dismal failure in others? Maybe we have lost focus on what it really does mean. There's many different kinds of love. Maybe we just don't focus enough on the meaning behind the intent. So what does it mean when we say "I love you" to someone? Do we tend take it too lightly? How many times have we told someone we love them, only to watch them slip out of our lives later on? Do they take that love with them? Some people view it as an investment, where the love we put into a person should be the same as when it is returned, maybe even with interest. Perhaps if we stop to think about the meaning beyond the word itself, that we will truly appreciate sharing love with someone. Then perhaps it won't sting as much when that person's parallel to our lives has come to an end. Though the act of loving someone may be viewed as simple, it's incredibly complex according to the words used to describe love. But once it's truly understood, the simplicity becomes apparent, and we can understand what we're doing when we love another.

Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails...

Don't just say it. Live it. Peace!

Friends

In the past few days I've been contemplating the friends I have, and the value each person has to me. It dawned on me, what is the definition of a friend, and what must a person do or have, to qualify for such a title? We all have our own interpretations and adaptations for what we would require of someone to be considered to be a friend. And of course, there's the generic, universal definitions. But I really started to think about what makes a person a friend to me?

There's a variety of criteria that seems to go into how we view someone we know. From the casual, to the close, we have people at varying distances to ourselves based on their interactions with us. Often one of the strongest feelings I have when getting to know someone is, "Is this someone I can trust?" In my opinion, trust is one of the fundamental elements of a friendship. Just as mentioned in my "Αγάπη " blog, it's an element of love. And then there's the statement, "No one shows greater love than when he lays down his life for his friends." When viewed in that extreme, it's no wonder that our social requirements tend to be so complex. There's always a reason to be a friend with someone, and it's always based on something we share in common.

As I pondered that, I thought, "Wow. Who do I know that I would go to that extreme for?"

Friends come in a variety of ways, and we compartmentalize them. There are work friends, bar friends, school friends, church friends, online friends, friends with benefits, to name a few. There's even some people who in our hearts and minds transcend all of the categories we place others in, those who we feel would be someone we could rely on in any given aspect of life.

There's the ways we communicate with our friends. There's the ever-popular internet. Thanks to social networking websites and email, we can talk to our friends digitally. And some of these friends we've never met in person. It's all just ones and zeros, bouncing back and forth between our computers.

There's the friends with whom we keep in touch by talking on the phone and with text messages. Often, physical distance is a major factor. But over time if we don't see them, the strength of the friendship weakens until the will to maintain contact becomes an afterthought. Distance can be such a strong influence.

There's those who we see on a regular, if not daily basis. Even though it may be face-to-face, the friendship may lack depth. We talk small talk, maybe even attend each others' parties or other social events. Yet the value of those friendships can be shallow.

Then there are the those friends whom we make a consistent effort to maintain contact with. We try almost daily to have some form of contact with them for the sake of building a meaningful, lasting friendship with. They're people we consider worth the energy we spend. But on the flip side, are those people willing to reply in kind? Do they see us in the same way we value them? Unfortunately, it can be a struggle for both sides, and that can happen because of the way lives are as time goes by. I believe it's that mutual desire to maintain and grow that bond no matter what, which defines a strong friendship.

I felt a bit of sadness when I thought about past friends, how some of them used to be close, yet they are fading away into the echoes of memory. Some people would like to justify the loss of a friend because of being hurt or betrayed, or because they moved away, or because time and separation do that to people. What hurts the most is putting forth the effort to keep in touch with people and getting so little in return. It happens to all of us at one point or another. There's the jaded approach in saying that it was time for that friendship to come to an end. But... sometimes it's near impossible to just stop caring that much about people.

The beauty of the human experience is that we can have the friendships we want, in the way we want them to be. While there are a select few people that we choose to give a place in the deepest part of our heart, there will always those who are just another familiar face. I find myself pondering who might value me as much as I value them. In the end, what's important is that we all have value. I wish I had the time and energy to devote to all of my friends. I apologize to those I may be neglecting, but you are in my thoughts.

Life goes on. I hope my friends will still be there during this journey. Peace!

Dead Trees, A Chain Saw, & Power Lines

On Saturday I helped my dad cut down a few of his neighbor's trees. Not that it would be any more mundane than any other outdoor activity requiring hard manual labor. Actually he had asked me to help out earlier in the week, and how could I resist an afternoon of cutting down trees? After all, they were already dead and my dad's neighbor wanted them gone.

So off I went, and found my dad hard at work on the first tree. The first thing I noticed is that he had a cable tied around the trunk of the tree, and the other end was fastened around the bumper of his pickup. Ok, nothing horribly out of the ordinary there. That is, until my eyes followed the tree up near the top, where some power lines were nearby.

At that point I knew why my dad wanted my help.

In recalling all of the warnings I have heard about being around power lines, conventional wisdom tells me that this could be one of the less intelligent things I would be doing with my life. But, what the heck. We only live once, right?

So, I got my fair share of chain saw duty. We managed to get the trees sawed down, and my arms were numb for the rest of the day. And, the power lines remained undisturbed by our activity. All in a day's work!

My Day In Court

Today I had to go to court. Those who know me know why... Anyhow, that's not my point here.

I get to the courtroom at the assigned time. First thing I notice is that it's crammed with people already. This isn't the first time I've had to appear in court, but it was the equivalent to a human sardine can in there. Next thing I notice is that it's downright cold in there. I'm wondering if they do that on purpose.

So there I sit, waiting my turn to see the judge. He was an older gentleman, but seemed like a decent person. He wasn't your stereotypical draconic figure in the tall black robe with a chronic frown. He talked to everyone in a conversational manner, not like he was Omnipotent and you were dirt. That, or he got lucky last night.

After about a dozen cases before mine, he called me up next. As expected, he couldn't get my last name right. Got to love having a last name that nobody can pronounce, even if it's painfully obvious how it should sound.

We went through the statutory conversation; none of us approaching the judge even had the time to get to the podium before he was already reading off our charges. "Do you understand your rights? You are here on this charge, is that correct? Did you commit this (insert name of misdemeanor here)? How do you plead?" Then he asks the clerk for an appropriate verdict, based on your record. You get sentenced, then you're done and just another name crossed off on the docket.

It probably took you longer to read this than it took me to stand in front of the judge. I stood there for less than 25 seconds. I was amazed with the turnstyle approach of the court. At least it didn't drag on.

Once I exited the courtroom, I had to stand in line for another 40 minutes to get my paperwork on the fines due, etc. All in all, I arrived at the courthouse at 1:20 in the afternoon, and left at close to 3 pm. Spent more time waiting than actually getting my wrist slapped by the justice system.

Lesson learned: Don't break the law, especially when it requires a mandatory court appearance!

The Twinkie From Hell

The other day at work, I found a package of Twinkies stashed away in a cupboard along with some other Little Debbie treats. They are there thanks to the generosity of the Little Debbie delivery guy who brings us the stock that gets rotated out of the stores.

Anyhow, I figured that since I have not had a Twinkie in ages, I'd see if the makers of said treat had improved on the taste. I was horribly disillusioned.

The instant I bit into the evil, yellow-dyed lump of goodness, I was greeted with an odd grainy kind of texture. Following that was the taste. Not only was it stale, but it had a flavor that I cannot to this day identify. The closest comparison I can think of is mud. Oh well, I took another bite. More grainy texture, followed by a greasy, yet goopy sensation as I got a bite of the "creme" filling.

Do not be mistaken. I firmly believe there are no dairy products in that creme filling. Probably mostly consisting of hydrogenated vegetable oil, it leaves this scummy coating in your mouth that not even 409 cleaner can scrub off. It's like the Exxon Valdez ran aground in your mouth.

I continued to punish myself, taking more bites of the grainy, squishy, oily pastry until I had finished it. It was an all-out assault on my taste buds. The preservatives left a curiously odd after-taste.

By the time I choked the last bite down, I could feel my esophagus struggling to force what was left into my stomach. It churned and gurgled and made sounds unfamiliar to me as it desperately tried to figure out what hit it. I felt ill, yet somehow my body was not compelled to reject what I just ate. It was a horrible feeling, considering that was exactly what I wanted to do.

May that be a lesson, a warning to all you who see Twinkies stacked up on the shelf at the store, in their pretty packaging. Just move on, unless you want to go through the agonizing culinary hell I went through.

Don't Puke On Me!

I will admit that I do enjoy drinking alcoholic beverages, beer being the drink of choice. However, I try to stay away from drinking to excess. Mostly because it's not cool, and bad things tend to happen. That goes for all of us.

Last night I was just minding my own business, taking care of things as usual, when one of the waitresses hurriedly comes up and motions me over. "One of the guys at that table over there is puking all over the floor!"

I run over there just in time to see a pile of soiled towels. Someone, in their infinite wisdom, shoved an empty pitcher under the guy's chin too. Thankfully, the people he was with quickly escorted him out of the building, and one of the waiters cleaned it up.

Stop drinking so much that you end up regurgitating it, especially in public! It's nasty, and it confirms how dumb you are.

At the end of the night, I made my way to my car. As I came around the back side of it, I stepped in something wet and squishy. Someone, probably the same person, left a puddle next to my car, perfectly placed that I stepped in it. That was icing on the cake for my night.

My Asian Market Adventure

Originally posted on June 9, 2006

Today I got this crazy notion to stop by an asian market, out of sheer morbid curiosity. I have been in similar ones, especially in the neighborhood where I live. There's a large population of asian people here, and there's an asain something-or-other kind of shop on every other corner.

Upon entering this particular store, that familiar smell hits my nostrils, and suddenly I am transported to the memories of other asian markets. This is a pretty large store, with narrow aisles, over-stocked to the ceiling. As I wander through, it occurs to me that it's an oriental version of W*l-M*rt. It's got everything from food to cookware, to small household odds and ends. But it's mostly food products.

I am particularly struck by a clear tank full of murky brown water. There's no air or water pump, that I could tell. In the bottom of the tank were a number of what looked like snails, neatly arranged in a rectangle in the middle of the tank. In a front corner sat a crab. It did not look alive. Other things I saw in what I presumed to be the seafood section was a cardboard box lined with a plastic bag, filled with ice and whole catfish. Interesting presentation.

I moved on to browse the many jars and cans and packages of food, noting that some had both oriental and english writing. A good many only had the language of the country the product came from. Because I am versed in the European languages, this form of writing is a total mystery to me. The pictures of what some of the food products look like when prepared did little to help me identify what it is supposed to be. I will spare you any visual details.

I walked by piles of produce, packages of what looked like squid and dried fish, and wandered past the frozen food section. Some of the packages had been opened, and I could not resist looking inside to see what kinds of delightful foodstuff they contained. One contained whole, raw shrimp, and they were huge. But their little eyes looked back at me with a sad look as if saying, "Why??"

I finally made my way to the last aisle, and it was stocked with what I have come to know asian food as being. Ramen noodles! And rice wafers, dried pastas, rice, and other staple ingredients. Now this stuff I can handle eating.

Honestly, I am not trying to ridicule what other countries consider to be food. I understand that we all have different tastes and different food preparation methods. But being raised in the USA, I have grown quite accustomed to the way of shopping and eating here. It was an interesting visit to say the least. Though I left this little asian market empty-handed, it was an eye-opening culinary adventure.

Ironically, I got "Chinese" carry-out for lunch shortly afterward. Oh, the powers of persuasion!

Air Travel Fun, Part 2

I'm back from another adventure, and like a dog going back to its own vomit I chose air travel as the primary means of getting there. So, here's some of the highlights.

The fun began when I left home, got about a mile away and realized I forgot my cell phone, so had to turn around and get it. That in turn made me late enough that I missed the chance to check a package I was bringing with me, so I had to lug it on board myself and somehow jam it into the overhead bin.

Upon arrival to Minneapolis/St Paul, I checked the box through to my destination, and got onto my next flight. After transferring to my next flight at Detroit, all was well until the person assigned to the seat next to me sat down. Turned out to be a Texan. And he wouldn't shut up. I think he got the hint when I put on my headset.

When I got to my destination, I waited for the package I had checked through. It didn't. Two days later it finally did get delivered, battered but intact. The whole incident would not have bothered me, except that the method of delivery was via a rented plain white van. If that doesn't look susupicious pulling up to the driveway, what does??

The return trip wasn't too bad. At least the first leg of it. I had a three hour layover in Detroit, and amazingly enough the terminal to my connecting flight was less than 200 feet away. Fabulous. I sat down, had a beer and some lunch and watched a movie on my DVD player until it was time to board.

While waiting for the crew to get the plane ready, I got a good giggle watching the safety brief, mostly because I can recite it in my sleep and nobody pays attention to them anyway. My biggest concern was about the guy behind me, oblivious to the world because he was talking on his cell phone. Trying to make himself look important, he was still chatting away long after the pilot announced that the cabin door was closed and all electronic devices must be shut off. Excuse me, but I am not about to let this schmuck make me die in a firey crash because his business is more important than my safety!

Back at Minneapolis/St Paul, I got into the terminal and checked the kiosk to see where my next plane was. Gate 5, Terminal F. I was at Gate 20something, Terminal C. And had about 25 minutes before the flight was to be in the air. That was just dandy. I literally had to run through the airport like a cheetah on crack to make it to my connecting flight. Thankfully I got there as they were getting everyone on board.

During that flight, a lady in the row ahead of me spilled her piping hot coffee into the lap of the guy sitting next to her. The yell he let out could probably be heard in the cockpit, which is pretty incredible considering we were seated about 10 rows from the back of the plane. The guy wasn't too pleased, but I found it to be hilarious, mainly because I'm sick in the head like that.

After that, the flight went by without incident, not even much turbulence. One lesson I learned is the distance to your connecting gate at the airport is inversely proportional to the amount time you have to get there. Consider yourself informed. I found a great use for those airline safety briefs though... they make great fans to cool off with after nearly missing your flight!

Air Travel Fun, Part 1

Today I'm leaving for a vacation for the weekend. And it's about time, I can only put up with the idiocy of the people I see every day for so long.

Since I'll be flying to my destination, I get the joy of experiencing all the fun things at the airport. Like getting fleeced for parking, the screening process, ticket check-in lines, privacy invasion, paranoid armed guards, and the subtle but constant threat of deep cavity searches. And we haven't even left the terminal yet!

And then there's the in-flight fun. There's something about blasting through the sky in a pressurized metal tube going over 500 mph at 35,000 feet with complete strangers at the controls that just seems absurd in the eyes of common sense. Oh, did I mention the thing you're flying in has engines that have to use FIRE to operate? Let's just hope that no one involved with the preflight inspections was hung over today.

Ever notice the seat belt? You get this flimsy pile of parts that wouldn't restrain you should the aircraft fly in any manner it was not designed to. Your car offers 3-point restraint. Race car drivers have 5-point restraints. I have this sick sense of dread when it comes to passenger safety devices. Something along the lines that the aircraft design budget was getting low, and they went with whatever happened to be scribbled on a paper napkin.

My favorite picture in the passenger information pamphlet is the "crash position" you're supposed to assume, if you're sitting in a row that doesn't have seats in front of it. All you have to do is tuck your head between your legs (kiss your butt goodbye) and wrap your arms around your knees. That looks like a sound survival technique to me. I wonder if that's been proven yet.

In addition, the strangers at the controls of the airplane are communicating with people on the ground who work in one of the most stressful occupations on the planet: Air traffic controller. Last I heard, these people tend to self-destruct, and/or take others with them when they pop a fuse.

To the special interest groups that got peanuts taken off the menu for the in-flight snack, I hold a special place for you in the grimiest corner of my heart. Now we're subject to pretzels that turn to paste the instant any moisture is added, i.e. saliva, soda, coffee, tea, or other beverage of choice. Or even better, I was on a morning flight that offered a "breakfast biscuit" that was little more than a glorfied cracker. At least peanuts didn't get stuck in my teeth as easily, and there was even a certain amount of health value to them. But, no more peanuts on airlines. Thanks guys. Peanut allergies... *sigh*

I really don't mind flying at all. It's even more fun to take my laptop with me and view my photo album of aviation-related disasters in full view of the public just before boarding, or after getting seated. Some of the looks on peoples' faces are priceless.

That being said, I think that travelling by air is a great experience. Between the sensation of your eardrums wanting to burst and the person next to you vomiting from air sickness, it's swell! Just don't use the bathroom unless it's a life-or-death situation. You think port-a-potties at a rock concert are bad...

The Joys of Dental Work

It's amazing, the kind of crap that goes through one's mind when deprived of enough sleep. Tonight, I actually found humor in being the recipient of dental surgery. Allow me to explain.

When I was in the navy, I was stationed on an aircraft carrier. At the time I was due for my annual dental exam, and they decided my wisdom teeth needed to be removed. I was mortified, not only by the thought of the agony that accompanies the process, but also by the fact that a stranger would have his paws jammed in my mouth and rummaging around in there for my teeth. Kind of like a demented tooth fairy in a white jacket.

My day of dental reckoning finally arrived. By then I had endured as many horror stories from other people as I cared to hear. And lucky me, we happened to be sailing through a storm, and the ship wasn't exactly level. Fantastic.

They sat me down so I could watch a video on the whole process of dental surgery. The video had a segment on anesthesia, and one of the possible side effects was a severe allergic reaction that could result in death. At that point I began to giggle uncontrollably. I tend to do that when I am in a totally helpless situation... nothing better to do but to laugh at Fate right before it grabs you by your privates in a vise-like grip and yanks.

The dental technician didn't take very kindly to my laughter, and thought even less of me since I couldn't explain what was so funny to me because of my giggling fit.

Into the chair I went. I noticed that it had wrist straps on the armrests. Not a good sign. I was given the anesthesia shots in my gums, and soon I could sense my drool over my chin. Before I knew it, they had my mouth jacked open and were prying away at my top molars. First it was a hard wrenching sensation, the ambience further enahnced by the blinding surgery light and the grunts of the dentist's failed attempts to loosen the teeth.

I desperately tried to keep my eyes closed, but at precisely the wrong instant, I cracked them open in time to see the dentist assaulting my upper jaw with something that looked like a demented pair of pliers. Shutting my eyes didn't help much to curb my anxiety. CRACK!!! CRUNCH!!!

I felt my molar shatter. Instinct tells me that sensation is not natural. It isn't. My sweaty hands grip the chair and my legs stiffen as I feel them pulling what's left of my shattered teeth out of my head.

As a final chance to gross me out, they show me a jar of red, viscous fluid. Appearently, that's what they sucked out of my mouth as they worked on me. THEY ACTUALLY SAVED THAT STUFF. Why???? I will never know. At that point, I was all but broken. My mouth was still numb, I had two fresh holes in my head, and could only imagine what the pain would be like once the meds wore off. I was put on bed rest and codeine for two days, and the pain was actually tolerable. But it was also a great time to slack off, sleep, and have people wait on me. I felt like a king. Despite all of that, I still have my two lower wisdom teeth, and one of my molars are chipped. I can hardly wait for my next dentist visit. Maybe dental work isn't so funny after all.