So, i have a special thank you to send out to Miss Brittany Soileau tonight. BS, thank you for sending your guardian angel to help keep me from getting into an accident on the way home while i deliberately broke the law. Way to be an accessory. Perhaps we should try the more legal "hands-free phone call" method next time.
I would like to justify my actions by saying that i rarely look at my phone while texting and there were stretches of miles and miles where i saw no other motorists on the road.
Now that we have my conscience out of the way...i'd also like to thank the one and only Holy Spirit for guiding our conversations instead of punishing me as a sinful man and disobedient rebel. >:-)
Somewhere between discussing the names of guardian angels and the coziness of blankets there was a conversation point about identity. This is where i tell a story:
See, the other day i was at a BBQ my friends' house. The meat was taking a while to cook so we decided to test their little girl's skills at naming things around her. Her mother would say,
"where's mommy?" (child points to mother).
"where's daddy?" (child points to father).
"where's dayton?" (child points to not me, someone else, then points to me).
"where's aunt kay?" (child points to her aunt).
"where's the priest?" (child points to priest).
Through my embarrassment of not being able to captivate a 15-month-old child enough to remember who i am, i decided to start picking on the priest because apparently his name was "the priest" (i figured this to be the best outlet for two reasons, because a. i didn't particularly feel like permanently damaging the child's image of me...i plan on seeing her again, and b. priests are called to forgiveness...as we forgive those who trespass against us, son!). I said something to the tune of his vocational duties superseding his personal identity, all she sees is the collar, so on and so forth. This all in good nature, of course. I love priests. I've often thought of becoming one. We were having fun.
I told BS of the aforementioned story tonight and it wasn't until retelling it and her reply of "Ha, hey, it's so true" i found the beauty of the story. It doesn't matter what Fr. Long's name is. He's a priest. His vocation isn't to be Nathan Long; it's to be a priest. His name is just an identifying factor, not THE defining factor. What he now is and who he's to become is a person of Christ, a successor to the apostles, a consecrater of communion, a minister of marriage, a ballin' baptizer, with power to trump transgressions...get the point? Far more important than a name. And yes, it is taking everything i have not to go back and requote Romeo & Juliet.
Then, after thinking about it a little more (and passing an 18-wheeler) i realized that, it wasn't just "the priest" that is subject to a loss of his parent-given name...the same happens with "mommy" and "daddy", too. They die to their former selves and take the name of their vocation. Mommy and daddy clothe, feed, bathe and change diapers (a lot, too). Mommy and daddy put the child ahead of them. It's not about Michael and Nichole anymore. It's about Sopapilla T-Rex. Their vocation calls them to be daddy and mommy.
And it's not that they become something totally alien. It's quite the contrary. In dying to self and going head on into their vocation they aren't losing their identity, they are fulfilling it. Just a little realization i thought i'd share.
And in case you're wondering, yes, we all share a vocation to love and serve. Love. Serve. Do it. I dare you.
Peace,
DJL
