I still think of him, too

Today was a particularly beautiful day. I'm sorry if we didn't share the same sentiments. Now, if you'll excuse me, i have a blog to compose. Allow me to be me.

My grandmother likes to talk. A lot. So spending four hours in a car with her can be trying. She doesn't appreciate silence like i do. Her talking is understandable, though. She lives by herself and we don't see each other that often. Still, as much as i love her (and i do, dearly), there's only so much i can hear about (so-and-so's uncle's nephew who worked on the farm until he went to work at the mill...). Honestly, it can be a bit drab. But kids, here is an example of when patience pays off.

btw, we rode together in order to witness the baptism of my baby nephew, the now newly sanctified Duane Anthony Watson. And those of you who know me, i love baptisms for multiple reasons: 1. i love the Sacraments, 2. I love babies, 3. Baptism reminds the parents and godparents of their responsibilities as educators (and examples) of the faith, 4. Satan gets pwned again, 5. I love the smell of chrism, so, so much (sensory win).

Right, so

After we enjoyed a wonderful lunch, nap and cake, it was time to travel back home with bright-eyes and bushy beard.

So i turn my ears to auto-pilot for about 50 minutes until she mentions my grandfather. It's not often she talks about papa Pervis. He passed away about 17 years ago and i don't remember much of him. I just remember that he was loving, joyous, liked basketball and didn't like blue jays (they messed up his garden).

I have been around a few funerals too many over the past 8 months and so i have become fairly well versed in funeral etiquette. Mostly it's filled with accepting condolences, thanking people for paying their respects and other hum-drum distractions and hollow noises. But every now and then, someone shares a story with you on how how much the departed meant to them...and it blows you away..

and my grandmother told me a story from her husband's funeral that a young mane told her nearly 2 decades ago:

in her paraphrased words:

A week before Pervis passed away he was wrapping up some work one evening and happened upon sharing a cup of coffee with one of his younger friends (and by younger, i mean about 40). They shared some conversation about life and all that jazz and then he told me Pervis said, "you know, (guy), i'm not sure what you believe on this stuff, but i think God wants us to suffer. I don't think people really understand that now-a-days. You know, life isn't all about getting what you want all the time. I don't think that's how we're supposed to be. I think to make this life worth something we have to suffer." The young man said he never thought of it that way but Pervis made him think about it. He told me that he'd never forget what Pervis told him...a week before his death...

...and neither did my grandma. To remember something for so long says that it won't soon be forgotten. She still has coffee with the not-so-young man every now and again.

She also told me how my grandfather was lonesome for us when we lived away, how he loved us so much always and how he would always share pictures with everyone and tell his younger co-workers how great it was to be a grandpa...our grandpa.

She told me that she still thinks of papa Pervis every so often.

I do, too, grandma. I do, too.

Peace,

Daytona

Can i see your ID?

"Losing yourself to do the will of God and taking on a new self completely...yeah...I'd say awesome realization..." - B.S.

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