puffin along

*I take no credit for this photo, but I had to share it.  Thanks to Nick for sharing it with me.*

When I was a teenager I read a book called Scribbler of Dreams by Mary E. Pearson.  It is a modern retake on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet without the tragic ending and with a slightly more substantial love story combined with a well-developed life lesson.

The tale is twisted in a web of seemingly harmless lies that we find stems back to huge lies in the family past of the two protagonists.  The teen lovebirds are distantly related (not enough to produce extra toes on any children they may have in the future), and Kait (our Juliet) discovers a dark family secret--the true cause for feuding among the families.

What I love most about this book is, well, the title, but also the way Kait comes to learn and truly understand both sides of the story.  Her blind hatred becomes a humbling recognition that each person involved (including herself) contributed fault, but all were unwilling to admit it and unwilling to forgive.

In the words of Cardinal Dolan, she essentially learns this:

But the answer to the question "What's wrong with the world?" is not politics, the economy, secularism, pollution, global warming. . .no.  As Chesterton wrote, "The answer to the question 'What's wrong with the world?' is two words:  I am."

I am! Admitting that leads to conversion of heart and repentance, the core of the Gospel invitation. 

That happens in the sacrament of Penance.  This is the sacrament of Evangelization.

I believe those words.  Things like rape and human trafficking and abortion really get me fuming about the state of humanity, but if I'm honest, I know I contribute to the problem.  By not living consistently in a way that affirms the value and dignity of every person I meet (and in so many other ways), I am what's wrong with the world.  But I also believe in grace and mercy, that Christ makes up for all I lack, and that gives me hope.

I also like to think of myself as a scribbler of dreams.  I am a writer, a scribbler, full of hopes and ideals, but with little idea how to truly live the dream.  Still, I will hold on to hope and keep puffin' along.

The Prodigal Patient

"You have beautiful teeth," the dentist and his hygienists told me  "But they're extremely weak and cavity-prone.  There's not really anything you can do about that."

This was their explanation for why, after I'd spent the last six months putting extra work into taking special care of my teeth, I returned to find out that I had two cavities.

That incident was a few years ago, and I kind of gave up on the dentist after that--why bother?  I wondered.  If there's nothing I can do, why go through the torture of sitting in a sticky chair with a blinding light in my eyes while someone scrapes my teeth and pokes my gums with a piece of metal?  I remembered all the times I'd spent in the chair in my youth with my mouth propped open by metal contraptions, my gums shot up with Novocaine, and my teeth filled with who-knows-what. *shudder*  No, I decided to spare myself anymore of that pain.

Lately though, I've had a little voice in my ear telling me how important it is to visit the dentist regularly, how it's good to have your teeth cleaned by someone who knows what they're doing every once in awhile as a refresher and a preventative for future disease and decay.

Finally, the prodigal patient returned.  I was received with a fair scolding, then loaded down with a new toothbrush, free floss, and coupons for fluoride rinse to encourage me to do better this time around.

A few days later, I stood in line for confession and studied the crucifix at the front of the church.  I suddenly imagined Jesus as a dentist, scraping away at the plaque on my soul.  Like my teeth, I am weak (and sinful), and there's not much I can do about it except keep trying to do what He tells me--and keep coming back to the sacraments for a deep cleaning, for guidance, for grace.

Maybe that's the best part--God  not only receives us back with open arms, but He also doesn't scold (though sometimes the transformation comes with pain), and He always loads us up with grace for the journey, to restore us, to nourish us so that we can do better next time.