Another Year, Another Time!

Mother’s Day month brings a mix of emotions for me. On one hand, there’s a beautiful sweetness in remembering all the strong, compassionate women who dedicated their lives, careers, and happiness to their families. These incredible heroines found the strength to raise their children, often on their own, while always supporting and encouraging their young minds. On the other hand, it’s bittersweet for those of us who have lost our mothers; we cherish the moments we shared, yet we miss the chance to discuss our failures and achievements and hear their voices once more. 

Since 2016, May has been a particularly difficult month for me, marked by the loss of many dear friends and family members. When I glance at my phone’s calendar, I’m reminded of how closely their birthdays and transitions are intertwined, with just a few days in between. It’s a poignant reminder of the love and memories we share. I miss them dearly.

I experienced another episode like what happened in 2023 when I blacked out from severe dehydration at the graveyard. This time, I overdid it, pressure washing our patio deck in 90-degree weather, and started to feel lightheaded. By the time I thought I needed a drink of water, it was already too late. I made it inside the house, sat down on the floor, and asked my wife to bring me a bottle of water. She came right away, unbuttoned my shirt, loosened my belt, took off my cap, and called 911. The difference this time from last was that I didn’t completely black out. However, I couldn’t see, and my vision went dark, but I could hear everything around me.

I didn’t want EMS, but my wife didn’t take any chances. She told me to stay seated. While I waited, she prayed for me. I boast about a praying woman. Their prayers are strong and sincere. I thought about not finishing the deck and told her. She said that the deck is not worth my life. Then, I thought about being an addition to my May calendar. I didn’t want to be a part of that. But we don’t know the day, time, or hour when we are called. We can at least not do anything to speed up the process.

Take my advice: summer is coming, and those temperatures are going to rise! Let's make sure we stay hydrated by drinking plenty of water. Take good care of yourselves!

Stay Vigilant!

This morning, I had the extraordinary experience of hearing an 87-year-old English widow perform a piano concerto. The performance was a heartfelt tribute to her late husband, with whom she shared 63 beautiful years of marriage. She had always been an accomplished pianist, deeply passionate about music, while he found joy behind the lens as a skilled photographer. Both excelled in their respective arts but remained humble, often believing many others surpassed them.

Later in life, she discovered her talent for composing music, which added another layer to her artistic expression. Encouraged by her daughter, she decided to play at a local mall, unwittingly captivating an audience that included the renowned musician Jon Batiste. As the first chords filled the air, I noticed Jon’s face light up with recognition, his expression turning contemplative as he absorbed the profound emotion of her performance.

As I listened, I couldn't help but reflect on my journey. What does God have in store for me? What is my purpose? This connection through music sparked deep contemplation about my path and our unknown future.

One might ponder why I find myself contemplating my purpose at this stage of life. One significant factor behind this introspection is the recent discord between my wife and me. As she has taken a much-needed vacation, my household routines have been disrupted, creating an unsettling imbalance. She has been energetically rearranging, packing, and discarding items in the kitchen that haven’t seen the light of day in over a year. 

Accustomed to navigating the daily tasks of our home independently, my world has shifted since retirement. I manage our residence's interior and exterior upkeep while she dedicates herself to her professional endeavors. Yet, my domestic responsibilities come with restrictions that leave me feeling constrained. For instance, cleaning the bathrooms has been designated her domain; she believes my efforts in that area fall short of her standards. This division of labor has altered our routines and prompted me to reflect on the nature of my role in the home and our partnership.

Our friction stemmed from a profound misalignment in our perspectives and priorities. That evening, just before the dimming of the sky signaled prayer time, we found ourselves seated across from each other, the air thick with unspoken words. The tension gradually faded as we discussed our actions, revealing the raw vulnerabilities beneath. We took turns admitting our faults—moments where our pride had overshadowed our judgment, and instances where our words had cut deeper than intended. 

With honesty, we expressed our emotions; fear, frustration, and regret hung heavily between us. We acknowledged that our responses could have been more measured, that instead of responding with defensiveness, we could have approached each other with empathy and understanding. As the light faded outside, it became clear that our emotions had taken the reins, leading us away from constructive dialogue. Together, we committed to embracing a more patient and compassionate approach moving forward, recognizing that open communication was the key to mending our misalignment.

We must remain ever vigilant against the subtle tactics of the devil. He is constantly looking for vulnerabilities in our lives, seeking to exploit any weaknesses he can find. His greatest weapon is distraction, distracting us from the good and serene aspects of our existence. We might discuss this endlessly, passionately dissecting his methods. Yet, all too often, we slip into his traps, oblivious to the folly of our actions—until the moment comes when we are forced to confront the truth of our naivety. In these moments of revelation, the shadows of our ignorance are cast into the light. Do I mean it when I say, “I repent?” Then why do I do the same thing again? Haven’t I learned anything? I may have failed, but I will continue to push forward. We all must persevere in our efforts.

Some People Build and Some Tear Down!

One man meticulously constructs any structure, pouring his ideas and efforts into every brick and beam. In contrast, another man comes along and dismantles what has been built, erasing the hard work of the first. However, there are exceptions to this simple dichotomy: one individual may build upon the solid foundation laid by another, adding layers of complexity and innovation to the original design. Additionally, a visionary may gather diverse individuals, encouraging them to share their unique perspectives and ideas, extending and enriching the building process. This collaborative approach enhances the original creation and fosters a sense of community and shared purpose, transforming the building into a collective journey of creativity and growth.

At times, change is ignited by a single individual, while other moments see a collective of two or more collaborators, all united by a shared vision. Their motivations often transcend mere financial gain; instead, they may be driven by a deep-seated obligation to uplift others meaningfully. This endeavor could be rooted in a desire to forge a legacy that they hope will inspire and empower future generations to carry it forward.

Throughout life, individuals will inevitably prefer to dismantle rather than create. These people often possess a perspective that emphasizes negativity, homing in on the flaws and failures around them. For them, expressing discontent seems to be the simplest, most accessible form of rebellion—a way to defy the status quo by highlighting the futility they perceive in efforts to improve or uplift.

Now, more than ever, individuals across various platforms persistently try to deceive, misinform, and deny their troubling behaviors and thought processes. Whether through social media, news articles, or public speeches, many are twisting facts and presenting misleading narratives to protect their interests. This culture of denial reflects a lack of accountability and contributes to a broader decline in trust and civility in discourse. As misinformation spreads, the implications for society become increasingly dire, undermining our ability to tackle pressing issues with honesty and integrity. It’s alarming how many people readily accept everything they encounter online without questioning its validity.

The reckoning that awaits us is a universal truth, one that intimate and distant observers alike can sense for those who seek the chance to repent and amend their ways, rest assured that such an opportunity will present itself. Therefore, my earnest counsel is simple: do not procrastinate until it is too late to act. 

Throughout our journeys, we have all been alerted to the subtle and profound signs around us through dreams that linger in the mind, moments of heightened awareness, and the deep stirrings of our consciousness. We stand at a crossroads; we can choose to dismiss these messages, allowing them to fade into the background of our busy lives, or we can embrace them, recognizing the call to transformation and redemption. 

Turning away from our harmful actions and inclinations is not just advisable but essential. We can reforge our path by consciously shifting our focus towards God and the higher principles of love, compassion, and understanding. Ultimately, the choice remains in our hands. It's a decision laden with weight and consequence that can shape our destinies and the world around us.

Disappointment in the 2025 NFL Draft! Some Things Will Never Change!

Here we go again with the ongoing issues within the NFL. Before the season even kicked off, the draft revealed an unsettling pattern of bias lurking beneath the league’s supposed commitment to unity. Once more, it’s evident that the team owners view their players not as valued individuals but as mere assets to manage under the guise of loyalty. 

The harsh reality is that it all boils down to financial interests; a player without a team won't see those hefty paychecks that often lead to financial burdens. It’s a precarious situation: when the higher-ups issue directives about roster decisions, the underlying message is clear—keep certain players off the field, regardless of the justifications offered. The implications are profound, showing how intertwined financial power and player treatment are within the league. In this environment, it’s not just about performance but a calculated game of control.

For a couple of days, I found myself haunted by the ghost of Colin Kaepernick. Kaepernick, a name that resonates deeply in football, led the San Francisco 49ers to Super Bowl XLVII, where they faced off against the formidable Baltimore Ravens but ultimately fell short of victory. In 2016, his career took a dramatic turn when his peaceful protest against racial injustice and police brutality, symbolized by his decision to kneel during the National Anthem, captured national attention. Rather than confronting the uncomfortable truths highlighted by his actions, the NFL opted to release him from their ranks, avoiding the stigma of being labeled as racist.

Colin’s decision to kneel, rather than stand with his hand over his heart, was more than just a personal statement; it was a bold and courageous stand to raise awareness about systemic inequalities affecting people of color. However, this protest was met with fierce backlash, painted by many as unpatriotic and incendiary, igniting a firestorm of controversy across the nation. Since that fateful moment, not one of the thirty-two NFL teams has invited him to join their roster, a testament to how uneasy the truth made the league’s owners.

In the shadows of the sports world, whispers of collusion persisted, leading many to speculate about the underlying fears of the league’s leadership. The rising voices demanding justice and accountability were seen threatening the status quo—a modern echo of a restless uprising. Although no one would openly acknowledge any conspiracy, the NFL reached a quiet settlement out of court, leaving many questions unanswered and suspending the truth in ambiguity. His kneeling protests, meant to raise awareness about racial injustice and police brutality, generated intense controversy.

The echoes of history reverberated during the 2025 NFL Draft, particularly surrounding Shedeur Sanders, the promising quarterback from the Colorado Buffaloes. Expected to be the top pick on the first day, anticipation hung thick in the air, yet the reality turned out starkly different. As the draft unfolded over three grueling days, speculation began to swirl—was he being blacklisted? 

Conversations ignited regarding his perceived brashness and self-assurance, with whispers about subpar interviews with potential coaches adding fuel to the fire. Critics pointed to his confidence as "uppityness," suggesting that his vibrant personality might overshadow the team dynamics, especially considering the heavy involvement of his father in his burgeoning career. Much has been said about his father, Deion, but few have spoken positively about him. Double standards have existed for too long, and forgetfulness is too short. Archie Manning was involved in Eli’s draft, but that standard is accepted. Such conversations raise unsettling questions about bias and exclusivity, evoking a disconcerting sense of nostalgia for a time when individuals of color were expected to remain in the shadows. In this context, it becomes clear that the narrative surrounding Shedeur Sanders touches on deep-seated issues of race and the persistent challenge of overcoming societal expectations. Shedeur Sanders, born into a family of privilege, used his resources to carve out his path through lucrative NIL contracts and engaging advertisements. However, the respect he deserves has largely eluded him, overshadowed by misconceptions about his character. Few recognize the depth of his intelligence and the strategic thinking he employs; Shedeur knows precisely what he’s doing on and off the field.

A stark truth that owners and coaches often refuse to acknowledge is their failure to understand their players' unique perspectives and motivations. Instead of encouraging dialogue and growth, players are typically expected to comply without question, conforming to a rigid hierarchy. How many leaders have taken the time to inquire about Shedeur’s remarkable academic achievements? With a GPA hovering around an impressive 3.97, he stands as a testament to dedication and hard work, often dismissed as merely “uppity.”

Amidst the pressures and expectations, Shedeur has managed to maintain an unwavering spirit, a feat not easily achieved in the face of judgment and misunderstanding. It raises the question: Do those in authority even notice the resilience and determination he embodies? It appears not. The culture often leans toward “breaking” individuals to enforce compliance, sacrificing their individuality.

The Chicago Bears selected Shedeur in the fifth round, at pick number 144. He celebrated this achievement with his family by jumping into the pool. I hope Shedeur carries a chip on his shoulder and never forgets this moment in football history. Despite the odds stacked against him, he has the potential to equal or surpass Tom Brady's achievements. Never let them see you cry. The people in the world can be so disappointing. This is why we should put our faith in God, not man.

Rest In Peace, Pope Francis!

Pope Francis, the 266th Pope of the Catholic Church, passed away on Easter Monday, April 21, 2025, shortly after his last appearance to the world on Easter Sunday. He was born in Argentina on December 17, 1936. In his twenties, Jorge Mario Bergoglio underwent surgery to remove portions of his lung that had been affected by a severe respiratory infection. This health issue continued to impact him as he aged. 

In the weeks leading up to his passing, many Catholics feared they were losing him while he was hospitalized, but it was not yet his time. Although he could not conduct Easter services, he deeply missed being with his congregation. He was released from the hospital after 38 days and returned to the Vatican. On Easter Sunday, he was wheeled to the Central Loggia of St. Peter’s Basilica, where he waved at the cheering crowds. He found the strength to thank his nurse and bless the masses, expressing his desire to be with those who loved him. He skipped the meeting with Vice President J. D. Vance but had one of his cardinals relay and repeat his message on compassion that touched on migration.

Elected in 2013, Cardinal Bergoglio took the name Francis. St. Francis of Assisi was known for his devotion to the poor and love for service. He renounced wealth and luxury. Pope Francis took this lifestyle, too. He was known for walking alongside the people and living as they did. Although he could have resided in the extravagant quarters of previous popes, he chose to live in the Vatican’s Guesthouse, a modest suite. 

Pope Francis will be remembered as the People's Pope, a leader who encouraged love and mercy among all. He wanted to see unity among Christian Churches and was never afraid to speak out against injustices. Yet, many conservative clergy within the church saw him as a threat because he welcomed all into the church. He had welcomed sinners who were not accepted anywhere else. He had changed the traditions of the papacy, and the enemy within the church had issues with anyone who followed Christ. Who will stand up now in his place? Who is unafraid of vindictive and hateful forces of evil?

Pope Francis’ funeral will be this Saturday, April 26, 2025. Dignitaries around the world will attend, and security will be tight. I pray that peace will prevail, and no one will do anything to disgrace the moment. The world needs a day of peace, even if it’s temporary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sources: Vatican News, April 21, 2025

Mindfulness!

The practice of self-awareness has a rich history, yet it often deepens and evolves as one navigates the passage of time. Each year, mindful individuals become increasingly attuned to the subtle transformations within themselves, both body and spirit. They may observe the gradual changes in their physical form, such as the softening of the skin, the shifting contours of their faces, and the surprising appearance of grey hairs sprouting from the nose and ears. 

Reflecting on their youth, many might recall witnessing these signs of aging in their elders, and this observation often sparks a sense of wonder. Did those older generations truly acknowledge the march of time, or did they overlook these fleeting signs of life’s inevitable progression? I’m sure they had enough concerns with living during those times. Not much different than now. Different times, different problems.

In the exuberance of youth, distractions abound, making it easy for young people to prioritize what seems urgent over what truly matters. The concerns of earlier years, which once felt paramount, can fade into the background as one grows wiser. This evolution underscores the unique advantages of youth while simultaneously illuminating a profound aspect of maturity: the gradual acceptance of change and the enriched understanding of oneself that comes with embracing the journey of growing up.

Reflecting on my experiences, I realize that my mind can simultaneously spin through a thousand ideas. Yet, in practical terms, I can only focus on a single task at any given moment. It’s as if I wander through a labyrinth of thoughts, often feeling momentarily disoriented. To counteract this mental whirlwind, I seek engaging tasks that capture my attention, particularly in the garden. Working around the yard grounds me and immerses me in nature's vibrant colors and textures, providing a refreshing sanctuary for my restless mind.

Yet, I find it essential to nurture the deeply rooted belief that I possess a purpose—a sense of worth and a duty to guide those who may tread the path I have walked before. I often reflect on the profound Biblical truth, “When I was a child, I acted like a child, but now that I am a man…” We have transcended the fleeting days of our youth; we are no longer the carefree teenagers of 40 or 50 years past. As we embark upon the latter chapters of our journey, navigating this course with intention and integrity is imperative. In this realization, we come to terms with the fact that control was never truly ours to wield, and it remains elusive even now. I must confess that there are moments when I feel utterly adrift, uncertain of how to occupy my time. Yet, paradoxically, I find myself caught in the relentless grasp of a schedule that never seems to allow me the freedom to pursue the things I genuinely desire. That is writing, researching my ancestry, playing word puzzles, walking, learning new things, watching new television programs, and traveling.

Is mindfulness truly making a difference in my life? The answer is a resounding yes! Through consistent practice, I have become better at organizing, compartmentalizing, and managing my thoughts, which used to swirl chaotically in my mind. I often found myself weighed down by the burdensome “wouldas,” “couldas,” and “shouldas” from my past—regrets that seemed to cling to me like shadows.

The journey hasn’t been easy; I face persistent challenges each day. Some guilt lingers from choices I wish I could redo, regret tugs at my heart when I recall missed opportunities, doubt creeps in and makes me question my abilities, and fear can sometimes be overwhelming. These emotions distract me from focusing on the present moment and the positive steps I want to take.

However, I have come to view this struggle as a daily battle, and each time I push through the negativity, I feel a sense of victory. Mindfulness practices—deep breathing, meditation, and grounding techniques—have equipped me with the tools to confront and overcome these obstacles. With each small triumph, I gain more clarity and strength, helping me cultivate a peaceful, resilient mindset. Everyone has personal issues; none of us is exempt.

Lord, the journey has not been easy. I placed my faith in the redemptive nature of humanity, believing it could shine brighter than divine salvation. I clung to the hope that a singular source, a beacon of promise, would elevate me from the shadows of isolation into the radiant embrace of comfort and abundance. I doubted that Your Grace would offer me more than the fleeting support of man. The lessons I’ve learned have come at a steep price, revealing the depth of my misjudgment in the harshest ways. Forgive me. I refuse to become a foolish older man.

Father!

A poignant memory of my father's absenteeism resurfaced while I was discussing my brief military career with my wife. I found myself grappling with a haunting question: if my father had been present during those pivotal moments when I was contemplating whether to leave or extend my service, how different might my path have been if he had been there to offer guidance? My wife sensed the bitterness in my voice, a lingering shadow of a wound that I had never truly forgiven. I reassured her that I had come to terms with my feelings long before his passing, but as the conversation unfolded, I began to wonder if I had genuinely reconciled in full. 

My wife often reminds me of a nurturing mother, embodying the spirit of selflessness. She has devoted her life to the well-being of our children, sacrificing her dreams for their happiness. When I turned sixteen, my mother navigated the challenges of single parenthood, bestowing us a wealth of attention and love. With unwavering determination, she resolved that her boys would not find themselves imprisoned by poor choices or buried too soon. 

After returning home from the seminary, I was met with the stark reality of my parents' divorce, a revelation that felt like a seismic shift in my life. As the eldest, I instinctively assumed the mantle of responsibility, eager to support my mother however I could. My younger brother, just two years my junior, was a spirited force of nature, often testing the bounds of our relationship. With punishment off the table and frustration building, our disagreements frequently erupted into spirited battles, a testament to the complexities of brotherhood amidst the upheaval of our lives.

As a child, I vividly recall seeing my father returning home from work, his big, black lunch box swinging by his side and his trousers rolled up to reveal his weathered ankles. He would call out to us, the laughter of our play echoing in the air, before disappearing into the house to change clothes for the evening ahead. My mother, gentle and soft-spoken like my wife, worked the night shift at the hospital, her hands often tenderly caring for little ones in the pediatrics department. Occasionally, we would hear the distant sounds of their disagreements—sharp words cutting through the air—but those moments were few and far between, like fleeting shadows in the warm glow of our family life.

My father was well-known in the neighborhood for giving pocket change to the kids our age, but we barely got words of encouragement from him. The other kids would tell us what house they saw him in when he should have been home with us. My baby brother expressed his dislike of him, whereas I hid my contempt and disappointment. But, one day, that all changed when I turned seventeen and back home. 

Just before sunset, we heard a knock at the door one evening. It was my father, and we were taken aback to see his arm wrapped in blood-soaked cloths. He asked if he could speak with Mom, hoping she would be able to tend to his injury, as he had been hurt in an altercation. My brother and I felt strongly about not letting him in. However, my mother, a nurse and a compassionate person, chose to help him despite our objections. She carefully treated his wound, stitched him up, and sent him on his way.

Initially, my brother and I were frustrated with her decision. We couldn't understand why she would assist someone who had caused us pain. Mom took the time to explain her reasoning to us, emphasizing her belief in the importance of helping others regardless of their past actions. This experience reminded us of her values and her unwavering kindness, which ultimately served as a lesson in empathy and compassion.

Not long after, Mom received a letter that my father had relocated to another state to stay with his sister. I found myself following in his footsteps by joining the Navy, the same branch of service, at the age of nineteen. My decision was driven by necessity; the military offered a reliable source of income, allowing me to send monthly payments to support Mom. When the day finally came for my discharge from the Navy, a mix of anticipation and apprehension filled me as I had lingering questions for my father. 

However, he had already moved from his sister’s home, leaving no forwarding address. For over two decades, none of us heard from him. It wasn’t until my uncle, his brother, informed Mom that my father had returned, now residing five blocks away in an assisted living facility, that we learned of his presence. 

Despite the passing years, he remained shrouded in embarrassment and shame, refusing to visit us, and ultimately, none of us sought to reconnect with him. Mom wanted us to see him, but we couldn’t bring ourselves. In a striking display of compassion, she would cook him dinner and deliver it herself, fully aware that we held no inclination to see him again. 

Mom dedicated herself to shaping my upbringing, often reiterating the age-old commandment to honor your father and mother. She emphasized that despite everything, he remained my father, urging me to embrace forgiveness as a vital step toward healing and moving beyond the burdens of the past. I was encouraged to rise above my pride and visit him—an idea that lingered for years. 

Finally, in my forties, I confronted this chapter of my life. As I approached the door, my heart raced with anticipation and trepidation. When the door creaked open, I was met by my father, who stood before me with an oxygen tank by his side. The man I once knew as towering and robust appeared diminished, frail, and burdened by time. In an instant, a wave of sympathy washed over me, and I couldn't help but see a reflection of my fears in his weakened state. 

I felt an overwhelming regret as I confronted the image of an unfulfilled life that loomed before me, one I desperately wanted to avoid. My brother, who had grown, married, and settled far away with his family, was now a distant figure in this narrative. He and his wife had embraced the call of duty, joined the military, and built a lovely life, never looking back to acknowledge our father. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. My father and I apologized and agreed to forgiveness, but were they empty words? We’ll never know.

I must compliment my wife on her wisdom and understanding. She is very much like my mother. I can see that I haven’t let go of my issues with my father. I’m still addressing him as my father, not Dad. I even remember calling him Mister so and so, too. As I have gotten older, I have several unresolved issues to address, a few of which my wife has pointed out.