Surviving 33

 Here's to you.

Happy St. Catherine’s Day to all! And that means a happy birthday to me. As is true for most people, I’ll be spending this birthday working; it’s an especially busy week, what with a Conference gathering on Tuesday and then of course Thanksgiving. But I’ve been meaning to take a moment for reflection upon what’s proved to be a remarkable year, and so I can afford to take a few minutes or so out of the morning routine.

Today I’m officially 34. That doesn’t seem quite right. I know a lot of people gripe about how they don’t feel old enough to be whatever age they’ve hit, but for me it’s quite the opposite. I feel closer to 43 than to 34. In the immortal words of Indiana Jones, “It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.” Haven’t I earned a few more grey hairs than this? Ah well. They’ll come. I expected 33 to be an auspicious year, and it certainly did not disappoint. After all, by age 33 Alexander had conquered the world and Jesus Christ had saved it. What have I accomplished lately? The answer appears to be “quite a bit, by the grace of God.”

The Littlest Stout

33 started out pretty spectacularly, as only four days later our youngest daughter was born. Honestly, you don’t really figure parenting out until the third or fourth child, do you? I’ve often commented that, had the first baby behaved like this latest one, we’d have six children rather than three. I’m joking, of course, but many a truth hath been told in jest. Brigid was named for a saint, and behaves like one. Anastasia means “resurrection,” and she fears neither death nor pain. Soren got his name from Kierkegaard, a brilliant but moody philosopher. Perhaps names really are destiny, at least in part.

Christmastide

Christmas 2012 was wonderful. My folks were able to come up again, and we celebrated with English Christmas pudding, homemade graham cracker and candy locomotives, and not one but two trees. We also built a medieval kissing ball: I provided the blueprint, my mother assembled the frame, and our local florist did a brilliant job with the holly, candle, apple, and mistletoe. It was a Christmas for the ages. Alas, I overdid it a bit on worship, what with services at 4:00, 6:00, and 11:00 Christmas Eve, followed by a 9:00 a.m. mass on Christmas morning (and blessing of the wine for St. John the Evangelist on the Third Day of Christmas). This year we’re cutting way back, and combining some services. Time to practice the peace that I preach.

The Holy Land

One of the biggest things that happened to me in the past year was my February pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The experience was indescribable. Thanks to the charitable works of the Knights Templar, I flew to Israel for two weeks of intensive study and prayer, touring more than 70 holy sites with the top Israeli guide in the country. (By that I mean that he ran the government guide school, and happened to be an author, paratrooper, archaeologist, and high school teacher on the side. He also, as a Conservative Jew, knew the Christian Scriptures better than most clerics.) I took 1500 pictures and filled a 160-page journal with constant scribbling. It changed my faith, vastly enhanced my reading of the Bible, and made me fall in love with Israel. I’d take just about any excuse to go back.

Flame On

In April I set our house on fire. I didn’t mean to. I had this little shrine atop our gas fireplace, where I kept a Nativity set and icon of the Theotokos. One afternoon I rushed through my Rosary in order to finish it before my son got in from the bus stop, and I must have left the pillar candle burning or something, because 30 hours later (!) the fireplace burst into flames. The wall and ceiling caught, and fans at the peak of our 13-foot ceiling melted. Our family got back from the store to be greeted by a wall of flames, which, fortunately, I was able to extinguish before the firefighters arrived. Those professionals told me that we’d been right at a flashpoint, when the whole place would’ve gone up. Just a minute later, and all would’ve been lost—as far as worldly possessions, anyway. By the grace of God, nothing irreplaceable or even terribly meaningful was lost, save the shrine itself, which seemed to take the brunt of punishment on behalf of the house. I am deeply grateful.

Rebuilding

For most of May, then, we stayed at the lake house of some very generous friends. The kids went nuts and the weather wasn’t exactly outdoorsy, but it was far better than staying in a hotel for a month. Meanwhile the house was cleaned, repaired, and remodeled, and our insurance company let us break even. With new paint, new floors, new carpeting, new fans, and the removal of the old fireplace and railing, it’s a bit like having a new house altogether. There was a silver lining to the plume of smoke.

Biker Madness

In June I finally took the state-sponsored motorcycle safety courses that would allow me to ride the 2012 Harley Road King that I won in the Ronald MacDonald House Ride the previous summer. (Long story.) After taking the written test for my permit, I spent some 15 hours on a loaner bike in Detroit Lakes earning my license. Riding that monster is unlike anything I’ve ever done before. It’s big, it’s terrifying, and it’s pretty darn fantastic. As most bikers will tell you, the open road is no problem. It’s the start/stop, slow going, high traffic areas that are nerve-wracking. I rode to work and back at least once or twice a week, and took the bike way out to Sebeka twice in the summer as well to get some miles under my belt. While I probably should’ve utilized the Harley more than I did, I’m proud of myself for going from no experience to being licensed with just a few scrapes and bruises to pay for it.

This, That, and the Other Thing

A lot more happened this year, both at my Church and at my wife’s: funerals, baptisms, weddings, classes, and tons of presentations on the Holy Land and Gettysburg. And I even got to do a brilliant candlelight wedding on Candlemas, one of my very favorite overlooked holidays. I was the keynote speaker at a Farming of Yesteryear gathering, which was a lot of fun. Rachel and I cleared out five years’ worth of accumulated junk in the garage—an entire garbage truck load, really—which was astonishingly cathartic and refreshing. I’m doing much better about regulating the sheer number of books I accrue, and my periodical subscriptions have finally stabilized (and minimized). Rachel went back to work full time (even if she’s only paid for three quarters) to great success, bringing a congregation on the brink of collapse back up to attendance numbers that have become equivalent to St. Peter’s own. And we read and learned and took new classes—I even joined the New Saint Thomas Institute to study Thomism and hopefully work towards another Masters degree. I got involved with Kickstarter and helped bring back the drinking horn. We even put down money on a belated honeymoon to Egypt, but then Egypt sort of fell apart. Oh, and I’m a leader in the town’s new Boy Scout Troop, which is pretty awesome. Fewer cigars, fewer beers, and fewer hours of sleep, but hey, you can’t have everything.

What’s Important

A lot didn’t get done this year, of course. I didn’t really get back into shape (Compared to seven or eight years ago, I’m a mess!), or write a book, or tackle skills I still hope to develop (like astronomy, languages, cooking, &c.). But I think what I’m most proud of is growing with my kids. I still have a lot to work on as a father. I’m gone a lot, I get exhausted, and I can be tough, especially on the boy, with whom we had a lot of problems after his sisters were born. But things have gotten a lot better. He’s doing wonderfully in school, reading and writing and working on math. He loves to sing and horse around and to curl up with me for story time before bed. He even comes to sleep with me in the night when he’s scared, which is something he only ever used to do with his mother. I often fear that I’m not patient enough, or doting enough, or attentive enough with my children—or heck, even with our dogs. But the bottom line is that we’ve got some really fantastic kids. And even the dogs are awfully well adjusted! So by God, we must be doing something right. And I pray that I do even better when I’m 34.

Mine

Birthday Swag