The Way is Shut

“The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Some days I think I know where I'm going:  the path before me seems to unfold almost miraculously and I explain to myself that I'd be a fool not to see the hand of God in all the twists and turns and coincidences that are too coincidental to be coincidences.  Some days it seems that the heavens open up and God drops a neon arrow in my path that says, very clearly, "This way, please."

And then there are days like today, nights like tonight.  Days when I cannot see the path no matter how I squint; nights when I'm not even sure I'm in the remote vicinity of a path but fear that I've instead wandered off into the briars and the tangles.  Nights when I stumble blindly on, hands outstretched, only to bump into the cold steel of a chained gate.

Let me back up:  for two years I've seen the way before me open up in miraculous ways and I've come to believe that God is leading me to the Catholic Church.  This makes many of my non-Catholic friends roll their eyes, huff a little, and probably click off this blog and navigate to something that makes them less angry or frustrated.  Yet, while I know this personal journey of mine has been publicized (by me) far too loudly and far too often, it's only because it's hard to constrain the joy and excitement and terror I feel as I watch God's hand move in my life.  

This moving is more clear to me than anything else I've ever experienced.  It's not quantifiable, provable, or even visible.  Instead, it's everything a journey of faith should be:  terrifying, dangerous, seemingly insane, full of promise.  In fact, I feel like a miniature, much less epic, version of Abraham.  It's almost as if I've heard this booming voice saying "get up and go to this crazy land of incense and genuflections and statues and 1 million other weird and unusual things."  (To be clear--and in the interest of full disclosure--I've heard no such voice:  it's just a leading that I can't explain any other way.)

And, moving on, I'm trying to be obedient to that leading, but it's not easy:  The Catholic World, after all, is profoundly different from anything this American Protestant has ever experienced.  And yet, over time, as I've come to better understand the weird things, the unusual things, the seemingly unexplainable things, I've begun to find something I never thought I'd find:  true faith and, even more importantly, a a deeper, more personal relationship with Christ than I've ever experienced.

God has clearly been a part of this journey.  His fingerprints are all over it.

But, there's a problem--a problem that clouds everything and brings me back to the darker beginning to this entry:  my wife is neither so inclined, nor so excited, nor so happy.  Her Catholic journey, in fact, seems destined to be much, much shorter than mine.  Whereas I've been drawn to the Catholic Church, she's drawn back to our previous life of Protestantism.  We are both heading in opposite directions and neither one sees how it's possible to reverse our path and go the other's way.

And that's tough to deal with because I know that my journey--as exciting as it is for me--is breaking her heart.  She doesn't want to come with me and yet, neither does she want our family to attend different churches.

Which brings me to the next big complication:  our kids.  All five of them.  What will we do with them?  Do we let them decide on their own? (Many folks on both sides say that's the right thing to do--but I will not simply turn two 11 year-olds, an 8 year-old, a 7 year-old and a 4 year-old loose in the world of theology, suggesting that they "choose for themselves."  That day will come.  But now, I, as a parent, must train.  Yes, it's politically incorrect, yes, it's old school...but you will not change my mind.  It's my responsibility as a father.) 

So, I can let them choose on their own (which I can't do--not at this age), or we could raise them in both churches and confuse them beyond words.

For me, that's not an option either, because I don't just "like" Catholicism better than Protestantism.  It's not about music or styles of worship or the cool little donuts they serve after Mass.  I'm moving toward Catholicism simply because I believe it's the Truth. (And I know this makes my Protestant friends family members angry, but it really shouldn't.  To hopefully defuse any anger, let me ask a question:  why do you remain Protestant?  Why don't you go to the Catholic Church instead from time to time?  The most basic answer is because you don't believe it to be true.  You think, instead, that Protestantism is true and so you stay there.  I on the other hand, believe Catholicism to be True and must go there.  So don't be angry when I say I think Catholicism is true.  I'd be a fool to pursue something this disruptive to my life if I didn't fully believe it to be the truth.)

Anyway, I want to raise my kids Catholic because I believe it's the Truth.   My wife, on the other hand, has different ideas.  Hence the confusion.  Hence the clouded path.  Hence the darkness.  

As a couple, we are at a loss.  We're not angry with each other, we're not dueling.  We're getting along as well as we ever have.  But there's a sadness and a confusion that hangs over everything.

What do I do?  As a father, do I lead even where my family doesn't want to go?  Or do  I step back and let them lead?  Or, do we just "agree to disagree" and each go our own separate ways in regards to our faiths?  And how does that play out for the kids, for us?

The good news is that as dark as this all is . . . it's God's plan.  And when we follow the path to its natural end, we'll be thankful for the journey.  The suffering along the way has value and, when we arrive at journey's end, we'll rejoice in the land He's brought us to. 

But that's somewhere down the road.  First, we've got to get there.  And that means walking.  And right now, we're not sure where to put the next foot. For right now, we're lost.  Tonight we're looking for a path.  We're looking for a way.  The Way. 

But it's shut. 

Tired of Thinking

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.

I've been tired. Really tired. Almost too tired to think.

Now, that's played out in our home with our kids who ask about 1001 questions every hour, but it's also played out in my faith.

For example, I've been exploring Catholicism for about 2 years now. Maybe longer. It's been an interesting journey, the hardest part of which has been the constant perspective shifts. Growing up in a staunchly Protestant family, I naturally have held, up until the last couple years, staunchly Protestant beliefs. So, to think Catholic thoughts is taxing. To think that those Catholic thoughts might possibly be correct is absolutely exhausting.

Earlier this week, I was hanging out in an Adoration Chapel at St. Francis parish right by my work. In the course of the time I was there, I found myself trying to come to terms with the Catholic concept of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. When my brain basically shut down at that point and said, "sorry, we're done here," I pretty much threw up my hands.

I was just too tired to think this stuff through anymore. Too tired to keep slogging uphill to overcome my previous beliefs and entertain thoughts of this new and ancient faith. I'd try to think about it, try to come to terms with what I believe, and my little brain would just shut down. No more juice.

To be honest, the whole experience made me angry. Faith shouldn't be this hard. I'm doing the best I can--I'm struggling to know the Lord better. I'm not sweating blood, but I'm sweating.

Well, I was sitting there, getting all angry and bent out of shape--you know, railing at God a little bit for making things so complicated--and then the verse above hit me: "and that (faith) not of yourselves: it is the gift of God."

Suddenly, things made sense: I've been struggling to grow my faith. I've been digging in and trying to do the lifting myself. But that's not how it works. Faith isn't something I pull off. It's a gift.

God is watching me struggle around on my own--watching my frustration and my exhaustion--and He's likely thinking: ask me, stupid. I'm waiting to help.

That all went through my head in a split second and I sat there for a few minutes longer before asking God to increase my faith. And suddenly, the load was lifted. It wasn't up to me anymore to shoulder the weight. It was only up to me to be ready and willing. God's here and he's looking for work.

Changing the World

Sometimes it's easy to fall into the mindset that we're not accomplishing anything. I mean really, I do the marketing for a chain of paint stores based Holland, Michigan. And while I enjoy my job, am grateful for the work, and believe in the company...making stunning photoshop ads about paint and what it will do for your home isn't exactly earth-shattering stuff. It's definitely not the stuff of which dreams are made.

There was never a day in college where I walked into a class and thought..."someday, someday I'll "arrive". Oh, yeah...someday, I'll be making paint ads."

Nope. In college, I was going to be "Somebody" (capital "S"). I was going to do "Something" (capital "S"). In fact, that's why I didn't mind spending all that money: It was just a down payment on my future.

Yeah, then I graduated.

I don't remember exactly what happened, but somehow I ended up not being "Somebody" or even "somebody". Somehow I ended up not doing "Something".

Instead of the Esteemed Professor, the Accomplished Writer, the Philosopher, the Pastor, I ended up being the "Paint Guy": father of six, husband of one. The big dreams and the college-visions faded away into the reality of work-a-day life. And from time to time, it's easy to fall into the mindset, as I said earlier, that I'm not accomplishing anything. But then I found this from the Book of Sirach (one of those "extra" books in a Catholic Bible) and I realized I'm looking at things upside down:

Some [men] have left behind a name and men recount their praiseworthy deeds;
But of others there is no memory, for when they ceased, they ceased.
And they are as though they had not lived, they and their children after them.
Yet these also were godly men whose virtues have not been forgotten;
Their wealth remains in their families, their heritage with their descendants;
Through God's covenant with them their family endures, their posterity, for their sake.
And for all time their progeny will endure, their glory will never be blotted out;
Their bodies are peacefully laid away, but their name lives on and on.
At gatherings their wisdom is retold, and the assembly proclaims their praise.

--Sirach 44:8-15

Those verses and the sentiment they convey put everything in perspective. My job, my calling, my career isn't to be one of those guys who leave behind a name and deeds that men (and women) will be talking about.

But that's OK, because God still has a plan for me: He wants me to be the other kind of guy the passage talks about: you know, the one "of which there is no memory, for when they ceased, they ceased."

And while that seems like a bit of a downer at first, it's not really all that bad.

See, I've been put here on this earth to be a regular guy. To work a regular, sometimes boring, sometimes thankless, rarely glamorous job. To drive a little purple (yes, purple) 1996 Chevy Cavalier. To live in and someday own a little blue house in Zeeland.

And, to be the father of 6 children.

And that is the biggest, most important, most earth-shattering experience I can imagine. Five souls are entrusted to my care (one soul returned to God shortly after her birth). And it's my job--my vocation--my calling--to raise them so that, one day, they will step into an eternity with Christ.

If I can do that, with God's help, I won't care whether anybody knows I ever lived. I won't care that I never pulled that six-figure salary. I won't care that I drove a little purple girl car and never once owned a vehicle that looked manly. I won't care because my wealth will be in my family, my heritage will be in the descendants of my children.

I've got the chance, right now, to do something, to teach my kids something that will last well beyond my lifetime--something that can reach to my grandkids and the grandkids of my grandkids. I can pass on a faith--a real, living faith in our Lord. I can instill in them a desire to obey His commands and to love others in the same manner that He loved us. And in so doing, I have the chance to make an impact well beyond my already-determined number of years.

Some of us explode onto the scene and live huge lives, moving mountains, changing the world. Others live in the shadows of the shadows of those mountain-movers. But we can still change the world.