Patron Saint of My Homeland

And bright G'morning to ye All!  Happy St. Paddy's Day.  Tis the day we honor our Irish heritage...and drink beer.  Today we remember the benefits of being Irish...and drink beer.  We give thanks for all the Irish influences ( like Colin Farrel)...and Drink beer! right? Well, I think there could be more to it.

Not only do I blog, but I read blogs.  It's a vicious circle I know, one fraught with misguided opinions and oft incorrect information, and that's just what I write...not to mention the extremely opinionated advice I receive from other blogs.  But, I found one that is quite good and can shed some light on the incipience of Saint Patrick's Day. This is from Donald Miller's Blog ( He wrote Blue Like Jazz, Into Painted Desserts, and his latest book A Million Miles In a Thousand Years):

Saint Patrick, for whom todays Catholic holiday is named, was not born Irish. His parents were Romano-British and deacons at the local church. At sixteen Patrick was kidnapped by Irish raiders and taken to Ireland as a slave. He escaped his captives, snuck aboard a ship and made his way back to Britain. When he returned to Britain he studied to be a priest, after which he decided to return to Ireland to preach the gospel to what was then a polytheistic culture. 

Saint Patrick was said to have used the shamrock to explain to the Irish people the doctrine of the Trinity. He spent thirty more years in Ireland and died on the 17th of March, 461. He is considered the principal missionary from Rome to the Irish and is celebrated as such on this day.

Today Saint Patricks day is celebrated around the world as a sort of tribute to the Irish and the culture of Ireland, a relatively small Island with a storied past and perhaps more storied characters within. It is, of course, widely known for its association with the drinking of beer. Saint Patricks day is the day in which the most alcohol is consumed by Americans. You can just see Saint Patrick now, can’t you, wandering into an American bar well after midnight, laying down on the floor next to a passed out college student, pointing at the paper shamrocks stapled to the ceiling, and explaining how much the Father loves the Son, and the Son loves the Father, and how the Holy Ghost is with us always, even on the floor of a pub.


Pretty Interseting Stuff, huh?  The link to his blog can be found HERE!

So when you see the Shamrock today, don't think Guinness, Jamison, and Harp, but rather think Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Keep those "Irish Eye's a Smiling."

Regular Unleaded

I wonder if a lot of people loath stopping at the sketchy gas stations as they travel.  You never quite know what you are going to get.  It's almost a gamble  Will it smell like smoke, will they have more selections of beer than soft drinks, will the bathrooms be the kind that you are afraid to touch anything and feel it's safer to not wash your hands when you done "visiting." (you know those kind of places) It's almost a mini-adventure in and of itself.

I love stopping at these stations.  It's almost always a story, whether it's the attendant who was too busy to get off her cell phone that you didn't say one word to her as she rung you up and watched you leave, or the odd "Davenport" family with no less than 8 kids and two tired, frazzled looking parents trying to decide what chips and drinks are acceptable, mom screaming across the store for order and calm.  A circus of possibilities, not to mention the fun and state specific Chinese, mass produced crap that serves as a souvenir or a last minute forgotten present for that younger son/daughter.  And in Louisiana, be it north or south, the trinkets are always more interesting than normal. 

I remember, as a kid, always wanting and begging and pleading for my mom to stop at the Stuckeys between Monroe and Shreveport.  I mean it was less than a two hour drive and I was so allured with the gifts, souvenirs, burgers, and over all fun atmosphere I was always crushed when we had to hurry and get home.  My sisters and I would play with the toys, which evidently ended in one of them crying because of something I did (I was a bit sinister then).  But fun was always had and Stuckeys was always what we cried as we came near that stop on the highway.

That place has long since closed down, and I rarely stop at the stations anymore.  I'm always trying to get to my destination as quickly as possible, ready to get the adventure on. But traveling with a wife means I can't just pull over on the side of the road to pee anymore.  Now it means a 15 to 20 minutes stop, sometimes multiple to find the cleanest bathroom in that particular run-down gas station grouping. We browse, we buy, we embrace the mini-adventure and the wonderful subculture of gas station patrons.  So, next time you are traveling, and nearest tree is not an options, take heart and patience in being able to interact with those you wouldn't normally get the opportunity to visit with.  Smile, breath, and enjoy the wonders that society provide...our own, free urban zoo!

I'm turning in my card

So many times I sit down at this computer, load this blog template and begin to spew my thoughts.  I do this only to completely erase the drivel I've just written. Sometimes three, four, or more times I write a few sentences, a paragraph only to have it line the bottom of the virtual garbage can.  Thoughts possess my mind and I want to get them out, but when I do it sounds, to me, like literary "DUH!" At times I fight through the mental block, organize my thoughts, and other times I just give up and walk away with a blank screen silently judging me. And truth be told, I'm ok with that.

Today was one of those days, but I've decided perseverance is the path I will travel.  This morning I was listening to NPR's Morning Edition.  Nothing uncommon in my life.  I was drinking a cup of organic coffee we have delivered, out of a coffee mug specially purchased and painstakingly brought to me, made of fragile clay; I was enjoying the morning.  Then the story comes out of a bombing in Pakistan.  You think "wow, another bombing in Pakistan, another in the Middle East, another, another, another."  This is where my anguish surfaced.  20 dead, by a car bomb.  Not directed at soldiers, or those who choose to be in the thick of these political struggles.  Civilians, going about their business to school, to work, to the market, to run down to the corner to get a small container of milk so a loved one can have cereal or a perfect cup of coffee. 

The sad part about this is no matter what portion of the area you are in, no matter what country of the Middle East you live, the bombings are every day and natural.  As natural as us getting angry at the task of facing traffic or because the grocery is out of our favorite vegetable, we have to deal with this.  However, these don't end in the senseless death of us, or worse, our loved ones.  And it doesn't stop.  We seem so distant from it, but we are humans, whether we be Christians, Muslims, Hindu, or Sun Worshipers, we share the bond of being the same.

One thing I've learned from my limited travel and mission work is a big lesson on Love.  We can think our love, American love, Christian Love, Whatever love is better because of who we are.  We can find ourselves knowing we love our families more because we can allow for them to eat all day every day,  for them to wear the latest and greatest.  Because of this we obviously love better than any person not like us, right?  Love is the same no matter where you go.  No matter how much money you make, or the health care you are provided.  A mother's love is the same in Shreveport as it is in the mountains of Haiti.

You can look at your Love ones and say no one loves like I do, but we all know that's not true.  The ability to love, the common thread that unites us to everyone.  The one corner puzzle piece upon which we can find commonality.  When I hear of these bombings or disasters ending in the loss of life, I can't help but feel a part of my love has been extinguished.  I'll never know these people, I'll never been anything more to them than a random statistic or example of a selfish American, but that doesn't break the connection we all share with each other. 

It's been said God is Love.  That I can digest, I can believe.  Love is everywhere, so God is everywhere, right?  In our friends, in our enemies, in our competition?  In the faces of those who believe in God and in those who openly deny him. Love abounds. 

This drivel doesn't leave us with answers, more than likely more questions and uncertainties.  But really, what do we hope to solve by blogging. 

Love has a sister (for another day I guess).  Love's sister is Peace.

Peace and Love everyone!