Clean shouldn't be a dirty word

Whether it's the toy room or your soul, why is cleaning such a chore?

The phrase, "It's time to clean up," isn't well received in our house. The kids' reaction can be anything from absolute disgust to whining and complaining to pouting and stomping to total denial anything needs to be cleaned, depending on the time, day and phase of the moon.

Almost all our indoor toys are in the basement. We're blessed to have a great playroom for the kids, and we have spent no small effort organizing things to the point that everything has a home. Well, everything until the next load comes at Christmas or on birthdays. Even then, we try to purge and teach the kids the value of moderation and helping those less fortunate. That too is met with varying degrees of success—must be moon phases again. I should really start charting that to see if it's a valid theory.

The fact the playroom is the one-stop shop for toys is a bit of a two-edged sword. Any mess made is generally localized to the basement, theoretically making clean up easier. But, the localized mess is usually very concentrated. My feet pay the price for failing to properly navigating the minefield of Lego, Hot Wheels cars, Lego, Littlest Pet Shop (and LPS Teensies), trains, Lego, animals, play food, Lego and a cornucopia of other small sharp toys waiting to inflict pain, injury and insult.

When we declare it's time to clean up, we're met with one, or a combination of, the aforementioned reactions. Then we act as somewhat of a counselor, helping the kids move through all the stages to acceptance that things will be cleaned.

The first round of cleaning isn't really cleaning. It's more like shoving into piles in corners so if Mom or Dad come down they don't step on things anymore, and if they don't turn on the light or open their eyes, we can convince them it's clean.

Then our role usually shifts for counselor to negotiator. Clean and there's a good chance of something positive happening. Don't clean and your faced with the c-word: consequence.

Sometimes it's quick and relatively pain-free. Most of the time there is much resistance that never leads to anything good, but it eventually gets cleaned.

If, as parents, we can observe the benefits of cleaning—things are easier to find, there is more room to play, no one steps on things and gets hurt, things simply look better—we should be able to see the same benefits of cleaning our souls.

Sin, no matter how small, can build-up into a big mess over time if it's not dealt with. Lego pieces are small, but can inflict a fair bit of damage to feet when stepped on. Sin damages relationships, both with God and with other people.

Shoving sin in a corner so it's out of sight isn't cleaning. It may delay the damage or deflect the damage to a different person, but it doesn't eliminate the mess. And we're fooling ourselves if we think we can hide it from God. So why do we let pride get in the way and think, "If God doesn't turn on the light or open his eyes, He'll think I'm clean and my relationship with Him is A-OK," just because the mess got relocated? We know better when dealing with our children, and we should know better when dealing with our immortal souls.

As we enter Holy Week, let's deal with our mess. If you haven't already had a chance to do so this lent, go to the sacrament of reconciliation—clean up your mess, no matter how small you think it may be. Repair your relationship with God. Let His healing, love and mercy overwhelm you. Accept the gift of the crucifixion and resurrection this Easter with a clean heart and soul.

Postscript: I was just in the basement checking on the latest round of cleaning and overheard my oldest say, "See how quickly this can go when we work together?" Almost brings a tear to my eye or makes me wonder if this is a dream. If it is, don't wake me for a while.

Change of plans

Supper plans changed when my wife discovered the oven wasn't working.

I had planned on spending part of my evening writing a blog post about St. Joseph, since it is his solemn feast tomorrow, but I get to try and fix the oven instead. My instant reaction and feeling was frustration.

We're hosting our annual party in honour of the solemn feast of St. Joseph, husband of Mary, tomorrow, so the fact we are without an oven to get some things ready adds to the frustration.

Of course, anytime tools come out, I have four little helpers hanging around. If I wasn't already a bit frustrated, I'm sure my one-and-a-half-year old leaning over and peaking in the oven or my inquisitive three-year old asking what's wrong would be cute. Oddly enough, not so much tonight.

Score another one for the internet and online do-it-yourself information. It turns out it's a relatively minor repair, and I can easily do it myself. Of course, repair shops aren't open right now for me to pick up a part, so things will have to wait until tomorrow, which might mean more changes of plans if the part isn't in.

How would St. Joseph have responded? Well, first, his oven repairs would have been pretty simple. Do we have wood? Check. Do we have flame? Check. Problem solved.

What we do know about St. Joseph is he handled change pretty well—and he faced some pretty dramatic change. His engagement didn't quite go as planned; he was ready to break-off the engagement. The birth of Mary's son didn't quite go as planned; how to deal with barnyard animals was not part of the pre-natal class. Settling into a nice house after Jesus was born didn't quite go as planned; they didn't head to Egypt to get a good deal on a two-bedroom bungalow.

I think it's pretty safe to say St. Joseph handled all the change in his life with a calm, even head, because of his relationship with God. He understood God's ways are not always our ways. He knew how to listen to God and not let his own proud opinion get in the way. He knew how to obey God because he had faith His love would never fail or lead him astray. He knew how to patiently give love as a husband and father because he knew the love of the Father.

St. Joseph, thank you for being such a great example of humility, obedience and love. Help us deepen our relationship with God the Father, so we too may know His love and be that love to our families.

Happy Feast of St. Joseph!

Passing on a family tradition...Star Wars

Every proud father looks forward with excitement to certain milestones in his son's growth and development: first steps, first words, the first time you throw a football together, the first day of school, and the first time you watch Star Wars together.

I recently finished watching the original Star Wars trilogy (episodes 4-6) with my son. I grew up with Star Wars. I remember watching A New Hope in the small town movie theatre my grandparents owned eight times. When my wife asks, "How many versions of Star Wars do we really need to own?" the answer is obviously, "All of them!"

Needless to say, I was excited to share this special life experience with my son.

But there are some questions a parent must answer before sharing the Star Wars experience. Sure, you need to decide if he is old enough—even though it's relatively benign by today's standards, there are some scenes that can cause nightmares for small kids. My son is six, and I admit it, that's too long to wait. The most fundamental question though, is what episode do you start with?

The obvious answer is Episode IV: A New Hope. If you disagree stop reading, go watch all six episodes in the order they were released, and return realizing the error in your ways, vowing never to repeat said error again.

Here's a valuable public service announcement that covers this and other important questions.


My three-year-old daughter watched with us, not because she was really interested in it, more because the TV was on and, well, you can't not watch the magic box when it is making pretty pictures and cool sounds.

She's always been inquisitive, asking many—too many—questions about everything imaginable. I'm confident the incessant questions and thirst for knowledge will serve her well when she breaks a big story as a journalist or a big case as lawyer, or cures some yet-unknown disease as a scientist, but I can't count the times I said, "Let's use our eyes and ears more than our mouth. Daddy is trying to watch this movie."

Here's but a very small sample of the questions:

• Is that Darf Vader?
• Who are those white guys? (referring to Storm Trooperrs)
• Why are those guys' eyes red? (referring to Jawas)
• Why are they shooting at each other?
• Didn't those white guys died last time?
• What colour is Darf Vader's life saver?
• Are those good guys or bad guys?

My son is more the strong silent type, so it was a little hard to gauge what he thought and if he understood some things. After watching The Empire Strikes Back, he was still pretty stoic. I remember the moment I first learned that Darth Vader was Luke's father—mind blowing! How could it be? I had to ask if he understood what just transpired.

"Did you get what happened at the end when Luke got his hand cut off? Did you hear what Darth Vader said?"

Without missing a beat or changing expression at all, he said, "Yeah, he's Luke's dad."

"What do you think of that?"

"Meh."

He was still excited to watch Return of the Jedi—phew, I didn't lose him. This time my oldest daughter joined in. Despite claiming she didn't care about Star Wars, the lure of the magic box was too strong. She'll never admit liking it—other than "those funny grizzly bear guys" (Ewoks), but she's been drawn in by the power of the force. And now the questions start coming from her, "Why didn't you start with Episode I?" This is when I realized the good ol' parenting stand-by we all said we would never use is a perfectly legitimate response. "Because."

Now I need to introduce the kids to Episode I and (shudder) Jar Jar Binks. I think it's one of those things you just have to tackle head-on. Like ripping off a bandage, do it quick and it won't hurt so much.

Soon, I hope to enjoy another first with my son, standing in line for tickets to the next Star Wars movie.

My lenten diet

I love food!

More accurately, I love it eating food. So, every year, a large part of my lenten sacrifice is decreasing the food intake—no snacks between meals and practice portion control. It's hard for me, and I know God's grace is the only thing that makes this discipline possible.

Inevitably I end up losing weight, which is not a bad thing. After a wee bit of overindulgence celebrating the Christmas season, there are few extra pounds calling my waistline home. OK, I love snacks anytime, but Christmas baking and a long, cold Canadian winter are convenient scapegoats. I've been blessed with a higher metabolism, and I live a relatively healthy lifestyle: exercise somewhat regularly and eat well (thanks in no small part to my wife making sure we have a good balance of food come meal and snack time). But age slows all things, so food tends to more easily find a home around my waist area than it did 10 years ago.

Is it bad to consider lent an annual diet?

It's interesting to note diet can be a noun or a verb. The verb definition means to regulate one's food intake. Regulate can include restricting the intake of things that aren't good for you, and it can also mean adding things that are good for you. Fewer Doritos, more fruit and veggies.

Lent is a season in which we pay particular attention to regulating our activities—a spiritual diet. Focus less on ourselves and our selfish desires and more on God, His love, mercy and grace, and on the needs of others. 

Regulate is a verb, an action word. We are called to do something during this season. The traditional practices of prayer, fasting and alms cover a wealth of possibilities for us to do something.

I think St. Ignatius of Loyola was on to something when he used the phrase spiritual exercises. Prayer is an action that gets your soul in shape.

Fasting is also an action, a discipline that helps us rely on God more than our own physical strength.

Giving of oneself, sharing our God given gifts with others, be they material goods or our time, requires action. It helps us realize all our blessings come from God; we are mere stewards of them during our time here on Earth.

So, my lenten diet is a good thing, not because I end up losing a few pounds like the traditional definition of diet would imply; that's just a side-effect. My diet is a good thing because I'm trying to regulate my spiritual life so my soul is healthy and fit, ready to run the race ( cf. 1 Cor 9:24-27). By the grace of God these practices become habit, and they continue throughout the year.

Now pass the Doritos.

A [lenten] pep talk

The cliche counter works overtime for this video, but if you keep lent and your walk with Christ in mind while watching, it's not just funny, it's deep man... really deep.

What if Jesus had helicopter parents?

There was a recent report that children with so-called helicopter parents—those that hover over their children, even adult children, and are ready to swoop in and "rescue" their children at a moments notice—are more likely to be depressed and dissatisfied with life.

Stories of helicopter parents abound, and I'm sure you have heard some interesting ones. From not leaving a child's side at his friend's birthday party, to asking professors why he got a less than ideal grade on a lackluster paper, to attending job interviews, parents appear to be taking an ever-active, dare I say intrusive, role in their children's lives.

The idea itself is a noble one. We all want what's best for our children. At times we may even perceive some hardship we experienced as a child, and we don't want to have our children "suffer" through the same experience. But we mustn't lose sight that those hardships (real or imagined), those hurdles, those hurts, bumps and bruises, those sufferings are what made—and continue to make—us the people we are today.

Imagine if Mary and Joseph, even God the Father, were helicopter parents to Jesus. If ever there was a person that deserved the utmost protection from His parents, it was Jesus during His earthly life. However, the bible reveals that just isn't God's parenting style—and for good reason.

The finding of the child Jesus in the temple (cf. Luke 2:41-52) is a great example. Mary and Joseph obviously didn't hover over Jesus' every move, or He never would have gone missing. They gave Him the freedom to explore, to interact within their traveling caravan, to exert His independence. Jesus never would have been able to reveal His relationship with His Father in this special way if He was smothered and not able to push the envelope of His age-appropriate independence.

Just in case you're thinking, "Things were different then. We have so much more to worry about today. Jesus is different; God and His angels were constantly looking out for Him," think of the escape to Egypt (cf. Matt 2:13-18). Herod dispatched an army to kill Jesus. Can you top that for difficult parenting situations? Didn't think so.

The temptation of Jesus in the desert is also very revealing. In fact, telling Jesus that His Father is a helicopter parent is one of the temptations. "If you are the son of God, throw yourself down. For it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you' and 'with their hands they will support you lest you dash your foot against a stone.'" (Matt 4:6). Did Jesus take the bait? Nope! He knew temptation, trial, hardships, persecution, suffering and death was the only way to fulfill His mission. God saves in a different way. God's wisdom is different than ours. (cf.  1 Cor 1:25). It's worth noting Jesus' response, that we should not put God to the test, teaches us it's also not fair or reasonable for children to expect parents to be there to bail them out all the time.

It's hard for parents to witness a child suffering. Heck, even when a kid stubs their toe or bonks their head, parents want to be there to make it feel better. Wrapping them in bubble-wrap isn't the answer, though. I'll never forget the scene in The Passion of the Christ where Jesus falls in front of Mary on his way to Calvary. They flashback to a scene where the child Jesus fell in that very street, and Mary runs to comfort Him. It's a heart-wrenching scene, and it perfectly illustrates the role of a parent. She knows this time there is no comforting. This is Jesus' hour, and she has to suffer with Christ. As hard as it is to witness, it's His choice, and she knows He has to make it.

We know from God's example that good things come form suffering. Soon we will be commemorating that reality when we celebrate the triduum.

As parents, may we have the wisdom and fortitude to remain steadfast in teaching and protecting our children while offering the freedom for them to explore and experience the wondrous world around them. It's for their own good!