I do not pray for riches or earthly possessions.

I do not ask to understand the mystery of your ways or how you lead me,

Only this I ask: teach me to do the thing that pleases You.

I want to know Your guiding voice, to walk with you each day.

Heavenly Father, make me swift to hear and ready to obey.

Thus the year I now begin, a happy year will be, if I am seeking just to do that which pleases You.

Amen

-Thank you to my friend Al Ferguson, U.S. Border Patrol (Ret), for this humble, beautiful prayer.

So then, while this post might appear “late” to my secularist readers, it’s actually quite timely; we’re still very much celebrating Christmas.  With that, I share something a veteran police officer sent me.  It’s touching.

The Escort

It was many decades ago when I first joined the police department, I knew there would be special occasions my family would spend without me. Knowing that fact didn’t make the task any easier. The celebrations I missed that first year depressed me and sometimes made me feel bitter. Working on Christmas Eve was always the worst.

On Christmas Eve years ago, I learned that blessings can come disguised as misfortune, and honor is more than just a word. I was riding one man patrol on the 4-12 shift. The night was cold. Everywhere I looked I saw reminders of the holiday: families packing their cars with presents, beautifully decorated trees in living room windows and roofs adorned with tiny sleighs. It all added to my holiday funk.The evening had been relatively quiet; there were calls for barking dogs and a residential false burglar alarm. There was nothing to make the night pass any quicker. I thought of my own family and sunk further into depression.

Shortly after 2200 hours I got a radio call to the home of an elderly, terminally ill man. I parked my patrol car in front of a simple Cape Cod style home. First aid kit in hand, I walked up the short path to the front door. As I approached, a woman who seemed to be about 80 years old opened the door. “He’s in here”, she said. She led me to a back bedroom. We passed through a living room that was furnished in a style I had come to associate with older people. The sofa has an afghan blanket draped over its back and a dark, solid Queen Anne chair sat next to an unused fireplace. The mantle was cluttered with an eccentric mix of several photos, some ceramic figurines and an antique clock. A floor lamp provided soft lighting.

We entered a small bedroom where a frail looking man lay in bed with a blanket pulled up to his chin. He wore a blank stare on his ashen, skeletal face. His breathing was shallow and labored. He was barely alive. The trappings of illness were all around his bed. The nightstand was littered with a large number of pill vials. An oxygen bottle stood nearby. Its plastic hose, with face mask attached, rested on the blanket. I asked the old woman why she called the police. She simply shrugged and nodded sadly toward her husband, indicating it was at his request. I looked at him and he stared intently into my eyes. He seemed relaxed now. I didn’t understand the suddenly calm expression on his face.

I looked around the room again. A dresser stood along the wall to the left of the bed. On it was the usual memorabilia: ornate perfume bottles, a white porcelain pin case, and a wooden jewelry case. There were also several photos in simple frames. One caught my eye and I walked closer to the dresser for a closer look. The picture showed a young man dressed in a police uniform. It was unmistakably a photo of the man in bed. I knew then why I was there. I looked at the old man and he motioned with his hand toward the side of the bed. I walked over and stood beside him. He slid a thin arm from under the covers and took my hand. Soon, I felt his hand go limp, I looked at his face. There was no fear there. I saw only peace.

He knew he was dying; he was aware his time was very near. I knew now that he was afraid of what was about to happen and he wanted the protection of a fellow cop on his journey. A caring God had seen to it that his child would be delivered safely to Him. The honor of being his escort fell to me.

When I left at the end of my tour that night, the temperature seemed to have risen considerably, and all the holiday displays I saw on the way home made me smile. I no longer feel sorry for myself for having to work on Christmas Eve. I have chosen an honorable profession . I pray that when it’s my turn to leave this world there will be a cop there to hold my hand and remind me that I have nothing to fear.

I wish all my brothers and sisters who have to work this Christmas Eve all the joy and warmth of the season.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God” (Matthew 5:9)

A few days ago, I was writing my Christmas Prayer which I would read to the family before dinner at our house Christmas night.  I began to ruminate over the U-Haul sized pile of brightly wrapped packages sitting under our tree.  I wondered, but for the fact it’s sort of obligatory for the kids (hey now, I’m no scrooge!), I had to ask myself: am I really getting it, the spirit of Christmas that is?

I would learn Mike had authored a short article on his website that sums up my feelings on just how commercialized and secularized Christmas has become.  Though I’m a day removed from our cherished “holiday” this morning on the 26th, I thought I’d share the article.

LINK

A final thought, well, a request really.  I’ve considered pitching the idea of a no gifts for anyone over 21 version of Christmas one of these years.  I’ve heard of families doing gift exchanges only with items made by hand for one another as well.  If anyone has a creative idea in this vein or you think a one year sabbatical from presents is a good idea (or bad, either way), I’d like to hear.

God bless you and your families.  You will all be included in my prayers for a happy, healthy, safe and prosperous New Year.

Jeff

Let us not forget all those around the world who are frightened at this moment.  Please help the victims of terrorism, war, poverty and abuse.  Remember the homeless and hungry, the orphans and the neglected.

Embrace our dearly departed who are not here with us tonight and steel us in our loss.  Hold us up and let us be comforted by the saving strength and peace you offer through your son, Jesus, whose birth we celebrate this day.

We praise you for time spent with our American and German family and ask you to forgive us for the occasions we fail one another.

We offer these prayers through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

For me, there’s an inescapable aspect of narcissism attached to blogging.  Does the world really yearn to hear what themes and ideas are being jostled about Jeff Baker’s cranium on a daily basis?  Perhaps not.  Besides, I have neither time nor talent to become the next Dick Morris or Michelle Malkin (her conservative Hot Air blog rocks).

Additionally, my columnist duties at Law Officer.com necessitate using whatever brain power I’ve got left at the end of the day to work on monthly contributions for them rather than musing on the passing scene here.

I used to spend considerable blog time engaging in polemics with non-Catholic Christians and atheists alike; I’ve come to realize most atheists are myopia stricken and will likely never convert, so prayers rather than philosophic debate are the best bet.  As for my Protestant brothers and sisters, well, they’re many times better disciples of Christ than I am, so I’d rather link arms than create further division among the ranks.

Finally and most importantly, I’m going to pare down time spent in front of the evil gray box.  Aside from the eternal implications of a relationship with Christ, my wife is the most important thing in my universe.  We have a deeply loving relationship, but spending extra time hand in hand with her rather than on the PC remains a good martial investment.

Ah, you see? I could have handled the news of my sabbatical in a scant three sentences, but instead authored this tediously protracted epistle.  Maybe I really am a touch narcissistic.

[grin]

Happy trails, and God bless.

-Jeff

The Discovery Institute says a group of Darwinists who are opposing efforts by the Texas State Board of Education to allow evolution to be debated in the classroom are clinging to 19th century science in the 21st century.

Full Story HERE

In light of the above news bit, readers might find this article a compelling discussion on the Church’s teaching on the matter of evolution.  I once shared this with a Protestant friend who found a great wealth of truth and learning in this piece, this despite her not being perfectly aligned with Catholic Christian teaching.

Adam, Eve and Evolution

We see the effect in pop culture.  Money makes honest men deceitful, weak men powerful, foul men attractive, and anonymous men prominent.  The allure of money and the influence, notoriety, sex and esteem concomitant with vast quantities of it are real and narcotic.

Pope Benedict, someone I tend to pay attention to on matters of faith and morals, addressed the insidious nature of greed, calling wealth fleeting and unlasting, and comparing the global financial system to a house built on a foundation of sand.

My mom’s death leaves only a modest estate for my sis and I to deal with.  Honestly, I’m thankful for that.  Aside from our love, she was unable to take anything with her when she ventured from this life to whatever lay in store in the next.  That’s the crux of yesterday’s papal message.

It matters not whether you’re worth twenty thousand or $20 million; we are all one cancer diagnosis, one car accident, one act of nature, one slip in the shower, or one violent crime from extinction.  What’s your cash worth then?

Sure, we want to live reasonable lives.  I desire a comfortable home, a clean and reliable car to drive, an occasional night out at a good restaurant, and a little discretionary cash along the way.  I’m fortunate to make a decent living and my wife and I exist a bit below our means.  So I think we’ve got a relatively healthy handle on the issue of these “passing things” Pope Benedict alluded to.  Still, there is room to grow.

I wonder if those who’ve dedicated their lives to the sole pursuit of riches have any real faith in a creator, any genuine hope there might be something beyond our lives as we perceive them.  Cognitively, they have to know they can’t take their money with them in death.

This begs the question: what’s the purpose of life?  Is it to amass wealth?  We know that cannot be.  Your survivors get the prize, and only then until they too concede it in death… so on and so forth.

Mom’s passing is, I pray, molding me into a person who better places family before finances.  One who is more generous with what time and treasure he does have.  One who loves his wife before himself and one who doesn’t lose faith in the promise of something better than the here and now.

If you’re wildly rich, what’s your purpose?  And if you’re poor, yours?  How about most of us in the middle, what are we reaching for, why are we alive, what meaning does our existence have – if any?  Or are we nothing more than material accidents in a universe which exists by pure happenstance?

“Unless you assume a God, the question of life’s purpose is meaningless.” -Bertrand Russel, atheist

Brian Burch, president of the Catholic pro-life group Fidelis, says the pac is trying to whitewash Obama’s radical support for abortion.

“Barack Obama has publicly said that he will pass the Freedom of Choice Act. In fact, he has said that he will do that as his first act as president, and that act alone has been estimated to increase abortions by 125,000 a year.”

The truth is, Barak Obama is the culture of death’s avatar. I’ve laid out the facts in past musings here and here, so let there be no doubt who the true pro-life candidate is in this race: Sen. John McCain.  Suggestions to the contrary are an insult to the pro-life movement.

So then, we close out a tough week, but we live in gratitude for what we have rather than lamenting in perpetuity what we do not.

–

Over a third cup of the shimmering black liquid on a crisp fall Saturday morning, a few thoughts on the passing scene:

• Does anyone really feel all broken up for the “Juice”? DNA evidence alone should have been enough to put O.J. Simpson away forever during the 1995 Clown Court inquiry into his butchery of two innocent people. Simpson cannot seem to stay out of trouble. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, and while I’m all for giving everyone a free bite of the apple, Simpson extinguished his benefit of the doubt, oh, about 13 years ago to the day. It’s good to see Lady Justice reign him in at long last.
• The second swing Congress took at the $700B “rescue plan” was a success, that is, if you’re one of the senators or representatives whose affirmative vote was bought with an earmark for their home district. I say taxpayers shouldn’t have to foot the bill for coveters on Wall Street, unscrupulous lenders, and borrowers too dense or dreamy-eyed not to take responsibility for their finances. Nationalizing millions of mortgages and opening the public trough to everyone clamoring for federal welfare is not the American way. There’s plenty to read on this subject, but I found this CNET piece enlightening.
• While I don’t agree with Joe Biden on 95 percent of his policy statements, he was well prepared, articulate and passionate during the veep debate Thursday night. The fact this cagey Washington veteran of 3.5 decades wasn’t able to put away a diminutive 130-pound mom from Alaska with a month’s experience on the national scene resulted in a resounding victory for Sarah Palin and a much needed shot of adrenaline for the McCain campaign. Sarah Palin plain makes me proud to call myself a conservative. If change, a fresh face, and a new perspective is truly what the nation yearns for today, I say put her at the top of the ticket and let’s get it on with Mr. Obama in November. She’s no less qualified than he is to be president, so why not?

Mikey and Mom

I’m only 41. Now, three-plus years removed from losing my dad, I’m without either parent.

I found my mom dead in her home Sunday afternoon when I stopped for a visit.

She was a night owl and took several meds that kept her up half the night. As such, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for members of my tiny, dwindling family to experience difficultly reaching her during normal hours.

Mom wasn’t the model of perfect health, so I knew this day would come.  Still, turning the key in the door Sunday, well, it felt different this time.  And it was. Better me than another family member I suppose.

My handicapped little brother, Michael, buckled when I met with him to break the news. If you’ve got a penchant for prayer, I’d politely ask you keep him in yours.

Lori, my sister, and I have spent the last two days immersed in the arduous task of sorting mom’s paperwork and effects, making necessary notifications, and completing funeral arrangements. More work lay ahead, but we’ve received much needed help and support from loved ones.

If all this wasn’t rough enough, Denise’s grandfather passed away Saturday night. Thus, we’ll be slogging through two funerals today.

Despite the losses, my prevailing feelings are of pride and gratitude. There are babies being born stateside whose fathers -killed in combat- they will never know. So I’m blessed to have had my mom and dad as long as I did, however numbing it feels to be “orphaned” earlier in life than I would have anticipated or preferred.

On this day, I honor my mother, the woman who brought me into this world. I owe her more than mere words can convey.

I’m so sorry, Mom.  I love you, I respect you, and I pray I’ll see you again one day…