Don't Leave It On the Desk

I did not write this story but I love it.....

There was a certain Professor of Religion named Dr. Christianson, a studious man who taught at a small college in the western United States. Dr. Christianson taught the required survey course in Christianity at this particular institution. Every student was required to take this course their freshman year, regardless of his or her major.

Although Dr. Christianson tried hard to communicate the essence of the gospel in his class, he found that most of his students looked upon the course as nothing but required drudgery. Despite his best efforts, most students refused to take Christianity seriously.

This year, Dr. Christianson had a special student named Steve. Steve was only a freshman, but was studying with the intent of going onto seminary for the ministry. Steve was popular, he was well liked, and he was an imposing physical specimen. He was now the starting center on the school football team, and was the best student in the professor's class.

One day, Dr. Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him.

"How many push-ups can you do?"

Steve said, "I do about 200 every night."

"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Dr. Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?"

Steve replied, "I don't know.... I've never done 300 at a time."

"Do you think you could?" again asked Dr. Christianson.

"Well, I can try," said Steve. "Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I have a class project in mind and I need you to do about 300 push-ups in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it," said the professor.

Steve said, "Well... I think I can...yeah, I can do it."

Dr. Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday. Let me explain what I have in mind."

Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, the professor pulled out a big box of donuts. No, these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited it was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend with a party in Dr. Christianson' s class.

Dr. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want to have one of these donuts?"

Cynthia said, "Yes."

Dr. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?"

"Sure!" Steve jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve again sat in his desk. Dr. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk.

Dr. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe, do you want a donut?"

Joe said, "Yes."

Dr. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?" Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut. And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten push-ups for every person before they got their donut.

Walking down the second aisle, Dr. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was on the basketball team, and in as good condition as Steve. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship.

When the professor asked, "Scott do you want a donut?"

Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own push-ups?"

Dr. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them."

Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then."

Dr. Christianson shrugged and then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?" With perfect obedience Steve started to do ten push-ups.

Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!"

Dr. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and these are my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it."

And he put a donut on Scott's desk. Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow.

Dr. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry. Dr. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?"

Sternly, Jenny said, "No."

Then Dr. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten more push-ups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?"

Steve did ten....Jenny got a donut.

By now, a growing sense of uneasiness filled the room. The students were beginning to say, "No!" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks.

Steve also had to really put forth a lot of extra effort to get these push-ups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved.

Dr. Christianson asked Robert, who was the most vocal unbeliever in the class, to watch Steve do each push up to make sure he did the full ten push-ups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. He sent Robert over to where Steve was so Robert could count the set and watch Steve closely.

Dr. Christianson started down the fourth row. During his class, however, some students from other classes had wandered in and sat down on the steps along the radiators that ran down the sides of the room. When the professor realized this, he did a quick count and saw that now there were 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it.

Dr. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.

Steve asked Dr. Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?"

Dr. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your push-ups. You are in charge now. You can do them any way that you want." And Dr. Christianson went on.

A few moments later, Jason, a recent transfer student, came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled in one voice, "NO! Don't come in! Stay out!"

Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come."

Professor Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten push-ups for him?"

Steve said, "Yes, let him come in. Give him a donut."

Dr. Christianson said, "Okay, Steve, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?"

Jason, new to the room, hardly knew what was going on. "Yes," he said, "give me a donut."

"Steve, will you do ten push-ups so that Jason can have a donut?"

Steve did ten push-ups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.

Dr Christianson finished the fourth row, and then started on those visitors seated by the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each push-up in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. By this time sweat was profusely dropping off of his face, there was no sound except his heavy breathing; there was not a dry eye in the room.

The very last two students in the room were two young women, both cheerleaders, and very popular. Dr. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut?"

Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you."

Professor Christianson quietly asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?"

Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow push-ups for Linda. Then Dr. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?"

Susan, with tears flowing down her face, began to cry. "Dr. Christianson, why can't I help him?"

Dr Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, Steve has to do it alone; I have given him this task and he is in charge of seeing that everyone has an opportunity for a donut whether they want it or not. When I decided to have a party this last day of class, I looked at my grade book. Steve here is the only student with a perfect grade. Everyone else has failed a test, skipped class, or offered me inferior work. Steve told me that in football practice, when a player messes up he must do push-ups. I told Steve that none of you could come to my party unless he paid the price by doing your push ups. He and I made a deal for your sakes."

"Steve, would you do ten push-ups so Susan can have a donut?"

As Steve very slowly finished his last push-up, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 push-ups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Dr. Christianson turned to the room and said, "And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, on the cross, plead to the Father, 'Into thy hands I commend my spirit.' With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, He yielded up His life. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten."

Two students helped Steve up off the floor and to a seat, physically exhausted, but wearing a thin smile. "Well done, good and faithful servant," said the professor, adding, "Not all sermons are preached in words."

Turning to his class, the professor said, "My wish is that you might understand and fully comprehend all the riches of grace and mercy that have been given to you through the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He spared not only His Begotten Son, but gave Him up for us all, for the whole Church, now and forever. Whether or not we choose to accept His gift to us, the price has been paid."

"Wouldn't you be foolish and ungrateful to leave it lying on the desk?"

Happy Birthday Mom!

Happy Birthday Mom!

all my love,

your daughter!

The Invisible Mom

I didn't write this, but I could have.............

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Pick me up right around 5:30, please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.' I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals, but we cannot be seen. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women. Great Job, MOM! Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know... The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.

lovingly dedicated to my own dear mother--maybe invisible through much of my youthful blindness, but gradually I am beginning to appreciate what a precious God-gift she has been . . . and continues to be!

The Truth

Watch all the way to the end!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jsPBVNecOMo

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

by Alexander McCall Smith

Started: 22 December 2007
Finished: 11 January 2008

Absolutely charming! One of the sweetest stories I’ve read in a long time. Okay, laugh at this booklady. I know, I know. The book was published in 1998—ten years ago and I’m just getting around to reading it for the first time? No excuse. I have seen it and even owned a copy for a several months. What can I say?

Ordinarily I’d have been sad when I finished a book this enjoyable, this readable, this joyous and life-affirming. But wait! There are seven sequels already published and a movie coming out as well! Hurrah! No need to have to lament saying goodbye to the book’s heroine, Precious Ramotswe. Sorry but I have no idea how to pronounce any of these African names; I have to look three or four times at the text to make sure I even spell them correctly! And it’s my only complaint (if that’s even the right word) about the book, that there are a fair number of names spelled very similarly so it takes carefully reading to keep the parade of client characters straight.

Precious (don’t you love it?) or Mma Ramotswe has a detective agency in Botswana, at the foot of Kgale Hill. Mma is the local honorific for females; Rra is for males.

She starts her two bit detective agency with two desks, two chairs, a telephone, an old typewriter and no gun. She is self-described as a “traditionally built” African woman, who drives around the dusty roads of her beloved country in a tiny white van, incapable of high-speed chases and not even safe from roadside snake invasion. Quite an image isn’t it? The numerous references to her generous proportions would lead you to believe that our Lady Detective is . . . um, rather on the large size. But that doesn’t seem to stop her—or even slow her down much.

The author, Alexander McCall Smith, writes with a straight-forward simplicity reminiscent of Hemmingway. His novel is a celebration of life, land and good old-fashioned values. You will keep going back to check the copyright date and the beginning of the story in curious wonder. Does a place like this still exist on this planet? Botswana is lovingly portrayed as Precious’s home, a land of endless skies, devoted people and slow-moving ways that Western society forgot or lost decades ago.

Mma Ramotswe believes in justice, acts on instinct and is as humorous as she is refreshing. She is joined in some of her investigations by her shy suitor, J. L .B. Matekoni. There is a loose over-arching mystery holding the entire book together consisting of a series of smaller conundrums which our hefty heroine solves with wit, wisdom and wiles. And there is even a dab of romance and a dash of melancholic longing thrown in to round out the story.

‘Mma Ramotswe walked back towards her van, not wanting to intrude upon the intimate moments of reunion. She was crying; for her own child, too—remembering the minute hand that had grasped her own, so briefly, while it tried to hold on to a strange world that was slipping away so quickly. There was so much suffering in Africa that is was tempting just to shrug your shoulders and walk away. But you can’t do that, she thought. You just can’t.’ (p230)

And it would be a mistake for you to walk away from this story. The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency may not be great literature, but it is as delightful as a summer rain and just as welcome. Treat yourself to a case or two with Precious. I’m sure you’ll enjoy her as much as I have; I’m off to the library to get the second book in the series, Tears of the Giraffe.

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Walk in a Relaxed Manner

by Joyce Rupp


Started: 20 December 2005
Finished: 14 December 2007

Yes, you read the dates right. I did start this book over two years ago. I have a bad habit of starting books—especially back when I was homeschooling—and then getting sidetracked before finishing them. Since I ‘retired’ from teaching my own children last year, I’ve been much better about completing what I begin—at least so far as books go. I hope this trend lasts.

However, truth be told, I actually started and restarted and re-restarted this book! Not that it isn’t an excellent book—it is! It’s just not what I call a cover-to-cover book, i.e., a book that you easily sit down and read from cover-to-cover. But then it isn’t meant to be.

Walk in a Relaxed Manner is the type of book you read in small bites. I recommend reading one chapter at a time—which is what I finally did the last time I started it, the time I finally finished it.

It was my dear aunt who first suggested I read something by the author Joyce Rupp. Although I’d never heard of her before then, soon I began seeing Sr. Rupp’s books everywhere, especially on the shelves of my favorite religious bookstore. But out of the many books written by this prolific author, I was looking for a title that spoke to me. In the end, it was the cover which drew me to the book—the picture of a woman backpacker hiking in the mountains among the sheep. And perhaps the subtitle also had something to do with my selection, Life Lessons From the Camino.

As stated in numerous previous blog posts I did a pilgrimage last fall. One of the stops was Santiago de Compostela, the destination of all pilgrims along the Camino. The author, Sr. Joyce Rupp hiked the Camino in 2003 with Fr. Tom Pfeffer, now deceased. This book is a collection of short essays or reflections she wrote on the lessons she learned while hiking the Camino. In fact, each chapter is given over to one succinct lesson, e.g., go prepared, live in the now, return a positive for a negative, travel lightly, look for unannounced angels and keep a strong network of prayer to name but a few from the list of twenty-five. Oh! And, there is a chapter specifically devoted to walking in relaxed manner.

In retrospect, even though I did not hike the Camino, this would have been an invaluable book to have read, savored and prayed before I left on my pilgrimage. I regret deeply not having done so! And yet, I did finish it very soon after my trip. Was I able to relate to the author’s mistakes so easily because I had recently returned from my own trip and I recognized myself and my own errors in the author's self-deprecating stories? I wonder. Would I have derived the same benefit from the book if I'd read it before leaving? I like to think so. There’s no way of knowing of course. However, if you do plan on hiking the Camino—especially if it’s for spiritual reasons—I cannot recommend this book too highly.

And as a beautiful spiritual guide, this book is wonderful, uplifting and insightful.

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Edith Stein, St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross

by María Ruiz Scaperlanda

Started: 20 July 2007
Finished: 1 January 2008

It is not an accident that I finished this book today, nor that I selected it to be my first book of the year to review. Privately, I’m dedicating this year to St. Edith Stein, or St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, if you prefer to call her by her Carmelite name. I have personal reasons for preferring her given name—I would say her ‘Christian’ name except that she wasn’t born Christian. She was Jewish by birth and Catholic by conversion. However, I do love the name she selected as well. Teresa of Ávila was her inspiration and is also mine; I consider both to be my dear, dear senior sisters-in-faith. When I read their writings, I not only feel very close to them—I feel as if I have actually met them and conversed with them. Perhaps some would call that the over-active workings of my imagination; I call it Faith.

Although I did start this book back in July, I read most of the book this past November and December. I cannot remember when I bought it, but it was within the past few years. My knowledge of, and interest in, Edith Stein is fivefold. First, she is a female and I always prefer female saints because I can more readily identify with them. Second, she was highly intelligent, a thinker, a philosopher and a writer—my favorite type of person. Third, she is a convert and while my first preference would be for a re-vert, I am still looking for such a saint; therefore, in the meanwhile I shall have to be content with those who find their way to us from other faiths. Fourth, she lived and died during the rise and fall of the Third Reich, a period in history which I find absolutely fascinating. And finally, I have come to have a special love for Edith for three personal reasons: my oldest daughter has chosen her to be her Confirmation patron, my sister took her name when she was recently clothed a Third Order Carmelite and, last but not least, my maternal grandmother and favorite aunt are named Edith.

God works behind the scenes in simple, mysterious ways. A few short years ago, I had never heard of Edith Stein. She came upon me quietly in a little documentary which was examining how the Church selected, determined and investigated its canonical saints. When I told my mother about Meg’s choice of a Confirmation saint at a recent family gathering I sensed rather than saw or heard her surprise. She had never heard of Edith Stein. And I had forgotten—until that moment—what my maternal grandmother’s first name was. I never met her and my mother rarely speaks of her own mother. Edith is not a very common name today, but it must have been once. It was an epiphany moment for both us—my deceased grandmother’s name coming alive again through my daughter’s choice of a Confirmation saint.

And how did Meg come to choose Edith Stein? When she was much younger she had considered Mother Cabrini and then later St. Philomena, but neither saint had particularly ‘stuck’—at least not in the way her sister’s choice had taken hold of her right from the first. (Michelle chose St. Maximilian Kolbe as a very young child and has never wavered in that choice.) When it came time for Meg to write a paper on her saint for her Confirmation class she was still searching. Had I bought this book for that reason? I don’t remember.

I do recall telling Meg, however, that I thought Edith the perfect saint for her—mostly because she’s brainy, like my Meggie.

‘For Edith Stein, whose entire life was a quest for truth and meaning, her hidden world held the key to what was invisible to the eye – long before Truth had a name. Stein herself realized this after becoming a Christian. In a letter to a Benedictine nun friend, she said, “Whoever seeks after the truth is seeking after God, whether consciously or unconsciously.” ‘ (p59)

Knowing my little girl as I have since birth, I would describe her also as ‘a seeker after truth’. It is my prayer that St. Edith will assist her in that quest.

Although I have not said much about this book in particular, it is a charming and easy-to-read introduction to the saint. As she was such an intelligent woman and so much of her life was lived in her mind, no book can do her justice which does not take into account her philosophical and theological development. Scaperlander’s book does this in an accessible manner. This is the perfect introduction to a very complex woman, powerful saint and – I believe – future doctor of the Church. If you read no other book on this saint, read this one. Let me know if you'd like to borrow my copy!

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