A first....

On Pentecost Sunday I had the pleasure of celebrating the Sacrament of Confirmation with a splendid young Soldier who decided while he was deployed that he wanted to grow spiritually and take his faith more seriously. It turns out that he and I have more in common than might at first have seemed possible, so in addition to becoming more involved in living his Catholic faith, he's also recognizing a need for other, daily, spiritual input.

I told him I'd gladly refund his misery if this addition to his spiritual life didn't deliver as promised....

A friend of his came to the Mass, which really surprised me.

(It wasn't the fact that he *has* friends that surprised me the most -- though that is a surprise -- but that *this* particular young man showed up.)

That guy had never been to a Catholic Mass before, and he clearly seemed uncomfortable in excelsis. Fortunately, SFC McG and he have become friends over the past seven months, so SFC McG sat next to him in the back pew, and seemed to be a steadying and calming influence on him.

Afterward, that Soldier said to me, "If my father ever found out I attended a Catholic Mass, he'd have a cow!"

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Happy Birthday, Mom!

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday, so if you happen to see her, please wish her a very happy birthday from me.

I'm glad you were born, Mom!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Three weeks

I'm led to believe that SFC McG and I will be out of here in approximately three weeks' time. Given that this is the Army, after all, we'll see what happens!

So far I'm still waiting for a replacement to take over the parochial duties I've assumed here on post in the last few months. My colleague at present, while much younger than I (and therefore still blessed with the enthusiasm and good temperament of youth), none the less finds doing six Masses each weekend to be draining.

I suspect he might not be able to handle doing all twelve!

We're told there will be a gaggle of priests here at some point in the not-so-distant future, which will be great for the flock.

In the meantime, I'm attempting to clear up the remains of my still-overflowing 'in-box', pack, and steel myself against the next mobilization, which begins in 49 days.

But who's counting?

What with Eastertide officially over now, I guess we really are back in Ordinary Time....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Uptick

I'm not sure what it all means, other than having been to more Memorial Ceremonies in the last three weeks here on post than I'd been to over the rest of the deployment, but there seems to be an uptick in casualties in the recent past.

Prayers are definitely in order....

Pentecost blessings to one and all who celebrate that sort of thing,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Sadness

My friend Dorothea died in her sleep two nights ago.

On the one hand, I'm very glad I got the chance to see her when I was home on leave. But on the other hand, I'm feeling bereft right now.

I was not able to say good-bye properly to her (i.e., in person) as I'd have liked to have done. We last spoke about two weeks ago; she was very weak, so our conversation was very brief. I didn't want to call after that, afraid I'd disturb her when she was resting, but knowing there was no way for her to call me, should she want and be able to talk.

Moreover, I won't be able to be there to give her an appropriate send-off.

Long deployments are tough on interpersonal relationships.

Multiple long deployments over a short period of time -- as so many of my friends here Down Range have endured -- are particularly rough in that regard.

My condolences to Mike and to Kathryn.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Libiamo? Non libiamo?

General Order 1B (pronounced "one - bravo" in Army-speak) prohibits the consumption of alcohol over here Down Range. It prohibits a lot of other stuff, too, but that's not the point of this blog post. U.S. personnel -- even contractors -- are not supposed to be drinking alcohol.

Coalition partners (Japanese, French, Italians, etc., when here) have been free to do as they please, however.

But U.S. personnel must eschew the fruit of the vine or bine.

(Now *there's* a word for you. [Disclaimer: I've been accused by Fr. Tom W of Oakland, CA of being easily distracted by sparkly things. Warning: Here comes a 'sparkly'.] When I was young -- but still curmudgeonly, I'm told -- I majored in music and biology in college, and my focus for the biology major was botany and mycology. I guess that should be *foci* then, rather than just *focus*, shouldn't it?

(If I'm not careful, this could devolve into something akin to the old Monty Python routine about nobody expecting the Spanish Inquisition.... [look it up])

Anyway, a vine is a plant that climbs by means of suckers or tendrils (think grape: Vitis vinifera) while a bine is a plant that climbs by its shoots growing in a helical fashion around what supports it (think hop: Humulus lupulus). Bines have a characteristic left-ward or right-ward spiral growth pattern, irrespective of where on earth they grow. Hop plants, for example, always exhibit a clockwise growth.

And while we're on the subject of Humulus lupulus, hops are members of the plant family Cannabaceae, which also includes the genus Cannabis....

Aren't fun facts to know and tell, well, fun?

Here endeth the lesson.)

The eschewing of the fruit of the vine or bine, except during the Super Bowl, when personnel Down Range (where I live, in any case) are permitted two beers, appears to be a rather large sacrifice for many.

I'm not sure whether having "near-beer" in the DFAC helps. I've never tried one, and don't plan on ever doing so, one near-beer-less day at a time. I figure my 'broken brain' would perform the following intricate and complicated mental calculus: Drink the real thing.

So I just avoid the stuff altogether.

Somewhat to my surprise, it turns out that the 'real thing' is easily attainable over here (I'm told), and more than a few military personnel and civilians have run afoul of General Order 1B in this regard.

Given the kind of friends I hang out with over here, I've met quite a number of them.

One young man has been chaptered out of the Army for drinking over here, and is awaiting his return trip home. Just a couple of days ago I met another young Soldier who lost his stripes because of his drinking -- over here. Another friend mentioned one of his civilian co-workers who was sent back to the States because KBR found a bottle of whiskey in his stuff.

And on and on.

Who knew?

Before coming Down Range, when it seems as though SFC non-McG and I were headed north from where we wound up, I contacted personnel at that base to try to find out whatever I could that might be of use as we prepared to deploy. I even went so far as to get a special email account through the Army, which I could only access by going to a locked room on an Army Reserve post not far from my home of record.

I did this because my point of contact Down Range essentially said, "we can't tell you anything over regular email; we can only use this super-duper system to communicate information to you." But after having gone to the trouble of getting the account, and somewhere to use it, almost every one of my rather benign questions still went unanswered.

It wasn't as though I had asked for the nuclear launch codes.

I just wanted to know how many Catholics might be present at the base we had been told we'd be sent to, and that sort of thing. My points of contact (POCs) seemed to act as if they were involved in 'black OPS' or something, rather than in staffing a chapel on a huge military post.

Odd.

The only question that was answered, sort of, was whether they knew if there were any AA meetings on post. (I figured that since so many of my friends for the past almost 30 years have been helped by going to those meetings, I might as well find out if any were available Down Range.) The answer I received from my POCs -- who'd been there almost a year at that point, running a chapel -- was, "We don't know. But since drinking alcohol isn't permitted, why would this even be a concern?"

Why indeed?

Sigh.

I need a drink!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Terror in the DFAC!!

I've been wanting to write something sensationalist like that for a while. The opportunity never presented itself until now.

Kind of a catchy title, eh?

Of course, there was no "terror" in the DFAC, except perhaps for one entree which defied description and went uneaten (by me, anyway).

We did have a fire in the kitchen, it seems, however.

SFC McG and I had sauntered over to the DFAC for an early supper. I was going to meet up afterward with some friends who go to a lot of AA meetings, and then SFC McG and I were going to drive to a distant part of the post so I could celebrate Mass for the Ugandan workers who live there. We had already finished eating and were actually just sitting around yakking and watching personnel enter the dining facility when it happened.

All of a sudden there was a great commotion coming from behind us. Lots of shouting. Lots of chairs making noise scraping the floor. More shouting. Much confusion.

People began surging toward the exits -- including the emergency exits -- so SFC McG and I collected up our trays and moved into the throng, having no real clue as to what was going on.

"Well, I guess that's dinner," said SFC McG sagely.

We later heard that the DFAC opened up again about 10 minutes after we'd left. As I was walking to meet up with my friends who go to AA and Al-Anon meetings, I saw the firefighters on the roof over the kitchen, and stopped to shoot a few photos. At least six emergency vehicles responded to the incident. (Note the rather ironic sign in the foreground; click to enlarge.)

Pastry in an oven had caught fire.

Terror in the DFAC!!!!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Deep thoughts

I was leaving the building after midnight a while ago, and my young Corporal friend (soon to be a Sergeant; see an earlier blog post) and his crew were on duty. CPL G called out to me, "Hey Chaplain, why doesn't the Bible mention dinosaurs?"

The three of them and I had a long conversation, which meant I got to bed more than an hour later than I'd imagined.

Deep thoughts after a long mission outside the wire.

I just love those guys!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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300

I just realized that today is day 300 since arriving in theater.

Unlike many here, I've not been counting down (or up) the days. Rather, I've consciously chosen just to take things one day at a time. For some reason, the days seem to pass faster that way.

Friends who go to lots of AA and Al-Anon meetings tell me often that they're "doing the next right thing," which seems to be related to taking life a day at a time.

Over the course of these 300 days, SFC McG and I have completed well over 100 combat missions (sounds weird to refer to a trip somewhere to say Mass as "a combat mission" but all the firepower which accompanies us seems to bear that out....). There are lots of personnel who work in the building where we have our office who have not yet been 'outside the wire' since they arrived here.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Omnia mors perimit et nulli miseretur

Four years ago yesterday my good friend Saffar -- E-5 Sergeant, RANGER, RAKKASAN, Forward Observer -- (who'd adopted me as his dad) found out that his cancer was inoperable, and that he had a month to live. It was the day before his 28th birthday.

I arrived in Dayton the evening of his birthday, not knowing what had happened, but just having felt for some reason that I needed to be there to celebrate that occasion with him and Kristen. They were planning on being married the following October, and expected me to do the wedding.

How we were going to work that out was not yet clear, seeing as neither was baptized, let alone a Catholic. But that sort of thing never stopped Saffar.

The next morning, Saturday, Saffar and I went for a long walk with the dog, and he finally got around to telling me that he and Kristen had been to the oncologist on Thursday, and that he'd been given a death sentence, essentially.

I knew his cancer had come back after an almost two-year-long remission, but wasn't prepared for the finality of the diagnosis and prognosis. And on his 28th birthday.

Much to my surprise, as we stood there on the street somewhere in Oakwood, surrounded by manicured lawns and spring flowers in carefully-tended front yards, Saffar told me, "I'm not afraid, because I know God loves me."

Five years earlier, when Saffar and I met, there's no way he would ever have said those words, or even wanted to. It was breathtaking, and an answer to silent prayers.

Some months after his initial diagnosis and after I'd flown from California to Ohio to take him to his chemotherapy appointment one Friday (everybody else who'd been doing it was unavailable), I told him flat-out that his RANGER Creed was great as far as it went, but it wasn't enough in the face of what almost certain lay ahead for him.

After telling him what's (who's!) helped me during times of difficulty, I encouraged him to develop a relationship with a Higher Power, however that played itself out. I told him I'd continue to love and support him no matter what, and that I'd never bring up the topic again. I'd resolved not to hector him about things spiritual, given who we both were.

I kept my promise.

And without my badgering or thumping or fire-and-brimstoning, he came to a spiritual place that eventually even brought him into a community of believers through baptism. Go figure.

In typical "RANGER Saffar" fashion, having been given a month to live, he lived eight months and two days. He was a Forward Observer to the end, showing the rest of us the way through danger to safety.

I miss him.

While here in Iraq I've carried around an E-5 Sergeant's pin-on rank, to remind me of Saffar. (That's the rank he came to ROTC with as he was attempting to go 'green-to-gold' in moving from Enlisted to Officer.) It's pretty beat-up, but that's not surprising for an NCO who leads from the front.

One of my young friends here recently went before the Promotion Board in his effort to move from Corporal to Sergeant. He's a wonderful young man, with two combat deployments already (and who's only seen his four-year-old daughter for a small fraction of her life, and barely knows his almost year-old son).

He works the night shift, and I find myself staying late in the office so that I leave after midnight, which enables me to see him and his small crew as I'm leaving. They're all great young Soldiers, and much too often I'll wind up chatting and laughing with them for an hour or more (when I ought to be in my CHU sleeping).

I got up early one morning recently (after having been late in the office and then later talking with those guys), so I could show up at the place the Promotion Board was meeting, in support of the young Corporal. It's gotten very hot here again, and though it was early, it was already uncomfortably warm.

I was just in my Army Combat Uniform (ACUs), but he also had his full battle-rattle on, including the body armor, Kevlar helmet, DAPs (deltoid arm protectors -- think Kevlar hockey shoulder pads), a Camelbak filled with water, his weapon, and a combat load of ammunition.

I don't know how these Soldiers do it, day after day.

I found out the next night that he'd passed his board, and will be promoted, probably on 01JUL09. Bummer for me, because I'd wanted to see him get promoted, but I'll miss that by about a week.

After this deployment, he wants to go to RANGER school, and has already managed to get himself set up to make that happen upon his redeployment at the end of this combat tour.

Two nights ago, as I was leaving the office, I gave him the Sergeant's insignia I'd had with me to remind me of Saffar.

Happy 32nd Birthday, Saffar!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Let the rain come

My friend Cina, who's been a good friend since the early '90s, but whom I've not seen in quite some time since she moved East a while ago, has been a faithful reader of my blog, as it turns out. She's living in an assisted-living community these days, and as is their wont on holidays, they had an ecumenical prayer service yesterday on the occasion of Memorial Day.

She sent me a prayer by Rabbi Harold ("When Bad Things Happen To Good People") Kushner they prayed during the service.

It's worth sharing (and praying!):

Prayer for the World

Let the rain come and wash away the ancient grudges,
The bitter hatreds held and nurtured over generations.
Let the rain wash away the memory of the hurt, the neglect.
Then let the sun come out and fill the sky with rainbows.
Let the warmth of the sun heal us wherever we are broken.
Let it burn away the fog so that we can see each other clearly.
So that we can see beyond the labels,
beyond accents, gender or skin color.
Let the warmth and brightness of the sun melt our selfishness.
So that we can share the joys and feel the sorrows of our neighbors.
And let the light of the sun be so strong
That we will see all people as our neighbors.
Let the earth, nourished by the rain,
Bring forth flowers to surround us with beauty.
And let the mountains teach our hearts to reach upward to heaven.
Amen.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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A Memorial Day Vignette

One of the Army priests I've met along the way since I joined the military 2.5 years ago has been deployed three times to Iraq to date.

His ministry during an earlier deployment took him around the battlespace, but under much more dangerous conditions than I've faced during my time here.

He has a photo of himself with the personnel who attended the Christmas Mass he celebrated at one of the sites he visited when he could get there. Everybody in the photo -- including him -- was pretty grimy and haggard. He has another photo from the same base, taken after Easter Mass, but with a much smaller group of men -- less than half.

Later, some Chaplain from echelons above reality, who'd been looking at the attendance numbers for my friend's services, adopted a rather imperious and supercilious attitude and wanted to know, accusingly, why the numbers of personnel at his Masses had fallen off sharply.

The implication, it seemed to my friend, was that he was saying or doing something that was 'turning off' the worshippers, so that they just weren't coming to services anymore. This is not unheard-of, unfortunately, even during my time here Down Range.

But it was definitely not the case with my friend and his buddies.

"They're not coming anymore because they're all dead, Sir."

Amid all the Memorial Day 'sales blowouts' and sporting events, let's not forget what it's really about.

I especially salute the heroism and sacrifice of SPC Michael C. Balsley and CPT Matthew C. Mattingly -- and their loved ones -- on this Memorial Day.

Missed but not forgotten, absent but not lost.

Requiescant in pace.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Iris

It's gotten really hot rather quickly here -- it was 119 degrees Fahrenheit in the sun around 1700 hours (5 p.m.) yesterday afternoon.

What few wild flowers have managed to survive until now won't last much longer.

It's brutal.

I saw lots and lots of Soldiers moving around wearing their full battle-rattle, in the midst of the heat of the day. Because I didn't go outside the wire yesterday, I didn't even touch my body armor, let alone put it on and go outside.

Just imagine having to move around the battlespace in a Bradley Fighting Vehicle on a day like yesterday, or be out on a foot patrol, or stand guard -- in all that gear.

Count your blessings!

I do.

Now that spring has sprung a leak and completely deflated, I realized I didn't see (or smell) a single iris this spring -- probably for the first time in my life.

I'm not sure why I love irises so much. Maybe it's because by the time they're blooming in Michigan, there's no way we'd be getting any more snow!

In any event, I found myself missing them yesterday, so I hunted up some photos I've taken over the years, to remind me of their intricate beauty.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Many gifts

There are many gifts, but the same Spirit....

Last night the choir that sings at both the Saturday night and Sunday morning Masses here on Post participated in a choir concert at the largest chapel building in these parts. The room was pretty much filled with people, many of whom participated in some fashion or other.

There were eleven performances in all. Our choir was fifth, so pretty much right in the middle.

The emcee made it clear in her remarks at the beginning that the evening was about praise and worship and not about competition, but I still think of it as a "Battle of the Bands."

In terms of sheer volume, we lost. Hands down.

Because I wind up presiding at Mass whenever the choir is singing, I don't sing with them as part of their ensemble, but rather as a member of the congregation. Earlier this week I received several emails from choir members asking me if I'd come sing with them at this event, even though I'd not been practicing with them.

I showed up in enough time to run through each of the two songs, twice, with them before the program began. I'd planned on sitting with the choir, right about in the middle of the very large room, but as I was about to take my seat, a very eager and helpful Warrant Officer asked me to sit up front. "We're asking the pastors to sit in the first row," he said.

Right next to some very large speakers, pointed directly at my right ear.

There are some very important and noticeable differences between liturgical and non-liturgical worship traditions, of which I've been very aware for many years now. Last night I discovered -- or at least appreciated much more fully than ever before -- another.

Each of the other choirs participating in the praise and worship celebration represented a community which prays non-liturgically. Each of those choirs -- save perhaps the International Ugandan Choir -- expressed their praise and worship as loudly as they could, made even more impressive by the very large and efficient speakers pointed directly at my ear canal.

The music was spirited and joyful. The praise dance teams that performed were impressive and moved many to tears. It was a powerful worship experience.

The International Ugandan Choir performed two pieces, one of which had been written by their musical director. Because the choristers sang in their local language, I couldn't understand any of their words, but the lilt of the tunes and the obvious and genuine pleasure the singers expressed through their voices and movements communicated all that was necessary.

If I'd not been directly in the path of the speaker system, I suspect I'd have felt more drawn in to the celebration. I've not been exposed to music of that decibel level for so long (two hours) since I was in college and went to a Supertramp concert in Washington, DC in the spring of 1977.

Next time I'll be sure to decline the invitation to move up to the front, so as to be well clear of the speaker system.

Or I'll bring along my combat earplugs as we make a joyful noise unto the Lord.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Cleanliness is next to....

As I was on my way to meet with a naval officer yesterday to do some pastoral counseling, the thermometer in the car indicated the temperature outside the vehicle was 42 degrees Celsius.

Now, a fun fact to know and tell is that 40 degrees Celsius is 104 degrees Fahrenheit (transpose the four and the zero, see?), so I guessed it was probably 107 degrees Fahrenheit while I was driving.

It was actually 107.6 [a favorite radio station of mine years ago, in another place, or was it 106.7?] degrees Fahrenheit, but who's counting?

It was hot.

Today is supposed to be even hotter, and we're off! Summer is a comin' in. When SFC McG and I arrived here in August, we were treated to temperatures that reached 130 degrees Fahrenheit, so all other things being equal, 107.6 is a breeze.

From a convection oven.

This of course has me thinking about staying clean, which becomes more challenging when dust is being blown everywhere, and it seems to bond chemically with sweaty human skin.

So what is it with all these Soldiers (and Airmen! -- we don't have that many Sailors living in CHUs (containerized housing units) near me) who bring a whole cosmetics department with them to the shower trailer?

I've been amazed at the number of guys who are accompanied by a backpack or bucket filled (presumably or obviously) with astringents and emollients and soaps and shampoos. Especially popular seem to be the kind of rather large oval plastic buckets that I'd only ever seen used for cleaning supplies -- as in a laundry room.

Instead of ammonia and Pine-Sol and lemon-fresh Pledge, however, these buckets bulge with conditioners and moistruizers and lanolins.

And loofahs.

What's with all the loofahs? Blue loofahs. White loofahs. Camouflage loofahs. (Camouflage???) Pink loofahs.

I use a brown face cloth. It works well. I actually have a couple of them, so one can be in the laundry while the other is attempting to detach the gunk from the atmosphere that's Bondo-ed itself to my skin.

I subscribe to the adage, if it works, don't fix it. As I said, my ordinary brown wash cloth works really well.

I've never owned a loofah, and have never had a desire to do so.

I still don't.

I'm clearly in the minority here, from what I can tell. Hardly a day seems to go by that someone hasn't left without his loofah, which then just sits there on the bench in the shower room, waiting. Accusingly.

Loofahs.

Maybe they're the 'O'Reilly factor' I keep hearing the guys talking about....

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Thanks, and a reminder

I have been deeply moved by the generosity of so many people who have sent cards and letters and boxes of goodies throughout this deployment.

Since I'm about a month out from redeploying (from this assignment) it's probably best not to attempt to mail me anything else, lest it experience a delay in getting here, only to find that I've gone elsewhere in the meantime.

Gosh. I just realized that I'm a month out from the end of this assignment, but I'm exactly two months out from having to report in for the train-up prior to my next deployment.

Wow.

Not a lot of dwell time, eh?

But that's nothing compared to a friend of mine over here who was telling me just two days ago that he has spent all of 13 months with his wife and children -- since 2003 -- because of constant deployments, and the months-long train-up at places like NTC (Fort Irwin) in California prior to shipping out each time.

What's wrong with *that* picture???

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Congratulations!

My youngest niece, Allie, is a remarkable young person. She's very bright (takes after her mom and grandmother in that regard), motivated, and hard-working. She loves animals, which is a good thing, seeing as her parents own and operate the best kennel in southern Ohio, where she loves to work with the animals.

Come to find out, she's also very spiritual.

On her own, she decided she wanted the Sacrament of Confirmation in the Catholic church, so this morning she made her Profession of Faith, and was confirmed.

I'm really bummed I couldn't be there.

I have, however, been praying for her from over here Down Range, and will continue to do so.

Congratulations, Allie!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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More than we can handle... (clarification)

I received the following note from my good friend, and separated-at-birth-identical-twin-in-sobriety, Susan R from California. (Susan and I got sober in the same month in the same year, in case that made no sense at all to you.)

Susan's sobriety is a thing of beauty to behold, whereas Fr. Tom W (who knows us both but loves her more) says of *my* sobriety, "Tim, your sobriety should serve as a warning to others."

I guess it's because Susan goes to lots and lots of AA meetings, or isn't a 'seething cauldron of rage' (as one of my Jesuit brothers once wrote of me), or generally wouldn't know a bad attitude if it bit here, or something....

In any event, here's what she wrote me:

It is my opinion that God doesn't send us anything at all - He is there to help us through the things that happen to us in life. The way He helps is to surround us with people like you who can support us and help us all to reframe and deal with the difficult situations we all run in to. Sometimes you are the helper, sometimes the helpee. If we surround ourselves with people willing to help, and we are willing to accept the help offered, we allow God's grace to flow. The hard part is getting past the crazy making yammering that threatens to drown out the stuff that helps. Love, Your Twin

I couldn't have said it better, but should have, so as to have avoided the confusion it engendered.

Thanks for clearing this up, Susan!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Suggestions welcome

As you may have noticed, I enjoy taking photos, especially close-ups of flowers and small critters. The first digital camera I owned, a Canon PowerShot G2, did pretty well for me for about five years, until it died an untimely and unwarranted death from unknown causes.

I managed to get some pretty spectacular flower shots with that camera over the years, and in particular while on my trips to Asia.

For this combat deployment, I needed a camera, and wanted something small, so I got a Canon PowerShot SD800 IS, which has been OK (great battery life; easily-rechargeable proprietary batteries; 4GB SD memory card), but the sand and dust have done a number on it, and it's so small that it does not do well in low light situations.

Most close-up work requires good light-gathering capabilities, and this camera just doesn't cut it, to be honest.

So, before I leave for my next mobilization/deployment (no more than three weeks after I return from this one), I'm considering trying to acquire a different -- better! -- camera that would allow me to shoot the subjects that most capture my attention and imagination. My 'idiopathic benign essential tremor' really does get in the way of taking the photos I'm interested in, when the shutter speed is forced by circumstance to be slower than about 1/60 sec.

Therefore, gentle readers, I'm soliciting suggestions concerning what I ought to look at in terms of new photographic equipment. I suspect I won't have to put up with 130-degree-Fahrenheit weather and/or dust storms in Kosovo (though the winter will prove a challenge, I'm afraid -- but I suspect I won't be photographing many flowers or tiny critters under those conditions, anyway!), so I can probably consider getting a more substantial camera body, and perhaps even interchangeable lenses.

If you have experience in these matters, or know someone who does, please don't hesitate to drop me a line and share your expertise!

Thanks in advance.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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More than we can handle

For years now, I've heard people tell me (and others) "God doesn't give us more than we can handle."

I've never felt comfortable with that statement, but haven't known why.

Until now.

A few nights ago I was in the car with my friend who was in the building last Monday when the shooting started and who goes to a lot of AA meetings, and some other friends who also go to those meetings, because I'd offered to drive them over to the other side of this very large Post so they could attend one of their meetings. My friend who narrowly survived on Monday had not yet been to a meeting since the shootings, and I figured it was the least I could do to be supportive.

As I was driving us back 'home' after they'd gone to that meeting, the others got to discussing the ordeal our friend had been through, and someone very helpfully suggested that God doesn't send us more than we can handle.

Having been through what *I'd* experienced, and having heard my friend's account of the terror of the situation, I knew instantly what was wrong with that statement.

"NO!" I practically shouted.

"That's not how it is at all!"

"God doesn't send us more than GOD can handle!"

"And that's the point of being in a recovery program, after all, right? Doesn't your Big Book say something to the effect of 'God is doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves?'"

"It's precisely situations like this that ARE too much to handle -- for us. But not for a big enough Higher Power."

There was no way I on my own could have handled even the small intersection between my life and the events in the Combat Stress Center on Monday, but I have a God who can, did, and does handle all of that, and more. My friend 'intuitively knew how to handle situations that used to baffle us' -- which resulted, I'm convinced, in others escaping with their lives too -- precisely because of his years of 'letting go, and letting God'.

God's handling of situations does NOT mean that bad stuff won't happen, however! It just means that no matter how bad the situation gets, God is not prevented from bringing life out of even the most death-dealing of situations.

God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves.

Left to my own devices, there's no way I could have done what needed doing on Monday, or moved through the psychic aftermath with honesty, vulnerability, and courage. From my perspective, at least for myself, it WAS too much for me to deal with successfully.

But it wasn't too much for God. After all, my friend did not get drunk, or engage in any other self-destructive behavior. Even though my broken brain told me Monday night as I was saying Mass that I needed to consecrate -- and consume! -- all of the wine I had in my Mass kit (which SFC McG had replenished that morning), I did not do that, nor did *I* engage in any other self-destructive behavior, either, despite being in a lot of psychic pain.

(And just so we're all on the same page, my liver doesn't know any neoscholastic theology, and would experience consecrated wine the same way it experienced unconsecrated wine!)

God never sends us more than *GOD* can deal with.

Hooray for the Higher Power!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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