to the beasts of burden in my life

Myles Connolly wrote this a century ago and how much more fitting it is today:

"Today fatherhood is an heroic calling. The father of olden times was in may ways an idyllic character, living serenely in the bosom of his family, planning and saving for the future. But today he lives in turmoil and toils in vain. If he is industrious, if he is competent, he does not work for his family and the future but for the lazy and incompetent everywhere. No longer has his home the peace of the old homestead. His children ride in engines of death and destruction, and the jangling of the telephone in the depth of the night may mean tragedy in the air or on the highway. Disease of the mind born of the madness and artificiality of those modern environment, derange and sometimes destroy those he loves.

"More menacing is the increased threat against faith and morals endlessly made by an increasingly arrogant and unbelieving world. More dangerous by far are the soul's diseases (with skepticism and apathy predominating), present always like a plague. Life outside of the monastic walls is perilous, fiercely competitive, often brutal. The dedicated father today is a hero, and if you ask why he faces his burdens so bravely, I can answer only because in him is the stuff of saints. Not for him is the consolation of applause. The mother is praised in song and extolled in story. But the father walks the common way without bugles, without drums, with no flags flying. He, truly, has given hostage to fortune.

"Those holy men and women who have given up the world are glorious children of God, but if there were no harassed, slaving poor fathers, there would be none of those glorious children, if for no other reason than they would never have been born. Peace of mind and peace of soul are lovely possessions but they are not for the dedicated father. The particular saint in him demands that he go out and meet the challenge of the day, that he be concerned not with his own serenity and well-being but with those in his care, that he venture forth into the world and there, thick in the masses of men, seek the opportunity to love his neighbor and to love his enemy, so that, in advance and not in retreat, in battle and not in seclusion, he may prove himself worthy of Him who has shared with him the divine power of creation.

"The priest may offer his Mass and the nun her sacrifices, and the contemplatives may send up their unceasing assault of prayer and mortification – all may cry out for succor, may plead to stay the hand of Eternal Justice – but it is the father, that undistinguished, yawning man you see in the the early morning leaving home for the shop, the office, the factory, the mine – that tired, troubled person you see returning home at night, often with a smile that is false and a cheerfulness without foundation – it is he who is the first warrior and the first guardian of the Faith. For he is the captain of the home, the citadel on which the Christian civilization is built. There is no order or organization to record his heroism or promote his beatification. He is the common, oftentimes inglorious beast of burden, his greatest distinction being the resemblance he bears the the ass that carried Christ."

To the men who have shaped my life - 

Beginning with the first man I loved:

My dad's classic faraway-stare when he's saying something funny and my classic weird unphotogenic laugh. 

He's passed down more than money, hand over fist, to me. He, along with my mother, have given me a strong foundation in the Faith, a sense of diligence, and appreciation for humility and simplicity, and an incredible wit that keeps us laughing, mostly by ourselves, at what we say.

To my father-in-law:

Unplanned faces. It sums up our relationship.

I ignore the legal sense of his relationship to me - he is simply a father to this daughter-in-law. He passes along wisdom and has taught me that no matter how much arguing one can do with another person, one can share a glass of wine and a good laugh with her opponent five minutes later and hold absolutely no guile. Not that we've been there before. :)

To the second man I ever loved:

Love.

He's taught me an appreciation of good food, a good laugh, and all things Irish. His life story is inspiring and a sliver of it could teach these man-boys of today what hard work means. To him I toast this piece of blueberry pie.

I've been shaped spiritually by some incredible priests and spiritual fathers.

To the spiritual father who ushered me into falling in love with the Faith as an adult:

Fr. Terra at Molly's baptism

He scared, literally, the hell out of me by asking why we had books that encourage things to go bump in the night. He's played guitar with my husband, baptized our oldest, and graciously accepted week-old lasagna as a meal from a bed-ridden mother. We continue to pray for him.

To the spiritual father who challenges me with his sermons and counsel in confession.

Fr. Wolfe at Pentecost, 2013. Aka, Fr. Mozzie #1.

He's taught me far too much about shepherding and to snarkily thank Adam for every single bad thing in this world ("thanks, Adam" is a favorite phrase in these parts). He's caused waves on the internet for his sermons regarding difficult Catholic teaching - and my hat is tipped to him for that because so many priests don't have the courage that this man has. And he's made me bawl like a baby in the confessional without ever being mean or making me feel shame or guilt, but simply by a honest and gentle reminders of how to overcome temptations and live a life of holiness.

To the spiritual father who puts up with my phone calls and emails and fears and anxiety about everything, always with a laugh, a joke, and calming advice:

Fr. Longua wearing his priestly garb at a social function.

He's taught me more than I could possibly type here and so loved by our family. I was determined to hate him when he took Fr. Terra's place at our parish, but he won us over. He's taken care of our family while we were in his parish and has continued to care for our spiritual welfare four years after we've left it. Plus, his commentary during our spiritual directions (over the phone) about the traffic he's in could fill a book. 

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my girls' godfathers:

Teaching his goddaughter the love of Texas Tech from her early years.

They love this guy!

And last, but certainly not least, is the man I love more than any other person I've ever met. The man who lays down his life daily for the comfort of his family. The man who wakes at 5am, rides a train for an hour, and does the same work every single day, and rides an hour back home to us....just for us. The man who does this all with no recognition, little thanks, and without thinking of himself. The man that, with every decision he makes, teaches me humility, charity, patience, and fortitude. The man who comes home tired from a long day and still musters the energy to play with our girls and love their mother. The man who makes his feet talk just to see his girls giggle. The man who lets me sleep in so he can take the kids to Burger King on Saturday mornings. The man who quietly perseveres in the Faith in a career that isn't known for its acceptance of God. The man who puts up with the moods and tantrums of his girls...ahem, me included...with dignity and grace and love. The man who sacrifices more than I'll ever know for his family.

I love you, Joseph. Thank you for being the beast of burden that carries our family.