Turtles

In days when my world was small and my best friend lived five doors down Maze Place, I used to watch and play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. On Friday nights I would get out my collection of action figures. I used furniture and a couple of plastic storage shelves on wheels as buildings to create cities where Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo could bravely rescue April O'Neil or other characters in need. My friend Ben gave each member of his collection a Ziplock bag with their name so that he never lost a nunchuck, skateboard, pizza, mask, or accessory. I owned a good 20-30 action figures, watched the 8:00 and 8:30am episodes without fail on Saturdays, and may have even pretended to like pizza more because the Turtles were enamored by it.

I loved Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as a kid.

I still love them. My brother bought me a TMNT T-shirt a couple years ago that draws complements whenever I wear it. I even spent an afternoon last year picking through the entire list of action figures from my era of Turtles. And yes, I owned quite a few of them.

Somehow the Turtles have seen a recent revival and been reincarnated with fresh cartoons and a couple of full-length feature films. When the newest version came to theaters, I figured it was time to revisit some childhood joy, and I offered to take my nephew Zeke to see it once it reached the dollar theater since he had become a Turtles fan himself. (My crafty mom made a turtle shell to complete Zeke's TMNT costume for Halloween last year.)

I picked Zeke up for the matinee on Saturday morning. We splurged for a food ticket and got a giant pack of Nerds candy (which he later spilled in the back seat of my car, so I'll be finding Nerds for years). The show was pretty true to the Turtles I knew from childhood. Leonardo was the leader. Raphael was the hot-headed rebel with a soft spot. Donatello was the brainy technology genius. Michelangelo had a weakness for pizza, parties, and girls. The Shredder had a mysterious, menacing presence. Splinter exuded wisdom. April O'Neil was fearless, intrepid, and loyal. I enjoyed the show, but I enjoyed watching Zeke's joy even more. I saw my five-year-old self in his big eyes and little body.

This year of being at home is worth savoring for moments like these. Zeke will soon be a teenager himself and far beyond these moments. I only have so long being the cool uncle that sugars him up and returns him to his parents. It's worth the Nerds rolling around my car, a few bucks, and a Saturday afternoon to make a new memory from an old one.

Scatterings

I didn't die. I haven't been in a remote African village. I haven't been held hostage for the last two months. And I don't offer any cooked up excuses for not posting since August 8. That's over two months ago! What have I been doing?

Getting busy again. Finding a rhythm. Building relationships. Planning teen gatherings. Creating blogs. Driving to Caldwell and back.

I fleetingly thought many times in August, September, and then October that I should set a goal of posting once a week. Ha. It's not implausible, just not practical with the way I have organized my life lately. Evenings are sacred, although zoning out to an episode of The West Wing (my recently-finished favorite) or The Blacklist (my new craze) isn't sanctified spending of time either.

My thoughts are scattered as I reflect on the past few weeks. Friends returned to seminary life. I did not. That struck me for many days as I watched their Facebook posts and ached slightly for the community I left behind, the fraternity I knew, the structure I found pleasantly challenging, and the life direction I chose. My decision to take a year off was a good one. Regret is not helpful or applicable here. Yet with every change come twinges of grief. The paths of my seminary brothers and classmates diverge at different points. Mine diverged from most this year. In the larger picture, I must remind myself that one year of parish involvement in my home diocese with solid spiritual direction is quite helpful. I am enjoying myself, feeling useful, growing in relationship with the Lord and the Church, and continuing to ask the life-altering question, "God, what do you want me to do?"

Spiritual direction can prove a helpful aid when sorting through the layers of experience, desire, and need that shape the vocational call. I asked my former parish priest (and the previous Vocations Director), Fr. Jairo Restrepo, to be my spiritual director, and he has ably asked me questions that are reflective and substantial. The primary question Fr. Jairo is helping me to answer is this: Can I be satisfied with a lifetime of priestly ministry in the Diocese of Boise? Is this how Jesus is specifically calling me in this life?

I continue to explore and reflect. As I do, hopefully I will be more motivated to share the experience with you on this blog. May we not shrink from our purpose!

More on this photo in an upcoming post. Oh the suspense!