I think my biggest problem with God over the years was that I’d rather go to hell than submit and kneel to a demanding, angry God.  I wasn’t going to be cowed into obedience.  The more I felt he wanted to push me to my knees, the more stiff-necked I became.  I think I’ve finally figured out that this junkyard dog, nasty god-image (yes, lower case here) reflected my life view (rough, tough and very defensive) more than anything. 

Today, having let peace and trust and love into my life, along with loving, caring people, I find – guess what?  Surprise!  Surprise! – that the God I’ve been wrestling with is a God of love and friendship.  (He could have crushed me in an instant, but never pinned me or imposed upon me.)  I like this guy … like Him a lot.  And I’m finding that Jesus is more big bro and buddy who I can admire and look up to than judge of my many foibles and flaws. Pretty neat. 

My point:  Not all that sure, except that I’m very much enjoying (finally!) this voyage of discovery … learning and seeing things I’d never imagined.  And it wasn’t so much that God was distant or angry, but that I was blocking Him, refusing to let Him in.  Oh, and btw, when I kneel down in prayer, it is with respect and joy.  Yes, I do sometimes struggle still with the idea of a God of love and friendship, but I am getting to genuinely like and trust this God of mine. – jri

One of my stray-dog acquaintances, whose hobby is adultery (as if deceiving his wife and using other women were a skill of which to be proud), readily admitted to me that he believes in God, acknowledging that He “got me through cancer and lots of tough times.”  “And so what do you do for God?” I asked.  He stared at me blankly.

Now, I’m no expert, but it seems to me that there’s not much of a relationship going on here between him and God.  When he needs something, I suspect he prays.  And if he gets what he wants … well, that’s that; it’s a pretty self-centered, one-way relationship. 

My point:  That’s not how you treat a friend.  Yes, it is easy to forget the suffering (and the gratitude) once the pain is removed.  And I also suspect that God hears a whole lot more “Help me!” prayers than “Thank you!” prayers.  Instead, celebrate the blessings with simple gratitude.    – jri

I sometimes think we spend way too much time trying to figure out God’s playbook, rather than just sitting back and enjoying the game. 

For example, this fellow called Jesus gets arrested, tortured and murdered, but from that, with his resurrection, comes the birth of Christianity and hope for the world.  Saul, a maniacal zealot gets knocked down in a bright light, spends three days blind (talk about a depressing, terrifying turn of events for him), and ends up as one of the great representatives of God, spreading His word far and wide.  Or Stephen, the first martyr, in whose death Saul/Paul was an accomplice: After Stephen’s death, the believers were scattered, which actually helped spread the faith. 

My point:  God’s ways are beyond our comprehension.  He transforms evil into good.  How?  We have as much chance of figuring that out as my dog Rocky has of understanding the workings of the internal combustion engine that powers my car.  He just enjoys the ride … and takes the rest on faith.  Good advice for all of us.  – jri 

Confession time:  Though gentle as a cuddly teddy bear today, I was an angry young man.  It was really a defense, a shield against fear.  Then I realized that anger, though it protected me against hurt, kept me from enjoying the companionship and friendship of others.  Worse still, it all too often hurt them as well.  So, recognizing that anger is a choice, I chose to give it up.  One problem:  For a long time, that had been the only tool in my problem-solving toolbox.  It took years of practice to replace anger with compassion, understanding, relationship-building skills and love.

I’m finding a similar challenge today, but this time with God’s offer of peace and joy.  See, I’m better in a dogfight than in peace and harmony.  So, like my Boxer Rocky upon meeting a stranger, I tend to sniff the hand, back away, and in confusion and uncertainty, struggle to decide whether to run off, leap about in playful joy … or attack.  But I do know that I am being offered this amazing gift of companionship and friendship from a God in whom I believe … but do not always trust.  Give me time. 

My point:  Many of us have difficulty understanding and accepting the love and blessings of a God who often seems remote, abstract, silent.  Oh, but by the way, I am finding that – albeit, ever so slowly – as I try to make the choice to accept these blessings (and am forgiven and allowed to return again and again after I’ve run off in confusion), I am not only learning to trust my God, but also glimpsing the incredible promise of peace and joy.” Wow! – jri 

Supposedly, C.S. Lewis went from atheism to a deep and profound belief while riding in the sidecar of a motorcycle driven by his brother on the way to visit the zoo.  He described the experience as being “surprised by joy.”

Well, joy puzzles me, and I suspect I’m not alone.  As I encounter the joy of faith and God’s blessings from time to time, I get almost panicky, want to do something to derail the feeling.  I think that’s because I am more comfortable in war than in peace.  I am also lousy at accepting compliments.  Still, I’m working on it.  (It reminds me of the time I elected to give up anger – seeing it as a choice, not something outside my control — as a means of solving problems, yet had no other tool to replace it, though I eventually found that patience and gentleness worked out just fine.)

My point:  Many people refuse joy, perhaps because they think – wrongly so, btw – that they do not deserve it.  If you are confused by joy, I invite you to resist the temptation to undo it. Instead, revel in it.  It is gift from God.  Enjoy. – jri

This one’s a bit long and rambling.  Sorry. 

People who know me tell me I not only love to talk, but I can be a tad loud.  I’ve been asked to leave libraries (I was only whispering, honest), told how Julie and I are a perfect match (she’s rather hard of hearing, but has no trouble hearing me) and reminded that I take after my mother (she and her friend, Clara, across the street, didn’t need a phone to talk). 

So, you can imagine how challenging it was for me to spend three days at the Episcopal monastery of St. Julian in Waukesha, Wisconsin last week. Most of the day is spent in silence.  I was the only guest and I dined with the sisters and monks, who take their meals in silence, as well.  

At first, it was terrible and not just figuring out how to get the butter passed down my way.  It was mostly that, in my experience, when people don’t talk at the table, they’re mad at each other.  The silence was oppressive.  It was a struggle, but I actually got to relax and begin to enjoy it by the time I left, reveling in the silent community around me. 

BTW, it was a wondrous time of reflection, private prayer, prayer services, long walks, simple meals, sleeping and reading.  I recommend it.  In the past, I’d retreated to a monastery in times of great challenge or pain, praying for strength and guidance.  

This time was different.  I was there to offer thanks for deliverance from some pretty long struggles, mostly serious financial threats.  Not only have my prayers for relief been answered (and thank you again for your prayers as well), but I received so many other blessings … grace like rain falling upon me.  

So, this time, I prayed in thanksgiving.  I found myself thinking about the gifts I’d received – among them these strange things called peace and joy – and how to accept them.  (I’m not good at compliments or accepting gifts and tend to torpedo ships when the sailing is too easy.) 

But I also just listened … just shut up and listened.  Amazing how much God has to say and how, in silence, the soul learns to listen.

The icing on the cake:  I left Sunday morning after mass and met my family – all my children, their spouses and significant others, and all five of my grandchildren  – for a loud, raucous, joyful, playful group birthday celebration (since many of my family have been born in August) at a county park and lake.  All are healthy, stable, with no attitudes or agendas.  Blessings like rain! 

It has been a glorious, wondrous past few days, filled to overflowing with silent blessings and noisy, raucous ones.  Both loud and silent, a time filled with peace and joy, proof that nothing is impossible and that from the darkest depths of pain and despair, light and abundant joy may spring.  But I’ve spoken enough for one day.  Ssssshhhhhhh.   – jri

My youngest child, Angie, soon to be 31, got it right years ago, in spite of  the suspicion that her religious education could have been better conducted by wolves.  Not only was it a time of mindlessly vacuous religious ed in the Catholic Church; but I was a stern father who would question my children at the dinner table about what they had learned that day or just read; and Angie, who was as sharp as a tack otherwise, had a knack for dropping all comprehension when the spotlight hit her (and the snickering and giggling of her siblings, Jonny and Nicky, didn’t’ help much, either).  So, when we would read at the table or I would question her about what she’d learned at religious education that day, she’d freeze in terror, search her suddenly empty memory banks, and then mumble hopefully, “Jesus loves us?” before punching her sister for laughing. 

As it turns out, she had good company.  South Africa’s Bishop Desmond Tutu, one of my few heroes in this world, had the same message.  He once said in a video that he only preached one sermon:  Jesus loves us.

My point:  Not all that sure, except that maybe Angie was smarter than we all thought.  But mostly that this is the message of our Lord:  We should never lose hope because no matter how tough or dark a situation is, Jesus is with us … always.  And he loves us like we could never imagine. – jri

The booklet is about to go into production and should be available by October 1st.   This 50-page publication tells the true story of my long journey to build a relationship with my father  … whether he liked it or not.  And it reflects — as I have learned over the years — the all-to-common story of the disconnect between fathers and their children.

“The Day My Father Died” is about healing, and it is dedicated to fathers, “especially those who do not take naturally to the role.”  In addition to a tool you may find of value for yourself and loved ones, it may be appropriate for book clubs and other discussion groups. 

A pre-publication special offer:  This booklet will retail for $4.99 for a single copy, including shipping & handling.  However, if you order prior to August 30th, you can receive an unlimited number of copies for $3.75 per copy, including S & H.  To order your pre-publication copies, send a check to:

Indicate the quantity desired and if you would like your copies signed.  If you find that “The Day My Father Died” is less than you had hoped, you can return it for a full refund. 

Thank you in advance, and may you enjoy all the peace and joy of the blessings God sends to you each day. — jri

I confess that I look fondly back on my heathen days.  Life was so much simpler.  I made up my own rules:  Live and let live, but don’t’ tread on me; revenge is not sweet, but it is necessary; rip the throats out of the wolves who prey on the sheep of the world; and have fun.  I was a pretty self-satisfied, swell fellow.  

Then I went and found God.  Ruined everything.  Before that, I knew He was around, but we traveled in different circles.  He left me alone and I left Him alone.  Thanks to Him, now I’m keenly aware of my shortcomings, and I spend my days trying to live by His rules and up to His faith in me.  I’m a little less smug these days.  Still….  

My point:  Life was easier, in one sense, when I was a self-absorbed heathen.  But these days, in spite of the “gift” of being able to see my many flaws, my life is so much more meaningful, satisfying, real and, yes, joyful.  Thanks, Lord. – jri 

It seems to me that we are all born with a wondrous thirst, a restless need to seek after something far beyond ourselves, something to fulfill and fill the holes in our souls.  Mostly, we seek it in temporal things: dedication to physical training; worship of a favorite sports team; belief in a positive “ism”; charity and love for others; that sort of thing.  There are also poor choices: philandering (gotta love that word); booze; drugs; overzealous acquisition (aka greed).  All have the ability to slake one’s thirst … but only temporarily.  Then there’s  always the need for something more or something different.  Always!

So, when Jesus comes along and talks about “living water,” the kind that will take away the thirst for everything else, ya gotta be curious.  Imagine that something that takes away the restless seeking, that heals the festering wound, that says it’s okay to be who we are, that washes away – for good – the pain of the past.  Wow! 

My point:  In all our thirsting, maybe we should thirst for an understanding of God.  Sure, run five miles a day and enjoy the runner’s high; sure, cheer for the Green Bay Packers and celebrate when they win; sure, enjoy a good meal with friends and be pleased when you do a good deed.  But know that it all means little without the gift of grace and faith from God, that living water, which is all we really seek or need.  – jri