Pax Plena

Category: Faith

  • Endless Summers

    It’s been a minute. Half a year nearly. My plan coming into 2026 was to write more – and I have to an extent. Just not here. My journal is full. I’ve also unexpectedly written job applications and cover letters aplenty. But this space has surely been neglected.

    I think like many people who started blogging around the early aughts, the point was simply to share what was on the mind – whether it be about politics, faith or just what happened during the day. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it. I remember an embarrassing amount of two paragraph posts about nothing at all in the early days of Pax Plena. I also posted way more than I should have about politics (a quaint bygone era compared to the rough and tumble dissension we seem to have in the public conversation today). I even managed to continue posting through law school, my doctoral work and the early days of my academic career.

    Then things just gradually went off the rails. I started to self-censor. I was careful to the point of being paranoid about sharing thoughts or content related to my field. I felt the need to keep up a certain facade regarding my personal life. Eventually, all of the things that make a person interesting were out of bounds at least in terms of sharing and my own writing.

    Today, that notion of blogging is almost completely gone. There are TONS of platforms for sharing content. Pictures. Music. Videos. Memes. Things that are silly. Things that are sad. Sites for personal interests abound – fishing, gaming. watches, fountain pens, sports are a few personal favorites. There are also multiple sites for accessing content. It really doesn’t matter – if there is an interest in the content, whatever the stripe, it can be found in abundance.

    Which makes my whole exercise here at Pax Plena ripe for a revisit.

    Now that I lack institutional affiliation, I find myself wondering about the kind of content that I’d like to share. I wonder what folks would find interesting. I don’t feel the same shackles constraining me any longer. It’s almost like I can write about and say whatever I want again. It’s exciting but also strange. I suppose liberty can be that way.

    Most of my friends and colleagues don’t have this luxury. I know that some former colleagues do not write freely because professional obligations require them to self-censor. The first amendment may be alive and well as we approach America’s 250th Anniversary. But both the public and private sectors have a way of stifling speech that is far more nefarious than a lot of us think about. In the public sector, otherwise interesting writers are constrained to share or “publish” only the content that their bosses approve. If you are a federal worker, the authority of the President to fire simply doesn’t cut in your favor. In the private sector, thanks to the bastardization of at will employment, may workers find their speech rights limited by company policy, lest they find themselves axed for expressing an opinion that isn’t company friendly. It’s enough to make one wonder if the first amendment right to free speech is worth it. And for many it’s easier to self-censor rather than take the risk. Democracy truly does seem to die by a thousand cuts.

    So, I think it’s fair to say that I need to pause a bit and think more about what kind of content I’d like to share now that I have the luxury of freedom. I also need to think about what my stamina and pace of life will find manageable. I think I’m up for regular posts. A weekly essay would be interesting and doable – though it’s admittedly not very frequent. But I also don’t want to write just to write. So, I wonder what kind of value I can add to any reader’s life by my scribblings. The old adage is to write about what you know. These days, parenting and fatherhood, faith, doubt, job transitions, and relationships are all at the forefront of my mind. Maybe it’s just the general ennui of one’s mid-40s that keeps my focus so narrow. But it’s also good manners to stay in one’s lane so to speak. Lot’s to think about.

    For now, it’s Fourth of July Eve here in the USA. My nephew’s birthday will kickoff soon. He turns 12 this year. Hard to imagine really. It’s a funny thing with these kiddos: the time seems to pass so quickly.

    I can recall being 13 and the summers seemed endless. Back then I could while away an afternoon inside my grandparents’ house, parked in front of the AC reading the latest volume I’d slipped from the Library in town. Grandma would fix us lunch. There was the hope of fishing in the late afternoon still to come. The future then seemed so bright and exciting. There were no worries. No debts to pay. No utilities to cover or careers to maintain. No people to please. I had an unshakable, blind faith and confidence in the world and the people around me. I knew that they would take care of me and that all would be well.

    It never entered into my mind (not with any sort of fulsome reckoning), that one day, the people I love and trusted, the real grown ups in my life, would no longer be around.

    Seven years ago on July 4th, 2019, we all popped fireworks out at my Grandpa’s house. We did the same on July 6th at a relative’s place. I had no idea that less than a month later my Grandpa would be gone; that seven years later, Grandpa, the dogs in the picture, and even my relative’s partner – and a whole host of others – would all be gone. Such things do not really cross the mind of a grown man, not really. Let alone the mind of a child.

    This year, the Nation is 250 years old. I’m 43. My son is 13. And it feels like the entire world has changed.

    Summers, now, seem so quick. The future seems dark – like the best of days are all behind us. I find that I trust people less. And it’s a sad, thing to trust others less, particularly when I know how garbage of a person I am.

    On this 250th Anniversary of America, I feel most for the kiddos. It’s like the current generation of kids got all of the fake adults. I think that most of us Millennials really know don’t know how to adult. We all just woke up one day, and all of a sudden we found ourselves here with kids, jobs, relationships, regrets and none of the fun we were having back when we were 13. It’s not true but the whole thing doesn’t seem fair. Some days it doesn’t even seem real. Life is but a dream. It feels like maybe one day we will wake up and none of this will have happened. The world won’t be so chaotic. Mistakes won’t have been made. We won’t have elected a crazy orange dictator to leader our country. And I’ll be young, safe and happy once again.

    Maybe in the distance, my Grandpa will be lighting fireworks while the dogs trot behind him ready to sit back down when the nonsense is over.

  • The Problem of Time

    I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately. For all of my travels and nomadic lifestyle, more often than not, I wonder whether I’ve placed myself in the position of NOT showing up and being present for those I love and care about.

    I live in Oklahoma. My son lives in Indiana. My family lives in Oklahoma. My girlfriend lives in Colorado. And my place of employment is based in Arizona- though much of my erstwhile work was mostly national and international in scope. Suffice it to say, it’s a lot to juggle and I live out of suitcases and backpacks more often than I’d like. A part of me longs for a place to call home.

    Like many of you, I’ve done this for nearly a decade.

    I heard a hymn long ago with a verse that says, “Time is now fleeting the moments are passing. Passing for you and for me.” That’s true. Every moment not spent in one place is spent in another. And once you string together enough moments, time passes by.

    Time these days seems less about travel and more about presence.

    In my life, I’ve often felt that life was such a hurry. A hurry to achieve – whether it be financial, career, or educational success. But I am learning, slowly, that the rush causes one to miss out on the things that are actually worth enjoying. As an old country music song put it, “I rush and rush until life’s no fun…but I’m in a hurry and don’t know why.”

    And I wonder, what would be the harm in slowing down? To savor moments. To enjoy the journey as the Zen among us might suggest. Yet, this seems to be, among many things, one of the things I can’t seem to do. Rushing is second nature. On to the next thing, no matter how much I might try to savor the moment. At any given point, there are a million other moments competing for my attention, and I can’t for the life of me sort out why.

    The reality is that none of my rushing matters. Clarity will come. Resolution will come. Satisfaction will come. Things will sort themselves out one way or another. All I can do is keep moving and wait.

    The problem of time is that it moves so slowly when one would that it were fast. And it moves so quickly when one would that it were slow. If I were to rely upon the caprice of time, the result would be a perpetual state of malcontent – which, the years have taught me, is no way to live.

    In this season of life, I feel that the best way to navigate the past and the road ahead is to slow down. I’ve rushed for so long and ventured so far from my moorings that it’s actually quite useful to take stock and see where my values lie.

    The reality is that we don’t get a “do-over” in the life. It’s only one shot. And we have to make it count.

  • Choosing Joy in 2025

    I’m usually garbage at keeping New Year’s resolutions. I make them. Forget them. Vaguely recall them in early February. Make a half-assed effort to revive them. And by Valentine’s Day or so, I’ve completely given up. “New Year, New Me” lasts roughly six weeks.

    And then I’m stuck with old me. Same habits. Fairly similar routine. A bit disappointed that the holiday season is all over with so long to go until it comes ‘round again. So, rather than go through the whole ordeal of creating a resolution and ditching it from start to finish, I’ve decided to do something this year that might actually be achievable. I’ve decided to adopt one simple philosophy to guide my decision making: this year, I choose joy.

    To put a finer point on it, there are a million decisions each year, each day even. Some of them are real dilemmas. Some of them are just options to avoid responding in anger or disdain. Others are opportunities to avoid annoyance and focus on the positive. Whatever the situation, my goal is to choose the option that will bring joy into my life.

    In point of fact, I think joy is something I’ve long underrated. I slipped into a habit over the years of putting joy on hold. I defer joy until later and hope that it works out. I put off the things that make me feel alive and promise myself that I’ll get around to them at some point. Practicality over passion. I focus on the negative or allow annoyance to creep in, and ignore a response that might actually allow for joy.

    In short, I ignore joy when it’s easy, and that makes it much more difficult to come back around to it when it becomes a choice that’s hard. But life is full of tough choices. So, why not opt for those that add joy to my life, rather than subtracting joy from it?

    I get that it’s a rhetorical question I’m asking myself at this point. Yet, it’s taken years to arrive at this conclusion. So, I count it progress. And what can we hope to achieve in a year if not progress?

    So, welcome 2025. I have zero control over what you will bring. Good or bad. But I can control how I respond to all of the things. And this year, I choose joy.

  • Live a Life Without Fear

    This past week marked the seventh anniversary of my divorce. It’s a topic that I’ve alluded to on these pages before, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever directly addressed it.

    I don’t think the details are very interesting, although they are, admittedly, what most folks fixate on. In some ways I get this. We humans are a curious lot. As a culture, we tend to gravitate towards the details of other peoples lives in a way that almost seems baked into our DNA. Consider the prevalence of reality TV. Our society revels in the details of other peoples lives – from how they date, to the homes they buy, and even to how obese they are. Why we care, I’m not sure. But we damn sure love the details.

    For my life, I think the details of a relationship matter less than one or two critical moments along the way. While it’s true that the little things tend to add up and drive the vicissitudes of life forward, I think that at the end of every relationship there’s a bit of a time wound that leads to the relationship’s end. This wound boils down to a single, decisive moment. A personal rubicon. Where going forward, the relationship is no more. And looking back, it is all that the relationship ever was. A wound in time for the aggrieved, and perhaps a moment of celebration for those making a break. Or some combination of the two.

    For me, this moment is forever etched in my mind. I recall the hurt. It wasn’t my choice. It sent me spiraling into frenzy of depression and drinking (something I’ve only recently addressed). I also recall the loneliness and the fear. It was paralyzing. Would I see my son? Would I be a part of his life? Would he grow up calling my ex’s new husband Dad? (The very thought of this made me wretch.) At my age, would I ever find love again? How would I recover from the financial damage done after seven years of life lived together?

    I have answers to some of these questions now. Some I don’t. I still haven’t found love and I just hit 40, so the odds aren’t necessarily in my favor to borrow from the Hunger Games. But if I could go back and chat with the me of seven years ago, I would sit down and tell him, “Dude. Calm the eff down. It gets better.” Not necessarily right away. But it does.

    As a part of my own reflection, and mindfulness, I have lately opted to read a chapter of the Bible each day. I made it up to the book of Joshua before I gave up on reading the Bible in a year. But I figure I can at least read a chapter of the Bible a day. For some, I know that religion is anachronistic and passé. I’ve never felt that way. I find great comfort in faith but I get that your mileage may vary.

    Anyway, I read Joshua chapter one the other day. There, God reaffirms the promise to guide Moses, and strikes it afresh with Joshua. As Israel stands poised on the banks of the Jordan to enter the “promised land,” God once again states his intent to remain a bulwark to Joshua and Israel.

    Therefore shall not any man be able to stand before thee all the days of thy life: As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.”

    – Joshua 1.5

    God further exhorts Joshua to be strong and have courage. An important bit of advice, seeing as Joshua was essentially taking the helm of leadership over the entire Nation of Israel.

    Be not dismayed: for the Lord they God is with thee withersoever thou goest.

    – Joshua 1.9

    The link I make between the words of God to Joshua and my own experience with my divorce is that the message could easily have been given by God to me – but for the fact that, at the time, I had no truck for hearing anything from God – let alone actually believing the sentiment of the message itself.

    But it was true. What came to pass, ultimately “did not stand.” These many years later, I have not reconciled with my ex-wife. Yet, I live in her house and we co-parent in a way that most people do not understand. All of this is borne out of necessity. Our son has ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) and requires intense guidance and direction. From the time he gets up, to the time he gets on the bus for school, to the time he gets home, and throughout the evening, our lives are all about a routine that revolves around him. Given his disability, this is what he needs. We will never be a couple again. There’s no desire for this on either of our parts. But in the love we both have for our son, there is no daylight between us.

    So, despite the spirals and darkness that followed my marriage’s end, I find that God was steadfast. I felt his presence even when I chose to ignore it. The Lord was with me throughout.

    He was there as I sat on the bridge in Laramie, WY drinking whiskey. He knew my thoughts as I considered ending my life with a quick leap to the train tracks below me. He guided me to a new job in another state. He led me here to Indiana, in the midst of the pandemic, to care for my son. He allowed my work position to become permanently remote. And he facilitated this entire transition.

    So, the end result is that what God promised to Joshua (and Moses before him), he promises to us today. I was foolish and afraid seven years ago. I was “dismayed.” But God’s grace exceeds my own failings. He is steadfast. I can look back on the past years and see grace made manifest in my life at every turn. I can look ahead, now, and see the opportunity to live a life without fear. After all, there isn’t much more to fear in life that exceeds what I have already endured.

    The thought is a liberating one.

    I’ve already gone through the fire. I’ve traveled to the dark places. I’ve stared down my demons. What was intended for harm, did not stand – all thanks to the steadfastness of God. Like the above rock in the desert, the oceans can fall away. The land can erode around me. The trees and vegetation can wither and die, just like the life I once knew. Yet, my own experience leads me to conclude that in the end, God will remain at my side even if the landscape around me is charred and barren.

    This is all good.

    But it presents an entirely different and exciting question as a result: How would you live your life, if you knew that there was nothing to be afraid of?

    And once you have your answer, go do it. I’m still working on mine.

  • Christmas Music and Mistakes

    One of my favorite things to do during the holidays is to discover new Christmas music. Each year, I build a massive Christmas playlist that I begin listening to on approximately Nov. 1st at roughly 12am, give or take. This year’s playlist topped out at 519 songs with a total play time of 28 hours and 5 minutes.

    Despite the library of Christmas music that I have accumulated over the years, I try to add new music each time Christmas rolls around. This year, I happened upon a song that I had never heard before, which is a very odd thing for yours truly.

    Happily, my mind got a bit ahead of my fingers and I mistakenly typed an iteration of Mariah Carey’s perennial hit, “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Rather than typing the song title as it is, I searched instead for “You’re All I Want for Christmas.” Syntax aside (I do believe the latter reads better), I came across Bing Crosby’s 1949 release by the same name.

    It’s hubris in the highest form, but I fancy myself to be a bit of a Bing Crosby connoisseur. There aren’t many songs of his that I haven’t heard, whether they be full of Yuletide cheer, or his pop releases dating back to 1939. I would even say that for any music lover, there’s really an obligation to listen to the greatest singer of all-time. And true to form, I thought that I had heard all of Bing’s music, at least his Christmas pieces, but apparently I was mistaken.

    Bing’s music has always harkened back to better era by my estimation. There’s something about the style, and sound of music from the 40s, 50s, and early 60s, that just indicates a classier era to me. But a review of 1949 from the Washington Post casts some doubt upon this assumption as it pertains to life more broadly:

    During Christmas of 1949, our flights of fancy didn’t run much beyond riding the streetcar, taking a school trip to the local dairy or visiting a government building. Oh, yes, and avoiding the scourge of the day–tuberculosis.

    [Link]

    As complicated as life is today, at least visiting government buildings isn’t the thrill it once was. We’ve also got tuberculosis more or less contained, which is probably more than we can say for COVID. We’ve also made tremendous progress on a number of other fronts that would have been unthinkable back in 1949.

    And that’s all fine.

    But “You’re All I want for Christmas”is fundamentally a love song with a simple story: one lover, missing another at Christmas. It reminds the listener that Christmas is not about the stuff we give or get. Rather, it is the relationships in our lives that bring magic to the Christmas season. That Bing Crosby conveys this message with more meaning, and more emotion than any song Mariah Carey has ever written, only underscores that the best of Christmas traditions stand the test of time.

    I do hope you enjoy the song above. And here’s wishing you and yours a very, merry Christmas.