Vocare

Vocare (to call) -> Vocation is fundamentally a call from God. It is, in essence, a lifelong mission that you are given that you never truly retire from. It fundamentally affects who you are rather than what you do. Essential to this understanding is that God equips those whom he calls. When lived out, a vocation encompasses an irrevocable gift of self. It is giving your life to this calling.

The current understanding of a vocation as a line of work is a flawed idea that your identity and dignity are rooted in what you do. (This is one of the great mistakes of modern feminism.) With it comes the devaluation of those who cannot perform, whether physically (including sexually), mentally, etc. It stems from a utilitarian understanding of the human person. If he cannot contribute to society, if he cannot support himself and/or others, then that person is useless. If you really stop and think about that, it’s a really horrific and self-centered understanding of life.

Instead, a profession should flow naturally from the identity and vocation of the person, rather than vice versa as above. Ultimately, vocation is a calling to which a man gives himself. For husbands and fathers, the income from this profession becomes part of his “gift of self” to his spouse and to his children. Sometimes that unfortunately means that a man must take employment where it is available to keep himself and his family off the street. For those in the religious life, it often means a rigorous life of prayer and preaching or service to fellow man.

It is only the single person, committed to such, that can really begin to call a profession also a vocation. An example might be a researcher who dedicates his whole life to finding a cure for a disease, or a philosopher who eschews conventional life to dedicate it all to the pursuit of wisdom.

Something Lost, Something Gained

When you lose something dear to you, it makes an impact on your life. This past week, my wedding ring went missing. It encircled my finger, and my finger feels naked without it. Its loss brought into sharp relief what it symbolized. My loving wife is still here, and we are still very much in love. I miss that constant reminder of our love.

However, that loss sparked a gain. My parents happened to be flying in this weekend. My father and I rented a metal detector, in futile hope of finding the ring. However, in that working together, we gained something that we had lost. On Saturday, after our scan of the yard turned sour, we wound up building a pregnant snow-woman together. On Sunday, we returned and renewed our efforts, bolstered by the warm weather. Our search still fruitless, we wound up in a snowball fight. It's the most fun I've had with my father in a long time.

I am truly thankful and blessed for this weekend.

It. Is. Alive!

Victim:
1998 Volkswagen Jetta Mk III
2.0L 8v ABA Engine - Stock 115HP

Because the Jetta had come in an unknown state and 150k on the odometer, some mechanical refreshing was in order. My first order of business when I got the car was taking care of the brakes. When simply changing the brake pads did not help, I entrusted it to a garage for speed and peace of mind.

The new subject of inquiry was the ignition system. Nothing had likely been changed for over fifty thousand miles, and it was quite probably on the same spark plugs from 1998. I picked up spark plugs, plug wires, a distributor cap and rotor. An adventure was about to ensue.

The VW 2.0 engine has a rather unusual trait: its intake and manifold snake out the front of the engine, over the top, and around the left side of the engine bay. In the process, it makes getting to the spark plugs and wires an interesting and somewhat difficult affair. Also, the distributor cap has little spacing between it and the engine block. It seems like a really cramped design for a relatively roomy engine bay.

I had to acquire two new tools just to get going: a spark plug puller and a wobble ratchet-shaft. The first thing I found was that the valleys that the spark plugs were stuffed into did not give enough room for the spark plug tool to fit around the wire boot. After shaving down the rubber grips, I was able to pull out the plug wire and get at the first spark plug. (Yay! 1.5 hours down!) The replacement spark plug went in fairly easily.

According to the Chilton's manual, I should not need to remove the intake manifold to get at the middle plugs. Don't buy that line for a second. At the very least, it has to be loosened to allow for maneuvering room. However, some creative maneuvering got the other three plugs replaced and the wires removed from the rat's nest that is in under the intake manifold. (Yay! 2.5 hours down!)

My one bit of excellent forethought was in keeping the plug wires attached to the distributor cap. I popped off the clips and pulled off the old cap. I replaced the rotor, no sweat. I thought to myself, "I'm pretty much home free!", but I was about to learn that I was mistaken. I was flat out WRONG!

I put the new distributor cap on, sans clips, and it jiggled around a bit. After fumbling with it to make sure it was aligned properly, I was ready to clip it back on. I pulled on the clip, but it was about 2 mm from cresting the ridge on the cap. I pushed on it. I pulled out pliers. I pulled out more tools. I tried bending the clips. After about an hour, I gave up for the night.

Sunday, I came back with renewed vigor. More pushing. More prying. I tried bending the clips again. No luck. I tried the old cap, but its ridge was in the same position. No luck. More Pushing. More prying. No luck. After a couple hours of wrestling with it, I gave in for the night. After all, the Super Bowl was coming on.

Monday evening, after posting pictures of my problem, I got a little piece of advice. Use a flathead screwdriver or two, and hook it under the clip, and put the tip on the ridge. Use the leverage to guide the clips onto the ledge. After 15 minutes, the distributor cap was in place! Hoorah! I spent some time getting the new plug wires in and got everything buttoned down.

After a prayer, I turned the key. And it fired right up. AMEN!

Wise Men: Portraits of Manliness?

Well, if you think about it, yes.

Here are three men, astrologers, who are probably used to quite a bit of luxury. They have plenty of money. They're respected in their communities. Going on a long journey is not the first thing that they'd undertake for the most part.

However, they see the most interesting celestial event of their lives. A new star is rising. A new king. It had been ages since such an event had occurred. Did they send servants? Emissaries? No. These men were so moved by the star that they themselves followed it.

They left their life of luxury and honor to travel the wilderness, following a star to Israel. The star did not lead them to Jerusalem. No, it didn't lead them to a major city, but a small village, Bethlehem. It did not lead them to the grand hotel, but a stable. Could the new king really be staying in a stable? Still, they followed.

They found a peasant couple with a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. He was lying in a manger. He was lying in a feeding trough. Still, they believed. These three wise men, arrayed in fine clothes, offered presents of gold, frankincense and myrrh to this small peasant child.

They believed.

Head of the Household

"Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her"
~ Ephesians 5:25

I'm the head of my household. I have to lay down my life for my wife. When I have children, I'll have to lay down my life for them as well. In the past eight months, I've been learning to do that. It hasn't been easy, but my life has a new purpose and meaning that it did not have before. It is my vocation. It is my calling.

Before I met my lovely wife, I had lots of freedom. Boredom, too. I had money; I had lots of time to spend as I wished. I could pretty much go where I wanted or do what I wanted, so long as I showed up 9 to 5 for work. I was miserable. I spent many an hour simply feeling aimless and passionless. I didn't have anyone to live for.

Now, I have a wife, a house and a dog. There are honey-dos, a wife to love and comfort, and a dog to entertain and feed. There are schedules to coordinate, charts to follow, payments to make and precious little free time. But, I have purpose. I'm much happier than I was when I had "freedom."

Live for God. Live your vocation. Live.

Beard Season

As we enter into the liturgical season of Advent, we also enter into that glorious season of manliness: beard season. As the winter draws near and temperatures go down, men do not go running first for scarves. We can follow that great ancestral tradition by allowing our facial hair to grow into its natural glory.

The beard season celebrates the manliness of the life of Jesus. It begins with the season of Advent and ends with the beginning of Easter. By following the beard season, "a beard is born with Jesus and dies with Jesus." Its initial growth during Advent symbolizes the manliness of the God-Man even as he gestates within the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The sorrowful shaving of the beard symbolizes Jesus' death on the Cross. However, the man's radical new appearance shows the new life of Jesus' Resurrection. Thus, it is appropriately and intimately linked to the liturgical calendar.

Rules for Beard Season:

1. Beard Season begins with Advent and ends with Easter.
2. During beard season, the beard may be groomed, but never completely shaved off. At a minimum, the chin must be covered by beard. Full beards are encouraged.
   
3. During non-beard season, stubble can and will grow, but it shall be regularly shaved to prevent it being called beard. Mustaches may be grown during November as part of "Movember."
4. Beard season may not be torn asunder by the wiles of womenfolk, who may desire men to be less manly by shaving.