Clearing

I left the house at 9:41 p.m. and before making it to the end of the street, I encountered the fog.

The cliche is "thick as pea soup."

I'd argue this ground cloud was on par with clam chowder. 

Even after leaving the neighborhood, there were dense patches on the winding, hilly road. 

A little more than an hour later, I was driving back. 

The fog was gone. In fact, the sky had become so clear, I could see my old pal, Orion. Jupiter (I think) was glowing brightly, too.

And I could see farther down the winding, hilly road. 

It struck me: What a difference an hour makes.

Dots

I was in need of comfort and guidance. Google gave me this.

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."

— Steve Jobs

Rainbow

We arrived at St. Peter's Cathedral in downtown Scranton at 4:30 for the 5 p.m. Mass.

My wife and I had just spent the day assessing the damage to our house caused by a flood. It's the second flood in seven months we've had in this house that's about three hours north and has been for sale for almost a year. 

I prayed for guidance. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed for help. 

The first reading was from Genesis, about what happened immediately after the flood waters receded in the story of Noah.

The priest started his homily with, "We are all familiar with the destructive power of water," then proceded to tell a story of two of his friends whose West Pittston home was inundated in one of the most recent hurricanes to hit NEPA.

A key line: The wife was crying over a water-soaked wedding photo, and the husband said: "Don't cry for anything that can't cry for you."

Another key line: The priest, in relating back to the story of Noah, stated that God made a covenant with humanity, saying he would never again destroy the earth by flood. 

I damn-near cried.

This is certainly not the first time I've had strange coincidences happen to me that seemingly offered guidance, wisdom and, ultimately, help.

When light hits water the right way, the result is a rainbow. 

Artsy flood shot of my garage shortly after we arrived.

No coincidences

Throughout my life, there have been times I've felt like I was being called to do something.

Little omens would pop up. Something that seemed totally random and out of place would show up before me, hinting which direction I should take. 

I've almost always listened to these signs. And, almost always, things have worked out. 

The problem: Sometimes, you get things you think probably are omens, but you're not sure toward what you're being directed. 

Fight on

Depression is a hard thing to battle. 

The only way out, though, seems to be through. 

If you're battling, too, know you're not alone.

An allegory

There's this house.

It's a beautiful, old house. But, it's not been perfectly maintained over it's many decades. The paint is pealing on the shutters. The brick front steps need cement.

Overall, it's a solid house, if not a little ragged looking on the outside.

I can see through the big front window. Inside, there's a large group of people, and they're mingling and talking with each other. 

Some are doing things: Cooking and baking and crafting and sewing. A few have glasses of beer or wine or whiskey.

All of their tasks seem to be slowly turning the ragged feel of the house into one of warmth.

While they seem happy, the people inside also seem stressed. You can see the worry lines on a few of their faces.

However, the front door is open, and while a few people glance at that door, no one walks toward it. It might be tough sometimes, but it seems like everyone inside the old house is working together.

And I'm outside, looking in, describing what's happening, but feeling like I'm not doing a very good job of it.

I want to be inside, doing work, being part of making the house warm.

But like it's been for almost all of my life, my place is outside. Looking in.

And so I keep looking.

Daily prayer

I don't recall what grade I was in, or what teacher it was, but we would start class every day with this prayer:

In formal circles, it's known as the Serenity Prayer.

Whatever teacher that was also told us, grade schoolers at St. Ursula's in Parkville, Md., that this was also known as the Alcoholics Anonymous prayer.

Despite the odd pedigree attached to it, I remember thinking as a grade schooler that it was a very comforting mantra.

I saw the prayer the other day, written onto a Pewtarex plate, while waiting to do an interview. I took the above photo.

I felt like I had to take the photo. It's like I was being reminded of the things I've been taught in my sundry religion classes over my lifetime, be they in the classroom or in the pew or somewhere else.

I'm not going to get into the arguments over what religious tradition is correct. I'm not even going to get into an argument over the existence of God. I'm going to focus on this:

Sometimes, life gives you challenges. You've got to know that some of those challenges you can master. Some you can't. And you have to figure out what category your particular challenge falls into, often on the fly.

This is the essence of our human existence. And we share it with each other.

Be serene, and we'll make it.