Onions: My Barrier to Holiness

Lent is intended to be a season of penance, of self-reflection, of growth, of personal introspection, and ultimately, we should be working to “die to self”.  I’m terrible at it.  Here’s a lame story.  Let’s call it the “onion-idiot story.”  I’m the onion-idiot.

Last Friday was the 1st Friday of Lent 2018, and my beautiful wife, Catherine, (who is a phenomenal chef!) made a meatless cheese and broccoli soup.  (It was even Keto-friendly, which we are currently utilizing as our fueling system.  Perhaps more on eating Keto in the future?)  The soup was VERY tasty.  The ingredients were fresh.  The flavor was amazing.  It probably wasn’t much of a Lenten sacrifice, other than the fact that it didn’t have bacon in it!  There was only one problem: onions.

I HATE ONIONS.

It’s not the taste.  It’s not the texture.  It isn’t even that they make you cry.  It’s the smell.  They stink.  Terribly.  Whenever I smell an onion, it is as if it embeds its stink in my nasal cavity, and won’t evacuate the premises for days on end.  It’s stench digs deep into my skin’s pores, and it won’t leave.  I hate onions.  [I apologize if you like onions… this has nothing to do with you, it’s my issue.]  And I’m assuming you’re seeing where this is going.

Catherine knows this about me, and hasn’t cooked onions (one of her favorite ingredients!) in our home for years – all because she knows, very explicitly, how I feel.  I’m very grateful.  And how do I show her how grateful I am?  I complain.  I make it known just how bad it smells in the house.  I put every sort of smell-good mechanism that we own directly in the ‘on’ position.  I turned on the vanilla-scented burners, sprayed the air freshener, and even opened up windows and doors on a cold February day.  The smell was still in the… well… everything. Yuck.

Saturday rolled around and Catherine wanted to eat leftovers.  She considered – again, because of how much she loves me – taking the soup leftovers over to her parent’s house to warm and eat it there, just so the onion smell wouldn’t be present in our home again.  I still complained.  I still made childish comments.  Then, in my only moment of reasonable interaction surrounding these onions, I got the leftovers out, pulled out the bowl, and warmed up the soup for her.

I had already failed miserably in terms of “dying to self”.  What a stupid thing, too.  Onions.  Onions are my barrier to holiness.  I need to learn to keep my mouth shut, bear difficulties with humility, and realize that onions (read that “my own preferences/wants/desires/me-me-me”) are keeping me from true holiness.  If we were to apply this to anything else, especially something that matters, we’d hopefully see that when we die to self, we love others.  When we love others, we fulfill who we are as men.  The culture is extremely interested in destroying the idea that men can love.  That love, which they reduce to a mere emotion, is feminine.  Love, in actuality, is so much more and is required for authentic masculinity.

There are countless exercises that we can all work on to die to self.  And some might think that because I’ve been in this thing we call the Christian journey for so long that I’d have this down, but I don’t.  Can you believe how ridiculous I am?! 

In order to get better at something, we need to practice it and rely on God’s grace! So, here’s what I’m going to do today to die to myself: first off, I’m going to go home and tell my wife that I love her, give her a big, meaningful hug and kiss, and ask her about her.  Nothing to do with me.  Next, I’m going to find 5 little ways (one per my wife and 4 children) to choose someone else’s preference and never make mention of it.  And, I’m going to try to sustain that every day… slowly working to lose my own preferences (ultimately, the goal is to become selfless in all things, and not selfish, ie: prideful) and offering up in prayer my ‘suffering’ for their sanctification.  If you struggle with dying to self, try it with me.

TrueMan up!

Re-Post: The Miracle Baby (7 Years Later)

***This is a re-post, originally from February 9, 2011.***

With great pride, and extreme joy, I write this post about my first son, David Walter DiNuzzo Jr.  I pray that the story of his journey from womb to world is inspiring, faith-sharpening and encouraging for all those read it.

The starting point of this story is ambiguous to me, because I believe that to successfully trace the steps back far enough we have to go way back into my past.  I don’t want to prolong the story here, so I’ll skip those past details for now and move right into this most blessed and miraculous story.

On the last Sunday in January 2011, my wife Catherine, now thirty-nine weeks and one day pregnant (why do they jip women out of the 10th month?  40 weeks, which is full term, is 10 months!) noticed some significant bleeding.  Concerned for what this might mean, we went into the hospital’s triage area.  This was visit #4 to triage for this pregnancy.  Nothing came of this visit because the baby sounded great on the monitor and it appeared that the bleeding had subsided.  Later the same day, Catherine noticed that the bleeding had begun again.  Again, we made our way into triage and this time, received an ultrasound.  Trip #5.  The ultrasound hoped to determine, and possibly pinpoint, the source of the blood.  The ultrasound was unsuccessful.  We returned home, exhausted and concerned.  Catherine had an incredibly rough night of sleep, thanks to the severe contractions she was experiencing.  On Monday, she woke up to much more bleeding and a heightened amount of contractions.  Throughout all of this, Catherine remained calm and purposeful, desiring to give our baby the best start possible.  I love her for that, amidst a million other reasons.

After speaking with our CNM (Certified Nurse Midwife), we decided to head to the office for a check.  There, again, nothing could be determined, especially the cause of the bleeding.  Because of the ambiguity, it was decided that labor needed to be induced.  Although we are all-for natural, drug-free labors and births, we knew we had to secede here and do what was best for our boy.  We headed to the hospital.  Once we arrived and got settled (yeah, right), the drugs were administered and shortly thereafter, Catherine began to labor and WOW! she was doing incredible.  She was being a champ, doing better than I had ever seen her do previously.  After some time in labor, Catherine sensed that something was wrong.  She felt something coming, but knew it wasn’t the baby.  I suggested that our CNM check her.  While performing the check, our CNM Sharon (an incredible woman) noticed the problem – a prolapsed umbilical cord.  This means that the cord was going to be birthed first, which would have caused immediate rupture of the cord, as the head would have put immense pressure on the cord as it pressed against the cervix.  Next would have been loss of blood flow and oxygen, which would have been certain death for our son, not to mention potential death for my wife from blood loss through internal bleeding.

Thanks to quick thinking, solid understanding of the situation, as well as some divine intervention, Sharon actually kept Dave Jr.’s head from pressing on the cord anymore than it already had been.  As she kept pressure on his head, away from the birth canal, she hopped up on the gurney and rode all the way into the operating room and remained in that position until the crash c-section was performed and Dave Jr. was out.  (From the time Sharon checked Catherine until the time Dave Jr. was out was a total of only four and a half minutes.  Incredible.)  At this point, I was unable to be in the operating room.  This was quite difficult and a very telling time for me.  (I’ll explain that more below.)

Fast forward… Sharon came out and told me that Catherine was doing fine.  She was still under, because of the general anesthesia, and would be under and then quite groggy for a decent amount of time.  Then she broke the news to me about Dave Jr.  He wasn’t breathing and had a heart beat of around 40 beats per minute.  He was still in the operating room, and I was anxiously waiting to see him wheeled out.  He had to be resuscitated with CPR and intubated.  He was given a shot of epinephrine to the heart, and was shocked twice with the paddles.  He was without oxygen for approx 4-6 minutes.  A respiratory nurse was “bagging” him, and they finally wheeled him out and headed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU).  About a minute later, I was allowed into the NICU.  I witnessed as a team of nurses and doctors performed various procedures on him, including placing IV feeding tubes into his belly button (through the remaining umbilical cord stump) and placing him on a ventilator.

Initial discussions of Dave Jr.’s time in the NICU were anywhere from one to two weeks or even more.  It was amazing that Dave Jr. made it, many babies don’t, let alone what happened next.  Almost immediately, Dave Jr.’s body color turned to a perfect pinkish tone.  He began to kick and punch.  His heart rate was regulating itself.  His breathing was getting much better and he was extubated.  (I actually witnessed him reach up with his fingers and pull the nasal tube out himself!)  He was only on the ventilator about an hour and a half.  His vital signs were great, his organ function was all normal and he was regulating his own temperature.  Then, he began to eat normally and perform normal bowel functions.  Everything was coming into place.  What he was showing is, what I believe, his will and determination that will take him very far in life.  It matters not that he was without oxygen.  It matters not that he was close to death.  What matters is that he is here with us now and that God has great things in store for him.  I truly believe that he will have an incredibly abundant life and that his witness to the precious nature of life will speak volumes to those he comes in contact with.

My time in waiting, as I mentioned above, was very telling for me.  It showed me a bit of who I am and what I’m made of.  The situation was chaotic and troubling.  I was unable to help, unable to assist the doctor, the nurses, my wife or son.  As I waited, alone, for what seemed like hours, I could hear nurses and doctors, but never heard a baby crying.  I knew it wasn’t a good situation.  I had to decide what I was going to do.  I could have denied what was happening, believing some other sort of (un)reality.  I could have panicked.  I could have thought the worst was going to happen.  I could have been overly emotional.  I could have placed blame.  I could have gotten angry.  (I could have gotten angry and placed blame on God.)  I could have struggled with my faith.  I didn’t do any of that.  I chose something different.  I chose to pray.  I chose to surrender.  I chose to relinquish any and all control that I thought I may have had at some point or another.  I chose to trust.  I placed all that I needed, all that I cared about, all that I hoped for, all that I worried about at the foot of the cross.  I gave it to Him.  I asked Him to give me strength.  I trusted and my faith prevailed.

I figured that if I wavered, or if I lost trust in God, my Creator, that the last many years of my life would be for not.  That everything I’ve said, prayed, preached, wrote, spoke or posted would be a contradiction to what I actually believe.  I would have to quit my ministry job and move on to something else.  I would not be the TrueMan I hope and strive to be.

Instead, I remained strong.  I’m proud to say that!  I didn’t waver.  I didn’t lose trust.  I held on to everything that I have learned, prayed about, desired and knew that was in me.  So when Sharon came out to tell me what was going on, before I knew that Catherine and Dave Jr. were okay, I could honestly look at her and tell her that I was okay.  She was very concerned for me, assuming that I would really be struggling.  I wasn’t, I let my faith in God’s plan comfort me.  I put my emotions in check and responded reasonably and rationally.  Although we haven’t spoken about it much lately, virtue is the key… it is what got me through.  I don’t profess to have any of the cardinal virtues, but I believe that I have the virtue of faith.  I feel blessed to have that virtue and even more blessed that my wife and son are alive and well.

Here’s to my little TrueMan – TrueMan up!

***UPDATE: This re-post is being written in February 2018… 7 years after Dave Jr. was born.  He defied all the odds, and is an incredible young man.  He functions at an incredibly high level, excels at school, is a multi-sport all-star athlete, and a very kind and generous little soul.  He is a gentleman, and professes to want to be a priest when he grows up!

“Tuesdays with Daddy” are BACK!

In the early days of TrueManhood, going back to the earliest version of these posts in November of 2009, I began writing posts entitled “Tuesdays with Daddy”.  At the time, because I worked lots of nights and weekends, I was able to work my schedule so that I could stay home on Tuesdays, which afforded me special time with my children.  Back in 2009, my wife and I had our first two children; our young daughters… only 2 and 1 years old.  At that point, parenting – especially the aspect of being a great father – was foremost on my mind.  I was trying to figure out just how to parent and wanted to give my kids everything they could ever need, especially a spiritual foundation that was strong in our Lord Jesus Christ and His Church.  I wanted to be a super dad.  Now, nearly a decade later, I still want to give them everything, and I work hard to be a super dad, but it looks a bit different.

Experience. Wisdom.  Suspense.  Heartache. Frustration.  Exhaustion.  Trial and error; okay, maybe more error than anything. Lots of words can be used to describe parenting.  However we slice it, life comes at us hard and fast, and kids develop quickly, and as parents, we have to stay on top of our game.  These days, my four children are in such a cool place.  They are incredibly active (involved in great academic endeavors, playing numerous team sports, training in mixed martial arts, studying piano and voice, becoming young chefs, and open to all kinds of activities and experiences!), not to mention that they are all at the ages where we can begin to have deep conversations that are meaningful, formative, and long-lasting.  Their spiritual formation is “on point”, as the cool kids say, and they can reasonably make their way through questions of faith, apologetics, and morals.  They’re pretty young for those types of deep convos, but I embrace it and can’t wait to share more with you!  My wife tends to meet with counseling clients on Tuesday afternoons and evenings, and that means that I find myself back with some special time with them on Tuesdays!  Hence, “Tuesdays with Daddy” are back.  I likely won’t be posting every Tuesday, but when good content pops up, you’ll be the first to read about it.

This first-post-back, I don’t have a radical story from Tuesday.  Rather than take you through the daily grind, I want to share a few experiences that occurred recently and how we worked through them.  First off, my son turned 7 a few days ago, and he received Heely’s from Grandma in the mail.  (Heely’s are shoes with wheels in the soul, like one-wheel roller skate shoes.)  He wanted to take the little wheel-removal-tool and be able to swap the wheels in and out.  I “ixnayed” that quickly because I know that once those wheels come out, either 1. They’ll be lost or 2. They’ll never go back in quite right, rendering the shoe worthless.  But, he’s 7 and likes to push the limits, so… he asked me about three times if he could have the tool.  He then asked my wife where the tool was, “just in case I ever need it”, he said, and then after dinner, I spotted him looking for the tool again.  I called him over, and firmly gave him my clear expectations.  After I laid out numerous reasons why he would forfeit his shoes to me if he took the wheels out, I had him repeat back to me what I just told him.  He heard me, repeated it back verbatim, and I highly doubt that he’ll ever try to take the wheels out.  So, it’s not really about the shoes or the wheels.  It’s not about his age.  It’s not about letting him make mistakes on his own terms  For me, it was about him knowing that I set a clear expectation for him and that there would be a clear consequence should he break the rule.  

Over the decade-plus of my being a dad, I’ve realized that there are plenty of times to take a stand, and plenty of times to let things slide.  The hardest part is knowing the difference.  This brings me to another great parenting point… and I certainly didn’t coin it, but absolutely believe in this principle wholeheartedly… “rules without relationship will end in rebellion.”  If a child only receives rules and punishment when he breaks them, but doesn’t understand the reasoning behind the rules, or the reasoning behind it doesn’t come from a place of love, then they will inevitably rebel.  David Jr. knows from the relationship that we have, that “Daddy is hard on you but you can absolutely live up to the expectation because you are good, you are loved, and you are so stinkin’ awesome!”

Another event that happened on Tuesday was the simple opportunity to cuddle with my 5 year old.  Her name is Maria and she is the “baby of the family.”  She is so incredible, and all she wants is to cuddle into Daddy’s arms and talk, or watch a home improvement show, or just “be”.  To the dads out there who are reading this, are you giving your kids enough physical touch?  They are in serious developmental stages and physical touch is proven to improve their self-confidence, their ability to thrive academically, and their emotional well-being.  Evaluate yourself hard on this and step your game up, especially for that one troublesome child you have, that is hardest to love.  They are the one who needs it the most.

As “Tuesdays with Daddy” pick back up, I hope to bring some practical aspects of parenting to the table, and share our crazy-ish life, hopefully to help others, and perhaps just to make you crack a smile.

TrueMan up!