CMO 109: Redirection

 

What I Do...

Something struck me this morning, a reality that brings me peace in a strange sort of way: I am not important in the grand scheme of things. My sense of self doesn’t need to be propped up with empty compliments or affirmations. I can live with that. Years ago, I dreamed of becoming a well-known motivational speaker, believing that the greatest gift I had was my ability to speak and inspire others. I poured myself into that dream, only to find that every step forward was met with setbacks, disappointments, and closed doors.

"Let's Coffee Break!"

This morning, I realized something that brings me peace: in the grand scheme of things, I'm not that important.

I wasn’t destined to be the next Zig Ziglar, Dr. Padilla, Rev. Carlos, or even Mr. Padilla the teacher. I wasn’t going to be “Honey Love” as a husband, an ‘80s underwear model, a mid-’70s high school tennis champion, a journalist, mystery novelist, actor, playwright, or a proud USC graduate. Not achieving any of these goals made me feel like a failure—a nobody, even less than the “little engine that could.” At my lowest, I internalized hurtful labels that were never true.

But here’s the difference between then and now: I no longer measure my worth by what the world thinks of me. Instead, I remember that in God’s eyes, I am deeply loved and chosen—His creation, made from love and for love. That truth is enough for me, and it’s the only identity that truly matters in the end.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter who reads my blog posts, tunes into my podcasts, browses my website, or reaches out with an email to check in or simply say hello. What matters most is that they understand the depth of love I hold for every person—for those who care for me, for strangers, for those who may see me as an adversary, for anyone who finds my joy off-putting, or who has misjudged my intentions (and for those, I sincerely apologize), and even for those who hurt me in my youth, whether physically, mentally, or otherwise—I truly love you all. My identity isn’t what counts; rather, the choices I make and the actions I take are what define me. It all begins with mercy and love, and I pray that same compassion is offered back to me.

Looking ahead, I plan to use the platforms available to me—podcasting, blogging, and beyond—to share whatever is on my heart. Part of my message will be a call to all of us: let’s strive not only to be good neighbors, but to be exceptional ones. Small gestures like giving a hug or holding the door open are meaningful, but there’s always room to go further—by putting others’ needs before our own and remembering that serving our neighbors, especially our family members whom I like to call our “first neighbors,” is a way of serving God. With that perspective, every day can be filled with purpose and joy, no matter the distractions or challenges we face.

How about a short story?

I have a new series for you titled, "Brother Lawnmower."

"Brother Lawnmower" is a warm, nostalgic collection of short episodes centered around a humble man who gives the best advice right after mowing a lawn, when the world smells like fresh grass and possibility.

This series features the following "cast of characters:

• Brother Lawnmower: A gentle, middle‑aged man with a gift for listening. He mows lawns for half the town, not for money but because it helps him think. His “office” is a back‑porch table with two chairs and a percolator that never seems to empty.
• Father O’Malley: The parish priest at St. Bridget’s. Wise, dry‑humored, and always pretending he doesn’t rely on Brother Lawnmower’s counsel as much as he does.
• Mrs. Delaney: The neighborhood’s unofficial mayor. Knows everyone’s business, often before they do. Brings Brother Lawnmower pies “just because,” though everyone suspects she’s hoping he’ll marry her widowed sister.
• Tommy “Two‑Scoops” Russo: A teenage soda‑jerk at the local drugstore. Looks up to Brother Lawnmower and often brings him the town gossip in exchange for life advice.
• Evelyn Hart: A young schoolteacher new to town. Thoughtful, observant, and quietly fascinated by Brother Lawnmower’s way of seeing the world.
• Sheriff Buckley: Big heart, small patience. Comes to Brother Lawnmower whenever he’s frustrated with townsfolk, which is often.

This series touches on themes where everyday wisdom is found in ordinary moments, where faith is a gentle guide rather than a loud declaration, where community is a place of healing, humor, and belonging, the sacredness of simple routines, and people discovering their path one small step at a time.

Let's begin with Episode 1: Brother Lawnmower and the Young Man’s Question.

The summer of 1957 had settled over St. Bridget’s neighborhood like a warm quilt—soft, bright, and humming with the sound of cicadas. And right in the middle of it, as predictably as the noon whistle from the grain mill, was Brother Lawnmower.

No one remembered when the nickname started. Some said it was because he mowed half the town’s lawns before most folks finished breakfast. Others insisted it was because he did his best talking after mowing a lawn, when the grass still clung to his boots and the world smelled like fresh beginnings. Whatever the reason, the name stuck, and so did the people who came from all over just to sit with him over a cup of coffee.

That particular Saturday, Brother Lawnmower had just finished trimming the rectory yard. He parked his trusty push mower beside the hydrangeas, wiped his brow with a red handkerchief, and made his way to the back porch where a percolator bubbled like a friendly old neighbor.

He had barely poured his first cup when he noticed a young man lingering at the gate—hat in hand, shoulders tight, eyes full of something that looked like both hope and worry.

“Come on up, son,” Brother Lawnmower called, motioning to the empty chair beside him. “Coffee’s fresh, and the breeze is friendly.”

The young man approached slowly, as though each step carried a question he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask. When he finally sat, he cleared his throat.

“Brother Lawnmower… folks say you’re good at helping a man think straight.”

Brother Lawnmower chuckled. “I don’t know about straight, but I do alright after a lawn or two.”

The young man smiled nervously. “Well… I’ve been thinking about applying to the seminary. I feel drawn to it. But I’m scared. What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not meant for it?”

Brother Lawnmower took a slow sip of coffee, letting the steam rise between them like a gentle pause.

“You know,” he said, “when I mow a lawn, I don’t start by worrying whether every blade will fall just right. I just start. One row at a time. And before I know it, the yard’s clean, the air smells sweet, and I can see the shape of things clearer.”

The young man listened, eyes fixed on the old mower resting in the sun.

“Calling works the same way,” Brother Lawnmower continued. “You don’t have to know the whole path. You just have to take the next faithful step. If the seminary is tugging at your heart, maybe that’s your first row to mow.”

The young man exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “So… you think I should apply?”

“I think,” Brother Lawnmower said, leaning back with a soft grin, “that God does some of His best talking when we’re brave enough to move. Apply. See where the path leads. If it’s right, you’ll know. And if it’s not, you’ll know that too. But either way, you won’t be standing at the gate wondering.”

The young man nodded, a quiet peace settling over him.

“Thank you, Brother Lawnmower.”

“Anytime,” he replied. “Now finish that coffee. And if you ever need to talk again, you know where to find me—right behind that mower.”

And as the young man walked away, Brother Lawnmower smiled to himself. Another lawn mowed. Another soul steadied. Another small corner of the world made just a little clearer.

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Until next time. God Bless!