Author: Denis Wilhelm

Hope

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Tragic. Horrific. Unimaginable.

These are just a few of the headline words used to express the shock and dismay of the merciless attack at Sandy Hook Elementary School on Friday morning. Children massacred – it’s still almost too painful to contemplate but I try to understand; to make some sense of it. But I cannot comprehend the hate so virulent in one individual that he would commit the most despicable crime against the most innocent of victims.

As a citizen I am outraged. As a parent and grandparent I am shaken. As a child of God I am broken-hearted.

HandsThere’s a part of me that wants to “put it away”; to not talk about it; not think about it. I would like to tell myself that it happened far away and was random and can NEVER touch me or my precious grandchildren. But as I write this, the tears stream down my face thinking of those grandfathers in Connecticut that won’t get to hold their grandsons and granddaughters on their laps again; who won’t hear giggles and see sweet smiles. Who will never again get another tight squeeze around the neck or a precious kiss on a craggy old face.

Today at Mass our priest asked us to lift up those families in prayer. He implored us to be THE PEACE that we can be in our own families; in our own communities.

I can’t undo the hideous attack that was perpetrated on those children in Connecticut but I can be an agent of peace. I can deplore violence. And I can defuse anger and hatred in my own life. I can try to love as Jesus taught us.

Won’t you join me? Let’s mend broken relationships. Let’s try to ease the pain of others. Let’s stop buying music, movies and video games that glamorize violence. Let’s ask our members of Congress to actively work on real gun control legislation. Let’s stop reacting to violence with more violence.

There is hope amidst the horror. And as we enter into the fourth week of Advent in preparation of the Christ Child, let’s truly create some peace on earth.

Peace,

Denis

The peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:7

Prepare the Way

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Advent 2012 -4A voice of one crying out in the desert: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths. Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low. The winding roads shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”     Luke 3:4-6

Luke’s Gospel is actually recalling the words of the Prophet Isaiah. My personal rule is that any time the New Testament quotes the Old Testament we should probably pay attention because apparently it is something that bears repeating.

During Advent we are called to ‘Prepare the Way’. But what does that mean? This reading always leaves me with images of giant earth-movers, backhoes and dump trucks frantically lowering hillsides and filling in ditches and chasms. But is that what Isaiah had in mind? I don’t think so. I believe that Isaiah was speaking metaphorically. I suspect that some of us are the valleys that need to be filled and others of us are the mountains that need to be toppled. And often, I suppose, we’re a bit of both.

I know that my own arrogance, pride and boastfulness need to be ‘made low’. My heart and spirit could use some ‘filling up’ right now. And of course there is plenty that needs to be ‘straightened out’ and ‘made smooth’.

So this Advent season when I hear those ancient words of Isaiah I am reminded that God is not asking me to fix the world. He is not expecting me to make others walk the straight and narrow. He is speaking only to me about me. He is asking me to prepare myself to receive his Son. To let go of my pride and my sinfulness and to be more loving and giving. God is inviting me once again to be filled with his Spirit. And to prepare myself to revel in the birth of our Savior.

Peace,

Denis

O Come Emmanuel

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Today is the first Sunday of Advent; the beginning of our preparation for the Christ-Child. And as we do most years, we sang ‘O Come, O Come Emmanuel’ at Mass this morning. That beautiful and mournful and hopeful hymn that has always been part of my life touched my heart in a new way this year.

O come, O come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel; that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear

Lonely exile. LONELY EXILE. LONELY EXILE! Those two words kept reverberating in my head. And that’s how I felt (how I feel). In lonely exile here. Our Church has been so busy lately defining what it means to be a Catholic Christian that I feel marginalized.

If you vote for this person you CAN’T really be Catholic; if you support women’s ordination you CAN’T really be Catholic; if you love and support gay families you CAN’T really be Catholic; if you don’t walk in lock step with the Bishops then you CAN’T really be Catholic.

And so I’m an exile. I refuse to exclude; to hate; to judge; to deny love to those who may not follow ALL the rules.

I’ve decided to join the other ‘lonely exiles’ in prayer this Advent season. I will pray for (and with) others in my Church who may feel disenfranchised; who feel left out; shut out; and alone. We may be silenced but our silent prayers cannot be stopped. And we are companions on the journey. God alone listens to our hearts and responds.

O come, Desire of nations, bind in one the hearts of all humankind; Bid thou our sad divisions cease, And be thyself our Prince of Peace.

Advent 2012May you find love, joy, comfort, but mostly peace in this Advent season.

Peace,

Denis

Parenthood

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The trend today is to ALWAYS make our children happy (at all times; at any expense). Recently I encountered a young family at Chik-fil-A® (I don’t agree with their politics but they serve a great chicken sandwich and my grandkids love the place!) who were cajoling Junior into eating his nuggets with the promise of ice cream and the indoor playground – so far so good. But when Junior was presented with the ‘free book’ that came with his meal, he threw it at the beleaguered mother and screamed, “I don’t like this one!” The frazzled father promptly promised to stop on the way home and buy him a different book after he had his ice cream and play time. I then promptly gave my grandson a ‘don’t even think about look’ while he was taking all of this in.

Now I’m compelled to share my wisdom as a service to all young parents out there (even though my own children would likely tell you that all their scars are emotional). So here in no particular order are my Rules for Parenting :

  1. Stop trying to be the perfect parent; they only exist in your mother’s imagination.
  2. It’s easier to negotiate with a terrorist than a two-year old.
  3. Don’t try to be your child’s friend (be a parent; it’s more rewarding in the long run).
  4. When doling out punishment, don’t flinch; once they see your weakness they won’t let up (give up, shut up) until you cave in.
  5. When they’re old enough to walk, they’re old enough to pick up their toys.
  6. Stop buying them so much stuff; love is free and it’s worth so much more.
  7. Be silly sometimes; be serious when you must.
  8. Pray (even if you’re just praying for sanity).
  9. Pick your battles; no child ever died because he didn’t clean his plate or take a proper nap.
  10. Reasoning with a preschooler can be like trying to nail JELLO® to a tree; it’s okay to just say NO (and mean it).
  11. Close your door; give yourself a TIME OUT when things reach the boiling point.
  12. Remember who the adult is and behave like one.
  13. It’s okay to be angry; kids can sometimes really piss you off. (But use your inside voice when you’re angry).
  14. Go outside; get some exercise and breathe some fresh air (and take the kids with you).
  15. You don’t ALWAYS have to have all the answers; it’s alright to say, “because I said so; that’s why!”
  16. When in doubt trust your instincts; my parents did and look how well I turned out.

Peace,

Denis

Tell Me Something Good

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When our youngest child was in school I dreaded parent-teacher conferences. His teachers always regaled us with his “litany of sins”. The teacher(s) felt compelled to tell us all the things that he had done wrong behaviorally and all of the things he hadn’t done academically. It was exhausting. And a little embarrassing. And more than a little disheartening. After all he was a very bright kid with a quick wit and tons of energy. Surely there was something good that they could tell us about our son. Then a friend (who was a family therapist by profession) suggested that we ask the teacher at the next conference to “tell us something good about our son”. And I did. And the teacher was stumped. Her response: “When he is disruptive or fails to complete his assignments he always takes his punishment well.” Wow – really??? That’s the best she could do???

But I kept asking. I asked her again and again. And I asked every teacher he had after that one.

Later he was blessed with better teachers who challenged him and developed his natural curiosity and helped channel his creativity into more positive results and he excelled, eventually becoming a National Merit Semi-Finalist.

And that’s whole thing – isn’t it? Tell me something good. Tell me that you like me. Tell me that I have value. Tell me that I matter. Tell me that I can be the best me that I can be. Tell me that my life matters.

We hear a lot in the media today and from politicians and from clergy about being PRO-LIFE. But how can we be pro-life if we’re not supporting the life that we have around us? Who decides which life is worthwhile? Who decides whose life matters? Is it only unborn babies? Shouldn’t we be supporting life in all forms? If we believe in a Creator, then isn’t all creation sacred?

So tell someone something good.

Whether it’s the old lady who slows down the ‘express lane’ at the supermarket because she actually writes a check or it’s the snarky teenager working at the convenience store whose response is never thank you but usually “here ya go” or “no prob” – Next time you encounter them, try smiling; try affirming their lives with a bit of kindness. When it’s the screaming toddler on a too-full flight or the rude telemarketer or the obnoxious co-worker, try to give them dignity; try to leave them with some peace.

Often it’s just the little things that make the difference: the smile, the kind word, a simple courtesy.

Sometimes we can even tell someone something good without saying a word. And we can make the world a better place one person at a time…

Peace,

Denis

What Happened???

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I’ve been told that there are three kinds of people:

Those that make things happen. Those that watch things happen. And those that say “what happened?”

Lately I feel that I have fallen into that third category.

Let me explain: We have just recently moved back to the United States after living in England for most of this year and are still adjusting to our new/old life here (and haven’t completely unpacked). Our son just got married last week to a lovely young woman and we are still on an emotional high from that beautiful day. We had a presidential election for which I had to vote an absentee ballot because Monday after the wedding I left for a week in Mexico City to help establish a new division for my employer. I haven’t even lost my British accent (I honestly never had one, but now I do say brilliant, keen and lovely too often) and I find myself voting for an American President and trying to learn Spanish (again) all at the same time. Dios mio!

I need things to  S L O W  D O W N  a bit.  And I need to get off of this emotional rollercoaster. I am happy to be home from England and sad to have left our lovely (there I’ve said it again) life there. I am thankful for the love that Tyson and Colleen have found and resentful that the Air Force cancelled his assignment at a nearby installation so that now they begin their new life together away from family and friends. I am proud to live in a country that allows me the freedom to vote my conscience and disillusioned by the bishops and priests of my Church with their thinly veiled vitriolic attempts to control my vote (“Give back to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s”). Clearly it didn’t work anyway – 51% of Catholics voted for the President. As far as my new assignment with our Mexican division, for all of the reported lawlessness in Mexico I find the people that I’m working with to be well educated, professional, and hard-working but government regulations make employing them a monumental task (plus my aforementioned poor Spanish skills which only adds to my frustration and a nasty case of Montezuma’s Revenge – ugh!).

So I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed and a little lost(?). I’m sure I’ll catch up soon – on sleep, on correspondence, on social engagements, on our un-packing. But until then I suppose I’ll find myself scratching my head and asking, “what happened???”.

Peace,

Denis

D.I.Y.

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I like to think of myself as a ‘Do It Yourself’ kind of guy but the reality is that I’m really more of a ‘Try To Get My Son-in-law To Do It’ kind of guy. Let me explain. My son-in-law Travis is a handy guy. He likes to take on projects and he’s not afraid to tackle any home improvement.

This works out well for me. I have lots of projects that I would like to get done. I’m somewhat aspirational in my approach (“I would like to accomplish this task, but…”). Travis is more concrete in his approach (“I have the tools; when do we start?”).

The Home Depot® loves guys like me. I buy the material and Travis installs it. And if I buy more than I need, I just pile it up in the basement. I know that I can return extra materials later but I almost never do. I keep the stuff for future projects (most of which never happen).

I help with ‘my’  home projects but Travis is the one who does the lion’s share of the work. At times I get to be the superintendent but my wife is ALWAYS quality control. Deb also takes care of any color, design or material selection. I have an idea of what I want and Travis knows how to get it accomplished but Deb has final approval. It’s a pretty tightly run organization.

I know that ‘my’ home projects aren’t really mine but I’m okay with that. And so far Travis keeps coming back for more. And Deb keeps coming up with new ideas.

That’s the beauty of family. We are never alone. We anticipate one another’s needs and provide support (and love) as required. Rarely do we have to ask for help. Help is there.

It’s reassuring to know that I am in this life together with my family and my friends. At times I’ve tried to do it all. To carry it all. Whether it be a home project or an emotional or spiritual burden. When someone else helps with the lifting the burden becomes lighter. And as the burden is divided, the blessings are multiplied. Such is the joy of a life shared.

So I’m a ‘Do It Yourself” guy. It just happens to take a village…

Peace,

Denis

Thumbs Up!

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After high school I worked at a big box discount store. I attended a local college and was able to live at home and work part-time – lucky me! Anyway, before leaving for work one afternoon I was roped into helping my mom wash windows. She was struggling to open (or close) a window and while she pushed outside on one sash I pulled on the other from the inside. The ‘stuck window’ broke free and then I managed to smash both of my thumbs between the panes (which should be called pains). Needless to say, I was injured. Both thumbs were bleeding; both thumb nails were split and the ensuing pain was intolerable. BUT YOU CAN NEVER CALL IN SICK TO WORK. Or so was the mantra of my parents (who grew up during the depression and lived through WWII).

So Mom wrapped both thumbs with splints, enough gauze to bandage a head wound and nearly a mile of tape after applying copious amounts of Mercurochrome. And off I went to work.

It turns that opposable thumbs do give us humans a distinct advantage over other species. I couldn’t tie my own shoes. Driving was more than a bit of a challenge (in retrospect my bandaged thumbs were custom-made for hitch hiking). Eating was nearly impossible. Opening a door was comical. But by golly I reported to work as scheduled!

While deflecting questions about “what happened” and avoiding stares from customers and co-workers I quietly sulked and performed my duties (to the best of my abilities). I was assigned to the Paint and Hardware Department so carrying gallons of paint with my thumbs bandaged was particularly challenging. As I was carrying a can of paint, with both thumbs outstretched to the sky, a cute young co-worker from the Health and Beauty Aids Department happened by. She saw me, took one look, and a with a wink and a giggle, proclaimed to all who could hear, “Thumbs up!” With that she skipped off completely pleased with herself, laughing all the way. While I initially fumed, I soon began to realize the absurdity of the situation and my appearance and I began to laugh, too.

The truth is I was intrigued by her quick wit and captivated by her smile. And she had the most beautiful greens eyes I had ever seen. I hunted her down in a stockroom, called her a smart ass and then we both had a good laugh. Laughing at myself eased my pain. It’s amazing how cathartic self-deprecation can be. And that beautiful young lady helped me to see that all those years ago.

I think about her often. And the day that changed my life. You see I married the girl from Health and Beauty Aids. And I thank God that she still makes me laugh today (usually at myself).

Peace,

Denis

God Bless America?

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We often hear politicians and others say, “God bless America”, as if somehow America deserves God’s blessings more than any other place else on earth (or the universe).

Since returning to the United States from England I have been inundated with political ads and Facebook posts imploring us to return to the Christian values that America was founded upon. My favorite post is one that shows Jesus superimposed over the Stars and Stripes. I’m pretty sure Jesus never owned an American flag (or anything else for that matter). There’s another one that shows the White House with the caption, “Remember when God lived here?” Really???

Why do some people want to make God so small? Why reduce God to someone who only has concern for us? Our country? Our party? Our faith tradition? God doesn’t love Americans or America any more than he loves anyone or anywhere else. He doesn’t love Christians more than Jews or Muslims. If we REALLY believe in God and believe what Jesus taught us, then we should be asking God to bless our enemies (which He already does, but it would be nice to ask).

Jesus preached love. He preached unity and inclusiveness. He preached wholeness to the brokenhearted and freedom to those that have been enslaved. Shouldn’t those of us who call ourselves Christians do the same? Aren’t we supposed to love our enemies?

All God’s Children

Maybe we should ask God to bless Afghanistan or Iran or Libya. Maybe we should ask God to forgive our hatred and prejudice. God did not create me to hate me. Why would I expect any less for the rest of God’s creation?

We are free to believe what we want. To worship where and how we choose. To build walls or bridges. But we have no right to claim God for ourselves. We can try to put God in a box or a building or a temple or a tabernacle but that only proves our human limitation. And God can’t be minimized no matter how we might wish to. Recently my four year-old granddaughter said it best, “Daddy, church isn’t really God’s house.” “He lives inside us!”

Well said Anna. He lives inside us, no matter where that might be…

Peace,

Denis

Back Home

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Back home. It’s strange and wonderful being back home. We’re sorting through mountains of boxes and rediscovering some old things. And because time hasn’t stood still while we lived abroad, we’re learning some new things, too. We feel a bit like time travelers who have arrived one year in the future – time marched on and now we have to catch up.

Back home. Some adjustment is required. I must stop speaking the Queen’s English – saying carry-on, keen, or bollocks just produces blank stares here. I also need to increase my volume – Americans are loud (According to Deb that shouldn’t be a problem for me). I have to stop getting in the passenger side of the car to drive and I must fight the urge to drive on the left side of the road. This is particulary challenging in parking lots where lanes aren’t clearly defined.

Back home. Love is here! From the greeting at the airport Saturday night from two squealing grandkids to the special meal that our daughter and son-in-law had waiting for us to the extra tight hugs from my Mom yesterday, love has been abundant. So much lost time to make up. I know that they say that home is where the heart is but I realize that my heart needs to be here. Back home.

Happy days!

On Sunday everytime I left the room my two year-old grandson Noah asked, “Where did Pawpaw go?”  My four year-old granddaughter Anna said it best: “Pawpaw I missed you! You can go on vacation to England again some day but you can’t live there anymore, okay?” 

Okay Noah and Anna, I’m right here and I promise I’m back home to stay…

Peace,

Denis