Author: Denis Wilhelm

Put a Woman in Charge

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

I’ve been blessed to have some extraordinary women in my life, not the least of which is my best friend and soul mate, Debbie. We’ve shared equally in good times and bad. Carrying one another or being carried by the other as needed. Our life together has proven time and time again that she is my equal. She is simply unafraid. She is love and pure joy, but she is also tough and resilient and relentless when necessary. She has taught me that tears don’t make you weak and laughter is truly the best medicine (especially when you need to laugh at yourself). And she has instilled the same spirit and strength and humor in our daughter.

Bess, our beautiful and gracious daughter, has also inherited her mother’s gift of charity. She wants everyone to be happy (and cared for, and well fed, and loved, etc.). She always gives of herself, and she rarely expects anything in return. Her cheerfulness is contagious, and she makes others happy by just being around her.

We have four beautiful granddaughters. They each have so much to offer. I already see their potential and I am able to see into the future because of them, and it will be equal and fair.

Of course, I’ve known and loved many other strong women. In fact, I believe that in my family the female role models are the ones that stand out as the true leaders.

My Mom ran the show at her house. She knew more about politics, current events, and style than most women of her generation. For someone who was not afforded an education she was smarter than most other women and Dad certainly knew not to mess with Mom. She was not large, but she was in charge. Even on her deathbed she was calling the shots. She took care of us until the end, making us laugh to ease our grief at her passing.

My Mom’s sisters, my three aunts, Lucida, Noel and Gene Marie, were Sisters of the Most Precious Blood. These were intelligent women who were well-traveled and well-educated, not something offered to most women born in the 1910’s and 1920’s. They were teachers, administrators, catechists, authors, and persons of authority. They were our family’s “Blessed Trinity”.

The stories of my great-grandmother Elizabeth are legendary: Coming to this country alone as a teenager from Germany. Marrying and then raising her young family alone after my great-grandfather died. I’m told that she was tough, stubborn and a force to be reckoned with. And my great-great-grandmother Mary converted the entire family to Catholicism back when women had no say in such matters.

My three great aunts Marie, Minnie, and Liddy lived together in the family home that became the base of operations for all Wilhelm family gatherings. Aunt Minnie was a businesswoman – the County Nurse’s secretary. And she was well-respected in our hometown. I remember walking downtown with her many times and people would greet her very politely as “Miss Wilhelm”. I was always so proud to be with my Aunt Min!

And then of course there was my mother-in-law. She was a tough lady who fought for justice and looked out for the underdogs in our world. She was fiercely loyal to those she loved, and she protected her children like a lioness. She taught her daughter that real beauty requires confidence, kindness and a sense of humor. Jackie never went down without a fight. I’m not sure if you can “raise hell” in heaven, but if you can I’m sure she’s leading the charge.

When I reflect on my spirituality, I realize that it was my mother who first taught me how to pray. It was her model of faith that I continue to follow to this day. It was my Godmother’s hand that I held when I received Jesus at my First Holy Communion. It was my three Aunts who modeled compassion for those in need and service to God through service to others as Precious Blood Sisters. It is my wife who models patience, love and social awareness. It is my daughter who teaches me to show kindness to children by her example as a Catholic Educator. And it is my granddaughters who model unconditional love by even loving me, a cranky, opinionated, old guy. These women and girls proclaim The Good News to me each day. Author Joelle Chase wrote, “Mary knew her strength, the miracle of her body that would knit Life out of God’s seed.” That’s a powerful statement and it runs counter to the image of a helpless, hapless, teenage Mary who is poor, afraid, pregnant, unwed and uncertain. Mary said yes. Not because the angel told her that she should, but because she knew her own strength, her potential and her power.

Let’s embrace the power of women. Let’s “man up” and put a woman in charge.

Peace,

Denis

The Truth, The Whole Truth (and nothing but the truth?)

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They say honesty is the best policy. I don’t know who “they” are and I’m not always so sure about that honesty policy. Too many times the statement “to tell you the truth…” followed by some unsettling pronouncement has caused pain in my life. Or I hear, “honestly, …” and I mentally glaze over and those little flaps inside my ears slowly close, because I don’t want to receive any honesty at that moment. Sometimes the news has been medical in nature. Sometimes it has been work-related. The worst honesty is the relationship kind. When your loved one tells you that your jokes aren’t funny, but your outfit is. That’s hurtful.

Often it is someone sharing their political or religious “truths”. I have been surprised by some folks need to “educate me” on their particular point of view. This is usually unsolicited. Rarely have I asked for someone to tell me how to vote or what to boycott or where to worship. Still, the desire to influence, recruit, or evangelize is a powerful force in some people’s lives. I had a dear uncle who once said to me, “You’re entitled to your opinion no matter how wrong it is”. That statement was poignant, unsettling, and hilarious all at the same time. I’ve used it many times since.

We humans have an innate desire to share our joy, our sorrow, and our wisdom. This is a good thing. Everyone has a story to tell; a song to sing. Where we veer into trouble is when we believe that our story is the only true story. I’m guilty of this. One of my best friends once said to me, “I just look like this” while I was attempting to instill some wisdom. I was stunned. Her point: you are treating me as if I am ill-informed. You are making assumptions about me because of my sex, race, and age. She was right and that truth hurt. Once again, like my uncle’s statement, I have used hers many times since. It’s can be a showstopper.

Someone recently suggested that I say, “that has not been my experience”, when confronted by someone who holds an opinion opposite of mine. It’s much more tactful than what my brain is usually trying to get my mouth to say. Because “you’re stupid and wrong” might be truthful but it rarely resolves any conflict. In our current political climate, I’m constantly being challenged by statements made at sporting events, social gatherings, family dinners, organizational meetings and from the pulpit.

I am often at odds with people I love and respect. I try to tell them, “That has not been my experience”, or “I just look like this”, but it doesn’t register with the truth-teller. And then with prayer and a little self-examination, I finally look in the mirror and honestly ask myself, how often have I been the dispenser of truths? How often have I been the one who doesn’t listen but needs to share my story? How often have I told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but my truth?

I’m a Partner in Mission (a lay member) with the Sisters of The Most Precious Blood. Our charism is reconciliation. Those are fancy words which mean we are trying to bring peace to our world, to our communities, to our homes and to our hearts. It’s true that sometimes truth hurts. Every husband dreads the fateful question, “Does this dress make me look fat?” No easy answers there. Sometimes truth makes us squirm. Sometimes truth makes us fearful. But sometimes truth can set us free.

Perhaps telling the truth wouldn’t be so hard if I could remember to tell it with sensitivity, compassion and understanding. And to accept it from others even when it hurts.

Peace,

Denis

Judging

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Often, I think others are being judgmental. I look down on the “judgers”. How dare they make assumptions about me and those whom I love! Who are they to judge? They don’t know my circumstances or beliefs. They don’t know my history. They don’t understand what I find intolerable or what I hold dear. They make their assumptions because of my sex, my age, my race, my marital status, my nationality, my neighborhood, my faith. And it is tiring to constantly have to explain myself. Believe what you will judgers! You haven’t walked my path.

Then I judge. In my heart I know that I do. I judge people by their appearance, their age, the kind of car they drive, the neighborhood they live in, the way they speak and on and on. The very thing that bothers me about others is something that I am constantly doing myself.

It is so easy to think that others are being judgmental without ever looking in the mirror. In our polarized society, it is understandable to embrace an “us versus them” mentality. But it’s wrong. I know that. My heart and my head tell me it’s sinful and shameful to judge others, but I do it anyway. Almost instinctively, I find myself sizing folks up. Do they look like me? Do they speak intelligently? Do they conduct themselves in a manner that I find acceptable? Do they share my beliefs, my goals, my perception of what life should be?

I have a dear friend who once said to me, “I just look like this”. It was a simple and profound statement that declared to the world that she need not fit into anyone else’s expectation of who or what she should be. I love her for that and so much more. And I have used her statement myself. The challenge is to remember that everyone I meet “just looks like this”. I sometimes (okay, almost always) judge the folks on those electric carts in the supermarket and discount stores. Are they really disabled? Or just too big to carry themselves comfortably? Do they abuse the privilege because it’s just easier to cruise through the big box store rather than trek the miles down each aisle on foot? It is shameful, judgmental and ignorant of me. But there I stand judging.

I judge folks when I see them flying flags upside down. I judge people by the bumper stickers on their cars. I judge my neighbors by the way the keep their lawns and gardens. I judge others who declare themselves Pro-Life and Pro-Guns. I judge others who appear too pious. I judge others who seem blasphemous. I judge others who seem slovenly. I judge others who seem to be obsessed with their appearance. I’m kind of an all-purpose judger. And when I point that finger there are four more pointed back at me!

Currently I am experiencing an impinged nerve. And it’s painful. So, I’m limping and moaning and have had to accept much help from others, which I don’t like to do. My wife has been very patient while dealing with my impatience. My son-in-law, one of my heroes, helped get me to a much-needed doctor’s appointment. I probably received some stares from the neighbors as I stumbled around my yard looking inebriated. I’ve likely received some looks of pity or disgust from strangers seeing this old dude walking stiff legged and unsteady. If this pain does anything for me, I hope that it is a reminder that I am too quick to judge others. I know that it is wrong. I realize that it separates me from others for no reason other than my own pride.

Who am I to judge when the One who is judge of all keeps forgiving me? I hope and I pray for empathy. I ask God to help me be more loving and accepting of others. And I ask for forgiveness when I judge again tomorrow.

Peace,

Denis

“Stop judging, that you may not be judged. For as you judge, so will you be judged, and the measure with which you measure will be measured out to you.” Matthew 7:1-2

Cherished Memories and Hope for the Future

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When our grandson was about 2 years old, we had a concrete step that was being replaced at the back of our house. The thing was heavy and wouldn’t easily break apart. Disposing of it was going to be a major challenge. So, I decided to place it on the terrace in our back garden. It was lugged up the hill and sort of tucked away in a private spot that no one really ever noticed. Grandson Noah and I decided that it was a perfect place for he and I to hide out from time to time while everyone else was busy being busy. Hence it became affectionately known as “The He-Man Hideout”. It was our special place.

Of course, our boy is hardly a boy anymore. He’s a teenager. His world is full of schoolwork, sports, friends, technology, and all the other important and necessary teenage things. It won’t be long before high school and cars and girls and then college and career and adulthood overwhelm his world. He’s a loving grandson and he is good to me, but we haven’t spent any time in “The He-Man Hideout” in years.

When Noah was a little guy, he truly believed that we were hidden from the outside world. Today the Hideout is not really needed. It has served its purpose. Now it remains a reminder of a time not so long ago when we had a special place to hatch our plans and prepare for our conquests. A place where our imaginations would carry us away. Questions were asked and answered. We had a place where we could share a laugh or a hug. And we knew that our secrets were safe and secure.

“The He-Man Hideout” is still in our backyard, and it will remain there until the day I die. It is very likely that someday someone will look at that concrete step to nowhere and never understand the majesty of this holy place. They will only see its uselessness and absurdity and they will never know that it carried us on countless imaginary journeys. To outsiders, it will be met with the same perplexity as Stonehenge or those tags on pillows that can only be removed by authorized personnel. But I will always cherish the memories of sitting on that step with my little man and discussing the mundane and the mysterious; the silly and the serious; the simple and the profound. And dreaming of our future.

I believe that Noah and I still have some amazing years ahead of us. We may not be sitting side by side on that little concrete step in the back garden, but we are together as much as his expanding world allows. As he continues to grow and he takes on this world, I hope that he knows that I’ll always have a special place ready whenever he needs to get away. And we can still share a laugh and a hug.

Peace,

Denis

Cicadas and Other Tormentors

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After much media hype and many warnings, the cicadas have emerged. The decibel level in our yard is horrific. They produce noise over 100 decibels at close range, or about as loud as a rock concert or car racing event. According to researchers at Johns Hopkins, the cicada’s high-pitched buzzing could worsen my tinnitus. And so, it seems, it has. Now I’m a prisoner indoors, but it’s impossible to completely avoid the buggers. I have to mow my lawn and water the flower beds and outdoors is my favorite place to be.

I’m told that they will die off or descend into their underground lairs soon. Maybe in another month or so. But I’m afraid the ringing in my ears will remain long after the tiny monsters return underground. The times that I’ve carried one or two into the house only to have them screech while I squeal before they meet their untimely deaths has certainly damaged my psyche. And knowing that they are lurking beneath our lawn is the stuff of horror movies. Cicada nightmares continue!

My wife has wondered aloud if cicadas were one of the plagues mentioned in Scripture. And what did primitive peoples think of them? Were they horrified or mystified? We will never know.

While the cicadas are currently making my life a hell on earth, I can’t help but think of the other tormentors in our society today. Racists, sexists, xenophobes, and megalomaniacal politicians in our nation persist. We have a convicted felon running for president and we’re somehow expected to normalize this. When will honorable statemen and stateswomen stand up for justice and decency? When will the screeching stop?

This is Pride Month and I pray for my adult granddaughter and other young LGBTQ+ young people. I pray for acceptance. I pray for a Church that is inclusive. I pray for understanding. I pray for a heart that is loving. I pray for a spirit that is forgiving.

As with the cicadas, I sometimes want to just put my earplugs firmly in place and wait until the screeching ends. But it doesn’t seem to be subsiding. So, we must be louder than the screechers. We must drown out discrimination with understanding. We must drown out intolerance with acceptance. We must drown out injustice with love.

And maybe, just maybe, the screeching will end…

Peace,

Denis

Not What I Expected

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When I was a kid, I imagined my life differently. While playing with my ‘Kenner Girder and Panel Building Set’®, I fully expected to become an architect. Dropping out of college did not enhance my dream. I never designed nor built any amazing architectural wonders, but I did work in the building trades and learned on-the-job more than I would have likely learned from textbooks. My careers both in Civil Engineering and Architectural Millwork gave me countless opportunities to work with many talented engineers, architects, and designers. And I usually could hold my own with those who possessed much better degrees and pedigrees. Here I was, just a small-town kid from the Midwest who had once played with building blocks making decisions on million-dollar projects. Of course, along the way I had jobs in retail, worked in factories, delivered catalogs, and any number of other jobs just to keep our heads above water. Those jobs taught me humility and patience, but the ‘Kenner Girder and Panel Building Set’® gave me the desire to build some stuff. And given the chance I did.

In the 1960s I loved James Bond movies and ‘The Man from Uncle’ television series. I often imagined someday being an international man of mystery. I had never traveled outside of the Midwest, but I knew given the chance that I could handle a jet-set lifestyle and move easily from one country to another. Years later I was fortunate enough to live and work abroad. It was international and many days were a mystery mainly because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I wasn’t as dashing as 007 but I witnessed things beyond my comprehension, mastered things I didn’t know I was capable of learning, and I am richer for the experience. My work associates often carried me through, and we remain friends to this day.

Parenthood was always part of my plan. I assumed I would be a dad like the ones I saw on T.V. as a kid. Kind of a cross between Ward Clever, Steven Douglas, and Ozzie Nelson. You know, one of those dads who came home from work (although no one ever really knew what he did), put his feet up, and read the newspaper, waited for dinner, and then solved any problems the kids had. I would wrap everything up neatly in 30 minutes. The reality of parenthood has been much more challenging and rewarding. I changed diapers, gave baths, read bedtime stories and said prayers. Later it was helping with homework, scouting, sporting events and the praying continued especially when teaching teenagers how to drive. Sleepless nights worrying about finances were accompanied by weary days of teenage angst and more prayer. As time marched on so did parenthood. There were graduations, college, military service, marriages and grandchildren. So much to worry about. So much to do. So much to celebrate. Ward Clever never seemed as exhausted as I sometimes felt, but I doubt he ever felt the joy and pride that I have thanked God for each day.

Marriage. I remember those movies where the hero would win the girl. He usually would sweep her off her feet. They might start out as adversaries or at least disinterested parties. Sometimes they couldn’t stand each other until some pivotal moment when they magically “fell in love”. It was often a surprise to both of them. How romantic! And I did fall in love, but not in the magical “I hate you but now I love you” movie way. More in the “I like everything about you” way, but mostly in the “I like me better when I’m with you” way. Our marriage is one of two nearly complete opposites who somehow make each other better every day. I never imagined marriage to be like this. I’m all “hurry-hurry let’s get this done” and she’s all “let’s slow down and smell the flowers.” I’m tall. She’s small. I’m impatient. She’s patient (even after all these years). Through the years we have learned that differences are not detrimental to a successful relationship. In fact, just the opposite. My wife and I complement one another. We fill in each other’s voids. We carry one another when necessary. We pray together. And the yoke is easy, and burden is light.

God has blessed me. My life is not what I had expected. It is more; so much more. Filled with adventure and tedium. Filled will joy and sorrow. Filled with certainty and doubt. Filled with achievement and disappointment. Filled with big moments and quiet times. Filled with friends and loneliness. Filled with laughter and tears. But always, always filled with unexpected love.

Peace,

Denis

Put Me in Coach

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Someone once told me that there are three types of people:

  • People who make things happen.
  • People who watch things happen.
  • And people who say, “What happened?”

Too often I have found myself in that third group. Not even aware of what is going on around me. Perhaps my ‘head in the sand’ attitude is a coping mechanism or maybe I’m just obtuse. Either way, it’s not a great way to live. I try to be aware of what’s going on in my community, my country, my world, but I feel sometimes that I am bombarded with information. And sorting truth from fiction is challenging to say the least. Which news source is reliable? Which social media outlet is trustworthy? Which friends and neighbors are well-informed and honest? At times it seems everyone has an agenda, so I shut down and shut it all out and find myself asking, “What happened?”

Then I spend time with my role models, and I realize I can make things happen. Maybe not grand things or important things, but I can be a positive change in my world. A ripple. A moment. A witness.

My grandson plays baseball. He’s one of the smaller kids on his team. He’s not a power hitter. But he plays with so much heart. He gets out there every game and gives it his all. I was always too timid to play sports as a kid. Fear of injury. Fear of failure. Fear of ridicule. But Noah swings that bat with such determination. He fields, he steals bases, he contributes to his team in a positive way. He’s blessed to have a great coach and equally blessed to have parents who remind him to listen to his coach. He gets better with every trip to the plate. And I am reminded that if Noah makes things happen, I can to!

My granddaughter recently made her First Communion. She worked hard this past year to learn about the sacrament and to prepare herself. She had some apprehension on the day she received. I’m not certain if she was afraid of the pomp and circumstance of the day or if she was not sure about the change she might feel after receiving Jesus for the first time. Was she concerned about a misstep or a forgotten word or gesture? Or was it just that her new shoes were a little slippery and wearing a veil and a fancy dress felt a bit overwhelming? Regardless she made it down the aisle and appeared angelic and lit up the church with her smile. It was accomplished. She was received. And for a moment we all shared in that glimpse of heaven before us. I know if Gwen could overcome her fear, I can to!

When I look at these two, I am reminded of the blessings I have received in this life. I’m not gifted. I’m not wealthy. I’m not terribly bright. But I have the ability to make things happen. In my small way, I can be a force for good. I can do the right thing. I can work for justice by voting for persons of integrity. I can volunteer to help those in greater need than my own. I can listen. I can pray. I can act.

And I’m going to keep swinging that bat and walking down that aisle until I get it right.

Who knows? Maybe someday I can make a ripple; have a moment; be a witness.

Peace,

Denis

Really? Me???

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There have been more than a few times in my life when I have questioned why I have been chosen for something. Some job? Some challenge? Some blessing?

It feels like yesterday that I watched my bride walk down the aisle and I vividly remember thinking it was all too good to be true. I was more than a little afraid that she might turn around and bolt out of the church like some scene in a bad sitcom. It was that mixed feeling of thrill and terror that has often been my companion on this journey of life. Looking at my newborn son with such joy and pride and absolute panic. Turning to my wife, as she held him in her arms in the front seat of our 1977 Pinto, I asked, “What do we do now?” “I don’t know, just drive”, wasn’t exactly the answer I was looking for.

Somehow jumping into the deep end has been a recurring theme for me (us). I don’t necessarily recommend the “just close your eyes and jump” philosophy as a stable or pragmatic life plan but it’s afforded us some adventures along the way.

I’ve had plenty of jobs that required ‘on the job training’ not because the employer offered it, but because I convinced them that my skill set met their demands and then I just faked it until I knew what I was doing. I may have learned that from my father. Speak with confidence. Carry yourself with dignity. And somehow the rest will follow (hopefully). It made my career. Thanks Dad!

I clearly remember 12 years ago, Deb and I sitting in a pub in our village in England and laughing because as couple of small-town Midwestern knuckleheads, “we had no business working and living abroad”. Later I spent years managing a team in Mexico City with a little more than a child’s command of Spanish but gifted with a team who carried me on the most amazing experience (Estaré en deuda contigo para siempre).

So, now I’m a ‘Partner in Mission’ (a lay associate) with the Sisters of the Most Precious Blood of O’Fallon, Missouri. The Sisters are a vowed religious order dedicated to service to God and community. I’m just a guy who struggles with remembering to always say “grace” at meals. Once again, I’m learning on the job. The Sisters and other Partners show me the way.

I’ve learned that I don’t have to be super-holy to be a Partner. I still cuss and lose my temper. And I behave like a jackass from time to time. Many of the Sisters and Partners, I have come to know, are saints in my opinion and they still welcome me. In a world full of narcissists and bullies they are models of humility and kindness that I desperately need.

Being a Partner isn’t all rosaries and quiet contemplation. It’s not some mysterious club that requires knowledge beyond my ability. It’s action. It’s example. It’s involvement. It’s joy. It’s life! My simple prayers work. My weak attempts at being a better person suffice. Knowing that there is plenty room for self-improvement, I’m once again ‘jumping into the deep end’ with the secure knowledge that someone will throw me a line (if needed). And a little bit of ‘why me?’ surfaces from time to time to just to keep things interesting.

Peace,

Denis

Anna’s Star Shines

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I would like to tell you that my granddaughter is growing up too fast but that wouldn’t be true. She’s growing up as she should. I’m the one struggling to keep up. It seems like just yesterday Anna was born, but in reality, it was nearly 16 years ago that she arrived and changed my world forever.

I’m an easy mark because her three-year-old cousin Charlise had already captured me, body and soul, so I wasn’t sure how Anna was going to fit into my life. But there she was all wrinkly and pink and wet with tears (and other stuff). She carved a spot in my heart that only she can fill. And she still fills it every time I see her face or hear her voice. I am madly, deeply in love with this beautiful creature, who when I first took her tiny hand in mine, completely wrapped me around her little finger.

I’ve had the honor of standing on the sidelines or watching from the audience as she fills the room or field or gym or theater with her style, grace and charm. I’ve shared quiet moments enthralled with her ability to capture and embrace the subtlety and the majesty of God’s creation. I’ve often been afforded a front row seat in her transformation from a questioning child full of wonder and delight to a “Woman of The Word” with a steadfast commitment to making this world a better place for each of us. Her effervescence, her joyfulness and her playful spirit are only matched by her intelligence, her determination, and her courage. It’s easy to say that she is beautiful, because indeed she is. But her beauty is more than what we see on the outside. She radiates a kind of beauty that comes from an old soul. Anna feels deeply; gives freely; loves unconditionally.

I sometimes reminisce about baby Anna or preschool Anna or middle school Anna and those are warm, tender memories, but the Anna that I know today is one that lets me see into the future. Her vision, her strength and her compassion are far beyond her years.

I have no doubt that she will be successful in all that she chooses to do. The fact that she is an honor student and leader in her school community is a preview of what her adult life will hold. Her ability to embrace new challenges and turn them into opportunities is a testament to her character. After enduring multiple surgeries a few years ago, she has now excelled at climbing and fearlessly scales walls, mountains and hillsides with aplomb. Anna is a faith-filled and giving young woman who serves others with joy, grace and humility.

My prayer is that I can stick around long enough to see how the rest of world will be changed by her, while I bask in the delight of knowing that my world has already been changed. I also pray that she occasionally looks back and remembers wrapping my hand and heart around that little finger…

Peace & (Love),

Denis (Granddad)

Offer It Up

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When I was a kid, and I had an ache or pain or was dealing with some perceived injustice, my mom would tell me to, “Offer it up for the poor souls in purgatory”. Those weren’t exactly the words of comfort that I was hoping for. Regardless of what she was saying, I often heard, “Suck it up, buttercup.” And I’m not certain that the poor souls in purgatory ever received any relief from my prayers of self-pity.

Mom was probably just tired of hearing complaints from all of us, but she taught me three things with her wisdom: First – pray; prayer always helps. Second – quit whining; nobody likes a bellyacher. Third – There is always someone in this world dealing with more pain than I am/was.

I often still find myself grumbling about something/someone/sometime that I must endure. Some disappointment. Some irritation. Some burden. When I find myself in those situations, I can clearly hear Mom’s voice: “Offer it up!” And I try. And try again. And again.

Usually, it’s my friends on this journey of life who make me realize how ridiculous my bitching and moaning is compared to their circumstances. So, after a few moments (days) of self-pity I remember to pray and thank God for the gifts I have and the witness of these friends with which I am blessed.

A dear friend is recovering from a post-operative infection which has slowed her recovery and sidelined her work life but has not diminished her spirit. An indefatigable young mother who I know is battling cancer. She is the strongest and most positive person I know and is using her own battle as a model for others. A friend of nearly 50 years takes her struggle with MS in stride (literally – as each step is painful) and she continually gives to others until it hurts. These are my heroes.

I needn’t look much further to find other friends, neighbors and acquaintances dealing with any number of challenges. The pain from accidents, illness, violence, unemployment, and grief can be overwhelming and can potentially destroy our spirits. Still, these individuals carry on. They pick up the pieces and make the best of what life has handed them. More heroes.

I know that some pain cannot be prayed or wished away. I realize that none of us can be truly prepared for what the future holds. There will likely be heartache and unbearable sadness but there will also always be a shoulder to lean on. There will always be a hand to hold. There will always be someone to dry your tears. There will always be love.

And perhaps the best way to “offer up” my pain/my disappointment/my bad day is to be the shoulder, the hand holder, tear-dryer, and the lover when I can.

Peace,

Denis

For it is in giving that we receive – Francis of Assisi