Author: Denis Wilhelm

Don’t Worry, I Have a Plan!

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

Fourteen years ago, our grandson was born. My wife took our daughter for her last prenatal visit (she was going to be induced later that week). Our son-in-law was at home with their two-year-old because it was nap time, and this was just supposed to be a routine visit. Mother and daughter decided to have lunch prior to the office visit. During lunch our daughter mentioned that she had had a couple of contractions earlier in the morning, but it was nothing to get excited about. During lunch her contractions started coming again. This time, it was the real deal. They left the restaurant and headed to her appointment. While traveling, our daughter had a few more contractions and couldn’t talk while she was having one. Her contractions started coming every four minutes. She started to feel panicky. She was in active labor, had not packed for the hospital, and her husband was home with their daughter. It was not supposed to happen this way! So, she asked her mother, “What are we going to do?” My wife’s calm response: “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

She had no plan.

What she had was a calm, steady, and determined response. It would all be ‘okay’, even though my wife had no idea what to expect next. Things moved pretty rapidly, and a routine doctor’s visit evolved into a hurried trip to the hospital. I was dispatched to collect our granddaughter. Our son-in-law raced to the hospital. A few hours later a beautiful baby boy was born. All is well that ends well. And that baby boy has become a young man who blesses my life with each encounter.

This has been a tumultuous week. My preferred presidential candidate lost. My fears about the next four years have kept me awake at night. I’m afraid of the risk of losing our democracy. I’m confused as to why there is so much hate in our country. The moral and political divisions in our country today appear insurmountable. So many Americans are victims of xenophobia, racism, sexism, antisemitism, and homophobia. My prayers for peace and love of my fellow humans are feeble. Hope seems lost.

I have no plan.

Except I keep thinking about the wisdom of the beautiful woman who has chosen to share this life with me. I lean heavily on her words. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.” Her calm, steady, and determined response to the unknown has given me a glimmer of hope. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not sure if I can make any real change in this world. But I will remain calm, steady and determined in my approach.

There might be dark days ahead. There will likely be major disappointments. Rather than being disgusted with half of the voters in our country, I will be respectful. I will work for justice where I can. I will remain committed to the causes that I hold dear. I will love. I will hope.

And on those rainy days, I will pray…

Peace,

Denis

I’ll Give It a Go!

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“Give it a go” is an expression I heard many times while living in England in 2012. Of course, it’s not too difficult to translate. It means “give it a try” or “take a chance” or “go for it”. My workmates often implored me to “just give it a go” when I felt unsure of myself or a particular situation. Usually, it was when we were in Italy or Germany or Spain working on a project, and my workmates had no more confidence in their ability than I had in mine. I’m still not sure if they were encouraging me or whether they were just afraid to “give it a go” themselves. Manufacturing and construction terms are confusing in Europe (even in English). I learned quickly that hoarding, skips, and trolleys are actually barricades, dumpsters and dollies. Regardless, I usually “gave it a go” and most times things worked out. Perhaps Europeans were bemused by my complete ignorance of permitting, safety and labor requirements in their countries, or they admired my pluck, except the Germans, they clearly seemed annoyed by my ineptitude. Somehow though, I survived the year, and projects were completed, and my workmates had my back (I think).

Because we were in England for most of 2012 several of our friends visited throughout the year. Even with the rigors of working in foreign countries and missing our home, knowing that another visitor would soon be coming to stay for a while sustained us and helped make our time away from home feel like an extended vacation. A highlight was when our daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren came for a three-week visit. Anna was only four years old, and Noah was not quite two. Adults don’t change much in a year, but oh, those babies…

We made the most of our time with Anna and Noah and their parents during their visit. I was able to take some time off from work and we enjoyed the English countryside. We lived in the Cotswolds, so it was it literally outside our backdoor. In the mornings Anna would watch television and enjoy some of the shows she watched at home, Peppa Pig, Olivia, and some other cartoons all dubbed in British English. We were used to watching British television and had become accustomed to the accents, but we still struggled to understand some phrases.

One day on the third week of their visit we went to a petting farm near our home. On the day that we visited there happened to be a group of preschoolers. Anna nestled in amongst them. When the attendant at the farm asked if any of the children would like to feed a goat, Anna’s little arm shot up in the air as she exclaimed, “I’ll give it a go!” We were all nonplussed. Where had she learned that phrase? I never used it myself. It was something I had heard plenty of times at work but never spoke those words. Had Anna heard it from Olivia or Peppa Pig? We’ll never know. But what we do know is that this precious little four-year-old acclimated to her surroundings in three short weeks. This is something that I had struggled to do for months.

And there’s the lesson. Children learn. Children adapt. Children are not afraid of new adventures. They can lead us to the truth if we can just open our eyes and our hearts and our minds. We can lift up our world by their example if we can get past ourselves and let go of our fears and prejudices. We can accept change. We can embrace our differences and know that our diversity only makes us stronger. And our diversity reflects the true image of God.

Anna taught me so much that day. I can still smell the straw and the goats and lambs. I can still hear her tiny voice, so confident, so capable, so strong. She was undaunted. She knew the right thing to say. And she gave it a go!

Peace,

Denis

Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14

Peace Be With You (and also with me?)

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In a Catholic mass we offer the “Sign of Peace” to one another. It’s typically a polite and friendly gesture of greeting which often includes shaking hands. The celebrant says to the congregation “Peace be with you” and then everyone responds, “and also with you.” We are then invited to offer peace to one another. Then we turn to our fellow congregants and say, “Peace” or “Peace be with you”. Not an insignificant gesture but it sometimes feels rote or worse, awkward if the person next to appears to be nonreceptive.

Often, I feel conflicted when offering peace. There is currently so much angst in my heart and head that peacefulness seems unattainable and offering it to others seems insincere. The moral, economic and political divisions in our country today are greater than any other time in my adult life. So many in our nation are victims of xenophobia, racism, sexism, antisemitism, and homophobia. The recent hurricanes and natural disasters only add to the suffering of millions. It’s hard to not fall into despair. Why is there so much that is so wrong? Why are so many people embracing hatred and vitriol? And why are some politicians ratchetting up the hate and fear? Where are the better angels of our nature that Abraham Lincoln spoke of so eloquently?

How can I, a flawed, sinful and desperate man, offer peace? This isn’t easy, but I believe that I must begin with me. To “reconcile” means to rebuild; reconnect; to be at peace. To embrace my suffering and try to understand the suffering of others, I’ll have to try to be more loving; more caring; more respectful; and less judgmental. I’ll have to shut my mouth and open my ears and more importantly my heart. And offer myself some peace before I can extend it to others.

In her book, “Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair”, Anne Lamott writes: “My understanding of Incarnation is that we are not served by getting away from the grubbiness of suffering. Sometimes we feel that we are barely pulling ourselves forward through a tight tunnel on badly scraped-up elbows. But we do come out the other side, exhausted and changed. To heal, it seems we have to stand in the middle of the horror, at the foot of the cross, and wait out another’s suffering where that person can see us.“

This is my challenge: To make the “The Sign of Peace” more than just some friendly, smiling, handshaking, muttering of peace-be-with-you. I will ask God with each encounter to lift me out of my despair; to embrace me with love and kindness toward others. And to bring peace, if only briefly, to each soul that I encounter.

Peace,

Denis

Fearful, confused, yet still hopeful

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When our son Blake was a boy, I worried more about him than his older brother and sister. This was the child that questioned everything and needed to have answers that were more than the standard “because I said so”.

When he was about seven years old, he disassembled the lamp in his room. When I him asked why, he told me that he was trying to see how it worked. After conversations about electrical currency and positivity and negativity and his serious risk of shock, he said that he would put the lamp back together. I doubt that I answered his questions about how electricity worked but he relented. He was inquisitive; I was afraid. He had sleepless nights worrying about his brother’s Jewish friend when he learned in kindergarten that Jesus was our Savior. What about his brother’s friend? Would he not get into heaven? I was flummoxed; he was afraid. When Blake would play outside, I kept a keen eye on him. He would climb trees and fences and perform other feats of derring-do. Always challenging the limits of physics and gravity, he was his own test subject. I would shout, “Be careful, or you’ll skin your innis.” His embarrassed and astonished response was often, “What’s an innis?” My response was always the same: “You’ll know when you skin it!” Our little game became a ritual, but it reinforced our fear, confusion and ultimate hopefulness. Somehow, embracing his fears while looking for answers, time and time again he would survey the risks, do it again and survive. And I would I gain another gray hair.

Recently I attended a meeting with a group of thoughtful people struggling with our current political situation in the United States. The stated purpose of our gatherings is to find transforming grace; to establish practices that will help us journey toward that grace. For me, there have been a few roadblocks. The current ‘us against them’ sentiment in our country makes it hard for me to reach beyond my own feelings; my own needs; my own fears. Politicians seem to be telling me that I should vote for or support a candidate or a position “because I told you so.” I am not okay with that.

I’m taking a page out of young Blake’s playbook. I’m going to push past my fears. I’m going to try to get to the truth. And I’m going to continue to love others with whom I disagree. It might take some feats of derring-do, but I’ll state my positions and put that bumper sticker on my car. I’ll listen. I’ll debate. I’ll pray, I’ll vote my conscience.

At the end of the day, I’m still afraid of the risk of losing our democracy. I’m confused why there is so much hate in our world, especially in the name of God. But I’m hopeful because many of the young people that I know are not afraid of immigrants or diversity or change. They were allowed as children to swing from those trees and jump off those fences. And when they fell and “skinned their innises” they got up and tried again. I might be overly optimistic, but I believe that truth and love will prevail.

Peace,

Denis

Thank a Teacher

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Teaching is more than a profession. It is a vocation. And yet, teachers are not always well regarded and are often the subject of ridicule. Certainly, their pay does not reflect the enormous responsibility that has been bestowed upon them. The people that maintain our lawns and groom our pets are likely paid more than the teachers with whom we have entrusted the education of our children. Public-school teachers and teachers’ unions are maligned. Private-school teachers are typically paid less than their public-school counterparts. School board members and parents’ advisory board members, many of whom have never spent a day in a classroom teaching, hold sway over our teachers lives and careers. Most politicians claim to value education, but their actions would prove otherwise.

Last week comments made by Vice Presidential candidate J.D. Vance in 2021 resurfaced. Vance attacked Randi Weingarten, the president of the American Federation of Teachers, for not having “a single child of her own.” It would appear that he believes someone without a “child of their own” is not qualified to teach.

Apparently, Vance was never blessed with the kind of the teachers that I have known. My favorite teachers were all childless. Whether by chance or choice or more likely by a conscious decision to live a consecrated life, these teachers tirelessly devoted their lives to other peoples’ children. I was the lucky recipient of their devotion to education. The religious Sisters that taught me in grade school and high school instilled in me a thirst for knowledge and a curiosity for life beyond my small-town existence. They taught me self-discipline and gave me self-confidence. None of them had given birth to a child, but they were all exemplary teachers. 50 or 60 years on, and I still remember those lessons.

My aunts, who were Sisters of the Most Precious Blood in O’Fallon, Missouri, dedicated their lives to education. Taking religious vows and being childless, didn’t weaken or lessen their ability to teach. In fact, I believe it strengthened their desire to serve others. They were all three remarkable women who taught, wrote, and had positions of leadership. I still, on occasion, will meet someone who was taught by one of my aunts. They are remembered for their love of teaching and their dedication to the children in their care. And not the just the children, they served the families of their students as well. Plus, they taught their own nieces and nephews by their examples of loving devotion.

So, if you are able to “do math” in your head, thank a teacher. If you know the difference between there, their, and they’re, thank a teacher. If you are able to read and write in cursive, thank a teacher. If you have a passion for learning, thank a teacher. If you pursued a career that you learned about in a classroom, thank a teacher.

It doesn’t matter if they had children of their own – they had you!

They had you and they gave you a part of themselves. Let’s lift them up! If they’re still around send them a note (in cursive) thanking them for the gift of education. If they have passed on, remember to thank God for them in your prayers. And thank God that they also helped you learn how to pray.

Peace,

Denis

Storytellers

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Some folks are great storytellers. They have a way of capturing your attention and touching your heart. My Dad was a storyteller. He never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Not that he lied exactly but his stories may have had a little embellishment from time to time. The best cooks add a little spice, so why not let a storyteller add a little flair. Besides, Dad’s stories seemed mostly true to his listeners. The essence of his stories was factual. The names, times and places may have been changed to protect the innocent. The stories Dad told have stood the test of time. He’s gone now but his stories live on. His kids and grandkids can regale any interested listener to this day.

Everyone has a story to tell. What is needed are listeners. How often have I avoided conversations? How many times have I dreaded crossing paths with someone because I didn’t want to hear about the latest heartache or heartbreak. I used to work with a guy who I routinely evaded. He was the kind of guy who if you asked him for the time, he would tell you how to build a clock. I think he was just lonely, and I was just a jerk. Maybe if I had acknowledged him, I would have made a friend. But I was too busy, too important, too egotistical to make myself available. I think my “could-have-been friend” had a story to tell but I couldn’t be bothered.

Now that I’m retired, I would like to use my career as justification for not always listening to others in the past. That would be lie, and not the harmless kind that Dad would weave into his stories, but a bald-faced lie. I just didn’t care enough to listen, really listen. What a loss.

Life is a journey and as with most journeys there are challenges along the way. And opportunities for growth. I’m learning to be an active listener. I’m trying to shut up and listen; to stop planning the response in my head while someone else is speaking. Unfortunately, I’m a slow learner. Perhaps this is the problem in our society today. People like me are so sure of themselves and their positions and their opinions that we don’t the take time to consider that there are others who have something to say; something worth listening to. I recently read (or heard) that truth is the integration of different points of view. That’s something to ponder. My opinion and your opinion and countless other opinions create the truth? If you think you’re right and I know I’m right, but we fundamentally disagree where is the truth in that? I have no idea but I’m trying to listen.

So, here’s the deal: We need to tell our stories. More importantly, we need to listen to others’ stories. And we can share our commonalities and learn to accept our differences. We need to open our minds and our hearts. My Dad once said, “Be open-minded, but not so open-minded that your brain falls out.” I chuckle when I remember that, but I get his point. We can listen to others’ stories respectfully. We can hold on to our “truths” while allowing others a chance to share theirs. We live in a diverse, pluralistic society where many voices make us stronger. We can and must listen and learn. Jesus shared his truth through parables. Perhaps we have our own parables to share.

I’ve read countless times, “Tell your story; sing your song”, but without listeners, storytellers have no story to tell. And we miss out on their wisdom; their insight; their love.

Peace,

Denis

My Everything

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Please indulge me as a I send a birthday greeting to my beautiful wife today.

Deb, we’ve been together since we were teenagers and most days, you still make me feel like that young man that was captivated by your beauty and charm and spirit all those many years ago. Of course, then I glance in the mirror, and I am reminded that more than 50 years have passed since the day that I fell head over heels.

We’ve had a lifetime together and I am one lucky man. We’ve shared some amazing adventures together. We’ve traveled the world, lived on two continents, survived several career changes, raised three incredible children, and been blessed with five beautiful grandchildren. We’ve had grand celebrations where we have been surrounded by countless friends and loved ones. But the quiet times, when it’s just you and me, are what I cherish most. The knowing look. The shared laugh. The gentle touch. The simple prayer.

Through it all, you have been my rock, my refuge, my home, my heart, my everything.

Somehow God decided that I was the one who got to share this life with you. Through the good and bad; through the joys and sorrows; I’ve had your beautiful hand to hold. And I’ll never let go.

Today when you’re blowing out your birthday candles and making your wish, know that my wish came true the day we met.

Love,

Denis

I created this video several years ago, but like our love it’s timeless…

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?)

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

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