Author: Denis Wilhelm

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

Catholic Sisters Week

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We’ve all heard the stories (some of us have told them) about when a nun hit some innocent across the knuckles with a ruler in a classroom. We’ve heard about Sisters who were stern. Sisters who were mysterious and terrifying. Of course, in the 1940’s, 1950’s and 1960’s public school kids were getting thumped by their teachers, too. So, I take those stories with a grain of salt. I’m not condoning abuse. I’m just saying it was not unique to Catholic Schools and some of the stories may have little to do with reality. On the other hand, if I had 45 kids in one classroom…

Many of us grew up with almost cartoonish images of Catholic Sisters. Who doesn’t remember the television show “The Flying Nun”? Sally Fields careening through the skies because her bizarre headgear could make her airborne in order to save the day (in a comedic way, of course). And the movies: “The Singing Nun” about the nun who recorded the chart-topping song “Dominique” as played by Debbie Reynolds (try to get that song out of your head); “Sister Act” gives us a disguised nightclub performer Whoopie Goldberg who saves the church and the community; Mary Tyler Moore in “Change of Habit” was no more believable as a nun than Elvis was as the doctor with whom she was smitten. My personal favorite is Rosalind Russell as the tough but loving Mother Superior in “The Trouble with Angels”. The list goes on…

On my Aunt Gene’s lap – a happy place to be.

As charming as some of those shows may have been, they have nothing to do with my reality of Catholic Sisters. I was blessed to be born into a family of Catholic Sisters. My great aunt, three of my aunts, and seven of my Mom’s cousins were Sisters. Most of them were Sisters of the Most Precious Blood of which I am a proud lay member today. As a child, my aunts loved me and will remain in my heart forever. They were women who embraced lives of service to others while being role models to their many nieces and nephews. As a student, the Sisters who taught me, encouraged me to reach beyond my limited capabilities. Sister Fidesta was at times my adversary, but she never gave up on me. She made me do better, when adequate would have been enough for me. I will never forget wild and crazy Sister Thecla who inspired my love of drafting and architecture which enabled me in my career.

Catholic Sisters Week has been celebrated in March for the last ten years during Women’s History Month. We honor religious Catholic women and remember Catholic sisters that have passed away. Today as a Partner in Mission with the Most Precious Blood Sisters, I have experienced firsthand the love, the service and the dedication of the Sisters. My Sister friends and fellow Partners in Mission continually model compassion, patience, and forgiveness. I’m still a work in progress.

This week while you’re scrolling through countless social media posts about politics or the Oscars or politics at the Oscars, I encourage you to google Catholic Sisters Week. If you are blessed to have a friend or a member of your family or a teacher that is or was a Catholic Sister, thank them and thank God for them.

Peace,

Denis

Renewal

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We’re in the process of having the interior of our house painted. It’s time for a refresh; a redo; a renewal. The change will be subtle. Most folks won’t even notice the change. Just another shade of gray in my color-blind world. But it will be fresher, brighter, and encourage other changes. Newly painted walls will likely require some new artwork, and possibly some new furniture and home decor.

Funny how life is like that. Not funny to my bank account but funny how one simple change sparks many additional changes as well. Lent is a time for renewal, too. I can fast and pray and do penance but most of the change, like our new paint job, will be subtle and likely unnoticed by others. Still, it’s good a time for me to refresh my shades of gray. And doing it without unnecessary attention is exactly as it’s meant to be. I can accept the changes in my heart and spirit, however modest they may be, and I can embrace the requirements that accompany those changes. Even if they are imperceptible. Maybe especially because they are imperceptible.

“When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.” Matthew 6:5-6

Spring is a time for renewal. The darkness and cold of winter give way to budding flowers and more hours of sunshine. My discouragement and frustrations can be carried more easily when I realize that there is hope in Christ. Lent fits nicely with this time of renewal. It’s a perfect time to be perfected in His love. I can clear away the cobwebs. I can throw open the shutters. I can add a new coat of paint to my weary soul. I can renew my spirit and accept the fact that if I want change in my world it must begin in my own heart.

Peace,

Denis

I Don’t Want To…

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I have a plaque in my office that reads, “LOVE GOD. LOVE OTHERS.” Sometimes it brings me great comfort. It reminds me of the friend who gave it to me, which brings a smile to my heart. It helps me remember to be kind. To love.

But honestly, sometimes it annoys me with its sanguine message. Often it challenges me. I don’t want to love others. Most days, I want to be angry, cynical and self-righteous. Love others? Even that obnoxious checker at The Neighborhood Walmart? The kid next door with the diesel truck rumbling at 5:30 AM? The lady at Mass on Sunday who informed me that she didn’t want any children sitting next to her, as I was trying to usher a family to their pew? My political adversaries? The guy at The Home Depot who couldn’t manage to control his dog from getting too friendly with my backside? Bad drivers? I don’t want to love any of those “others”!

As often happens, I stop and realize how foolish I am. As I reflect on my pride and stubbornness and a God who forgives me, I know that I can and must love others, even those annoying so-and-sos. Because many of them have loved me. And God always loves me even when I fail to love in return.

For years we have laughed about the time our grandson Noah, who was three or four years old, didn’t want to wear a collared shirt because in his tearful words, “I don’t want to be fancy!”. He didn’t want to get dressed up for whatever the occasion. He wanted to stay in his play clothes. He didn’t want to be stifled. He wanted to stay in his comfort zone. Getting “fancy” was going to challenge his very existence. You can’t run or throw a ball or tumble on the ground in a collared shirt. Despite his protests, he indeed wore that shirt and somehow, he survived it all. In truth, I would have caved in and let him wear what he wanted but his parents taught him a lesson that day. One that I am struggling to learn.

So today, I will try again to love others. It’s easy to love my family and friends. It’s easy to love those who share my values and my beliefs. It’s easy to love people in need who I see on the news or on social media. They’re distant and untouchable. It’s easy to love people through donations to charitable organizations. I’m shielded from their pain and suffering.

The tough ones to love are the family across the street who don’t keep their yard tidy; the lady who runs the red light; the Congressman who refuses to answer my emails; the person who pushed in front of me at the checkout counter; the family member who I no longer speak to because of political differences; the woman who loudly used profanity in a very crowded public place. And the man that I sometimes see in the mirror.

“I don’t want to…” But I’m trying. Loving others might make me uncomfortable at times. It certainly will push me out of my comfort zone. Loving those with whom I disagree doesn’t mean I have to abandon my beliefs. It might just free me to love more deeply, even if I shed a few tears in the process.

Thanks for the lesson, Noah.

Peace,

Denis