Author: Denis Wilhelm

Watching and Waiting

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Advent began yesterday, four weeks of preparation to celebrate Jesus’ birth and welcome His love into our lives. I often consider Advent to be a rather passive and reflective time. Longing and hoping and praying for Jesus’ incarnation. The Gospel message, “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come”, reminds us that Advent is a time of waiting.

We wait. We wait in joyful anticipation of a better world. We wait for peace and the end of violence in all forms. We wait for acceptance and inclusion of all people to the table. We wait for sustainability and the promise of an earth that will exist for our children and grandchildren. We wait for change in our political climate and discourse. We wait in hope.

But is waiting enough? What about being watchful and alert? We must open our eyes and our hearts to the inclusivity of Jesus and his teachings. For me that means “looking in the mirror”. How often have I rejected others with whom I disagree? How many times have I dismissed someone because of their appearance, beliefs, politics, age or sexuality? God did not create us to hate us. So why is it so easy for me to hate others who don’t align with me politically, intellectually or spiritually? Why are “my values” more valuable than theirs?

I re-read yesterday’s Gospel: “May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to all: ‘Watch!’” There is my message. Wake up Denis! Stop finding ways to separate yourself from others. If I want inclusivity; I must include others (even the ones I can’t stand). If I want peace; I must give peace to everyone I encounter. If I want sustainability; I must model it for my children and my grandchildren. If I want reasonable and respectful political discourse; I must stand up for what I believe but take the time to listen to others as well.

I suppose that Advent is not such a passive time after all. Longing and hoping and praying for Jesus’ incarnation must include action. If I want the world to change, I must start with myself!

Peace,

Denis

Eat, Drink, and Be Merry (and thankful, too)

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This week we’re reminded constantly to be thankful. Afterall, tomorrow is Thanksgiving and it’s a national holiday and we’re supposed to stuff ourselves with turkey and all the other good stuff and count our blessings. So, while I’m feasting on a sumptuous meal, I’m supposed to carve out, forgive the play on words, a moment to be thankful that I’m able to gorge myself like Henry VIII or someone from Overeaters Anonymous. Seems like food for thought – again sorry for the metaphor.

Don’t get me wrong. I love food. And I love celebrating with family and friends. My wife is an amazing cook, and our house will be decorated perfectly, and our tables will be set beautifully. Everyone will bring a special dish and hopefully a healthy appetite, and I promise there will be a seasonal cocktail thrown in for good measure. Plenty for which to be thankful. Still, some years with all the shopping, and cooking and cleaning and table setting, it seems like we’ve bit off more than we can chew – oops, there I go again.

The truth is this apple didn’t fall far from the tree (I promise that’s probably the last one). My Mom loved to feed us, and she made special occasions really special with her attention to every detail and Dad loved to be up in the middle of family gatherings. So, to honor their memories and to thank God for their example, we will make every effort to make it seem effortless. We will be gracious and refrain from complaining about the expense, and how much work it was to get the house ready, and to prepare the meal. Because we have far too many frenetic, attention deprived, days in this world with which we find ourselves, we need to actually enjoy a little elegance. We need a day set apart. We need a day with cloth napkins. We need a day without fast food or microwave meals. We need a day where we dress up just little bit. We need to bring out the “good” dishes and polish the silver. We need a day where we can have a moment to be thankful for the abundance in our lives.

And after that second slice of pumpkin pie, while we’re sitting around chewing the fat (okay, really that’s the last one), we can truly be thankful for the blessings in our lives. We can reminisce about Thanksgivings gone by. We can plan for Thanksgivings of the future. The meals. The specials table settings. And most importantly, the love.

We thank God for the love we share.

Peace,

Denis

Wine-ing Is Better Than Whining

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My friend Bob is a wine maker. It’s a hobby, but his wines are extraordinary, and they just keep getting better. Recently we had the pleasure (and sore muscles) of helping him crush his 400+ pounds of grapes. No, we didn’t stomp on the grapes like that episode on “I Love Lucy”. Ours was a more sanitary process with nitrile gloves and crushing by hand. It took a team. Plenty of laughter and previous vintages were enjoyed by all.

It occurred to me that vintners must be optimists. You spend a lot of time and money and more time and more money to achieve the perfect blend. The “crush” is the just the first step in wine making. Then you must wait. You wait until the fermentation process begins and add acid and bacteria and “press” and “punch” the grapes and on and on. A lot of dedication and science and more waiting is required. Finally, weeks? months? later the stuff is bottled. And then the real waiting begins. 3 years? 5 years? 10 years? Only an optimist would work that hard on something that might not come to fruition. Or the wine might outlive you before it can be decanted! But my friend Bob is a “glass half full” kind of guy. In his case, it’s a glass half full of wine. God bless him.

Worrying about stuff is something I’m good at. It’s not exactly a hobby but it does consume a lot of my time. I worry about climate change, the wars in Europe and the Middle East, the sad state of U.S. political discourse, gun violence, racism, sexism, terrorism, and all the other “isms” that keep me awake at night. I worry about my grandchildren for all the regular kid stuff plus the extra crap that they’re carrying around now (active shooter drills, road rage, papillomavirus, the internet, bullying, cheating in school by using smart phones and hair styles from the 1970’s).

Where I get myself into trouble isn’t the worrying, it’s the whining. I whine about the how terrible things are or are going to be. I wring my hands and that hurts because of arthritis, and I bitch about that, too. In fact, my whining becomes contagious. It encourages others to whine. And often the pity-party ensues. Oh, woe are we! Everything is terrible and is only going to get worse. I used to scoff when my mother would proclaim that “the world is going to hell in a handbasket” and now I feel her pain. But whining doesn’t help anything or anyone. So, what’s a whining worrier to do?

Prayer helps. And looking forward. And hope.

Mostly I find my solace in the joy of others. Their optimism is transformative. My granddaughter Anna is an honor student and an actress and a student ambassador at her school. She is actively involved in the teen program at her church. She is also a rock-climber (which honestly worries me) who towers cliffs. But she is undaunted. She is so full of life! She is constantly attaining new heights both literally and figuratively. The entire world is in front of her, and nothing seems to slow her down or discourage her from achieving her goals. She’s crushing it! Mostly, she has the gift of being a joy-giver. She is that rare breed of person who makes you feel better by any encounter with her.

So, Bob and Anna remind me that the future is bright and worth waiting for. I thank God for their witness and their faith. They give me hope. And sometimes a really nice glass of wine.

No whining required.

Peace,

Denis

What? I’m Holy??!!!

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

I recently read (again) that all Christians are called to holiness. I get that in the abstract, but I don’t usually think of myself as holy. I usually avoid holiness (or the perception of holiness). My problem is that I confuse holiness with piety or religiosity or self-righteousness. And I’m none of those things. In fact, I work hard not to appear to be pious or religious or self-righteous. There’s my stumbling block – appearance. Why am I so worried about appearing holy? Am I afraid to show my love for God and others?

All Christians in any state or walk of life are called to the perfection of love, and by this holiness a more human manner of life is fostered in earthly society. (Vatican II – Lumen Gentium 5:40).

So, love or the perfection of love is holiness? We are called to generous love, to closeness with God, to holiness. Dang it! I just want to be a good guy. A good husband, good dad, good granddad, good brother, good friend and good neighbor. Being holy has never been my goal, but I want to love others. If loving God and loving others makes me holy, then I guess, bring it on.

My heart aches for the violence and bloodshed in Israel. It’s impossible for me to understand the hate that compels such atrocities. The news reports are devasting and I confess that I have turned the television off a few times because watching it becomes unbearable. But I want to wrap my arms around the victims and their families. I pray that God will ease their suffering. Their plight seems hopeless, and my prayers seem feeble. Can one person sitting in the comfort and safety of his home make a difference? Holiness says yes.

A friend is battling cancer and has begun her chemo treatments. She is a young mother with such vitality and optimism and joy that it seems inconceivable that she should fall victim to this disease. I pray for her and her young family. I pray for healing and strength. Do my prayers matter? Holiness says yes.

Our oldest granddaughter is beginning her adult life. She is gay. She is opting for a less conventional path toward future employment – choosing an apprenticeship as an iron worker instead of college. I’m proud of the person she is – honest, loving, brave, but I worry about her future. Will uncertainty, hardship, and fear accompany her journey in life? I pray and I ask God to watch over her. Does it matter? Holiness says yes.

I suppose I should stop saying that I’m not holy. Holiness is a lifetime of conversion – a constant dance with God. I didn’t ask for holiness, but I’ve asked God for help, and I’ve thanked God for my blessings countless times.

I am learning (slowly) to perfect my love and to accept my call to holiness.

Peace,

Denis

What if the Prodigal Son had a Sister?

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This is an updated repost from September 2011.

I have two sons and a daughter. The sons both live a distance from us – one in Wisconsin and one in Oklahoma. The daughter lives nearby. We see the sons (if we’re lucky) a couple of times a year. We see the daughter (and we are lucky) several times a week.

When we talk (or FaceTime) with our sons, it’s usually about important upcoming events and significant happenings – graduations, anniversaries, birthdays, travel, careers, etc. When we talk to our daughter, it can be mundane – what’s for dinner, aches and pains, what’s going on at school, the weather, etc.

It occurred to me recently that perhaps our daughter might sometimes feel like the older brother of the Prodigal Son. Needless to say, she’s here day-in and day-out listening to our latest complaints and answering our latest requests – always supportive, always cheerful, always ready for more. When “the boys” come to town it’s cause célèbre. And she often helps plan and carry out whatever festivities take place. By contrast, when she comes to dinner, she’s expected to set the table, help prepare the meal and clean up afterwards. Hardly seems fair…

But fairness is never part of the equation. Bess (our beautiful and gracious daughter) has inherited her mother’s gift of charity. She seldom thinks of herself first. 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 (again – a gift from her mother).

She’s here. She’s available. She’s constant. And I know that they say (whoever they are) that familiarity breeds contempt. But in our case, it seems to me that familiarity creates family. We are family. And I need my daughter. And I hope she knows how much I love and appreciate her. I try to tell her in lots of small ways because we rarely have big celebrations for her and Travis and their children. We just have small celebrations and familiar and comfortable times together. And for me those small intimate gatherings are almost always more meaningful than the grand events planned for our sons.

And because of who she is, I doubt that Bess has ever resented her brothers or felt pushed aside when we “slaughter the fatted calf.” But just in case, she should know:

My (daughter), you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. ~ Luke 15:31

Peace,

Denis (Dad)

Living Vicariously

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It’s some grandparents’ prerogative to think that their grandchild is exceptional. It’s my prerogative to know that mine is. I have been living vicariously through my grandson Noah since his birth. He has afforded me an exception to every adult rule. It was okay to giggle, make funny faces, or even cry sometimes when he was a baby. It was perfectly acceptable to roll around on the floor and play with toys when he was a toddler. Taking those first steps and mastering each new skill assured us both of our invincibility. Singing silly sounds and laughing too loudly was practically expected when he was a preschooler. School days and sports activities gave us a chance to learn (and learn anew) the value of education and teamwork. Receiving sacraments and praying together brought us closer to God and to one another. Many times, I have thought, “I wish I had been a better student, a better athlete, a better friend”. Then I see him achieving things that I could have only dreamed of, and I realize that he is my second chance. An opportunity to live those dreams through him. That’s a lot to put on a little guy, but he loves me, and he lets me come along for the ride. It’s been sublime.

Today he becomes a teenager. A TEENAGER. This is unchartered territory. He’s never been there, and I’ve forgotten or blocked out most of my teen years. Will we share the angst? Will we share the joys and heartaches together? I guess it’s time to ‘buckle-up’. I do remember that my teenage years were bumpy. I pray that his will be better.

Someone once said that Noah is the ‘complete package’ – straight “A” student, good athlete, faith-filled, joyful, kind, and loving. I know of course that I am incomplete. His witness fills those hollow places in my heart and my soul.

I realize that I may soon become irrelevant. It’s not malicious; it’s just how life sometimes works out. Grandparents are easy to ‘put-on-shelf’ so to speak. Drag them out for holidays, birthdays, etc. If that happens, my hope is that I can handle it with grace and dignity. Still, I’ll keep living vicariously through Noah. He won’t need to know that I’ll be learning (again) how to drive and how to deal with the ups and downs of team sports and how to navigate the mysterious world of the opposite sex, and trigonometry. It’s okay if he begins to keep me at arms-length. I will be perfectly fine just sitting on the sidelines and watching this beautiful boy become a man.

As long as I can cheer and fear and pray, he will be with me, and I will be with him. You see, I’m not quite ready to grow up. I believe that we still have some amazing years ahead of us. He likely has no idea how much I need to live those years through him and with him. But I hope that he knows I’m always here when (and if) he needs me.

Peace,

Denis

Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord ~ Genesis 6:8

Can You Hear Me Now?

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I feel that lately I spend a lot of time trying to hear something or someone. In this world of constantly evolving technological advancements, we have FaceTime and Zoom and Hands-Free mobile phone calls and Smart TV’s that adjust the sound according to what we’re watching (except commercials, those are always too loud). Still, I often myself not hearing well enough. My wife believes that I need hearing aids, but I believe what I truly need are ‘listening’ aids.

There’s a lot of noise out there and I have tinnitus which only adds to the cacophony. My struggle is parsing what I need to hear from that which is just noise. It’s not easy. Because I don’t want to miss anything, I try to listen to everything. And my nearly constant, “I’m sorry, what was that?”, becomes annoying to those around me. I’ve even tried to stop talking so much in an attempt to hear others speak, but I’ve proven to be a failure at that particular skill.

So, what’s a poor listener to do?

First, I need to remind myself that everyone has a story to tell. How often have I heard the phrase or seen the plaques that read, “Tell Your Story, Sing Your Song”? What I need is a plaque that reads, “Listen to Their Story, Listen to Their Song, but First: Put Yourself in Their Shoes”. Not as catchy and not ready for the Hallmark® shelves but if you find it on Etsy®, I should probably get some royalties.

How often do I ask someone, “How are you?”, only to be told, “I’m fine.” And I’m off and running. Rarely does anyone tell me how they really are and sadly, if they do, chances are I really don’t want to hear the details. “Fine” is just fine. Putting on my brakes and listening, really listening takes time and requires me to engage; to be present; to care. This is not always convenient. And it’s definitely not easy. Listening is something that I must consciously choose to do. Listening requires patience, thoughtfulness and commitment. These are things that I often find in short supply.

As I often do in times of frustration, uncertainty, self-doubt or just plain, old stupidity, I pray. I pray that God grants me the patience to listen (really listen) to others. I pray for discernment to tune out the noise in order to focus on the present. I pray for the empathy to walk in another’s shoes. I pray that I fight the urge to compose a response in my head while others are still trying to tell me their story.

And I listen for God’s forgiveness when I fail.

Peace,

Denis

Just A Dad

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When I was a young father, I was pretty hands-on. Changing diapers. Mending knees. Drying tears. My wife worked part-time opposite my schedule so we could avoid daycare as much as possible. There were nights when I was exhausted, but homework and baths and bedtime prayers were still required. The truly exhausting part was the worry. Worry about finances. Worry about education. Worry about too much television, not enough healthy food. Worry about the friends they had or didn’t have.

Mostly I worried about screwing EVERYTHING up. Unwittingly doing some irreparable harm by not protecting them; preparing them; guiding them. There is something almost primal about a father’s need to love and protect his children – maybe its self-preservation. I don’t know, maybe when the first dad (Adam?) crawled out of the primordial ooze we were already pre-wired to protect our offspring in order to make certain our species would survive.

Lately I’ve been observing young fathers. There was a father at church yesterday who was comforting his baby daughter. This dad has three daughters – so he gets to go straight to heaven. But anyway, yesterday the little fussy one needed daddy to stand up and bounce her around in his arms. Which of course he did. Several times. At one point, I walked over and put my arm around him and reminded him that fatherhood means “doing whatever you think she needs for the rest of your life”.

I’m encouraged by the time and attention that I see young fathers affording their children today. I see dads lugging the diaper bags and pushing the strollers and holding the hands of their progeny. I watch and I recall that often when I was younger it seemed novel that I would be the one doing those things. Maybe in my father’s generation men were still the hunter-gatherers and womenfolk tended the children. But evolution has prevailed and now dads hunt and gather and bounce their babies, hold their hands, wipe up their spills, tie their shoes, and mend broken their hearts.

Sometimes when I see these young dads, I think about Saint Joseph. We know little about Joseph. We know that he had doubts. We also know that he said yes. He protected Mary and Jesus. Joseph is often depicted as an old man. But I believe Joseph was young when Jesus was born. A worker. A teacher. A companion. A Dad. Frightened but courageous. Ill prepared but undaunted. Beleaguered but bouncing Jesus if required to keep him still in the Temple. And I ask his intercession to protect all of us fathers.

My children are in their forties now. And I still worry, but I believe that our history together prepares them; guides them; protects them. “Look at what I did. Look at the mistakes that I made. Be smarter. Do better. And remember, to never stop loving beyond reason.”

Peace,

Denis

Who Needs Barbie?

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(There’s a lot of Barbie® hype out there right now, so I thought my beautiful wife’s birthday would be a good time to update this post originally published 12 years ago).

When my wife was a little girl, she wanted to be Barbie – tall and blonde and all the rest. But instead, God decided to make her Midge® – Barbie’s best friend. Midge was shorter and brunette and NOT BARBIE. But even though Midge (Deb) is ‘vertically challenged’ you shouldn’t be fooled by her size. She is larger than life. Her circle of influence is boundless. She dreams big. She has more class in her little finger than most folks have in their entire body. And she has more friends today than I have had in my entire life.

Most descriptions of her include phrases like big heart; generous spirit; huge smile; hearty laugh; giving friend; loving mother, and grandmother. These are hardly the images of a mousey little Midge. And Deb does things in a big way, too. Meals are an event. You’ll never leave her table hungry. Holidays are a time for elegant decorating and grand entertaining, and fabulous food. She works hard and she plays hard, too.

And if you are in need, she’s the friend/sister/daughter/mother/grandmother to call on. If you need a laugh, she will always deliver. If you need someone to hold or if you need to be held, her arms are always wide open. If you need to cry, she will cry, too. Debbie has this incredible gift of making you feel that when she’s with you, no one else is more important or more needed at that moment than you. You have her complete undivided attention. She gives her entire self.

Her children and grandchildren will also tell you that she is a ‘force to be reckoned with’. And most importantly, you should NEVER attempt to hurt one of her children or grandchildren – she’s like a lioness in her need to protect them. And I believe that she would stare down the devil if the need arose.

As for me, well when Deb walks in the room it’s like everyone else fades into the background. All the light in the space seems to be emanating from her. She just gets to me. She always tells our granddaughters “To be pretty; you have to act pretty”. And she lives those words, too. Her beauty shines through.

Barbie, you might be a statuesque blonde, but you are empty inside, I’ll take ‘ma femme petite belle’ over you any day!

Even though I’m over a foot taller than she, I know that Deb stands well above me in terms of heart and soul.

Peace,

Denis

Debbie – Happy Birthday! It’s been my pleasure and an honor to look up to you all these many years. I love all four feet eleven inches of you and this life we share. ~ D

Rabid Gardener

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A few days ago, a neighbor was walking by and complimented our yard saying, “Everything looks so beautiful. You must be an avid gardener.” I thanked her as she walked on, and I thought to myself, I’m not truly an avid gardener; I’m more of a rabid gardener. Let me explain: I love the trees and flowers. I love spring and summer and the bounty of blossoms and greenery. But I neglect the gardens. I let things get a little out of hand. And I step outside and realize that I must get things under control! So, instead of patiently tending the gardens each day, I instead go into manic-mode and work in a frenzy until I’m a hot, achy, sweaty mess who is really too tired to enjoy his labor.

Hence, I attack the gardens like a rabid animal, but I get the job done. And I accept the compliments of a neighbor and ignore things for another week or so and then repeat the cycle. It’s exhausting. But it works.

I know of course that daily weeding and more careful tending of my gardens would in the long run ease my burden and then I might just become an avid gardener instead of a rabid one. There is always room for improvement.

This morning I was thinking that my faith life is somewhat like my gardening. I don’t give it the daily attention that I should. Instead, I let things go sometimes until they get out of hand. I fail to see God’s presence in my life. I often ignore the blessings in my life. I become cynical and defiant. And when things are a mess, I turn to God in my frenzy and my weakness, and I finally pray. When I am overwhelmed with pain and conflict and loss, I panic, I plead, I cry. In frantic desperation, I pray “God help me!” And somehow God answers the prayers of this simple man. When the weeds of sin and destruction are choking out the flowers in the garden of my life, Jesus still restores my soul. I pray selfishly, but it works.

Still, I realize that if I focus some attention on prayers of thanksgiving for the bountiful blessings in my life, my panic will lessen. My disappointments and heartache will be easier to shoulder when I remember that I am never alone. The struggles in my life will always remain but perhaps the ability to deal with those challenges will improve if I could just turn them over to God daily. There is always room for improvement.

It’s not perfect but, in the grand scheme of things my life has been remarkably blessed. And my gardens don’t look too bad either. I will continue to thank God for both.

Peace,

Denis

Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks. 1 Thessalonians 5: 17-18

Below is a song about prayer. It’s heart rending but it reminds me to thank God as often as I beg for help.