Today is my birthday. I was greeted by my lovely wife Debbie this morning with a sleepy “Happy Birthday” and her sweet smile, which I cherish all the more because I know that mornings are not typically a happy time for her. Two of my grandkids called on their way to school with their cheery little voices bringing sunshine on this foggy morning. Of course my daughter, my mom, my sister and brother have all called which makes me feel loved as well. Folks at work have been wishing me a “Happy Birthday” which may be more likely because I’m the boss but I’d like to think that a few of the wishes are sincere. Many more emails and Facebook posts add to the feeling of being cared about on this day. Birthday wishes are affirming. They cost nothing to give (expect the Hallmark variety) and they are worth so much to the receiver. I feel especially blessed today. And tonight when I blow out the candles on my cake, it will be my turn to “make a wish”. The only problem is that I have more than one wish. Perhaps the more candles that you have, the more wishes you should be allowed – I hope so anyway.
Here are my wishes:
I wish that I was fluent in Spanish because my Mexican friends speak such beautiful English (and I would like to return the favor).
I wish I had the energy to play all the games that my grandson wants to play.
I wish that my beautiful granddaughters will always keep a little of the innocence that they now possess.
I wish that I would have gotten some of that wisdom that’s supposed to come with age.
I wish that bacon, cheeseburgers, pizza and M&M McFlurries were all calorie free.
I wish that laughter would be a part of every day for the rest of my life.
I wish that I could give more, take less, and always be grateful for what I have.
I wish that all people would be treated with dignity, respect and kindness.
I wish that love would triumph over hatred in our hearts, in our homes, and in our world.
I wish that I might live just one day longer than Debbie (so that she’s never alone and that I’m not alone too long).
Happy Birthday to me!
Peace,
Denis
In 1947 an 18 year-old girl named Dot and an (almost) 21 year-old guy named George tied the knot. He having recently completed his stint with the Navy in World War II and she fresh off the farm, these two kids met in August of 1946 and were married the following spring. For him it was love at first sight. For her it took a little convincing but not too much.
I am blessed to be equal parts of both of them. I’d like to think that I’m the best parts of both of them. I know that I have Dad’s ears and chin and forehead and well, pretty much everything else. But the important parts are less about physical attributes and genetics and more about what has been imparted. Mom taught me how to pray. Dad taught me how to tell a good joke. Mom taught me the importance of cleanliness. Dad taught me the importance of family. Mom taught me how to do math in my head. Dad taught me how to build and fix things (and how to cuss when things don’t build or fix easily). Mom taught me that “early risers” get to enjoy the best part of the day. Dad taught me that watching old movies late at night can be just as rewarding. They both taught me how to love.
We need the joy of Easter. It is a welcome balm that can ease the pain in our world. I for one love the carnival atmosphere of Easter Sunday services. Kids dressed in itchy new Easter clothes barely able to sit still because of all the candy that they have consumed before breakfast; beleaguered parents who rose before dawn to hide eggs and prepare baskets full of the aforementioned candy for the little darlings; folks who have not been to church in a while looking conspicuously out-of-place; ‘the regular-attenders’ barely able to conceal their annoyance of having to share their pew. We squeeze in and make room for all. And we love and forgive and ask for forgiveness for the times that we have failed to love. The Alleluias return!
Today I’m writing about how much some kids act like their parents. This “acting-like” behavior is not just genetic imprinting. I believe it’s a learned behavior. I’ve seen it in adoptive families. We all model the behavior we learn as children. Our parents (good or bad) are our first teachers. As adults most of us have experienced the sensation of opening our mouths only to have our mother’s or father’s words come out. It’s almost as if we lose momentary control and someone else takes over – if not our thoughts, definitely our words. Sometimes with regret but always with a sense of astonishment, we hear the words once spoken to us as children and now we are actually saying the same things and WE CANNOT STOP IT.
And then comes change. Change creeps in and well, changes everything. How many times in my life have I had to adjust to change? Another baby. A lost job. A new home. The death of a loved one. A promotion. An illness. An accident. A marriage. A new grandchild.
Sunday at mass it will be the same priest, the same boring or out-of-touch homily, the same listless liturgy, and sometimes I just want to “phone it in”. I’ll go through the motions but I can’t help but wonder if my time might not be better spent cleaning out a closet or organizing the cabinets in my office. I suppose I could pray while I straighten out my clutter. Isn’t cleanliness next to Godliness or something like that?
This morning he didn’t think he could make it to school. He pleaded his case but Mom and Dad assured him that he would be okay. They offered him a favorite stuffed animal to take for “rest time” at pre-school (which is apparently a common practice for others in his class). The stuffed animal might offer some security and reminder of home but he refused it in a very adult manner: “No thank you Mommy, there are two reasons I don’t want to take my stuffed animal. First, I don’t want germs from other kids to get on it. And sometimes people play with their stuffed animals when it’s not resting time and our teacher doesn’t like that.” Apparently he knows his limitations.
Journeying & Journaling 