The Lesson I Learned Watching National Velvet

Recently two of our granddaughters spent the night. Part of the requisite for a sleepover is a movie. Usually it’s some Disney® or Pixar® animated “new release” but this time my wife suggested a classic: Elizabeth Taylor’s National Velvet.

What a treat! Not only was it a nice diversion from the usual fare but it is a beautiful film from 1944 that tells the tale of a girl who, against all odds, wins the British Grand National Steeplechase. Our granddaughters were mesmerized. First by the fact that they love horses; secondly by the fact that Velvet, the young girl played by Elizabeth Taylor, was disqualified because she was a girl (only boy jockeys were allowed in 1944). The girls were both delighted and outraged. They know full well that they can do anything boys can do.

My own little equestrian

My own little equestrian

But the message of the film was not lost on them. Velvet’s success in training and racing her horse and ultimately winning the race was what mattered. The recognition and prize money were less important. Velvet loved and believed in her horse and her reward was knowing that together they had achieved greatness regardless of what society deemed worthy or acceptable.

Of course I love my granddaughters but my pride in seeing them embrace a film that is not cutesy or Disney-fied is hard for me to put into words. They might have struggled with some of the British accents and some of the antiquated ideas from the 1940’s but they followed the story and cheered for Velvet and her horse. They both spoke later about how the important thing was that Velvet never gave up on her dream. Pretty profound for a six and nine year-old.

I’m guilty of sometimes dumbing-down stuff for my grandkids. I try to take some of the harshness out of reality. I want every day for them to be all sweetness and light. And I always want them to have rainbows and fairytale endings. But that’s not really such a good idea after all.

The girls taught me a valuable lesson the other night. I know now that they are tougher than I thought. They will be able to handle disappointment and heartache in life because they realize that they are surrounded by love. And they are capable of tremendous compassion. I’m certain that they will be winning their own “championships” someday and that their gains will be in character, faith and love.

It seems certain that there is much more they will be teaching me in the future. I can hardly wait…

Peace,

Denis

The Long and Short of It

My beautiful wife Debbie is 4′-11″ tall. I’m 6′-1″. Height differences have been challenging at times to say the least. Disagreements about where things should be placed (top shelf or bottom shelf; overhead or underneath) have been a source of conflict through the years. Also purchasing furniture, cabinets, and automobiles that fit both of us can be quite challenging. Our daily lives have been consumed with readjusting mirrors, car seats, step stools, computer monitors, and anything else that will allow height accommodations. We are simply physically mismatched.

Deb meOf course our physical differences are just part of the challenge. I’m all – hurry, hurry let’s go! She’s all – slow down; calm down. I need a well thought-out plan. She runs on feelings and often laughs at my plans. I’m an early bird that loves to rise and shine. She’s a night owl who requires silence and coffee in the morning. I’m very linear. She usually colors outside the lines.

Through the years we have learned that differences are not detrimental to a successful relationship. In fact, just the opposite. My wife and I actually complement one another. We fill in each others voids. We carry one another when necessary. I realize that life with another person just like me would be boring. And I also believe that two Debbies could be disaster (or far too much fun depending on your perspective).

Our marriage might serve as an example for others. If we can get along, so can you. And so should nations, political parties, neighborhoods, schools districts, churches, and kids on the playground. Being different from one another needn’t make us enemies. Respecting the talents and gifts that we each share is worth the risk of not always being right.

Deb and I somehow have managed to live together in spite of our 14″ difference in height. Her hand rests perfectly inside mine. And the other differences usually sort themselves out, too. I suppose abundant love and unending patience helps. But I suspect that sometimes it’s just not worth the fight. That’s why God created adjustable car seats and step stools.

 While we were living in England a cabbie once chuckled as we entered his taxi and said, “Well Governor, you two are certainly the long and short of it!” We all shared a good laugh.

Of course he had no idea that we fit so well together…

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Happy Birthday Deb! I love you and I love the fact that we are indeed ‘the long and short of it’.

 

 

If church could be like the beach, I would go every day…

Last week we were in Florida. Every year when we make our annual jaunt to the Gulf of Mexico I realize that I could very easily become a beach bum. I love the beach. I love the sound of the waves crashing. I love being in the water even with the occasional seaweed wrapping around my legs. Give me a sunny day on the shore with a Corona® or a margarita and a beach chair and I could be happy for hours (or at least until the drinks run dry or the sun goes down).

beachI think the best thing about being on the beach is that no one seems to care about how you look; if you’re on time; if you’re rich or poor; if you’re well-read; if you’re young or old; if you’re fit or a little flabby. Of course when you are on the beach you will see some beautiful beach bodies and some hideous creatures, too. I’d like to think that I fall somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. But it doesn’t matter. Anything goes. The beach is the great equalizer. If you want to run along the shore that’s fine. If you want to lay on a blanket or a lounge chair all day that’s fine, too. If you want to build sand castles or search for sea shells or watch for dolphin sightings, or ride the waves on your boogie board, or just feel the sand between your toes, no one cares. No one judges what you do or don’t do.

Everyone seems to accept you as you are. And no one seems to be bothered to follow anyone else’s idea of what beach time should be. No schools. No rules. No fools. Just be yourself. And be accepted. The beach has room for all.

I’d like to think our church could be like the beach: Room for all. No need for everyone to be the same. Or have the same expectations of holiness. I believe that like the beach, our Eucharist is the great equalizer. We all come to the table from different places but we share in the love of Christ. God doesn’t judge us on our appearance or actions (or inactions) but what is in our hearts.

Like the beach, the church should have room for us all. And a little sunshine wouldn’t hurt once in a while.

Peace,

Denis

Sweet Land of Liberty

Today is July 4th. In the United States we celebrate Independence Day. As with most national holidays it seems that much of the meaning is lost amidst picnics, parades, backyard barbecues, and fireworks displays. And yet our great country celebrates another birthday.

I like to think of myself as a patriot but lately I’m afraid that patriotism has come to represent a pretty narrow political view by some folks. I’m not a member of the Tea Party. I don’t watch Fox News. I won’t sign any “English only”petitions. And I don’t believe that God should bless America anymore than God should and does bless all nations.

I am however in favor of immigration reform, raising the minimum wage, affordable healthcare, gay marriage, and gun control. And still I remain a patriot.

To me this is the beauty of being an American. We are a pluralistic nation. We are diverse. We can disagree with one another. We can openly oppose the political views of our elected officials and vote them out of office. We can peacefully assemble. We can protest. We have the right to freedom of speech. And my son, who is a member of the U.S. military will defend to the death these rights for you and me.

LibertyWhat makes me a patriot? I love my country. I’m proud to be an American. I’ve traveled the world and, while our nation is not perfect, it is simply the best place for me and my family. Other countries are wonderful and my life has been enriched by having visited many of them but they are not home.

So I even though I am a progressive and an avid supporter of civil rights and equality for all Americans, I am still a patriot. I will be flying my flag proudly and honoring those early patriots whose vision of a nation with liberty and justice for all remains with us today. And I respect and embrace your unalienable right to think that I am completely wrong about my political views.

From every mountainside let freedom ring. I love living in this sweet land of liberty.

Peace,

Denis

 

My Journey Continues Today

Every journey is supposed to have a beginning and an end but it’s what happens along the way that fills my soul. Of course there are wrong turns and detours and setbacks as I plod on to reach my destination. I’ve discovered some unexpected surprises and realized anticipated milestones as I’ve reached them. I might feel lost or stuck at times; not sure how to go on or which way to turn. Time marches on and sometimes I struggle to keep pace. And yet I continue today. I simply have no choice. I continue.

My constant reminder to myself: Love more. Hurt less. Give more. Take less.

This is it. My only journey. And it won’t really ever end. I’ve decided to forgo focussing on the destination and relish the journey. I’m letting go of the false-starts and missteps; the disappointments and regrets.

I’m not sure where my journey may lead. And I’m grateful for the days that I’ve had and the ones that I hope to have in the future. I’ve seen some amazing places and known some extraordinary people. I’ve had moments in this life that have been heart-breakingly beautiful and some filled with such desperation that even the memory brings back the pain. But I’m embracing this day. TODAY.

Today I have a wife and children and grandchildren and we share an ordinary life. We work. Clean the house. Mow the lawn. Pay bills. Buy groceries. Prepare meals.

But more importantly: We play. We pray. We sing. We laugh. We cry.

imageFor me it’s always been the simple pleasures: Holding Deb’s hand. A tender kiss on  the cheek from a grandchild. A giggle from an oft-told joke that never stops being funny. Praying at mealtime. Hugs. Hearing “I love you”. A favorite song. Comfortable shoes. Sunshine. Blue skies. Fresh snowfall. Warm summer nights and dinner on the patio. The sound of rain on the roof.  A call home. A friendly voice. The smell of supper on the stove. A job well done. A goodnight kiss.

As I journey, I don’t need to “get somewhere”, I’m already there. This journey is not about arriving somewhere in the future, it’s about being here now.

Every kiss. Every tear. Every joy. Every heartache. Those are mine to share. TODAY.

Peace,

Denis

Husband. Father. Son. Brother. Friend.

It’s hard to believe that I’ve known my son-in-law Travis for twenty years. We met long before he even knew that I had a daughter; let alone that he would one day marry her. He was the (very young) computer consultant that the company that I worked for at the time had hired. Funny thinking back on it now, I couldn’t have imagined then that he would ever be part of our family. Or that I would love and admire him as much as I do.

But that was then…

T & DToday he is a man who deserves to share the life he has made with my beautiful daughter (something that I once thought no one would EVER be worthy to claim). Travis adores my daughter. And he is loving, patient, and kind to his children. His example of faith is a witness to us all. And he has taught Anna and Noah to know and love God. He is always the first person to lend a hand and brings his tireless energy to even the most difficult tasks. Plus he is fun and funny!

Husband. Father. Son. Brother. Friend.

Wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God, my God. Ruth 1:16

Peace,

Denis

 

You Know That You’re Old When Your Toys Are Antiques

PlayRecently I was watching “Antiques Roadshow” on PBS. There was some guy who had brought vintage toys for appraisal. Apparently calling old stuff “vintage” is better than calling it old. Anyway, I realized that one of the vintage trucks that he had was similar to one I played with as a boy. Furthermore, I was certain that I still had it in a box in the basement. And to my delight I found my Buddy L® pickup truck and trailer.

I thought that my grandson Noah might enjoy playing with my old (vintage) metal truck. And he in fact loves it! It brings back happy memories for me, too. This truck and trailer must be over 50 years old. My friends and I would “drive it” through the empty lot across the street when we were boys. We imagined we were on a huge construction site and would play all day with our trucks and cars in the dirt and weeds. Our beloved empty lot finally gave way to a new home and eventually my friends and I grew too old for toy cars and trucks. Luckily mine was safely boxed away only to find a new life as a vintage toy.

Buddy LHappy to have rediscovered one of my toys, I am still a little troubled by the “antique” label. If my toy is antique what does that say about me? My Buddy L® truck is 100% metal except for the rubber tires. It’s heavy, has sharp edges and is likely coated with toxic paint. To my knowledge, no safety tests have ever been performed. No recalls ever issued. This truck has only been boy-tested and it passed that test long ago with flying colors. It has careened over countless hillsides and carried scores of plastic Army men and farm animals.

Today she is a little rusty and worn (hey – so am I). But Noah has given her new life. When my granddaughters join in, the truck is sometimes reduced to carrying Polly Pockets® and Pretty Ponies®. But Noah and I are mostly purists and we like to haul “boy stuff” in her bed and trailer. So we have plastic farm animals and safari animals to load up now. We also sometimes carry his Uncle Blake’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles® (which I suppose are not quite yet vintage).

Old toys can play hard. My antique Buddy L® has proven that.

But I wonder how often I discard things that were once purposeful but now considered obsolete? How many times have I written something off as useless or unnecessary? And what about people? Do I view elderly people as a burden? Because they are old, are they not worthy of my time and attention? Do I overlook the beauty, wisdom and experience of a life well lived? Antiques are treasured for the very fact that they are old. But I fear in our society we often dismiss our older citizens for that very same reason.

I know that my truck can still play hard and I’m learning that grandpas can play hard, too.

Noah, thanks for letting me come along for the ride! I think that Buddy L® and I still have a few good “vintage” years left.

Peace,

Denis

 

 

 

Why Is The Table A Woman?

I travel to Mexico frequently and I am desperately trying to learn some Spanish. (Yes, Sister Madeline – I should have paid more attention in Spanish class back in high school! But so far, “¿Donde esta la biblioteca?” hasn’t helped me much.)

What I find most confusing is the gender assignment of nouns. Who decided that the fork (el tenedor) is a male and the spoon (la cuchara) is woman? Also cats, dogs and horses – are all masculine (so I’m not sure how they get more cats, dogs and horses) while kitchens, tables and chairs are female but the plates resting on the table are male. My wife would say that once again the women are doing the heavy lifting in this arrangement.

Who assigned the sexes to nouns anyway? Probably some frustrated Spanish monk, locked away in a dreary monastary on some stoney coastline, tired of all the prayer and self-flagellation. He might have thought, “Hey, this could be fun!” “Let’s make tables female!” Otherwise it could all just be something very Freudian, hence el polo (the pole) and la copa (the cup). On the other hand, towers are femine and canyons are masculine. So I remain confused. 

It gets particularly interestings with plurals. Let me explain: nieto is grandson. Nieta is granddaughter. But grandchildren are nietos (the masculine). Often my director in Mexico City will ask about my grandsons, even though she knows that I have only one grandson and three granddaughters. The same goes for friends, who may be amigos and amigas but together they are all amigos. And on and on…

El AngelDon’t get me wrong, English is just as confusing for non-English speakers. What with our there, their, and they’re; not to mention, wind or wind, tear or tear and lead or lead. I feel sorry for anyone trying to learn our language.

Still Spanish is my struggle and I find some amount of humor in all the gender confusion. No doubt I have provided much needed laughter to an overworked restaurant employee when I have asked for a table with a veiw but more likely asked if her legs could support two persons and would she mind if we sat on her while looking out a window.

In my defense, the most important monument in Mexico City, which is within view of my office – El Ángel de la Independencia (“The Angel of Independence”) is sexually confused. El Ángel – masculine. The actual angel on top of  El Ángel, well she’s a woman.

¡Dios Mio! Thankfully I have Google Translate on my iPhone…

Paz,

Denis

 

Good Friday

Our six year-old granddaughter Anna was retelling what she knows about the story of Jesus’ passion and death. Her three year-old brother Noah said, “Anna, I don’t like this story. It’s scary!” Her reply: “Wait Noah, it has a happy ending!”

This is a somber day for most Christians as we contemplate Christ’s ultimate sacrifice for us. As we join our suffering with His, let us never forget that there is indeed a happy ending.

Peace,

Denis

 

 

Hippity Hoppity, Easter’s On Its Way

The origins of the Easter Bunny are unclear, but he is mentioned in early German writings. The first edible Easter bunnies appeared in Germany in the 1800s, and were made out of sugar and pastry. As a kid I often wondered what the Easter Bunny had to do with eggs. Polish folklore has the Virgin Mary offering eggs to the soldiers guarding Christ on the cross, as she begged them to be merciful, her tears left stains on the eggs. Eggs and bunnies and candy. There are so many conflicting images that all seem to converge at Easter in some pastel menagerie with chocolate and jelly beans thrown in for good measure.

EasterRecently I’ve read commentaries by some Christian writers complaining about the commercialization of Easter; how Easter is demeaned by the purchase of candy and greeting cards, etc. In 2013 the average consumer spent $145.13 on everything from Easter candy to new clothes. But wasn’t Easter originally a pagan feast to celebrate spring? Painting and dying eggs pre-dates Christianity. It seems that early Christians just conveniently supplanted what was already a festival. Sort of, “Hey, we already have a party – let’s make it about Jesus!”

As a Christian, I’m not really bothered that Easter was formally a pagan feast day. I’m equally undisturbed with the Easter Bunny sharing the day that celebrates the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. If we find new life in Christ, why not celebrate the new life around us? And if you’re not a Christian, I still hope that you can enjoy a dyed egg and a chocolate bunny (or whatever means springtime to you). According to the National Confectioners Association’s survey 87% of people create an Easter basket for their kids. This just makes for happy kids. It needn’t diminish the importance of Easter. To the contrary, it should emphasize the joy we share. Why not “wear your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it?”

For Christians this is our Holy Week. This is the most sacred time in our Church calendar. We celebrate and remember the passion and death of Jesus. We begin this week with Palm Sunday and continue through Holy Thursday and Good Friday, as we journey with Jesus to the cross. On Saturday at the Easter Vigil we celebrate His rising anew. Through His death and resurrection we are saved!

This year I’ve decided that instead of being annoyed with the secularization of Easter, I will embrace the world that God has given us. Whether I encounter those who are thankful for a Savior or folks who are just thankful for spring weather, I will try to share their joy. As some of my friends celebrate Passover and others are looking forward to a long weekend, why create conflict? Instead of looking for something to be angry about or focusing on our differences I will try to bring peace and reconciliation to those I meet.

I believe that God created a world big enough for all of us. So I’ll be singing Alleluia on Easter and later if I spy a bunny in my garden or a jellybean should find its way to me, so much the better.

Peace,

Denis