Commentary

Learning About God From Children

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Recently our (almost) 5 year-old granddaughter Anna was discussing Easter with her Mommy. She was talking about Jesus dying on the cross and rising from the dead. She knows that we live forever in heaven even though our bodies remain on earth after death. She wants to know if Grannie is an old lady in heaven or has a ‘zero baby’ body. Also she’s super excited that Sophie (our aged Maltese) might someday be a fuzzy puppy in heaven and that we’ll all be with her and Grannie someday. But “not for like a hundred years”.the-story-of-easter

Pretty profound stuff.

Anna’s conversation with our daughter reminded me of a time years ago when our younger son Blake was 4 or 5 years old and was attending ‘Pre-school Sunday School’. He was learning about Jesus and Easter and Salvation. And of course as anyone with a preschooler knows, there were lots of questions:

Why did Jesus have to die? He died to forgive our sins.

Is God Jesus’ Daddy? Yes.

Why didn’t his Daddy save him? Because God knew that Jesus needed to die to so we could live in heaven forever.

I’d rather live here than in heaven. You would save me, wouldn’t you? Yes.

Do you have to believe in Jesus to go to heaven? I’m pretty sure that you do.

What about Greg (his older brother’s Jewish best friend)? Well I’m not sure. Ummm, can we talk about what the Easter Bunny will bring you?

A few days later he woke me up in the middle of the night. “Blake why are you awake?” “I’ve been worrying about Greg, but just I figured it out!” “What’s that Buddy?” “If God made Greg Jewish then that’s what he should be – God wouldn’t be wrong!” “So Greg can come to heaven, too.” “Oh, okay Pal, can we go back to sleep now?” “Sure!”

Blake fell fast asleep that night. I on the other hand laid awake for hours amazed at his insight. Great scholars and theologians couldn’t have spoken more eloquently.

And then I just stopped pretending to have all the answers. In fact, I realized back then (and still know today) that I had few of the answers.

What I do have is faith. Faith in the unknown; the unseen; the unproven. I’ve been blessed to have glimpsed heaven a few times through the eyes of a child.

As we enter Holy Week may you stop looking for answers and rest assured that God already has them all.

Peace,

Denis

Road Sage

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

I’ve come to a conclusion about bad drivers: none of them is ever me. RoadRage

I find myself screaming nearly every day on my commute to work: “What’s wrong with you?” or “Hang up your phone and drive!” or “Hey jerk, you just ran a red light!” or “What is your hurry; where’s the fire?” or “Why can’t you hurry up, I don’t have all day here?”

So many people to yell at; so many mistakes to point out. It’s exhausting! By the time I reach my office in the morning I can barely pour that first cup of coffee. I feel as if I’ve already worked half a day. Somehow I forge ahead confident in my superior driving technique. I am keenly aware of the bad drivers and can spot them immediately. Beware of the following:

The Radio Singer – this person is rehearsing for their big break on American Idol and they often forget that they are actually behind the wheel of a car. Sometimes they need a friendly toot at a stop light that has already turned green while they’re hitting their high note. Repeated honk-honk-honking can sometimes move them along.

The Bobber & Weaver – this person seems uncertain just what those painted lines on the freeway mean. They often bank their car from side to side in any (sometimes multiple) lane(s). Repeated honk-honk-honking makes them look around and only aggravates the situation.

The Slow Middle Laner – this driver only drives in the middle lane and annoyingly drives the speed limit. Apparently they have never heard of the 5-over rule; which of course means you can always drive at least 5 miles over the speed limit (even in the slow lane). In Illinois it’s the 10-over rule. Repeated honk-honk-honking only seems to strengthen their resolve.

The Braker – this guy hits his brakes every time he sees ANY tail light come on. It doesn’t matter if the illuminated tail light is a half mile ahead. This of course creates a chain reaction for other Brakers (and necessitates the use of curse words for the good drivers like me). Repeated honk-honk-honking just creates more braking.

The Tailgater – this person follows too closely behind the person if front of him (or her). Also known as “riding one’s butt”. This driver believes that they can accelerate the car in front simply by pushing them down the road. This rarely works (See The Slow Middle
Laner above). Repeated honk-honk-honking rarely works either.

The Cell Phone Talker – this driver is so enthralled in some conversation that they often SLOW DOWN to listen. Repeated honk-honk-honking can sometimes jolt them into consciousness and safe-driving.

The Makeup Artist – this driver is usually a woman (although not exclusively) who uses her morning commute as an opportunity to prepare herself to look lovely for the day. Repeated honk-honk-honking can really screw up her ability to apply her mascara properly.

Last year we lived in England. Sometimes I miss life there, with the narrow roads, left-hand driving, right-hand steering wheels. I knew there that I was the bad driver. It also recently occured to me that all the honk-honk-honking in the U.K. might have been directed at me.

Maybe it’s time for a foreign road trip. I could probably use a little humility. On the other hand, it’s good to be the smartest driver on the road.

Peace,

Denis

Lessons Learned

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Years ago when we were living in Wisconsin I occasionally volunteered at a homeless shelter and a soup kitchen in one of Milwaukee’s poorest neighborhoods. During that time our younger son Blake was a teenager, and as with many teenagers, there were the usual sullen and angry moments. Life was unfair. His teachers were unfair. We were unfair. There was a lot of unfairness. I grew tired of his sulking and decided that I should show him some real unfairness up close and personal. He would come with me the next time that I volunteered at the soup kitchen.

When we arrived at the church we joined the other volunteers, some from our own suburban parish, and others from city parishes, and still others from rural parishes. We were all there to do God’s work – to serve the poor; to feed the hungry. We began with prayer and then were given our assignments. I was to dole out a (not too generous) spoonful of green beans to each person; Blake was to clear and wipe tables.

As our “clients” came through the food line and settled into the battered folding chairs and worn cafeteria tables in the humble church hall, I realized that Blake was also sitting down. What was he doing??? He was supposed to be serving the poor! He had an assignment to clean the tables. I asked another volunteer to take over my bean-serving job for a moment so that I could have a word with my son. How dare he? I was going to set things straight! I was going to make this kid understand he was there to serve others; to stop thinking solely of himself for a change!!!

When I approached him full of arrogance and self-righteousness (after all I had been serving the poor for months now) I was determined to teach him a lesson in love and compassion. Instead I came upon Blake and an elderly gentleman having a conversation. Blake was talking to this man; really talking and listening to him as well. It occurred to me that while I had been dutifully dispensing food all these months, I had never taken the time to speak with anyone. I barely looked folks in the eye. Was it my embarrassment because I believed that I had so much more than they? Or was it my shame because I couldn’t face the reality of living in a world where so many have so little?

Now I was the one being humbled. I was the one learning about God’s love. My son, my beautiful son, taught me that I had been missing the point. I had been feeding bodies but he fed this man’s soul. He showed he cared. He gave him dignity. He loved.

Beneath his snarky teenage exterior beat the heart of a true Christian. Blake was being Christ to others in a way I had never considered.

All grown up now (Blake, tto)
All grown up now (Blake, too)

And I’m still thankful for the lesson he taught me that day.

Peace,

Denis

Family Matters

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Recently while waiting for a flight, I saw my cousin at the airport. She was headed to Texas to visit her sister; I was on my way to New York on business. We hugged and kissed and exchanged the usual pleasantries and then we both went our separate ways. But I was changed a little by that brief encounter. As I boarded my plane I recalled fond memories of our childhood and our shared experiences and I realized once again that family matters. I thanked God then and there.

FamilyLivingPictureWe’re all born into families. Many of us marry into families. Others of us are adopted by families. Some families are small. Some are large. And it’s all relative (pun intended).

Our need of family intrigues me. We need to belong. We need to be part of a group of individuals that share a common bond; common link; a common ancestor. This need to band together is primordial. We gather as one. One people. One tribe. One purpose.

I’m certain that there are people who like to live alone. Hermits perhaps or cloistered nuns. But most of want to live with others; to share our lives with others. We need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. And families seem the perfect way to do that. The shared experiences. The shared traditions. The shared memories. The shared joys and sorrows. That’s what makes us family. That and our love for one another. In our caring for and being cared for by family we see God’s love in action.

Families are not just biological creations. Some families are individuals not joined by birth or marriage but joined by love or common cause. We become family by giving of ourselves to one another. We become sisters and brothers through our need for one another. We lift each other up; we carry one another’s burdens; we celebrate one another’s victories; we laugh together; we cry together; we pray together.

Recently I experienced the amazing love of family when my mother-in-law passed away. My wife and her brothers came together to support my father-in-law and to carry one another through the most painful of times. Their tenderness for one another and their love needed no words; no grand gestures. It was just pure and simple and profoundly beautiful. I have never been prouder of them or prouder to be a part of them.

Of course there will likely be many sad days ahead. Grief slips in and attacks us when we least expect it – a song, a photo, a favorite food, or some long-forgotten memory can trigger an emotional overload. Our loss can be truly disabling. But we trudge along and we cherish our memories and get busy with caing for one another. And we adjust. And we adapt. But we NEVER forget.

And this is why family matters.

Peace,

Denis

Searching

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Have you ever searched for something that you have misplaced? A book; a letter; a photo; a gift certificate put away for safe-keeping. I will look in all the usual hiding places, re-tracing my steps and trying to imagine what I could have done with the lost possession. Surely I didn’t throw it out. Or did I? Was I careless and tossed it out with other discards? Did I hide it away too well? Usually my searches are frantic and relentless. Too often they are fruitless. Sometimes I will find the hidden item with great relief. But mostly I just give up; surrendering the lost item to the great unknown. Is there some black hole in the universe that holds all my lost treasures? I suppose I will never know.

The Prophet Isaiah wrote, “Seek the LORD while he may be found, call upon him while he is near.” Is God another treasure that I have misplaced? Was I careless and too busy with other seemingly more important things to remember where God is in my life? Have I packed God away somewhere safe to retrieve on some special occasion – saving God until I have time or need? Or when I feel sufficiently worthy of God’s love?

It occurred to me this week that in the past I’ve probably misread Isaiah. God can ALWAYS be found and God is ALWAYS near. It’s me that is lost. It’s me that is distant.

So I’m searching. But I’m learning that God isn’t somewhere in the cosmos; somewhere high in the clouds above looking down on me. God is here. God is now.

IMG_4302

A glimpse of heaven

And I’m finding God in the most ordinary places – in Deb’s love and devotion; in my grandchildren’s sweet voices and loving embraces; in the kindness of strangers; in music; in art; in nature; even in myself (often after a frantic and relentless search). God is here. God is now. Sometimes we just need to open our eyes (and our hearts) to see those glimpses of heaven in our midst.

I think that Isaiah was imploring us to make ourselves open to God’s call – “Stop searching; the Lord is here.”

Peace,

Denis

Listen as the St. Louis Jesuits sing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLjgnSKepow

Remember When Valentine Was a Saint?

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Growing up I celebrated Saint Valentine’s Day. Somewhere along the way it just became Valentine’s Day. I’m not sure why, maybe it was a concerted effort to eliminate all that is good and holy from our world or to brainwash us into buying Hallmark® cards. More than likely it’s just a harmless derivative of what once was a Catholic feast day honoring a saint whose very existence is in dispute. Generally, it is believed that Valentinus was a Roman priest martyred during the reign of Claudius II for aiding and marrying Christian couples (hence the romantic connection). But several Valentines are mentioned in early Christian history and many legends surround the name.

St. Valentine

Whether Valentine was a legend, or a saint doesn’t have much bearing on how we celebrate February 14th. Today Valentine’s Day is a day for lovers. Whether it’s a new romance or a time-tested marriage; whether it’s the celebration of love between parents and their children or best friends; it’s a good day to say, “I love you”. And how can that be a bad thing?

For me, my wife Deb is my Valentine. She’s the one that stands by me through thick and thin. She is my leaning post, my rock, my partner, my inspiration and my joy. She is the one that gives meaning to my life – she is my lifetime Valentine. If some red roses and a romantic meal together will show her how much her love means to me – it’s a small price to pay.

We love one another everyday but I believe that Valentine’s Day is a good day to love a little more. Hug those that are close to you just a little bit tighter. Kiss your wife (or husband) with a little more passion. Send a note to someone that you’ve neglected. Call a friend just to say hello. Help carry a load. Mend a quarrel. Make peace. Love.

Some folks might bemoan the fact that the ‘Saint’ has been taken out of Valentine’s Day, but I think that Valentine cards and heart-shaped boxes of candy are as harmless as bunnies on Easter. And maybe, just maybe, it’s better to honor those saints living among us than some saint from antiquity.

Peace (and Love)

Denis

Jacqueline Jacqueline

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

GrannieSeveral years ago while visiting her mother-in-law in a nursing home my mother-in-law encountered a woman who asked her name. She responded, “My name is  Jacqueline; Jacqueline Dobbs.” The inquirer who was clearly suffering from some form of dementia or metal disability replied, “Well that’s an unusual name but it’s very nice to meet you Jacqueline Jacqueline!” And so it went. Every time the woman would encounter my mother-in-law she would greet her as Jacqueline Jacqueline. My mother-in-law found it quite amusing but she was always kind to that stranger and never tried to correct her. She just accepted her as she was.

This week my mother-in-law passed away. I suppose that I’m remembering that story because she too ended her life in a nursing home and was blessed by the kindness of strangers. In the weeks leading to her death she became increasingly weakened by COPD, congestive heart failure, and kidney disease. In addition she was struggling with dementia which was likely brought on by her diminished oxygen levels. Her caregivers were gracious, respectful and loving and she in-turn won their hearts. Because of her dementia she sometimes believed that she was visited by television celebrities and was convinced that beautiful lake homes surrounded the nursing facility. Her imaginations were very real to her. And the staff indulged her and just accepted her as she was. When it became clear that she wouldn’t survive, the nursing staff embraced our family with overwhelming love and kindness.

My mother-in-law wasn’t always easy to be around. And I often joked that she had been in a bad mood for nearly 40 years because she was unhappy that Deb had agreed to marry me (she apparently had imagined a better life for her daughter). The truth is, our relationship was pretty tense at times. But life went on and after many years she accepted the fact that I wasn’t going away. We shared the love of the same people and ultimately learned to love one another.

The last several weeks of her life Jackie seemed let go of her anger and disappointment and she and I had the best days of our 38 years together. It was the most beautiful gift that she could have ever given me. I realize now that she did love me and was proud of the life that Deb and I had built. She told me how much she loved our children and especially our grandchildren. She let me know that I was a good husband and father and son-in-law. But the real gift that she gave me was the realization that life is too short to hold on to grudges and resentment. Anger and bitterness only serve to sap the spirit from our lives. Being justified in my outrage is not worth the loss of love that I will be denied by my own stubbornness or self-righteousness.

When things became hopeless and no medical intervention could save her, we prayed for a peaceful passing. God granted her that blessing. Jackie was surrounded by her husband and children and, I believe, the angels. A few weeks before her death she told us that she kept hearing a man’s voice singing one refrain from the hymn Silent Night, “sleep in heavenly peace.” At last she had found that peace. Peace with the world. Peace with God.

My mother-in-law wasn’t always easy to be around but she was capable of tremendous kindness and she loved her family fiercely. And I know that included me.

Peace,

Denis

I Think I Can, I Think I Can…

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Long before Thomas the Train there was The Little Engine That Could. Maybe you remember the story; a long train is trying to cross a high mountain. Large engines are asked to pull the train. One by one they refuse and each one gives an excuse as to why they can’t (or won’t) help. Finally the Little Engine is asked and to everyone’s amazement he is successful in pulling the train up and over the mountain as he repeats over and over, “I think I can, I think I can…”the-little-train-that-could

I love the Little Engine and his determination. But the sad reality is that more often than not I’m one of the big engines – capable but unwilling. Too important to be bothered. Too busy to care. Too tired. Too lazy. Too selfish. Too proud. Too ready to say no. Too afraid to try.

But I have lots of “Little Engines” in my life. And they inspire and humble me: a friend and co-worker battling cancer with dignity and courage and amazing faith in God’s love; my two year-old grandson who is learning new things each day and stubbornly insisting upon ‘doing it himself’; my father-in-law who desperately tries to care for his ill wife even though he is barely capable of caring for himself; my wife who looks after them both (and me, too) and showers us with abundant love while never losing her amazing spirit and sense of humor; my granddaughters who each are experiencing new challenges and adventures daily and are never deterred in their quest for knowledge – soon they will be teaching me (truth be told, they already do).

So when I need encouragement; when it’s time to get off my butt and get something done, I needn’t look too far for examples to follow. When I must tackle the tough stuff, I remember those Little Engines in my life. I think about them when I’m ready to give up; when I’m ready to quit; when I want to bury my head in the sand.

The story of the Little Engine sometimes shames but mostly it inspires me. If he (they) can do it then “I think I can, I think I can, too.”

Peace,

Denis

Oh Buster!

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

My grandson is named Noah but his nickname is Buster. And more than a few times I’ve heard some responsible adult exclaim, “Oh Buster!” Sometimes in exasperation or fear, but most often in amusement. Such is life with Buster. He is a two year-old dynamo!

Winning a ribbon for what he does best - jumping, running and tumbling

Winning a ribbon for what he does best – jumping, running and tumbling

Noah has one speed – fast! And he is fearless (well he’s not afraid of me). He’s the kid that leads you right up to the precipice and then beams that beautiful smile while you tumble head-over-heals into his abyss of toddler silliness. I have snatched him out of harms way more than a few times (nearly running into the street, jumping off a too-high platform, grabbing a knife off of the counter, dragging the dog by her tail). He’s NOT a bad boy; he’s a TWO YEAR-OLD boy. He knows how to do a lot of things; he doesn’t understand the consequences of most of the things that he does. It’s this delicate balance of danger and freedom and joyfulness that is fascinating to him (and maddening to his beleaguered grandfather). Oh Buster!

Still I love it all. And of course I love him so much it breaks my heart every time he gets a new bump or bruise or gash on this perilous road to self-discovery. He is undaunted and usually just picks himself up and brushes himself off and moves on to the next challenge (danger). Always with a bounce in his step and smile on his face.

Proudly displaying his bandaged gash!

Proudly displaying his bandaged gash!

Of course he’s a lover-boy, too. There are plenty of hugs and kisses dispensed by my little man. I suspect he knows just how disarming his smile is and he employs it as a defense mechanism. It’s hard to be angry over his minor transgressions when they are accompanied by a twinkle in his eye and his beaming smile. And few things sound sweeter to me than when he and I are walking somewhere together and he announces, “Pawpaw carry you!”, which is two year-old for “Pawpaw will you carry me?” And of course I will!

So we’ll be buddies as long as he allows. It’s such great fun! His spirit of adventure reminds me that usually it’s easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission. So I’ll do what I can to keep us both out of trouble. And I’m certain that we’ll hear the occasional “Oh Buster!” but we’ll just keep smiling.

Peace,

Denis (Pawpaw)

Blue

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

I will always choose blue when color is a choice. I often wear blue clothes. I usually drink from the blue cup. I like blue birds, blue flowers, blue skies, blue seas, and blueberries. I just love blue.

Blue-CrayonAsk my children or grandchildren and they will tell you that blue is my favorite color. And I can’t remember when it wasn’t. I always chose the blue crayon, blue toy, or blue ball cap. Remember blue snow cones?  I even loved those. Being raised a Catholic I recall statues of Our Lady in the classroom and in my home that were always a beautiful shade of blue! As a kid I remember thinking that blue must be good favorite color because it was Mary’s favorite color, too.

My favorite memories are often involved with something blue. The dress Deb wore for our engagement photo 38 years ago was blue. The dress she wore to our son’s wedding last November was blue. And the dress she wore to our daughter’s wedding nine years ago was also blue. I remember the blue outfits and blue blankets that our boys wore when they came home from the hospital as newborns. I remember a blue sailor dress that our daughter wore when she was about two years old.

Blue is my happy color. Blue is my peaceful color. Blue is my color.

I’ve always struggled with idea of “having the blues” or “feeling blue”. Why stigmatize a color that evokes so much beauty; a color that has brought me so much joy?

Perhaps I’m a simple man and loving the color blue is a silly thing but I find comfort in it. And I think that tonight I’ll paint my dreams blue (again).

Peace,

Denis