Spirituality

Bloom Again

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

As an amateur gardener (okay, a goofball who can’t distinguish most flowers from weeds) I recently dead-headed our drift roses in an attempt to have them bloom again. It worked. Then my son-in-law recommended doing the same to our cannas. Success – new blooms! Nature (God) has a way of bringing new life where it was once lost.

I was thinking about times when I have “bloomed again”. Usually, it’s after some disappointment or heartbreak. Things seems bleak and I feel lost but somehow through “pruning” and a little self-care, I find the sun and the nutrients, and my life is renewed. Still the process is often painful.

I worked for the same company for over 20 years. I rose through the ranks beginning as a Project Manager and was promoted to Senior Project Manager, then Operations Manager and finally the Senior Vice President of Operations for North America and Europe. Sounds pretty impressive, doesn’t it? Well, that all came crashing down when the President of our division came into my office one afternoon and closed the door. Our company had recently been acquired by a larger firm and as my boss put it so succinctly, “I don’t want you to get caught flat-footed.” Restructuring – that dirty word that meant someone in our corporate offices was looking to cut positions and salaries, probably to boost their own salary – had reared its ugly head. My boss’s advice: “Get your resume in order.” He didn’t say, “You’ve been a good friend, a confidant, a valued member of my team and I’m fighting to keep you”. It was pretty obvious that he was looking to save his own skin, and I was being considered collateral damage. I know all is fair in love and war, and I guess work, but when you’ve devoted yourself to an organization for two decades and you get treated like yesterday’s news it hurts (mainly my pride but there were major concerns about my finances, too).

The following week my boss came back into my office with a proposition. I could relocate to another division. As luck would have it, there was an opening for a Project Manager. The proposal: commute 5-1/2 hours from home once or twice a month, accept a position as a Senior Project Manager and keep my V.P. salary (which either meant that the faceless corporate decision-makers were being benevolent, or I was being underpaid – I’m going with the later). Regardless, the paychecks kept coming, and I found a new team to work with who surpassed my expectations. We worked very well together and became the best team in the division. We truly liked one another. We turned around a struggling account. Within two years, I was once again promoted and was able to retire with dignity. But what I learned during my “pruning” was this: I already had dignity. The position, the office, the titles meant nothing compared to the relationships that I had with the people I worked with. I was afforded a chance to “bloom again” and I bloomed brighter and stronger than ever before. None of this was my own doing. The incredible people I worked with in my new assignment revitalized me. I could have remained resentful and bitter, but they carried me to a better place. I will be forever grateful for their professionalism, work ethic and kindness to the “old” new guy.

So, when you’re feeling stuck or think you’re done, don’t give up. When life deals you a blow, don’t lose hope. Prayer helps. So does the love of friends and family. Clip away your ego. Trim back your pride. Hold on to what is important. Remember with a little pruning you can bloom again.

I did. And so do my drift roses and cannas. God is good!

Peace,

Denis

Showing Up

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

When I was 10 years old my sister was born. I was the third son. So, a girl, after three boys and all those years was a cause for celebration. Back in those days, mothers were kept in the hospital for at least a week with their newborns. I was excited about the baby, but I missed my mom terribly. I admit I was a momma’s boy, and I hated it when folks would say, “well you’re not the baby of the family anymore!” or “I guess now you’ll be a little jealous of that baby sister”. For the record: I was never jealous of her, and I still love my sister more than life itself, but I missed Mom. I’m not sure if I had ever been apart from her until that week. To make matters worse, Dad didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Mom had always taken care of everything at home and Dad was ill-quipped to meet the needs of a ten-year-old boy.

Everything came to a head when Dad came home with dinner one evening. He had stopped at a deli and brought home braunschweiger on rye bread, sauerkraut, three-bean salad, and pickled beets. I was horrified. I refused to eat. Dad shouted that the food was perfectly good, and I screamed that I wanted Mom and promptly ran away from home. I was halfway to Boschert Creek by the time my 17-year-old brother Dave caught up with me. I was prepared to drown myself or at least ruin my clothes trying. But Dave showed up and we sat down and talked it out. He knew that I missed Mom. And in his seventeen-year-old wisdom he probably understood that a recently displaced ‘baby of the family’ was struggling to make sense of it all. He assured me that Dad wasn’t being cruel, just obtuse. In the mid-sixties people didn’t care much about kids’ feelings. But Dave did. He might have even taken me to ‘Burger Chef’ or some other exotic teenage hangout for dinner that night. He rescued me from drowning or at least destroying the clothes hamper. Most importantly, he was present. He showed up then, and he has shown up countless times in my life.

I think about the times that I have tried to ‘show up’, for others. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been as heroic as Dave, but I try. I think of all the times I have asked (or been asked) “how are you?”, not really wanting a response beyond “fine”. What if I actually took the time to listen? That’s where things get messy. It requires patience, understanding, and attention, and I often find those traits in short supply. Fortunately, I am part of community of believers who meet regularly for spiritual guidance and renewal. We routinely show up for one another. Taking the time to hold a hand, listen, and truly be present for someone else, I have learned, that being present, is a gift that I can freely give. It doesn’t require great wisdom or grand gestures. It doesn’t require massive resources or advanced degrees in theology or psychotherapy. Just ‘show up’. If a knucklehead like me can offer comfort, share joy, and give hope, I’m sure you can too.

And remember to thank God for all the ‘show-er up-ers‘ in your life.

In her book, Almost Everything, Anne Lamott writes, “We remember the mustard seeds. That the littlest things will have great results. We do the smallest, realest, most human things. We water that which is dry.”

Friends, there is a lot of desert out there, but if we each water just a little…

Peace,

Denis

Faking Fatherhood

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

I became a father at twenty-three. To say that I was clueless would be a huge understatement. Not only did I not know what I was doing, I didn’t think I needed to know anything. Within five years we had two more kids. My knowledge of fatherhood had not increased. I pretended to comprehend the magnitude and seriousness of fatherhood with its wisdom and overwhelming responsibility for nurturing and molding young minds and bodies. But I was just faking it.

Don’t get me wrong. I was knee-deep in diapers and feedings and bath time rituals and nighttime prayers and all the rest. I was a hands-on dad. I wiped up puke and dealt with tantrums, and frantic searches for lost pacifiers. But didn’t know any of the “important stuff”. How could I be a father when I could barely take care of myself? When I tucked those babies in at night I prayed for wisdom. I prayed for patience. I prayed that I wouldn’t screw things up too badly. But I was just faking it.

Then came the school years with sports and science projects and Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts and all the rest. The kids had homework that I couldn’t possibly do. They played sports that I couldn’t have played as a no-talent, last-to-be-picked-for-a-team kid. I pretended to love those Boy Scout camping trips but let’s be honest, I was faking it.

Years flew by and the kids grew up and became adults. Off to the Air Force. Off to college. Down the aisle. I sighed (and cried) but I put on a brave face and a big smile and faked it. They weren’t ready for what was coming their way because I hadn’t done my job. I hadn’t prepared them for adulthood. 

Now I have grandkids and I’m still faking it – the wisdom part; the knowledge part; the Fatherhood expertise part; I still fake all that. But the love; the love is real. And LOVE is amazing because it makes up for all my other shortcomings. Love lets me fake all the rest. And so, I began faking it the day that our first child was placed in my arms. Because love was all that really ever mattered.

Being a father is the greatest gift I was ever given. Turns out that I don’t have to be worthy, or brilliant or patient or knowledgeable; just loving.

“Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, it’s a love without end, Amen.” — George Strait

Peace,

Denis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back Home

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

For years my career involved travel. There were the times when we relocated, and I would be in the “new place” while my wife and the kids would stay behind until we could get settled. And there were the times when my job required that I be at a customer’s jobsite during construction or at a factory or somewhere giving a presentation. I loved my job, and our situation was not unique in my industry, so we always made the best of it. Still, there were many times I would get road weary. And likely more times when my wife just needed me home.

The toughest part was leaving behind our three kiddos. Missing nighttime rituals and bedtime prayers and having to hear about school achievements and challenges over the phone was far from ideal. Not making it home in time for a game or a performance was devastating and yet somehow, we survived. I still have a memory burned into my soul of our youngest standing on the front porch as I drove away. The sunlight made his blonde hair shimmer, and I thought his little arm might fall off from the vigorous waving. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t take my eyes off of the rearview mirror until he was just a dot in the distance. So much for grown men not crying.

After the kids were grown and on their own, travel was less challenging but no less tedious. I wasn’t missing games and concerts and plays but I still missed their calls home or their surprise visits, and I desperately missed my wife. Even the beautiful places that I visited felt empty without her by my side. Later in my career, my wife and I could occasionally travel together, and it was sublime.

But the love was always there even if I couldn’t be. The sad goodbyes were soothed by the many happy returns. I realize now that my travel was in many ways a blessing. We didn’t take one another for granted. We cherish our time together. We have learned to make the best of each day we share together. Our children grew up to be confident, brave, independent persons who are not afraid to try new things, live in new places and never fail to say “I love you” at the end of each phone call or visit. My grown children are not ashamed to hug and kiss me. My wife has been a model of love for them, and I am the lucky recipient of all that affection. God has been good to me.

It is written that “Home is where the heart is”. I know this is true. No matter where we have called home it has always been filled with love, grace, blessing and joy.

In my mind’s eye, I still sometimes see my sweet boy waving goodbye on that front porch all those years ago. Now I get to turn that car around and scoop him up in my arms and come back home.

Peace,

Denis

Color Blindness

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Red-green color blindness, also known as deuteranopia, is the most common type of color vision deficiency. It affects roughly 8 percent of the world’s population. It occurs when a person has an impairment in red cone or green cone pigment perception. People with this condition tend to confuse purple, blue, green, orange, and red.

Color blindness is hereditary. It is passed from a color-blind father to his daughter who becomes a carrier of the genetic material but not color blind herself. She then has a 50 percent chance of passing the genes to her son. Females can be born color blind as well, but it requires a color-blind father and mother who is a carrier and the percentages of carrying to the child are greatly reduced. Therefore, deuteranopia predominately affects males.

I am color blind. And so is my grandson.

Most of my life, especially in my career, I have kept my color blindness a secret. In architectural millwork it’s not helpful for your client to realize that you have no idea what color the finishes are that you are presenting to them for approval. When asked my personal opinion, I would usually say something like, “I agree with you, it does look a little too mauve” then make copious notes to share with my staff who could interpret what the hell mauve might be. All the while my heart would be racing knowing that I couldn’t actually pick up a red ball in a green lawn to save my soul. Did my fraudulent confidence conceal my deceit? Seems to have worked.

My color blindness is more of an inconvenience than a disability. I have a loving wife who helps dress me and decorates our home. I have developed coping skills (red is always at the top of traffic lights). Blue is my favorite color because it is one that I see well. Not so sure about aqua, turquoise, periwinkle or lavender. Turns out those aren’t really blue. A fun game is when someone asks, “What does green look like to you?” My response: “I only see what I see.”

Lately I have been wondering if I am blind about things that have nothing to do with color. Do I “only see what I see”? Do I turn a blind eye to the suffering of others? Do I ignore those who are discriminated and disenfranchised? Have I developed coping skills that allow me to ignore the evil and chaos in my own community? Do I allow my fraudulent confidence to conceal my deceit?

I am an associate member of a lay community of religious Sisters. We are Partners in Mission. We proclaim to be working for peace and reconciliation in our families, communities, country and world. Often, I fall short of that goal. I judge without knowing the circumstance of others. I condemn without understanding the hardships they might be suffering.

Recently, I have been blessed with some opportunities to ‘see true colors more clearly’. My granddaughter is volunteering at a food pantry. I have had the joy of joining her on a few occasions. Watching her loving devotion to the clients she serves has humbled me and reminded me that God works through all of us. God can even use me, if I open my eyes and my heart.

I attended a peaceful “Hands-off” rally where concerned citizens joined together to voice our protest against current administration policies. Most of the passersby were supportive but some, who could have easily ignored us, decided to offer hand gestures and obscenities. I was encouraged to see that democracy is still alive. And I realize that those individuals are entitled to express their opinions as well.

My grandson was awarded a scholarship to the high school he will be attending this fall. He was awarded the Outstanding Service Scholarship for his volunteerism to his community. I suppose he is ‘seeing true colors more clearly’ too.

When Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost stepped onto the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica as the new Pope Leo XIV, he said “Peace be with you all! Dear brothers and sisters, these are the first words spoken by the risen Christ, the Good Shepherd who laid down His life for God’s flock. I would like this greeting of peace to resound in your hearts, in your families, among all people, wherever they may be, in every nation and throughout the world. Peace be with you!“

I am living with my color blindness and praying to see the true colors in others more clearly.

Peace,

Denis

Fire!

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

Last week I had the honor and joy of being my grandson’s Confirmation sponsor. Standing in that magnificent Cathedral with my arm on his shoulder I was overwhelmed by the gift of Noah’s presence in my life. They say that at death, your life flashes before your eyes, at that moment I felt his life flashing before my eyes – holding him as an infant, playing with him as a toddler, cheering him on as a student and an athlete, watching him grow from a boy into a young man. I have been blessed with a front row seat in witnessing this beautiful life. I must admit as the Chrism Oil flowed down his forehead, I could feel a tear escape and touch my cheek. My boy. My man. My God!

While preparing for Confirmation, we had an opportunity to attend a gathering together at his parish church. There were several presentations that evening and his teacher spoke of how the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles. She challenged us to think beyond the simple flame atop their heads pictured in religious art and instead she suggested, “It was more like, FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!” The Apostles were on fire with the Spirit! Her shouting and animated reenactment left us chuckling, but it also left an impression. Noah would be changed. And that change would require action.

Lately I have been saddened by the state of our government and have felt desperate. I fear the future. I watch in anguish at the mistreatment of immigrants, minorities, the poor and marginalized in our society and even more so at the delight by some politicians and fellow citizens in the cruelty being appropriated. It is beyond my comprehension, that so many could be filled with so much hate. Where is love? Where is hope? Where is God? I realize that I need to stop waiting for God to “fix things”. I need to use my voice, my actions, my love, my influence for good. I need to bring the “FIRE“.

In her book Seasons of Your Heart, Macrina Wiederkehr writes, “If you’re wondering what Easter really is – it is despair moving over to make room for hope. It is joy suddenly crowding out your sorrow. It’s beautiful and real, and it’s intent on touching and healing all who are around us.”

Witnessing Noah’s Confirmation, I felt his joy crowding out my sorrow. His exuberance is beautiful and real, and he is healing me with his beautiful life. And I believe that together we can make a difference.

Peace,

Denis

Saying ‘Yes’ to ‘No’

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Recently there was a Medieval Fair in Oklahoma where my son and his family live. While driving past the fairgrounds our youngest granddaughter caught a glimpse of a sign that read, ‘Swords and Shields’ and declared that that was something she would love to have. Her hopes were dashed when my son said, “You are not getting a sword and shield!” Undeterred, she declared, “Looks like I’m going to have to take this into my own hands!” I’m not certain how an eight-year-old with no financial independence was going to manage purchasing the aforementioned sword and shield, but I admire her pluck. Personally, I would have honored her request, but I was reminded, once again, that parenthood requires discipline and denial.

Pondering Gwen’s resolve, I began thinking of the many times I have been denied and have remained silent. How often have I just accepted “no” as an answer? How often have I acquiesced to others’ policies and opinions? How many times have I witnessed fellow humans being dealt with unfairly but lacked the courage to speak up in order to ensure my own safety and privilege? How often have I chosen to “go along, to get along“?

It’s hard today to not become discouraged with our government and the chaos that we are being subjected to. Whether we are personally suffering or witnessing the suffering of those we love, our world is fraught with injustice. As Christians, we are all called to speak out against injustices when we see them and yet our pulpits often remain silent in the face of discrimination against immigrants, the disabled, minorities, elderly, and LGBTQ members of our society. Sometimes my frustration, hopelessness and anger are met with tears.

In his book, The Tears of Things, Richard Rohr writes, “Grief and sadness are doorways to understanding life in a non-egocentric way. Tears come from both awe and empathy, and they generate even deeper awe and deeper empathy in us. The sympathy that wells up when we weep can be life-changing, too, drawing us out of ourselves and into communion with those around us.”

So, I will let my tears fall but I also will stand up, speak up and say ‘yes’ to the naysayers. I will challenge the silent enablers. I still have a voice, a vote, a conscience, and a faith that tells me to care for the most vulnerable in our society. Gwen gives me courage. I’m taking things into my own hands. I will peacefully protest. I will continue to write to my senators and congressman. Most importantly, I won’t let my fears and tears keep me from speaking out against injustice.

As we enter Holy Week, let us remember that Jesus’ suffering and death is not in vain, instead, it is a profound expression of love for humanity. 

Peace,

Denis

She stood behind Jesus at his feet weeping and began to bathe his feet with her tears. Luke 7:38

OG, Oh My!

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Not long ago, someone much younger said I was OG. Not sure what it meant, I thought initially that they were calling me an ‘old grandpa’. Turns out that OG, is short for “original gangster” and is a slang term for someone who is incredibly exceptional, authentic, or old-school. I suppose I was being complimented. At least that’s what I chose to believe.

Getting older is not for the faint of heart. But here’s the good news: Older can be better. We have wisdom born of experience. We have memories that fill our hearts with joy. We have stories to tell. We can teach. We can pray. We can love.

We have time to cherish life’s simple pleasures. We have the fortitude earned by previous hardships to face the ugliness in today’s world. And we have the courage because of our lived experiences to embrace change and work for justice.

It’s easy to fall into despair at times. My back aches and my joints are inflamed, arthritis and cable news are keeping me awake at night. I worry. A lot. And I worry that some people don’t worry enough.

But then I remember that I’m OG. I am exceptional, authentic, and old-school. I must use my powers for good. I’ve been around. I remember Kennedy’s assassination, the moon landing, and Watergate. I know the words to a lot of great old songs. I can also read and write cursive!

So, I will volunteer at charities that accept gray-haired helpers. I can tutor kids who need a little extra help and an occasional story or two. I can welcome someone in need at a food pantry. I can visit folks in assisted living facilities who are really OG. I can write letters to my congressman and senators.

Being older can be a blessing. I just need to get out of that recliner. I need to stand up, speak up, and act up! I need to be the “original gangster” that someone expects me to be. When I look past the wrinkles and white hair, I still see the same blue eyes in the mirror that once longed for peace and justice. I still feel purposeful, and I am called to help make a positive change in my heart, my family, my community. I want to bring reconciliation into our troubled world.

I need to get busy. Time is fleeting! When I can longer help out, hand out, or shout out, I can still pray. I’m pretty certain that God hears the prayers of the OG’s.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Deb, you’re my OG

Mouth Open; Eyes Shut

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

My wife likes to tell the story of the time on a hot day when we were out and needed something to drink. We drove past countless gas stations, convenient stores, and various fast-food restaurants, and each one was greeted with a dismissive, “I don’t know.” Without waiting for further approval, I finally stopped at a McDonald’s®, and I pulled into the drive-thru lane to order. We were hot, and we were extremely thirsty, and I was undoubtedly fatigued by that point. As I was sitting there waiting for the ‘electronic voice’ to take my order, Debbie asked, “What are you doing?” I replied, with some irritation, “I’m waiting for someone to take my order!”  Her response, which registered somewhere between disbelief and sarcasm: “That’s the trash can, Mr. Magoo! – why don’t you pull up to the speaker?” We have laughed about this many times since.  And when I say ‘we’ what I mean is Debbie and our children. And friends and family whom she has told, etc., etc., etc. Boy, make one simple mistake…

Now of course, I blame my mistake on that fateful (funny?) afternoon on near-sightedness or heat exhaustion or general crankiness. Still, it begs the question: how many times have I failed to see what was before me? How many times have been so certain of ‘my truth’ that I have been blind to others?

I’ll admit that I wasn’t truly engaged that day but in retrospect it reminds me that sometimes I need to take a second look. Often, I need to slow down, step back, take a deep breath, shut my mouth and open my eyes. I have spoken in haste, offered my opinion, shouted my objection, or cursed a perceived enemy before I have taken the time to know the facts. I allow ‘my agenda’ to control my discourse without considering the possibility that I am wrong. Ouch!

Fortunately, I have a spouse who (gently) points out my blindness. Often while I’m cursing at some stupid driver or some telemarketer, she’ll say, “You don’t know what is going on in their life today.” or while I’m ranting about the latest government shutdown or the fact that the countless letters and emails that I have sent to our congressman have gone unanswered, she just accepts me and tries to sooth my manic behavior.

Still, my anger and self-righteousness often justify my blindness. I scream and shout and sometimes cry and finally I pray.

Then I open my eyes, and I see that damned trash can…

Peace,

Denis

Not as man sees does God see, because man sees the appearance, but the Lord looks into the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7

Change(ing)

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

Each Lenten season I make an effort to become more prayerful, more tolerant, more forgiving. I always fall short of my goal. I try. I fail. And I try again. I recently read a meme that made me truly laugh out loud and then it almost immediately hit me over the head. It wasn’t funny at all. I went from laughter to discomfort to sorrow as I realized that this message was for me: “I can’t believe it’s been a year since I didn’t become a better person”. It went from, “ha, ha, you’re a jackass.” to “hey, you really are a jackass!”. A startling reality that requires change.

It occurred to me that Lent isn’t about change, it is about changing. It’s a verb. It’s an action. For some of us (me) changing is slow and painful and tedious and must be repeated over and over. I have to empty my heart of the anger, hate, and perceived injustice that I’m lugging around to make room for love and forgiveness.

I have to let go of my self-righteousness and my judgement of others. That’s a tall order. I’m really good at judging others. I can tell just by looking at some folks that I don’t like them. I preach tolerance but usually I find that I am often intolerant of others. If their political ideology or their worldview doesn’t align with mine, I want nothing to do with them.

I have to also let go of my pride, hurt, disappointment, and failure. I suppose we’re all guilty of holding on to painful experiences in our lives. How often have I allowed the unjust actions of others to keep me from fully loving them? How long have I carried hurt in my heart for the wrongs inflicted by others? Whether it was a past employer or an unkind neighbor or a friend or family member, it weighs me down when I can’t let go of the offenses. Worse still, is the pain that I carry for the times I have hurt others.

Forgiveness is about changing. First, I must own the hurt, the pain, and the disappointment. And then I must forgive the aggressors, especially when the aggressor is me. If I believe that God forgives me, why can’t I forgive others? And if I believe that God forgives me, why is it so hard to forgive myself?

Lent is a good time to “up” my game. Try to change. Try to forgive. Try again. Try harder. Fail. And repeat. And to remember that “I can’t believe it’s been a year since I didn’t become a better person”. And to thank God for the grace to keep trying.

Peace,

Denis

Forgive us, as we forgive others. Matthew 6:12