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

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

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

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.

Sadly, I’m often surprised when a stranger is kind. Kindness, friendliness, and courtesy seem to have gone out of fashion these days. Recently at a grocery store someone offered my wife a shopping cart. It was a simple gesture but was much appreciated. When we headed into the store, we realized that the woman had left her mobile phone in the cart. I ran out of the store and found her about to exit the parking lot. Crisis averted. Many thanks were offered for such a simple act. Later in the store the cashier was friendly and engaging and made our mundane shopping experience actually pleasant. Later my wife and I remarked that kindness is so seldom offered that it has become remarkable. It is a sad commentary. Why is it that friendliness and kindness are remarkable?

I’m part of the problem. I admit that I am quick to judge. I blame it on my professional experience, years of sizing up customers and suppliers. Calling “bullshit” on the bullshitters. That’s an easy way out. The truth is, I’m a judger and I usually think that I know who I’m dealing with before a word is spoken. But what if I’m wrong? Suppose the person that I’ve encountered is battling illness or financial hardship or a failed relationship. And then I’m put out because they aren’t friendly enough to me? How pompous and arrogant! Many folks may be carrying pain beyond my comprehension and perhaps friendliness is just something that they cannot muster. My wife, who is kind and friendly by nature, often reminds me that not everyone is living a happy or healthy life.

Perhaps kindness begets kindness. So, I try (again) to be courteous to strangers. I try to be friendly. Then I look in the mirror and study my heavy brow line and my strong chin and realize that a smile can even improve my stern Germanic countenance. “Remember to smile and speak more softly”, I tell myself. But genetics and learned behaviors are hard to overcome. Then I pray. I pray that somehow, I will remember to be a reconciling presence in our world. God gives us the grace to mend hearts and share love with others. I can start in the grocery store, and in my own backyard. I can share God’s grace.

The people that I admire most are the folks who carry a quiet joy in their hearts. They’re not the dealmakers, or loud back slappers or the big jokesters but the kind, graceful people who offer me a smile, an occasional shopping cart, and a role model, even in my saddest, darkest, ugliest moments.

Perhaps kindness begets kindness. And grace. And redemption.

Peace,

Denis

From his fullness we have all received, grace in place of grace. John 1:16