Bloom Again

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

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

Mercy

Social Media. Cable News Networks. Talk Radio. Podcasts. The constant barrage of hate being spewed out has left me feeling numb at times. I am often overwhelmed by the vitriol and hatred of so many in our society. More disturbing is the apparent lack of concern by so many others. We seem to stand idly by while cruelty is being parsed out on a daily basis by our political leaders. Perhaps their goal is that we become emotionally unresponsive or indifferent. Then the lack of common decency goes unnoticed. Then the inhumanity becomes commonplace. Then there is no shock; no outrage; no need for concern.

Why doesn’t my senator oppose the way immigrants are being terrorized? Why doesn’t my congressman stand up for those being marginalized? Why do I expect those in power to make a positive change?

Yesterday, my parish priest spoke of Saint Peter’s faith and trust. Peter’s life is a reminder that Christ doesn’t call the perfect – He perfects those he calls. Dang it! I keep hoping that someone else will swoop in and fix everything. I keep waiting for someone in power to “do the right thing”. I keep looking for someone out there to speak truth to power. Yesterday I was reminded to look in the mirror.

So, what to do? What to do?

If I want reconciliation in my life, in my neighborhood, in my town, and in my country. I need to be THE ONE. I need to be the one to stop judging. I need to be the one to stop hating. I need to be one to stop waiting. It needs to be me who stands up and speaks up now. I need to be the one who shows mercy to others and begs God for mercy for myself.

Prayer helps. Peaceful action is required. Kindness can always be given freely. Holding a hand, mending a broken heart, offering a shoulder to lean on, listening to others – none of these things require great power. It doesn’t require bravery or bravado. It only requires surrender and faith and love for the least amongst us.

Peace (and mercy),

Denis

For I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty, and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me. Matthew 25:35-36

Back Home

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

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!

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’

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

Change(ing)

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

Walk, Meditate, Pray

Recently I received a missive from the Faith Community with which I am associated suggesting that I turn off my screen. Go for a walk, meditate quietly, or pray.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Easier said than done.

We’re being bombarded with 24-hour news that is mostly depressing if not entirely frightening. And I am afraid. I fear for my family members who are government employees not sure what to expect from day-to-day. I fear for families who may lose health and welfare aid that they rely on. I fear for our veterans who are being denied assistance. I fear for everything that is being undone by our current administration. The ultimate hardship and suffering of so many in our country and in our world is incalculable.

It was suggested that I write letters to my Congressional representatives. Many of our elected leaders have turned a blind eye to what is happening. Lawmakers have been instructed to literally hide from their constituents. My letters have gone largely ignored or answered with talking points instead of responding to my true concerns.

I also just read what Anne Lamott once wrote, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”

So, I am unplugging as much as I can. Again, not easy! And I will walk and meditate and pray.

This morning, I was praying for my grandson Noah who will be Confirmed next month. It seems like it was just a moment ago that he was a tiny baby in my arms and now he is a young man about to accept this gift of faith being offered to him. This is his opportunity to say “YES” to what his parents had asked of the Church. I pray that I am worthy to be his sponsor. At times I feel overwhelmed and underqualified. I hope to fear less and cheer more. Noah gives me hope and I find strength in his presence. My grandson is a fearless teenager. He is eager and ready to take on this world. His kindness and joy and devotion will change hearts. God has blessed us with one another. And our world will be better because of him.

As I receive my ashes today on Ash Wednesday, I will remember to send a thank you to organizations that are supporting Immigrants and Refugees in my area. I will lend a hand where I can. I will donate to shelters and food pantries. I will be present. I will listen. And I will thank God for a Faith Community that reminds me that I am not walking alone.

God may Your light guide my day, and Your Spirit bring me peace. Amen.”

Peace,

Denis

Keep On Keeping On

Lately I have been sad, angry, and disheartened.

Half of our nation voted for a man who seems consumed by bias and animosity towards his fellow humans. He appears to be only interested in seeking retribution on those he perceives as his enemies and inflicting suffering on the most vulnerable amongst us. And of course, as always, he wants to increase his personal wealth at the expense of others. Sadly, most of the elected members of his political party seem to be walking in lockstep with him.

This is a sad time for our nation and our world. I fear for my Black, Latino, and LGBTQ friends and family members. I fear for immigrant families. I fear for all the marginalized in our society. I fear for our environment. I fear for the world that my grandchildren will inherit.

A good friend recently wrote to us that cable news and social media have robbed her of peace. I share that feeling as well. And yet, I turn on the ‘talking heads’ because I am conditioned to believe that I must stay informed. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve had some, “the hell with it all” moments. I admit that there are days that I want to stick my head in the sand but that serves no purpose either. So, I try to look for goodness where I can. I search for solace in the company of others with whom I can be myself. And I retreat to solitude when I need some self-care.

Recently I’ve had a couple of opportunities to serve others. These weren’t grand gestures, but I find that in doing good works, even in a small way, I am contributing positively to our community. Mostly what I find is that my heart is filled by the joy of the other “helpers”. And maybe that’s the thing. Just get out there. Love where I can love. Serve where I can serve. Be who I am.

Yesterday we had the pleasure of going to our granddaughter’s high school for “Grandparents Day”. Seeing all those young women so full of life and joy and hope made me realize once again that everything is going to be alright. Being prayed on and blessed by our granddaughters was a powerful reminder that we as grandparents had a hand in helping build their future. The little girl who once sat on my lap and wrapped me around her tiny finger is getting ready to take on the weight of this world and I feel confident in her ability to do so.

I need to stop wringing my hands and shake the hand of a stranger in need. I need to stop finding the fault in my neighbor and look for the good in them. I need to stop cursing the cable news channel and pray for God’s healing in our world.

I need to just keep on keeping on. I need to keep dancing and dreaming…

Peace,

Denis