life

She Colors My World

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

My wife Debbie and I got married when we were young, and had no idea of what might lie ahead. We were a couple of small-town kids in love and that seemed like enough to get us through. Lots of people felt obliged to tell us that it would never work out and that we were making a big mistake. I smile to myself when I remember the naysayers. Of course, it hasn’t always been easy, but true love never is. Our marriage has survived and thrived. We have had grand adventures beyond our imaginations, and quiet moments that are heartbreaking in their simplicity and remarkable beauty. We have faith in one another and in a God who has carried us through it all.

It has been the honor and delight of my life to be hand in hand with this amazing woman for over 50 years. Deb makes up for all of my shortcomings. She reminds me to slow down and savor the important things in life. She models tolerance (I’ve given her many opportunities) and compassion (she loves unconditionally and I have been the fortunate recipient of that grace). I’m color-blind, so she not only makes sure that my clothes match, but she also fills every part of my world with brilliant, vivid color. She has this incredible gift of making you feel that when she’s with you, no one else is more important or more needed at that moment than you. You have her undivided attention. She gives herself entirely. Just ask her children, grandchildren, and countless friends.

And as for me, well when she walks into the room it’s like everyone else fades into the background. All the light in the space seems to be emanating from her. She just gets to me. She makes me want to be a better man and someone who is deserving of this love we share.

Today is our 51st wedding anniversary. We’ve beaten the odds, been blessed beyond our dreams, and every day she fills my world with color that only a color-blind man can see.

Peace,

Denis

All Is Calm

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

In December of 1973, while in college, I was working part-time at a Venture Store. Venture was a big box discount store. As you can imagine, during the weeks before Christmas the store was always busy, and customers were increasingly demanding. Folks were scrambling to grab the latest gadget or toy and at times the scene at Venture could best be described as frenzied. When customers discovered that the “Specially Advertised” merchandise was sold-out, they could turn downright nasty.

It was in this cacophony of ringing cash registers, blue light specials, and loud-speaker announcements that I discovered her. There she was with tears streaming down her face. It was the girl from the Health and Beauty Aids Department. I didn’t know her well, but she was cute and always friendly, and no one deserved to be that upset. I was certain that some jerk-ass customer had yelled at her and I was ready to hunt them down and give them a piece of my mind. After all, who needed this lousy job?

When I approached her and asked, “What’s the matter?” She said, “Don’t you hear it?” Puzzled, I asked, “Hear what?” “Listen!”, she said. And I did. Ever so faintly amidst the noise of weary shoppers, screaming kids, and the umpteenth Public Address Announcement, I heard the strains of the Muzak version of “Silent Night”. Before I could ask her why on earth that would make her cry, she told me that she loved the song and it touched her heart and that Christmas was her favorite time of year. She assured me that her tears were really tears of joy. Her tenderness, her serenity and her beauty filled that space.  

I was speechless. And right there in that busy, crowded, awful discount store she brought Christmas to me. She gave me peace. She brought me to Bethlehem. And for the first time, I truly understood that I have a Savior.

I will never forget that night or that girl or that beautiful moment.

Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come. Mark 13:33

Peace,

Denis

P.S. That was over 50 years ago and lucky me married that beautiful girl from Venture’s Health and Beauty Aids Department. Our children and grandchildren can attest to the fact that she stills cries whenever she hears Silent Night.

All is calm; all is bright!

In All Circumstances Give Thanks

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Saint Paul urges us to give thanks in all circumstances. Sometimes that’s a tough nut to crack.

Years ago, my spirituality group was encouraged to list our blessings and to reflect on what matters most to us. I was the only one who didn’t mention God. Not that I didn’t think that God was important, I just didn’t single him (her) out. Instead, I chose to list experiences for which I was and will always be thankful. In retrospect, I realize that God’s hand is in all of it. That’s kind of how God and I operate. We tend to sneak up on one another. I’m not a “God is My Co-Pilot” kind of guy. I’m more of a “Hey God, you still out there?” “Remember me?” “Help me!” “Wow God, thank you!” kind of guy. And God is like, “Yeah, I got this.” “And you’re welcome”.

So, I thank God for all my blessings: My beautiful wife, who never gives up on me, who keeps me grounded and makes me a better man; my kids, who never grow tired of me and who remind me that I did my best even when I was running on empty; my grandchildren, who never cease to amaze me and who allow me to see into the future through their love, energy, devotion, and kindness; my siblings and my cousins, with whom I share a history and who have never abandoned me. I am thankful for my family.

I am thankful for everyone that I’ve met on this journey of life. Especially those persons with whom I can bare my soul. We carry one another’s burdens, share one another’s joys, wipe away one another’s tears, and celebrate one another’s triumphs. We live in an imperfect world, but we are perfected by the love that we share. Bad things happen, but those things do not have to define who we are. We measure our worth in the joy we find each day. I am thankful for my friends.

My prayers of praise and supplication and thanksgiving often feel like fleeting thoughts (never fully formed or well-articulated). Still, I believe that God listens to my prayers – poorly formed and selfish as they may be. I pray and God listens. I cry and God hears me. I try and God accepts my humble efforts. I am thankful for my faith.

When I think of all the goodness in my life, at times I feel undeserving. But mostly, I am humbled. Why have I been so blessed? How can I begin to thank God for all I have been given? Who am I to have received so much? I am thankful for God’s mystery.

This Thanksgiving, I will rejoice again for all that is good (and try to understand and accept the not-so-good stuff, too). I will give thanks today and continue to work on the ‘always’ part.

And I will keep on singing.

Peace,

Denis

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances, give thanks. 1 Thes 5:16-18

Raised Up

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

I’ll admit it. Lately I’m running a little low on patience, compassion, and empathy. So much seems to be so wrong. Good friends battling serious health issues. Government shutdown. The Golden Ballroom. Epstein Files. Families struggling to feed themselves. Plus waiting on hold for “customer service” from a robot. Leaves piling up outside. Spam calls. Dreaded self-checkouts. Leaking dishwasher. And that kid down the street who drives too fast.

I know in my heart that sadness, anger and bitterness only serve to drain the spirit from my life. Being justified in my outrage is not worth the loss of love that I will be denied by my own stubbornness or self-righteousness. Still, sometimes it feels so good to feel so angry. What the heck, God?

I try hard not to be a curmudgeon but at times it feels as if the cards have been stacked against me. My prayers seem to go unanswered. I’m tired of giving others the benefit of the doubt – because I doubt that they deserve it. So, I yell at the cable news anchors, groan with every new spam call, bitch at the self-checkout thingy (because I don’t know how to scan properly, I suppose) and I shake my fist at that hoodlum down the street while I curse him under my breath as I’m raking leaves (again). Slow down you maniac!!!

As often happens in my life, a miracle occurs. Just when my outrage and disgust with mankind seems completely justified, I am confronted with the love of others. Somehow, I am carried along by good news, good fortune, and goodwill.

We were honored to watch our teenage granddaughter direct her first school play. Her joy was contagious, and my pride was overwhelming. While doing fall cleanup in our gardens, I noticed the neighbor next door was playing with her two young daughters in a pile of leaves. The delight of their giggles warmed my stone-cold heart. Later I learned that my fifteen-year-old grandson was on a retreat weekend with his faith community which restores my soul. I connected with my cousin to plan a small reunion (of sorts) which will include lots of laughs and shared memories. Our younger granddaughters were delighted with a little early Christmas surprise. Who knew that something so small could be such a big hit? I received the joyful news that a baby was born. Friends that I’ve come to know from church were blessed with a healthy baby boy. I’m told that two-year-old big sister is “over the moon”. And so am I.

God is good. Sometimes I just need a ‘kick in the pants’ or a gentle nudge to be reminded that I am carried along on this journey of life by the love of others. And in the grand scheme of things, when I take their hands, I am blessed beyond my dreams.

Peace,

Denis

Things I’ve Done for Money

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

I started working as a kid. I had a newspaper route when I was 12 or 13 years old. I rode my bicycle and threw newspapers, ideally on to front porches, but more often into shrubberies or the occasional gutter. I think I earned about $30.00 a month and because this was a daily paper, I suppose I was making about $1.00 a day. I had several other part-time jobs while in high school which according to my parents would build character and net some savings. No real savings were ever realized and as for the character, well let’s just say that I met a few characters along the way.

As an adult, I’ve had some less than stellar jobs. Once, after getting laid off from my job as a surveyor’s assistant at a Civil Engineering firm, I took a job delivering catalogs to put food on the table and keep the lights on. This was before the Internet and people actually purchased things from catalogs. Truth be told, most of the catalog recipients didn’t appreciate the free catalog. I was met by slammed doors and chased by vicious dogs. It made me long for the golden days of holding a range pole in the bottom of a frozen creek bed in the middle of January. Ultimately, I found a job as a drafter indoors. Thank you, Jesus!

The absolute worst job I ever had was as the T.V. man at our local hospital. Deb and I had just had our second child, and her part-time job became more part-time. Because we had a new baby and a not quite two-year-old I decided to take a second job and work a few evenings a week to make some additional money. I found a job in the ‘Help-Wanted’ ads and the “no experience necessary but a clean appearance and a good personality, a plus” seemed tailor-made for me. My new part-time job was at a local Catholic hospital that didn’t have the funds to equip rooms with televisions; I was working for the company that provided this service for a fee. My job was to “sell” television to the patients.

Humility

My full-time job was at a factory that produced large commercial refrigeration units for retail customers. I worked in the custom shop that created non-refrigerated pieces that would allow stores to accommodate corners or create unique configurations as desired. We would draw the layouts and custom build and test the units as designed. This was sometimes heavy and hard work. And because this was on the factory floor, I would often be dirty by the end of my shift. Plus, I had about 15 minutes to get from that job to the part-time job. So, I would ‘clean up’ as best as I could while driving my Volkswagen Beetle and change from my factory clothes into the hideous tie and blazer provided by my new employer. Each night I made it to the hospital just in time.

For a fee of $2.00, I would turn the television sets on in patients’ room with a special key. This was the 1980’s and there was no cable television just the 4 or 5 local channels. Maybe 6 channels if you counted UHF. The lady that owned the television business was scary (think Cruella Deville) and because this was a CASH ONLY business, I was responsible for any shortages which would ultimately be deducted from my paltry paycheck. Further humiliation resulted from the aforementioned gold blazer that I was forced to wear which was 2 sizes too big. This blazer made me look a theater page but identified me as THE T.V. GUY. The upside of this job was that many of my customers, in fact, looked forward to seeing me. I suppose recovering alone in the hospital without your soap operas or “Price Is Right” or “Dallas” would have been a struggle. Of course there were some sad nights, like when someone didn’t have the $2.00 and my ‘magic key’ would have to darken their room. Truth be told, I sometimes turned on T.V.’s for folks who couldn’t afford the fee. Because this was the local hospital in my hometown, I often encountered people I knew. Trying to explain why I had sunken to such a lowly position in life could be quite humiliating. One particularly awkward evening was when I encountered my best friend’s wife in labor. The ‘fathers-to-be’ were always good customers – they looked forward to any distraction from the business at hand. I will always remember the night my best friend’s son was born with a smile. My friend and his son are now both in heaven. I pray that they remember that fateful night with a chuckle as well.

I only kept that job for a few months. My wife and I figured out how to better manage our meager incomes, and I got to spend more time with our little boy and our infant daughter. Thinking back, I believe that the greatest benefit of that job was the lesson in humility that I learned. Certainly, we needed the money but that was soon gone.

The lesson in humility remains to this day.

Peace,

Denis

Stone Soup

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

There is a European folk story about a monk who comes to a village, carrying nothing more than an empty cooking pot. Upon his arrival, the villagers are unwilling to share any of their food with the very hungry monk. Then the monk goes to a stream and fills the pot with water, drops a large stone in it, and places it over a fire. One of the villagers becomes curious and asks what he is doing. The monk answers that his is making “stone soup”, which tastes wonderful and which he would be delighted to share, although it still needs a little bit of garnish, which he is missing, to improve the flavor. The villager, who anticipates enjoying a share of the soup, does not mind parting with a few carrots so these are added to the soup. Another villager walks by, inquiring about the pot, and the monk again mentions that his stone soup has not yet reached its full potential. More and more villagers walk by each adding another ingredient, like potatoes, onions, cabbage, peas, tomatoes, corn, pork, butter, salt and pepper. Finally, the stone (being inedible) is removed from the pot, and a delicious and nourishing pot of soup is enjoyed by the monk and villagers alike. The monk, who began with nothing, by offering to share his soup with others has successfully transformed it into a tasty meal for himself and the villagers.

Lately I have felt like that monk. Empty. With nothing much to share.

That’s when giving is the hardest, when my joy is depleted and I am unable to find any goodness in my world. Government shutdown. Political ugliness. Lack of public decency. It has all become overwhelming. And I feel hopeless.

Recently I had the opportunity of seeing our granddaughter perform in her high school production of “Radium Girls”. A very serious and tragic story of young women exploited in the early 20th century. Great performances of a true story that unfortunately seems relevant as so many are being treated as less than human by society. The pain and suffering that these women suffered at the hands of the powerful for profit seems unfathomable today and yet we are turning a blind eye to the injustice and cruelty being forced upon so many in our country as I write this.

But then, like the monk, I put my stone in the pot, and I invite others to share ‘my soup’ in the hope of creating something better. I join a dear friend at a food pantry that works towards systemic change. We afford dignity to the clients as we provide food for their bellies. I tour my grandson’s high school, and I am prayed for as a grandparent who is providing a foundation of faith and strength (well, trying anyway). I am loved by my wife, even at my most unlovable moments, and reminded to keep the faith. I am valued by my friends and my family, even as I question my self-worth. I realize that my pot is overflowing even in my weakness. I am blessed by my loved ones’ generosity and kindness. I am lifted by their spirit.

And hope returns.

Peace,

Denis

Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap. For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you. Luke 6:38

Grace For the Trials

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

It’s hard to find grace these days. There is so much anger in our world. Our nation’s politics have become poisonous. So much cruelty inflicted on innocent people. So much hate in the name of righteousness. I often feel desperate and frightened. I fear for my grandchildren and what the future holds for them.

Our congressman just stated on the House Floor, referring to his fellow citizens across the aisle: “they literally will kill those with whom they disagree, just as their predecessors—leftists Marx, and Stalin, and Lenin, and Pol Pot, and Fidel Castro—did.” He was ratcheting up more hate and distrust between our political parties instead of representing the people in his district. Apparently, Bob Onder, a self-proclaimed Pro-Life Catholic has shamefully chosen ugly rhetoric instead of bipartisanship. So much for respecting all life as sacred. Sadly, we have a president who behaves likes a petulant child. I suppose our congressman is doing his best to emulate Trump’s behavior.

On these worst days I become cynical and morose. I throw my hands in the air and exclaim WTF!

But then I encounter the angels in my life. And I realize that I am not alone in my pain and worry and despondency. Last night while watching a particularly sappy moment in a movie my wife reached out and held my hand. That touch restored my soul once again. I was reminded of a poem that she shared with me 50 years ago. I have returned to it many times in the ensuing years.

Help from above; unfailing sympathy; undying love. Being afraid, crying out in pain, needn’t be a sign of weakness but of surrender. This week Pope Leo addressed a crowd at St. Peter’s Square with these words:

“Jesus teaches us not to be afraid to cry out, as long as it is sincere and humble. A cry is never pointless if it is born of love, and it is never ignored if it is delivered to God. It is a way to not give in to cynicism, to continue to believe that another world is possible.”

So, instead of wringing my hands and cursing the future. I will hope for a better day and pray for the courage to hold on until it arrives. And I will remember that there is no justice without compassion, no joy without sorrow, no peace without pain. So, bring on the rain!

Peace,

Denis

Fragile

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

In 2023 I spent last week in McAllen, Texas at our southern border. I volunteered at the Humanitarian Respite Center which is affiliated with Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley. Staffed by dedicated personnel as well as volunteers and supported by donations, the center provided a place for the countless refugees and asylum seekers, who entered our country legally, to rest, have a meal, a change of clothes, and receive medicine and other supplies. Most families were at the center only 24 hours before continuing on their journey into the United States.

On the third day I met a young girl from Honduras who captured my heart. She was likely not aware of the gravity of her situation. I suspect that she didn’t realize that they were literally running for their lives. She was traveling with her mother who was fleeing violence and death threats in her native country. They didn’t want to leave their home but felt they had no choice. The mother was fiercely protective of her daughter and was willing to leave everything she knew behind to provide a safe home for her daughter. Who amongst us wouldn’t sacrifice all we have for our children? Still, this sweet girl seemed undaunted by the circumstances in which she and her mother found themselves. Did she not understand that her life was about to be profoundly changed? Did she know that she would possibly never return to her home? I suppose her mother had explained in a child’s understanding what was happening. They would be struggling to make a new home in a foreign place with likely unfriendly people, but the little girl seemed as if she was on a pleasant journey to a magical place. I learned her name was Ana which further tugged at my heart because my own beautiful granddaughter is named Anna.

Ana tried to teach me Spanish while I attempted to teach her some English. She was the better teacher. Her joy was contagious, and she had no trace of sadness in her little being. Her mother was being brave for her daughter and held back tears when I spoke with her privately about their ordeal. Her only concern was Ana. “Mi preciosa hija” she said over and over again. And she was precious indeed. She wanted nothing other than to be with her mother and share her love with those of us around her. The name Ana means “grace” and she certainly graced us all with her presence.

I often wonder what has happened to the people that I briefly served in McAllen. Did they make it to their host families? Have they found sustainable employment? Have they navigated the immigration courts successfully? Have been treated with compassion or dealt with cruelly? Have they missed a step in the immigrations process due to misunderstanding or miscommunication? Are they languishing in some detention center?

I pray that they have found safety, security and peace. I pray that Ana is thriving. And that she is still laughing, singing and teaching some old guy a few words of Spanish. God, please watch over her!

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

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