life

Hippity, Hoppity, Easter’s on its way!

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

The origins of the Easter Bunny are unclear, but he is mentioned in early German writings. The first edible Easter bunnies appeared in Germany in the 1800s and were made out of sugar and pastry. As a kid I often wondered what the Easter Bunny had to do with eggs. Polish folklore has the Virgin Mary offering eggs to the soldiers guarding Christ on the cross, as she begged them to be merciful, her tears left stains on the eggs. Eggs and bunnies and candy. There are so many conflicting images that all seem to converge at Easter in some pastel menagerie with chocolate and jellybeans thrown in for good measure.

Easter

I’ve read commentaries by some Christian writers complaining about the commercialization of Easter; how Easter is demeaned by the purchase of candy and greeting cards, etc. Easter-related spending in the United States is expected to reach about $25 billion in 2026, on everything from Easter candy to new clothes. But wasn’t Easter originally a pagan feast to celebrate spring? Painting and dying eggs pre-dates Christianity. It seems that early Christians just conveniently supplanted what was already a festival. Sort of, “Hey, we already have a party – let’s make it about Jesus!”

As a Christian, I’m not really bothered that Easter was formally a pagan feast day. I’m equally undisturbed with the Easter Bunny sharing the day that celebrates the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. If we find new life in Christ, why not celebrate the new life around us? And if you’re not a Christian, I still hope that you can enjoy a dyed egg and a chocolate bunny (or whatever means springtime to you). According to the National Confectioners Association’s survey 87% of people create an Easter basket for their kids. This just makes for happy kids. It needn’t diminish the importance of Easter. To the contrary, it should emphasize the joy we share. Why not “wear your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it?”

For Christians this is our Holy Week. This is the most sacred time in our Church calendar. We celebrate and remember the passion and death of Jesus. We begin this week with Palm Sunday and continue through Holy Thursday and Good Friday, as we journey with Jesus to the cross. On Saturday at the Easter Vigil, we celebrate His rising anew. Through His death and resurrection, we are saved!

This year I’ve decided that instead of being annoyed with the secularization of Easter, I will embrace the world that God has given us. Whether I encounter those who are thankful for a Savior or folks who are just thankful for spring weather, I will try to share their joy. As some of my friends celebrate Passover and others are looking forward to a long weekend, why create conflict? Instead of looking for something to be angry about or focusing on our differences I will try to bring peace and reconciliation to those I meet.

I believe that God created a world big enough for all of us. So I’ll be singing Alleluia on Easter and later if I spy a bunny in my garden or a jellybean should find its way to me, so much the better.

Peace,

Denis

He is not here, for he has been raised just as he said. Matthew 28:6

 

Ever Ancient – Ever New

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

During this school year, my wife and I have been invited to join the monthly “Grandparents’ Mass and Rosary” at our grandson’s high school. Any grandparent who can attend is welcomed. Each gathering consists of a mass, the recitation of the rosary and a grandparent’s blessing. After mass and rosary, we are then joined by our grandson for a brief visit. What a joy and blessing to share time with him at his school and get to take a peek into his world.

The word rosary comes from Latin and means a garland of roses, the rose being one of the flowers traditionally used to symbolize the Virgin Mary. Most people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike, are aware that a rosary is a strand of beads and has some prayerful significance. The Catholic Church considers the rosary a “sacramental”. Other examples of sacramentals include blessings, holy water and medals. They are merely intended to enhance the spiritual life of the faithful and may have more cultural significance for some than others. Sacramentals are not a requirement of our Church, but they are traditions with which many find comfort. The beads on a rosary signify different prayers, but the “Hail Mary” is the most prominent. Typically, it is repeated 53 times while praying a rosary. All Catholic school children learn this prayer, and most can recite it from memory. It’s an ancient prayer imploring Jesus’ mother Mary to pray for us and all those in need of God’s mercy, especially those near death. 

I love the “Hail Mary” because it’s easy to remember, but mostly because it harkens back to the days when most people were uneducated and yet were still able to implore God’s mercy with this simple prayer. I imagine my ancestors praying the same words that I repeat today. Recently, while attending mass and holding my dad’s rosary, I felt generations of believers joining me in my devotion. I thought of their journeys of faith, and I want to believe that they were praying with me and for me. All of us together asking Our Blessed Mother to be with us in our times need and to intercede on our behalf.

So today I pray for my grandchildren, my children, my wife, my siblings, my friends and all those who have gone on before me. There is comfort in knowing that my simple prayer is being joined by countless others through the centuries. It is powerful, this prayer that is ever ancient – ever new!

Truth be told, I always thought of praying the rosary as kind of an ‘old person’ thing. I guess the time has arrived.

Peace,

Denis

The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” Luke 1:26-28

These Things Are True

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

In his book Are You Good Enough Yet? Father Joe Kempf writes, “You deserve to know that you are safe, you are loved, your life matters, and you are good enough just as you are. Because these things are true.”

I’m a natural born worrier. I worry about my friends who are battling illness or struggling with grief. I worry about my son (who I believe requires constant worry). I worry about our community, our nation, our world. I worry about my grandchildren; those precious souls who I’m certain will face disappointment or heartache or worse. I worry that others don’t worry enough. And my greatest fear is that I’m not a good enough worrier to deal with any of this.

My Mom used to say, “You can worry about 10 things and 9 of them will never happen and the one that does won’t be as bad as you think”. That was rich, coming from the woman who instilled fear and worry in me. In my mind I would often reply, “Unless of course it happens to you, Mom!”

So, I’ve become a “stoic” worrier. A “closet” worrier. A “put on a brave face” worrier. “Smile through the pain” worrier. “Stiff upper lip” worrier. “Hide your crazy” worrier. “Just get on with it” worrier. “No one needs to know” (and probably doesn’t care) worrier.

But what am I afraid of? I’m pretty sure that I’m mostly afraid of losing control. Which is amusing because I have never truly been in control of anything (including myself most days). Plans have been made and derailed in an instant. Dreams have been dashed. Batteries have died. Plumbing has failed. Power has gone out. Promotions have been denied. Jobs have been lost. Savings have been depleted.

In the arms of some of my Angels

Through it all, I’ve never been abandoned. I’ve never been alone. God has never left my side. And in my darkest hours God has sent his angels. My wife. My children. My grandchildren. My siblings. My friends. What a gift knowing that they are with me on this journey. Sometimes it only takes hearing a loved one’s voice to put my mind at ease. I am not alone.

I had a dear uncle whose prayer was that he would live one day longer than his spouse so that he could take care of her until the end. I share that prayer. It sounds virtuous but it’s really a little bit selfish because I can’t bear the thought of life without my wife. Uncle Ted didn’t meet that goal, as he died a few months before his beloved Sha. But you know what? She was taken care of until the end. He set an amazing example for all of us to follow. She was never alone. Things (even stuff that didn’t matter that much) were taken care of. And she passed peacefully and I believe she was welcomed home into Ted’s loving arms.

So perhaps my prayer should be, “Dear God, please make sure that Debbie is not alone and that someone takes the trash out, mows the lawn and cleans the gutters“. It’s not poetic but it gets to the point. One less thing to worry about…

Thanks, Father Joe for reminding me that I am safe. I am loved. My life matters. And I am good enough. These things are true. And I need to let go of my fear and stop worrying. God, please keep sending your angels.

Peace,

Denis

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

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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

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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