life

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

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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

OG, Oh My!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Deb, you’re my OG

Mouth Open; Eyes Shut

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace,

Denis

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

Change(ing)

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace,

Denis

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

Walk, Meditate, Pray

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

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

Lifetime Valentine

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

Once upon a time a boy met a girl, and they fell deeply and desperately in love. They were young and he was poor and uneducated, and many people thought that they would be doomed to live a life of despair. But the boy hoped to one day be worthy of her love by becoming the man she always believed he could be. Years went by and their love grew, and they were blessed with three beautiful children and five even more beautiful grandchildren. The man is no longer a boy but his love for the girl has never diminished or wavered. He’s still not sure if he’s become the man of her dreams but she remains forever his Lifetime Valentine and their love has survived the years, the tears, the good times and the bad. The man still believes that God has made them for each other, and he is thankful each day for her love and devotion.

And they continue to live happily ever after…

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:6-7

Keep On Keeping On

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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

Braving the Cold

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While cursing the cold the other day I realized that in our neighborhood only us old guys shovel the snow from our driveways. We, the heart attack prone, arthritis afflicted, RSV susceptible old-timers, feel compelled to clear the snow from our driveways and walkways. The young people just drive over it. Their lack of concern for neatness and order seems nearly criminal. They just drive off to jobs and other necessary destinations, while I sit and look smugly out my window at my neatly shoveled ‘driveway to nowhere’. I don’t need to leave my house. We are retired. Our pantry in stocked and we have food in the freezer likely older than some of the non-shoveling miscreants who I grudgingly consider my neighbors.

A well shoveled driveway

What if I decide that I must leave the house? Or what shame might I feel if we had an unexpected visitor who had to traverse the dangers of an uncleared walkway? I will shovel! My Dad was a shoveler. He took pride in his ability to clear the snow, and I will carry on that tradition. I suppose the younger generation doesn’t want to brave the elements to conquer their snow-covered driveways and sidewalks. They don’t dress in layers and get booted-up to prove their worth. They just hit the APP on their phones to auto-start their cars. And then drive off with abandon in pre-heated luxury.

While being somewhat amused with my inner curmudgeon, I realize that perspective matters. The younger families must get to where they need to be – driveway be damned! What appears to me to be laziness is probably someone hurriedly trying to get to a job or to get a sick child to a doctor or to help an older parent clear their walkway. Perhaps I could offer to help them. Or at least mind my own business.

Funny thing about judging others, God usually forces me to look in the mirror at some point. That’s when I really need to brave the cold. The cold, hard truth that I have prejudged others. Fortunately, God even forgives sinners like me.

Peace,

Denis

Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own eye? Matthew 7:3