Love

Blessed By Plans and By Failures

/ Denis Wilhelm / 2 Comments

I really like to be prepared. I like game-plans, dry runs, agendas, vaccines, first aid kits, insurance and road maps (remember those?) I don’t like surprises. I like a certain amount of control. Okay honestly, I like total control. It just makes life easier.

Our sons were Boy Scouts, and their moto is/was “Be Prepared”. How wonderful is that? The year that we lived in England our friends taught us that “there is no bad weather, only bad clothing”. We enjoyed every day outside, rain or shine, because we were prepared. Planning and preparation make perfect sense. My children can tell you that while they were growing up, I uttered this phrase ad nauseam: “Fail to plan; plan to fail”. It was often met with eye-rolling that was nearly audible. But we were ready for anything and everything! Until we weren’t.

When I look back on my life, I realize that most of my greatest blessings have occurred unplanned. My need for order and control has been upended in a heartbeat. Often literally. My wife and I lost our first baby in miscarriage at five months. All of our preparations were suddenly in vain. Not certain what the future might hold, our marriage and our life together suddenly seemed fragile and frightening. A year and a half later we heard another tiny heartbeat and prayed for our miracle baby. And he was and is. I’m convinced to this day, that we might never have loved our son Tyson as much as we do, had we not suffered that first loss. Five years later our family included our daughter Bess and our younger son Blake, and our love multiplied. Of course, after Blake was born, we realized we were outnumbered. We certainly hadn’t planned on that! Those of you who have raised children, know that God laughs at most of our plans. All the baby books and parenting classes end up being so much blah, blah, blah because your kid is special or weird or gifted or dull. So, we just did what we could to keep your heads above water. And somehow our non-plans worked out.

I’ve had job failures (epic ones) that at the time seemed like certain doom. Resumes and interviews and networking failed. I failed. Once during a very dark period, when employment was nowhere to be found, I met with our parish priest. I guess I was just looking for some kind of blessing or some inside “God help”. Instead, he just listened and then he assured me that our children would remain in school and tuition payments would resume only after I had secured employment. His words were a balm to my weary soul. Had I not lost my job, I would have never known his love and kindness.

I still like a plan. I still need a certain amount of control, but I’ve learned to cherish the unplanned. The surprises in life (the good ones and the bad ones) make us who we are. Many times, my certitude has been dashed in the blink of an eye. Plans fail. Stuff goes up in smoke. And in my exasperation, I pick up the pieces and start over. I believe these failures have taught me empathy. It’s easy to judge others when I perceive myself and my life as perfect. It’s in those wounded moments that I find my compassion.

I believe that I am able to carry the cross for others because so many have lifted the cross for me when I could no longer carry on.

Peace,

Denis

Thus says the LORD: When someone falls, do they not rise again? If they turn away, do they not turn back? Jeremiah 8:4

Alleluias and Easter Bunnies

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Throw open the shutters. Spring has arrived! Daffodils and tulips and the dogwood are blooming. Birds are singing. New life is in abundance!

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, the day in which Christians celebrate Jesus rising from the dead. As believers, our salvation is ‘a done deal’ if we choose the gift of His redemption. So churches will be filled to capacity.

We need the joy of Easter. It is a welcome balm that can ease the pain in our world. I for one, love the carnival atmosphere of Easter Sunday services. Kids dressed in itchy new Easter clothes, barely able to sit still because of all the candy that they have consumed before breakfast; beleaguered parents who rose before dawn to hide eggs and prepare baskets full of the candy for the aforementioned little darlings; folks who have not been to church in a while looking conspicuously out-of-place; ‘the regular-attenders’ barely able to conceal their annoyance of having to share their pew. We squeeze in and make room for all. And we love and forgive and ask for forgiveness for the times that we have failed to love. The Alleluias return!

Baked ham, lamb with mint jelly, hot cross buns, deviled eggs and asparagus will adorn our dining tables. Desserts will be rich and plentiful. And don’t forget the candy, surreptitiously snatched from the kiddies Easter baskets while they’re being distracted by yet another treat left behind by the Easter Bunny. Welcome home Springtime!

Some Christians are bothered by all the focus on the Easter Bunny, feeling that it diminishes the sanctity of Easter. After all what does a bunny who hides eggs and gives candy have to do with our Risen Savior? I’m not sure. But what difference does it make? Easter supplanted pre-Christian spring festivals and it doesn’t make it any less sacred to me.

I’ll welcome the Easter Bunny to hop into my backyard again this year and hide his (her) eggs and leave behind some treats. I’ll smell the sweet aroma of new flowers and tree blossoms. I’ll love and forgive and ask for forgiveness. I’ll eat too much and sing my Alleluias. And be thankful for it all.

Peace,

Denis

 “Why do you seek the living one among the dead?” Luke 24:5

Community Matters

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

I am blessed with an abundance of family and friends but still at times I want to be left alone.

There is escape in being alone. Being aloof and noncommittal can feel like freedom. Freedom from obligations. Freedom to do what I want to do. Freedom from other people’s misery. And sometimes I desperately long for that freedom. But freedom can lead to apathy and avoidance, and then I risk becoming insensitive to others’ needs.

This is why I am blessed to be in a community. A community of family and friends; a community of believers; a community of people who witness to me on a daily basis. I am constantly reminded that I need community. And I am strengthened and nourished by community. Community also allows me to share my limited gifts with others. I am humbled in knowing that I can bring goodness (God) to others.

Recently I learned of a father in our parish who suffered a stroke. His wife and young sons seem bewildered and are no doubt suffering immensely. As I stumbled to find a few words of comfort to offer to the mother, I saw a tiny glimpse of (relief?) (appreciation?) cross her troubled face. A small kindness that I couldn’t have offered her if we were not in community.

Two other young families of our parish have recently had babies. One family had their third daughter and they are delighted. I told the Daddy, with a wink, that raising three girls means that he “will get to go straight to heaven”. The other family had a set of twins which brings their brood to a total of five. I greet them each week and share in their joy and their exhaustion. We’ve taken them an occasional meal to ease their burden. What a blessing to be in community with them. These young families give me hope for our future.

In my small faith community, I have dear friend who has just received the gift of remission from her battle with cancer. I thank God and share in her joy! She is a testament to hopefulness and faith. She inspires me.

The tragic news of deaths and destruction due to tornadoes this week has been heartbreaking. But once again, I see communities coming together to help each other. The horrific news of yet another school shooting leaves me shaken and frightened. I have a daughter who is a teacher and five school-age grandchildren. How can we continue to watch as our babies are slaughtered? Once again, community steps in. We grieve the losses and bury the tiny bodies. On the saddest of days, I often want to pull the shades and climb under the covers, but I must use my voice and my vote. My letters to my senators and congressman may likely fall on deaf ears but I will continue to write, and protest, and vote! Because that’s what community does.

When my parents died, my community surrounded me with love and concern. We shared laughter and tears, and I could not have made it through those dark days without their hands to hold. When I retired last year, my community helped me navigate the uncertainty of life without a career. When my granddaughter was recently chosen “Mission Model” for her freshman class, because “she uses her voice for good and promotes human dignity”, my community shared my joy and pride in her accomplishment.

I am blessed to be part of a community who will carry me when I cannot walk, guide me when I am lost, and exalt with me in my days of jubilation. Being alone might feel like freedom, but my life has meaning when shared with others. Community matters.

Peace,

Denis

Trying to Try

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the suffering in our world.

When my kids were small, I worried about a litany of things – Their faith formation, their education, their nutrition, their choice of friends, their personal hygiene, and on and on. Now that they’re adults, I still worry about most of that stuff except for the personal hygiene thing – I think they’ve mastered that (most days). Of course, I have grandchildren who now require that I worry – they don’t know it, but it’s essential. They don’t even know how much my worrying will help them (me?).

I pray that my teenage granddaughters will enter into adulthood unscathed by the brutality of an often unjust, patriarchal society. I pray that my grown children will continue to find faith in God while worshipping in a Church that at times seems tone-deaf and completely out of step with their lives. I pray that my grandson’s kindness and caring nature will not be not drummed out of him by peer pressure during his teenage years. I pray that my younger granddaughters find a world that is sustainable and healthy and fulfills their every dream. And that’s just my small clan. My needs (and those of my loved ones) are minor compared to millions of others. So, I also worry about my neighborhood, my village, and my world. I worry about climate change, the war in Ukraine, the proliferation of guns in our country, child abuse, and discrimination in all its forms. I often feel helpless in the face of so many with such great need. So, I fret. And I make a plan to help someone. Or I pray about it. Or I plan to help. Or I plan to pray. Or I think about planning and praying. And then I don’t. I fail.

In her book “Jesus, Companion in my Suffering”, Joyce Ruff talks about compassion fatigue.

A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion.

Ms. Rupp supposes that Jesus was suffering from compassion fatigue and through sheer exhaustion he fell asleep in the boat. Perhaps being on that boat was the only physical comfort he had felt in days.

Those of us who have aged parents, or drug or alcohol addicted children, or a spouse who is battling a life-threatening illness, or folks who are facing insurmountable financial problems or divorce, can understand why Jesus fell asleep during a raging storm. We are often fatigued to the point of mental or physical exhaustion. And yet, we continue to do what we can. No matter how overwhelming the situations seem. We nurse our sick. We bury our dead. We comfort our injured. We listen. We act. We love. Mother Theresa said, “We can no great things; only small things with great love.” I’ll start there. I can try to stop worrying so much and do something. At least some small thing. Anything.

Of course, I’ll continue to worry. I will wring my hands and plan to make a plan. I will probably fail. But I’m trying to try. And I will keep trying. Acknowledging that I am limited and sinful and selfish is a good first step. Realizing that after that first step that there will be many more to follow on this journey, I will find solace in the fact that Jesus was exhausted, too. I’m giving myself permission to fail. There will be days when I will need to climb in that boat with Jesus.

And after a rest, I will try to carry on.

Peace,

Denis

Lost Civilizations

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Recently we toured the Cahokia Mounds Historic Site. As the largest prehistoric Native American site north of Mexico it once covered about 4,000 acres and included 120 mounds. Today 2,200 acres and 70 of the remaining mounds are protected as a World Heritage Site. It is estimated that during years 1,050 to 1,200 A.D. there were between 10,000 to 20,000 people living in the area.

By the late 1,300s Cahokia was essentially abandoned. Much is lost to history of the peoples and why they left. Ironically the name Cahokia is even a misnomer. The Cahokia Tribe were late arrivals and did not build the mounds. The Mississippian Culture actually built and populated the site during its greatest peak of civilization.

But what of its demise? Why did the peoples leave? Where did they go? Depletion of natural resources; climate change; political unrest are all hypotheses.

Climbing Monks Mound, the largest manmade mound in the Americas (named after French Trappist monks from the 19th century who had absolutely nothing to do with its creation) one experiences the vastness of the site. I couldn’t help but be in awe of what the Mississippians had built. It’s beautiful and at the same time heartbreaking to think that this civilization which must have been so important during its existence has essentially vanished.

I couldn’t help but think about the year we lived in England and toured what seemed like countless abbeys, cathedrals and churches that were essentially abandoned. Most were tourist attractions with little or no worship taking place. Will our churches, mosques and synagogues someday become ruins that future peoples view with mixed feelings of confusion and curiosity?

It’s easy to discount the Mississippians as primitives who had no understanding of God (at least the God of my beliefs) but what of our (my) legacy? Empty churches? Grand buildings with no purpose? Icons and statues to a God who is removed from daily life?

I need to stop only looking for God in institutions and sanctuaries. I need to stop just searching for faith in buildings and books. I find comfort in my traditions and in those comfortable places and in those inspired writings but that is not enough. I must look at my neighbor with compassion. I must look at my loved ones with mercy and forgiveness. I must face myself and embrace my fears and my failures. And love. Above all I must love.

Peace,

Denis

So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13

Perfecting Christmas

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

I grew up with images of Sweet Baby Jesus being born on Christmas day. Sometimes I’m nostalgic for those days of innocence: Jesus’ and mine. In the comfort of my suburban home, I imagined all good girls and boys had the same kind of Christmas to which I was entitled. I was taught that Jesus was born poor and in a stable but, I had no real understanding of poverty or homelessness. Our Christmases were gloriously predictable: Santa would come; cookies would be baked; dinner would be plentiful; family would gather. And plaster Baby Jesus was perfectly happy to stay tucked away in his manger with Mary and Joseph dutifully at his side while we opened our presents.

While playing with my new toys, I would give an occasional nod to Jesus. We would attend Mass and sing our carols and I knew that Christmas was about the birth of Jesus. But my world was small and my understanding of life beyond my family, my neighborhood, and my parish was limited. And I liked it that way. There was security in the bubble that was my young life. Mom and Dad and my brothers and baby sister were all I needed. The messy stuff; the scary stuff; the life outside; was more than my little mind could (or would) comprehend.

Then it happened. I grew up. Life got messy and sometimes scary, but I held on tight to my need for perfect Christmases. I wanted everyone to be happy. “Jingle Bells” would be blaring from my cassette tape player. Reality would be put on hold. As a newlywed I found Christmas to be another opportunity to share our love but with the added stress of finding (and affording) that perfect gift. When our children came along, I tried desperately to give them the Christmas of my youth: warm, secure, loving, with plenty of gifts and a dash of Baby Jesus thrown in for good measure. And we would routinely go in debt to make darn sure that happened. Because no one could be disappointed with a less than perfect Christmas!

They say with age comes wisdom. I’m not sure if that’s true. I think more accurately “with age comes the same mistakes over and over”. And sometimes if we’re paying attention or we get kicked in the head we might actually learn from those mistakes. You can call that wisdom, I guess. At least that’s my wisdom experience.

I mean no disrespect to anyone who needs the image of Baby Jesus at Christmas. I love babies and I think it’s remarkable that our Savior was born an infant. However, Jesus’ humble birth sends a message that for most of my life escaped me. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to the realization that Christmas comes to everyone, not just the happy little families gathered around their tree. I will always cherish my childhood experience of Christmas, but as Christians we are called to have a preference for the poor, the marginalized, the forgotten. “As followers of Christ, we are challenged to make a fundamental ‘option for the poor’—to speak for the voiceless, to defend the defenseless, to assess lifestyles, policies and social institutions in terms of their impact on the poor”. I have some work to do.

But here’s the good news: Jesus comes for all of us! What I need to constantly remind myself is that Christmas comes whether we’re celebrating a beautiful Christmas liturgy or working the graveyard shift at a convenience store. Christmas comes whether the gifts under our tree are beautifully wrapped and plentiful or if they are being given to us by a volunteer at the Salvation Army. Christmas comes if we’re enjoying a sumptuous feast with family gathered or sitting alone at a soup kitchen. Christmas comes while we’re holding our sweet-cheeked grandchild on our lap or holding the hand of a loved who has just received a devastating diagnosis. Christmas comes whether we are celebrating new love or mourning the loss of our lifetime companion. Christmas comes with giggles and joy and with tears and heartache. Christmas comes.

I still strive for those perfect Christmases. The ones where everyone is happy and well fed and sufficiently gifted and loved beyond measure. But now I know to also look for Jesus in the less fortunate circumstances. I try to find Christmas in the hurried shoppers, the beleaguered parents, the refugees searching for a home, the lonely neighbor, the recovering alcoholic, the estranged family member, and that old man that I see in the mirror.

So, my prayer this year is that wherever we find ourselves, we are still able to shout the Good News. Jesus is born! Our salvation is at hand. Whether you’re in a high holy place with a glorious choir singing Alleluia or handing out “Toys for Tots” to children in need; if you are “on top of world” or find yourself lost in despair, hoping for better days to come or pining for days gone by, I hope that Jesus (or whatever/wherever you find comfort at Christmas) touches your heart and lifts your spirits.

May your Christmas this year be perfected by His love.

Denis

The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all people. Today a savior has been born for you.”

Waiting (impatiently)

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Waiting. Always waiting. Still waiting.

Waiting seems to be the story of my life. Waiting for the end the school year as a boy. Waiting to get my driver’s license as a teenager. Waiting for my bride to come down the aisle. Waiting for our first child to be born and our second and our third. Waiting for promotions and raises. Waiting for grandchildren. And now I’m waiting for retirement.

I’ve been thinking lately about waiting and my impatience. During Advent we are reminded to slow down and be patient. We are expected to wait. We are told to be hopeful. Impatient people like me, try to “gird our loins” and tough it out so that we can get through these weeks of waiting. We prove our worth by being watchful and ready to embrace the impending joy of the coming of the Christ Child at Christmas.

But waiting alone is not enough. Being hopeful about the good things to come isn’t the complete answer either. It misses the point. The beauty is the waiting. The joy is in embracing the longing. Peace comes when I surrender myself to God’s plan. True patience is actively living in the present. It requires that I let go of my need to finish the game; win the race; get to the prize. The true joy of Advent is acceptance. Accepting my here and now; for better or for worse. I live with the hope of better things to come but I must love and treasure what I have now if I am to truly be fulfilled in the future. Baby Jesus at Christmas won’t mean much if I don’t find Christ in everyone I see TODAY.

So, I try to be patient and I try to live in the moment but realistically my impatience is not going away any time soon (or ever). Waiting for my wife to be ready to go somewhere or for the weekend to get here or my coffee to finish brewing will always make me tap my foot and wonder, “How much longer must I wait?”

Anna and me (back in the day)

Today I ran across a text message my daughter sent me years ago when her daughter was only six or seven years old. It reads:

Tonight, at Girl Scouts, we decorated bags that will eventually be used to carry food to the homeless. The girls have nothing to do with the food portion, but were asked to decorate the bags with drawings, stickers, etc, and they could feel free to write a nice Christmas sentiment on them. I did three of Anna’s 5 bags because she’s slow as molasses and I wanted to leave early. And then she showed me her long-awaited 2nd bag (how could it have taken so long?) and her sweet message simply said, “God is love.” Those three words brought me so much joy. She gets it. She’s been paying attention. And she’s sharing that simple message with a stranger. And with me.

Now that’s a testament to patience. For both mother and daughter. And granddad, too. Anna is in high school now, and she’s still slow but patient (especially with granddad) and she lives in the moment. She challenges me to try (again) for patience during Advent and to embrace my waiting. Even if it means an occasional foot tapping.

Peace,

Denis

Sanctified

/ Denis Wilhelm / 4 Comments

I’m an usher at my church; officially a minister of hospitality. My responsibilities include greeting people, finding parishioners a seat, keeping an eye out for anyone in need, opening and closing doors as needed, sending people home with a bulletin and a wish for a good week. Simple job for a simple man. I’m qualified.

Most Sundays, things are pretty predictable: same friendly faces, same unfriendly faces, same older folks with their assorted accessories – walkers, canes, etc.; same crying newborns; same sweet-faced babies; same ill-behaved toddlers; same angelic school children; same skulking teenagers; same off-key singers; same beleaguered families doing their best to be there on time (or to not arrive too late). As the hymn reminds me: “All Are Welcome In This Place”

The truth of the matter is that I usually go about my “duties” pretty mindlessly. Oh, I try to be welcoming and accommodating, but often it all seems pretty perfunctory. A cardboard cutout with a “WELCOME” caption might be as effective. I must admit that often my heart and my soul aren’t in the right place even if my body is. My anger or disenchantment or apathy towards the Church (the capital “C” Church – the hierarchy; the dudes who are calling the shots) keeps me distant from the faith community in my midst. Many times, I dig in and refuse to even listen to the preaching. My failure, my loss I suppose. But sometimes self-righteousness feels so damned good!

Yesterday was different. As families were arriving, I noticed one particular family entering single-file. It appeared to be a mother, father, three or four children and perhaps a grandmother. Rather abruptly, a boy of about 5 or 6 years-old stopped, stepped out of the family line and turned around to wait for his grandmother. When she was next to him, he took her hand, and they walked in together. Simple, honest and, humbling. With his loving gesture, that small boy brought Christ to me at that moment. Suddenly the choir sounded more beautiful. Later the Gospel held more meaning. The prayers had greater depth. All because of witnessing this simple act of love. I realized (again) that God needn’t only be found in the piety of churches, and mosques, and synagogues, nor through intense prayer nor profound worship, but in the love of a small boy towards his grandmother. I just need to put down my sword of anger and pick up my plowshare of compassion in order to witness it.

Later I thought about my own grandchildren and how just being with them lifts my spirits and brings balance to my life. And once again, I am reminded of my blessings.

Peace,

Denis

Perfectly Mismatched

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

My beautiful wife Debbie is 4′-11″ tall. I’m 6′-1″. Height differences have been challenging at times to say the least. Disagreements about where things should be placed (top shelf or bottom shelf; overhead or underneath) have been a source of conflict through the years. Also purchasing furniture, cabinets, and automobiles that fit both of us can be quite challenging. Our daily lives have been consumed with readjusting mirrors, car seats, step stools, computer monitors, and anything else that will allow height accommodations. We are simply physically mismatched.

Of course, our physical differences are just part of the challenge. I’m all – hurry, hurry; come on let’s go! She’s all – take it easy; slow down; calm down. I need a well-thought-out plan. She runs on feelings and often laughs at my plans. I’m an early bird that loves to rise and shine. She’s a night owl who requires silence and coffee in the morning. I’m very linear. She usually colors outside the lines.

Through the years we have learned that differences are not detrimental to a successful relationship. In fact, just the opposite. My wife and I complement one another. We fill in each other’s voids. We carry one another when necessary. And don’t be fooled by her size. Deb is larger than life. Her circle of influence is boundless. She dreams big. She has more class in her little finger than most folks have in their entire body. And she has more friends today than I have had in my entire life.

If you are in need, she’s the friend/sister/mother/grandmother to call on. If you need a laugh, she will always deliver. If you need someone to hold or if you need to be held, her arms are always open wide. If you need to cry, she will cry, too. Debbie has this incredible gift of making you know that when she’s with you, no one else is more important or more needed at that moment than you. You have her complete undivided attention. She gives her entire self. She is the heart of our family; friendships are lifelong; her word is her bond; her love for others is boundless.

I’m the luckiest man on earth. Somehow God decided that I was the one who got to share this life with her. Through the good and bad; through the joys and sorrows; I’ve had this beautiful hand to hold. And I’ll never let go.

Happy Birthday Deb.

I love you,

D

Fingerprints

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

When my kids were small, I was a maniac about trying to keep the house clean and orderly. I’m sure that they’re all emotionally scarred (but seriously, was it too much trouble to wipe their feet and pick up their book bags?). At times I wish I could turn back the clock and let go of my need for control. Too much time was spent keeping things on schedule; in order; squeaky clean. To much effort was put into finishing dinner; getting somewhere on time; making lists; completing tasks. It must have been exhausting.

Today when one of my grandkids leaves a fingerprint on a mirror or window, I’m hesitant to clean it. I want to save all those precious prints. I’ve mellowed with age.

I realize now that those babies who were entrusted into my care left fingerprints on my heart. No one can ever wipe those away. I became a father at twenty-three. To say that I was clueless would be the understatement of the century. When we left the hospital with our newborn son, whom the nurse placed on my wife’s lap in the front seat of our 1977 Ford Pinto, we drove away not knowing what adventures, heartache, joys, and love lie ahead.

There have been proud moments, important milestones, and great honors bestowed upon my progeny. They are three amazing humans. But the things that I carry in my heart on this wonderous ride called Fatherhood are those tiny “finger prints”. They are with me wherever I go. And will be forever.

Tyson’s baby belly-laughs still ring in my memory’s ears and remind me that laughter is truly the best medicine. Bess’s bedtime ritual, complete with “Dad, I’m glad you’re my Dad” still warms this old heart of mine: “Peeper, I’m glad you’re my Peeper”. Remembering Blake standing on our front porch waving goodbye until my car was out of sight, on one of my too many business trips, still makes me yearn for one more hug and one more kiss.

Back in the day, while I was busy cleaning and wiping away those fingerprints, little did I know that they were being imprinted on my heart. What a gift! What a life! What a love!

Happy Father’s Day!

Denis