Saying ‘Yes’ to ‘No’

Recently there was a Medieval Fair in Oklahoma where my son and his family live. While driving past the fairgrounds our youngest granddaughter caught a glimpse of a sign that read, ‘Swords and Shields’ and declared that that was something she would love to have. Her hopes were dashed when my son said, “You are not getting a sword and shield!” Undeterred, she declared, “Looks like I’m going to have to take this into my own hands!” I’m not certain how an eight-year-old with no financial independence was going to manage purchasing the aforementioned sword and shield, but I admire her pluck. Personally, I would have honored her request, but I was reminded, once again, that parenthood requires discipline and denial.

Pondering Gwen’s resolve, I began thinking of the many times I have been denied and have remained silent. How often have I just accepted “no” as an answer? How often have I acquiesced to others’ policies and opinions? How many times have I witnessed fellow humans being dealt with unfairly but lacked the courage to speak up in order to ensure my own safety and privilege? How often have I chosen to “go along, to get along“?

It’s hard today to not become discouraged with our government and the chaos that we are being subjected to. Whether we are personally suffering or witnessing the suffering of those we love, our world is fraught with injustice. As Christians, we are all called to speak out against injustices when we see them and yet our pulpits often remain silent in the face of discrimination against immigrants, the disabled, minorities, elderly, and LGBTQ members of our society. Sometimes my frustration, hopelessness and anger are met with tears.

In his book, The Tears of Things, Richard Rohr writes, “Grief and sadness are doorways to understanding life in a non-egocentric way. Tears come from both awe and empathy, and they generate even deeper awe and deeper empathy in us. The sympathy that wells up when we weep can be life-changing, too, drawing us out of ourselves and into communion with those around us.”

So, I will let my tears fall but I also will stand up, speak up and say ‘yes’ to the naysayers. I will challenge the silent enablers. I still have a voice, a vote, a conscience, and a faith that tells me to care for the most vulnerable in our society. Gwen gives me courage. I’m taking things into my own hands. I will peacefully protest. I will continue to write to my senators and congressman. Most importantly, I won’t let my fears and tears keep me from speaking out against injustice.

As we enter Holy Week, let us remember that Jesus’ suffering and death is not in vain, instead, it is a profound expression of love for humanity. 

Peace,

Denis

She stood behind Jesus at his feet weeping and began to bathe his feet with her tears. Luke 7:38

Lifetime Valentine

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

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

Life Is Golden

This coming week we’re celebrating our Golden Wedding Anniversary. 50 years!

Sometimes it seems like only yesterday that I stood at the altar of Trinity Church and turned and watched as Debbie walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. The church was flooded with light on that day and as she approached me it appeared that the light was emanating from her. That’s how each day since has been; she fills my life with light!

50 years ago, I had no idea where we would be today, but if I could have dreamed this big back then, this is exactly what my dream would have been. I have been married to the person that I love and respect more than anyone else in the world. Deb makes me want to be a better person. Because of her I believe that I am. I would never have achieved any success in this life without her inspiration, her love and her support. I’d like to think I’ve helped her along the way, too. We’ve carried each other on this journey when necessary but mostly we’ve walked hand in hand. I started out thinking in 1975 that we were somehow headed toward a goal – Financial success? Maturity? Stability? Marital bliss? Through these fifty years I’ve come to realize that the journey’s the thing. That’s our legacy. That somehow through good and bad; thick and thin, we’ve made it. We’ve remained side by side. Never behind. Never in front. Always beside.

A dear friend shared this poem written by Peter Bland. It’s startling how much this poem speaks of our own life.

Whether it was divine intervention or fate or good luck, somehow, we were meant to be together. 50 years and still counting. Three children. Five grandchildren. Six homes. Two continents. Multiple jobs and careers. Countless friends. And one love. Forever.

Peace,

Denis

This video was created in the 1990’s. I love this song, but it is especially touching because my parents are featured at 3 minutes and 26 seconds into it. I don’t know exactly how Vince Gill found them, but I am eternally grateful.

Relating to Worldly Concerns

It’s the second week of Advent and I’m feeling the pressure to be more holy (or holy at all, in my case). So, I’m lighting my Advent wreath and reflecting on how to celebrate our Savior’s birth. How do I put aside my anxiety regarding the political rancor in our country? How do I deal with the grief of losing my best friend, fear for a dear friend who is battling a painful recovery from surgery and concern for a toddler from our parish who is facing serious health issues? Do I just put on my “Happy Christmas Face” and suck it up? I fear l that my celebration of Christmas this year might feel ingenuine.

Most importantly, can I love God and love our modern (sometimes tacky) celebration of Christmas, too? Must they be mutually exclusive? Merriam-Webster defines the word secular as: Relating to worldly concerns; not overtly or specifically religious. That doesn’t sound so menacing to me. And yet I’m constantly hearing about the evils of the secular world in which we live. It seems that I am bombarded with warnings about being consumed by our secular society. On the first Sunday of Advent, we were admonished for placing gift-giving, holiday decorating, and Santa Claus before Christ. Somehow those things are equated with secularism and by association deemed contrary to what Christmas should really be about.

Often, I think that we get so caught up in protecting our traditions we forget that some of our most sacred Christian celebrations – Easter and Christmas were placed on the calendar to take advantage of earlier non-Christian feasts. People were already partying at the spring and winter equinoxes so why not just slip Christ’s resurrection and birth into those time slots? Did we in fact Christianize earlier pagan feasts? I don’t know – maybe. But who cares? Is Christ’s birth and life on Earth less significant if he wasn’t actually born on December 25th? Is His resurrection any less meaningful because of when we celebrate?

Living in the world today, spending too much money on silly Christmas presents and decorating a tree doesn’t define our belief in Christ any more than the likelihood that we celebrate His birth on what was once a pagan feast day. In addition, pretending that everything is perfect seems foolish because no one I know has a Hallmark® Christmas where everyone falls in love and the snow falls on cue. Most of us are dealing with some hurt or fear or uncertainty. But here’s the thing, we can lay that hurt and those fears at the foot of the Cross.

I know that “Jesus is the reason for the season” but as a Christian I believe that He’s also the reason there’s a world to live in. Sometimes it’s messy and confusing. I won’t pretend that everything is okay, but I have time for tears and laughter, too. Knowing that Jesus walked among us in this world, I will relate to it the best that I can.

It just so happens that some of his creation likes a little tinsel, eggnog and “Jingle Bells” blasting from their iPhones. I suspect that God is not offended but merely amused when I’m “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” or when we finally finish decorating our 4th Christmas Tree (that’s right, four!). And for the record, in our house, we all sing “O Come O Come Emmanuel” at the dinner table after lighting our Advent wreath, too. Somehow it works because love is at the center of it all.

The Lord is patient with you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.  2 Peter 3:9

Peace,

Denis

Falling Leaves

I don’t love autumn. I’m not a fan of cold weather. Watching leaves falling and flowers dying makes me melancholy. This is the time of year that we are supposed to be thankful. So, bring on the turkey and pass the pumpkin pie. I will force a smile and at least pretend to be thankful. I will try to look for the positive. Fall colors are beautiful. The ‘gravy season’ brings comfort foods that fill my body and my soul. My favorite sweater wraps me in warmth and familiarity and hides the extra pounds.

I also find Autumn a good time to reminisce. This time of year, as things slow down and as I slow down, it seems appropriate reflect on life. I will pull out old photographs, dust off memories and embrace them. I will use this time to let go of hurt. I will offer and accept forgiveness. I will bask in the joy of love’s presence in my life and honor the lives of those I have loved and lost.

Mom left this earth five years ago, but she’s still with me each day. I see her in my sister and my daughter and my granddaughters. I hear her in their voices. I feel her in their touch. Love is never truly lost. I’m not sure if it’s genetics or learned behaviors but Mom’s love carries on in these next generations.

This week my cousin and I visited our 94-year-old aunt. She is my mom’s younger sister. They were just fifteen months apart in age. Growing up on a farm together during the Great Depression, the twelfth and thirteen children in their family, they shared everything and remained close all their lives. My aunt actually married my dad’s best friend, and our families became intertwined. Sisters who were inseparable and best buddies who carried one another home from World War II sounds like a movie plot, but it was true. They were America’s greatest generation.

My aunt is the lone survivor of that generation in our family. Time with her is precious. She is our only link to the past. Spending time with her is bittersweet. I am so grateful to still have her in my life, but I feel the ache of my loss more acutely when I see Mom’s mannerisms and hear Mom’s voice in her words. When I am able to set aside my selfishness, I pray that my aunt is comforted by my presence. I hope she hears my dad’s voice and sees my mom’s actions in me. I pray that her own grief is lessened in some way by my visit.

Each flutter of breeze brings another cascade of leaves falling just outside my window. It’s as if they are waving goodbye. And I suppose they are. But they are also promising to return again next spring as green buds and leaves that will sprout again.

Because love is never truly lost.

Peace,

Denis

God causes the changes of the times and seasons. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who understand. Daniel 2:21

Peace Be With You (and also with me?)

In a Catholic mass we offer the “Sign of Peace” to one another. It’s typically a polite and friendly gesture of greeting which often includes shaking hands. The celebrant says to the congregation “Peace be with you” and then everyone responds, “and also with you.” We are then invited to offer peace to one another. Then we turn to our fellow congregants and say, “Peace” or “Peace be with you”. Not an insignificant gesture but it sometimes feels rote or worse, awkward if the person next to appears to be nonreceptive.

Often, I feel conflicted when offering peace. There is currently so much angst in my heart and head that peacefulness seems unattainable and offering it to others seems insincere. The moral, economic and political divisions in our country today are greater than any other time in my adult life. So many in our nation are victims of xenophobia, racism, sexism, antisemitism, and homophobia. The recent hurricanes and natural disasters only add to the suffering of millions. It’s hard to not fall into despair. Why is there so much that is so wrong? Why are so many people embracing hatred and vitriol? And why are some politicians ratchetting up the hate and fear? Where are the better angels of our nature that Abraham Lincoln spoke of so eloquently?

How can I, a flawed, sinful and desperate man, offer peace? This isn’t easy, but I believe that I must begin with me. To “reconcile” means to rebuild; reconnect; to be at peace. To embrace my suffering and try to understand the suffering of others, I’ll have to try to be more loving; more caring; more respectful; and less judgmental. I’ll have to shut my mouth and open my ears and more importantly my heart. And offer myself some peace before I can extend it to others.

In her book, “Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair”, Anne Lamott writes: “My understanding of Incarnation is that we are not served by getting away from the grubbiness of suffering. Sometimes we feel that we are barely pulling ourselves forward through a tight tunnel on badly scraped-up elbows. But we do come out the other side, exhausted and changed. To heal, it seems we have to stand in the middle of the horror, at the foot of the cross, and wait out another’s suffering where that person can see us.

This is my challenge: To make the “The Sign of Peace” more than just some friendly, smiling, handshaking, muttering of peace-be-with-you. I will ask God with each encounter to lift me out of my despair; to embrace me with love and kindness toward others. And to bring peace, if only briefly, to each soul that I encounter.

Peace,

Denis

My Everything

Please indulge me as a I send a birthday greeting to my beautiful wife today.

Deb, we’ve been together since we were teenagers and most days, you still make me feel like that young man that was captivated by your beauty and charm and spirit all those many years ago. Of course, then I glance in the mirror, and I am reminded that more than 50 years have passed since the day that I fell head over heels.

We’ve had a lifetime together and I am one lucky man. We’ve shared some amazing adventures together. We’ve traveled the world, lived on two continents, survived several career changes, raised three incredible children, and been blessed with five beautiful grandchildren. We’ve had grand celebrations where we have been surrounded by countless friends and loved ones. But the quiet times, when it’s just you and me, are what I cherish most. The knowing look. The shared laugh. The gentle touch. The simple prayer.

Through it all, you have been my rock, my refuge, my home, my heart, my everything.

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

Today when you’re blowing out your birthday candles and making your wish, know that my wish came true the day we met.

Love,

Denis

I created this video several years ago, but like our love it’s timeless…

Put a Woman in Charge

I’ve been blessed to have some extraordinary women in my life, not the least of which is my best friend and soul mate, Debbie. We’ve shared equally in good times and bad. Carrying one another or being carried by the other as needed. Our life together has proven time and time again that she is my equal. She is simply unafraid. She is love and pure joy, but she is also tough and resilient and relentless when necessary. She has taught me that tears don’t make you weak and laughter is truly the best medicine (especially when you need to laugh at yourself). And she has instilled the same spirit and strength and humor in our daughter.

Bess, our beautiful and gracious daughter, has also inherited her mother’s gift of charity. She wants everyone to be happy (and cared for, and well fed, and loved, etc.). She always gives of herself, and she rarely expects anything in return. Her cheerfulness is contagious, and she makes others happy by just being around her.

We have four beautiful granddaughters. They each have so much to offer. I already see their potential and I am able to see into the future because of them, and it will be equal and fair.

Of course, I’ve known and loved many other strong women. In fact, I believe that in my family the female role models are the ones that stand out as the true leaders.

My Mom ran the show at her house. She knew more about politics, current events, and style than most women of her generation. For someone who was not afforded an education she was smarter than most other women and Dad certainly knew not to mess with Mom. She was not large, but she was in charge. Even on her deathbed she was calling the shots. She took care of us until the end, making us laugh to ease our grief at her passing.

My Mom’s sisters, my three aunts, Lucida, Noel and Gene Marie, were Sisters of the Most Precious Blood. These were intelligent women who were well-traveled and well-educated, not something offered to most women born in the 1910’s and 1920’s. They were teachers, administrators, catechists, authors, and persons of authority. They were our family’s “Blessed Trinity”.

The stories of my great-grandmother Elizabeth are legendary: Coming to this country alone as a teenager from Germany. Marrying and then raising her young family alone after my great-grandfather died. I’m told that she was tough, stubborn and a force to be reckoned with. And my great-great-grandmother Mary converted the entire family to Catholicism back when women had no say in such matters.

My three great aunts Marie, Minnie, and Liddy lived together in the family home that became the base of operations for all Wilhelm family gatherings. Aunt Minnie was a businesswoman – the County Nurse’s secretary. And she was well-respected in our hometown. I remember walking downtown with her many times and people would greet her very politely as “Miss Wilhelm”. I was always so proud to be with my Aunt Min!

And then of course there was my mother-in-law. She was a tough lady who fought for justice and looked out for the underdogs in our world. She was fiercely loyal to those she loved, and she protected her children like a lioness. She taught her daughter that real beauty requires confidence, kindness and a sense of humor. Jackie never went down without a fight. I’m not sure if you can “raise hell” in heaven, but if you can I’m sure she’s leading the charge.

When I reflect on my spirituality, I realize that it was my mother who first taught me how to pray. It was her model of faith that I continue to follow to this day. It was my Godmother’s hand that I held when I received Jesus at my First Holy Communion. It was my three Aunts who modeled compassion for those in need and service to God through service to others as Precious Blood Sisters. It is my wife who models patience, love and social awareness. It is my daughter who teaches me to show kindness to children by her example as a Catholic Educator. And it is my granddaughters who model unconditional love by even loving me, a cranky, opinionated, old guy. These women and girls proclaim The Good News to me each day. Author Joelle Chase wrote, “Mary knew her strength, the miracle of her body that would knit Life out of God’s seed.” That’s a powerful statement and it runs counter to the image of a helpless, hapless, teenage Mary who is poor, afraid, pregnant, unwed and uncertain. Mary said yes. Not because the angel told her that she should, but because she knew her own strength, her potential and her power.

Let’s embrace the power of women. Let’s “man up” and put a woman in charge.

Peace,

Denis

The Truth, The Whole Truth (and nothing but the truth?)

They say honesty is the best policy. I don’t know who “they” are and I’m not always so sure about that honesty policy. Too many times the statement “to tell you the truth…” followed by some unsettling pronouncement has caused pain in my life. Or I hear, “honestly, …” and I mentally glaze over and those little flaps inside my ears slowly close, because I don’t want to receive any honesty at that moment. Sometimes the news has been medical in nature. Sometimes it has been work-related. The worst honesty is the relationship kind. When your loved one tells you that your jokes aren’t funny, but your outfit is. That’s hurtful.

Often it is someone sharing their political or religious “truths”. I have been surprised by some folks need to “educate me” on their particular point of view. This is usually unsolicited. Rarely have I asked for someone to tell me how to vote or what to boycott or where to worship. Still, the desire to influence, recruit, or evangelize is a powerful force in some people’s lives. I had a dear uncle who once said to me, “You’re entitled to your opinion no matter how wrong it is”. That statement was poignant, unsettling, and hilarious all at the same time. I’ve used it many times since.

We humans have an innate desire to share our joy, our sorrow, and our wisdom. This is a good thing. Everyone has a story to tell; a song to sing. Where we veer into trouble is when we believe that our story is the only true story. I’m guilty of this. One of my best friends once said to me, “I just look like this” while I was attempting to instill some wisdom. I was stunned. Her point: you are treating me as if I am ill-informed. You are making assumptions about me because of my sex, race, and age. She was right and that truth hurt. Once again, like my uncle’s statement, I have used hers many times since. It’s can be a showstopper.

Someone recently suggested that I say, “that has not been my experience”, when confronted by someone who holds an opinion opposite of mine. It’s much more tactful than what my brain is usually trying to get my mouth to say. Because “you’re stupid and wrong” might be truthful but it rarely resolves any conflict. In our current political climate, I’m constantly being challenged by statements made at sporting events, social gatherings, family dinners, organizational meetings and from the pulpit.

I am often at odds with people I love and respect. I try to tell them, “That has not been my experience”, or “I just look like this”, but it doesn’t register with the truth-teller. And then with prayer and a little self-examination, I finally look in the mirror and honestly ask myself, how often have I been the dispenser of truths? How often have I been the one who doesn’t listen but needs to share my story? How often have I told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but my truth?

I’m a Partner in Mission (a lay member) with the Sisters of The Most Precious Blood. Our charism is reconciliation. Those are fancy words which mean we are trying to bring peace to our world, to our communities, to our homes and to our hearts. It’s true that sometimes truth hurts. Every husband dreads the fateful question, “Does this dress make me look fat?” No easy answers there. Sometimes truth makes us squirm. Sometimes truth makes us fearful. But sometimes truth can set us free.

Perhaps telling the truth wouldn’t be so hard if I could remember to tell it with sensitivity, compassion and understanding. And to accept it from others even when it hurts.

Peace,

Denis