writing

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

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

Hoping

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

Last week we went to a Christmas concert. During the beautiful hymn “O Holy Night”, we sang (well actually, this gifted tenor sang and invited us to join him) that Jesus’ “law is love and His Gospel is peace“. The song was performed so magnificently that it brought tears to my eyes. The words ‘love’ and ‘peace’ kept ringing in my ears long after the concert concluded.

In this second week of Advent, I hope that love and peace will prevail. In our world, in my home, in my heart. But here’s the thing about hope: it takes some work (and patience). I can hope. I can pray. I can wait. And then repeat as necessary. I suppose that’s the message of Advent. Keep hoping. Keep praying. Keep waiting.

So, once again I am reminded that Advent isn’t just a wreath and some candles; not just days on a calendar or something that I can passively watch as it passes by. I need to hope. I need to pray. I need to wait.

The author Anne Lamott writes: Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.

I am trying not to give up. I will actively, aggressively, long for His coming, not just as infant in Bethlehem, but in my heart, in in my home and, in our world today. I can hope for peace, pray for love and wait for an opportunity to share both.

According to his promise we await new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. Therefore, beloved, since you await these things, be eager to be found without spot or blemish before him, at peace. 2 Peter 3: 13-14

Hoping that I can clearly see my opportunities as I wait to share His love and bring His peace.

Advent blessings,

Denis

Anna Writes

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Our seven year-old granddaughter Anna likes to journal. She carries her journal with her most days and jots down notes or stories. She also sketches and adds drawings to some of her writings. Anna starts second grade this year and I don’t believe that her writing is extraordinary for a second grader but she writes because she loves to and I find that extraordinary. When I was in primary school I would never write during the summer months and each school year would begin with a challenging week or two trying to relearn what I had forgotten.

Anna may never be a gifted author but just loving to read and write will make her a better student; a better communicator; a better citizen; and a better person. And of course I believe that she is brilliant, so others’ opinions of Anna mean little to me.

Anna's blog post

The bottom line is this: Anna writes. She reads. She thinks. She reflects.

We as a society have become so used to instant gratification. Instant messaging. Instagram. I have more information at the click of a mouse or the touch of a screen than is housed at my local library. I carry microprocessors around in the form of my smart phone and tablet and yet at times it seems that I am stunningly unaware of the beauty around me. How often have I missed the song of birds in my own garden because my ear buds are plugged into my iPod? How often have I missed the smile of a stranger (or a loved one) because I have my face planted in my iPad as I read emails or text messages or Facebook posts? How often have I neglected someone “in person” while chatting away on my iPhone?

Anna WritesDon’t get me wrong: Technology is wonderful. Abundant information makes for informed consumers and citizens. But sometimes we have to experience life – real life – with all our senses. We need to see, hear, touch, taste, and smell all of God’s creation. We need to unplug. Quiet ourselves. Read a book. Listen to nature. Hold a hand. Share a meal.

And then maybe we can pick up a pencil and write about our experiences.

Anna does.

Peace,

Denis