I haven't written much lately. I really need to get back to it. The following is something that I wrote several months ago. I have been fortunate that it has been posted on a couple of sites. But I thought I would get back into the habit of writing by posting this.....it is kind of long, but hopefully worthwhile..
Not Alone
There is some opinion that children bounce back quicker from traumatic events. This is because they are more resilient, have quicker memory loss I guess, and maybe don’t have quite the reference points an older person would have. I think it just means that they can feel the pain for a longer time because they have more life to live. That isn’t always the case, and it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gives different insight to future events, gives a different reference point than others might not have. Once something happens in your life I believe it becomes a part of who you are. Different people deal with it in different ways, but no matter how old you are a traumatic experience is still that, a traumatic experience.
I can speak with some knowledge on this. At the age of 7 1/2 (almost eight, as at that age it is so very important to be considered older!) I lost my older brother after a nearly two year battle to leukemia. He was nine. He was my best friend, often my only playmate, and, of course, he was my OLDER brother. There were four of us (the oldest, my sister, and a younger brother), and now there were only three. My older brother and I were the closest in age to each other. Over the next ten years three of my four grandparents passed away. My mother’s parents from cancer, spending some of their last days in our house, but always with my mother as the primary care giver, during long, tough, painful battles that I still remember. My younger brother developed an illness that the doctors thought was leukemia. It turned out to be Crohn’s Disease. He has been opened up so many times in his life that I tell him he should have just had a zipper put in. My father and I never got along when he was home, which was about a day and a half a week as he was a long distance trucker. Then six days before my seventeenth birthday my mother, who was the rock, the center, the core of our family, died suddenly of a brain hemorrhage.
But all of that and other stuff are for other stories. This one is a story about one day in life. God has chosen to bless me with a very good memory, which can be both a blessing and a challenge (no, not a curse). When my brother died I think it is fair to say that it devastated our family, maybe a little more than most because he was a very special young boy (which is a story all its own). We lived on a farm in a small town in Illinois. We didn’t own the farm so it helped make it less painful for my parents to make the decision to sell everything at an auction in the barnyard of our home, move, and basically change our lives as much as possible. We moved into the nearest “larger” town (12,000 residents, a major metropolitan area), my father got the job as a long distance truck driver, and we were able to buy a house and move in.
At the age of seven (almost eight!) it was tough to figure out what was going on. It seemed like everything was moving so fast. I was in the second grade and had to leave the friends I had started to make at school just a short time after school had started. I had
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to leave the only home I had ever known. I didn’t have big brother to play with any more, to look up to, and to show me things. My parents were distraught to put it mildly. No farm, with plenty of room to roam, plenty of places to play, knowing where everything was, not worrying about neighbors or streets with cars, or much of anything else. Now everything was changed.
There was some excitement. It was a nice house, and being new and different certainly had its curiosities. The house had a basement, which was different. Different partly because the man of the family who had owned it before had worked for a major paint store. The basement had a block wall about half way up to the ceiling and every block was painted a different color. It was a place to go to get away, kind of. My younger brother and I were to share a room. Now I was the older brother, and I was not sure I could even begin to live up to being what my brother had been to me.
We moved in January, and if you have ever been in northern Illinois in January you know that being outside is not the warmest place to be. Three layers of clothes, boots, gloves (heavy!), and more is required just to go out and play in the snow. The time to get ready to go out, and then to dry out and warm up when you came in, was about equal to or less than the time you actually could stand being out. We didn’t need “wind chill factors” to know that it was COLD. I always thought that the old wives tail about your spit freezing before it would hit the ground was a given fact.
My mother had taken me to register at the new school I would be going to. Much larger than the one I had come from. Very different, and being the “new kid” in school was not anything I was looking forward to. Several days after that she told me that I would be walking to school, the bus did not pick up in town and we were about a mile or so away from the school. She told me that there was a boy that lived across the street that was my age and that he came home from school through our backyard. So it was her idea that I wait in the backyard, giving some time after the end of the school day for him to get home, so that I could meet him and begin walking to school with him.
Wait outside, in the cold, for someone I didn’t know. For a seven year old (used to be six…I was feeling much younger right about this time) who had just gone through a traumatic life change this did not seem like a very good idea. I was really thinking along the lines of a ride to school each day and then pick me up as soon as school let out so I wouldn’t have to be in that “new kid” environment any longer than necessary. It seemed like cruel and unusual punishment to me, just for the freezing aspect of it, if nothing else.
She told me this in the morning, so for the rest of the day my mind was somewhat pre-occupied with the perceived horror that awaited me. It was not something I was eagerly anticipating to say the least. Time marched on and the moment grew closer. I could almost picture the boy who I was to meet. He was probably 6 inches taller than me, tough as nails, and had had a rotten day at school. Maybe the teacher had even scolded him and he was going to be looking for someone to take it out on.
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The time finally came for me to start putting on the layers. Sweater, coat, hat, gloves, boots. At least I would have padding if he tried to beat me up. I could always try to disappear inside my bundles and maybe he would just think I was an elaborate snowman and pass right on by. Probably not, though.
Out the door I went. We had a fairly long yard to the alleyway behind (at least it seemed that way to a seven….used to be six…year old). I went about half way and stood there. The ground is fairly flat in what is known as “prairie land”. I could see across the yards to each side of me. The snow was fairly new and so there weren’t many tracks (our neighbors must have been pretty smart I figured….they didn’t go outside). The wind was very still. When it is cold like that and the wind is still it is very, very silent. No bird or animal sounds, no wind sounds, nothing but the sound of my own breathing. And I was all alone.
All by myself, in a new and strange place, not only physically but emotionally as well, waiting for a boy who I didn’t know. I didn’t know if he would like me, hate me, make fun of me, or just beat me up for the pleasure of it. In a cold, silent place. I might as well have been alone in the desert or on Mars. Either place would have much warmer, but wouldn’t have been any more lonely. The only thing moving was the vapor of my breath as it came out. Fear is compounded by being alone to the nth degree. The cold all around and being bundled up made me feel like I was waiting in a jail, all alone, and every moment seemed like an eternity. I thought about going back into the house and telling my mother he had never come, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Besides, she could tell every time I wasn’t totally truthful.
So I started to think about what had brought me to this moment and place. All through my brothers ordeal there had been one constant. Faith. My mother had great strength in her faith, and her parents, who I stayed with often during this time, is where it had come from. There was a daily Bible reading at lunch time. A quiet courage to deal with what was presented, trusting His will. Prayer was a constant. My father was not of the same strong belief, but I think he knew of His existence in everything.
My brother, even at his early age, was a strong believer. He trusted. One week before his death he had described to my mother a dream that he had about heaven. That he and a boy who was struggling with the same disease, and who he had gotten to be great friends with during their hospital stays, were there in heaven together. He told my mother how wonderful it was! Within the next week they both passed on to that scene within a day of each other.
As I stood there and thought about this, his death, the pain, not only for him, but for all of us because of his loss, and all the other changes, my focus on the cold and emptiness kind of faded. I actually started to feel a little warmer. Not just because I was now starting to sweat somewhat under all those clothes, but warmer inside of me. I did begin to feel a presence. I didn’t know what it was, but it did make me feel better. Not quite so all alone. Not quite so cold. Not quite so empty.
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Colossians 2; 5 says in part “For though I am absent from you in body, I am present with you in spirit….” I could begin to feel that spirit, and even my brother and his spirit as well. The more I let that feeling in, the warmer and less afraid I became. Some comfort and peace started to filter through the fear and anxiety. It wasn’t a revelation, or a lightening bolt, it was a gradual feeling of….not being alone. There were no words, no visions, and no gust of wind or sudden light flash. Only a growing feeling that the cold wasn’t quite so cold, the emptiness really not empty at all, that I was…not alone.
I could finally see the boy coming through the yard behind us and into our yard. He was about the same size as I was. He was certainly bundled up as much too. As he approached I found I had the courage to say “Hi”. He responded in as friendly a way as any seven year old boy nearly mummified by layers of clothing can. It turned out that his mother and mine had spoken so he knew I would be waiting for him. That day began a very good friendship that lasted until his family moved several years later. I had a new best friend, and though he could never take the place of my brother, it was a special friendship. The next morning we started the daily ritual of walking to and from school each day. Now even though I was the “new kid” I had a friend to show me around and introduce me.
I also had something else. I had the knowledge that I wasn’t really all alone, and that I never would be. I wouldn’t begin to tell you that I was a perfect angel and didn’t go far, far, far, off the beaten path. That would not be true. You can see by the first part of this story that much more heartache and pain were just down the road I would travel. My life has been filled with “learning experiences”. I have made many mistakes and many errors in judgment. My choices in life have been far from right or perfect. But through every twist and turn, every falter to temptation, every pain and sorrow, and every thrill and happiness, there has been one constant. I have always known from that day on that I am not alone.
The last sentence of the last verse of Matthew says “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age”. He gave me a memory, along with all of life’s lessons so far. One of the reasons He did, I think, was so that I could tell you this story, and confirm to you that the sentence is absolutely true.
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Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Christmas Tree
Ahhh, I love turkey. I love Thanksgiving, not only for the holiday and it's meaning and a time to pause and reflect on the things that we are blessed by and have to be thankful for. I just really do love the food too! I don't mind eating turkey for days after and hope that there is enough cranberries and pumpkin pie to last too.
After it is over the trend is to then begin looking toward Christmas. Yes, Christmas, not "The Holidays". I am so worn out on the attack on the meaning of this season. But I will also continue to make it very plain to anyone who wants to know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, our salvation. It is truly a glorious time.
I am not sure where all the tradiitions started and why, nor do I really care all that much. The meaning of it is what is most important. But all of the things that go into it make it a fun time as well. Take the Christmas tree for example. I really don't know where that tradition started but it is kind of nice to have a centerpiece in the house, a kind of super lighted and decorated candle for Jesus cake so to speak.
I have always been a "real tree" person. I grew up having a real tree every year and it has always been kind of important to me. My wife and I have always gone the weekend of Thanksgiving and gotten the tree. When our boys were home and little (they are now 27 and soon to be 24) they often went with us. I think on two differrent occassions we went to a "tree farm" and actually cut the tree down. Two different places, one a "no frills" place and another that had other things going on as well. That was a lot of fun, and I hope those times are good memories for the boys, when they remember things like that.
We of course looked the trees over, tried to make sure they were straight, just the right height, and so on. We always did a pretty good job and were always happy with the trees that we picked. After the boys grew older and didn't really have any interest in the tree being a "family project" we began going to home improvement stores or the local lots to get the trees. As time wore on and the boys moved away we spent less time looking them over and got the job done quicker. Amazingly enough we always seemed to pick a good one and were never really disappointed in our choices. It was still fun, and there is something about the smell of a real tree during the season that seems kind of special.
The last two years we have finally gotten to a point of using a "fake tree". I have found that these trees have progressed quite a bit since I was young. They aren't all silver now, and in many cases they look pretty real. Once they are decorated and lighted and draped with tinsel....all trees should have tinsel (or icicles if you will)....they really do look pretty good. While they don't have the smell there are actually sprays you can get that give them the smell....no, we don't use that, but I know it's out there. Modern technology is amazing.
I guess my point is that we tend to evolve over time. Things change, the world changes, our lives change. The times that are special to me are the quiet times, when I am sitting in the family room where we put the tree, late at night, with all the lights turned off except for the tree. The colorful lights give off such a wonderful glow. The angel at the top of the tree is lighted and sits on top of the celebration of colors and decorations that have been accumulated over the years. The ones marking certain passages of time, the ones going back to years gone by that are special to different phases of a families history. During this quiet time I feel a sense of the wonder that is our lives, of the time that has passed during the year and of the upcoming new start to a new year. I realize that no matter how difficult things are financially or personally that sitting in the quiet with the lights of the tree, which carries the meaning of the season, that with faith and trust everything will be all right.
Most of all though I think of the greatest gift of all, the gift of the Son. To come to this earth and ultimately die for our sins. No matter how much things change, no matter how many people say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", no matter what kind of tree it is, real or imitation, the MEANING of what we are doing will never change. This is the season for the celebration of birth of the messiah. I hope that no matter what kind of tree, or what kind of decorations you might have, or put out, or up, that as you do it you will remember WHO it is for.
Enjoy this wonderful time of year.
After it is over the trend is to then begin looking toward Christmas. Yes, Christmas, not "The Holidays". I am so worn out on the attack on the meaning of this season. But I will also continue to make it very plain to anyone who wants to know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, our salvation. It is truly a glorious time.
I am not sure where all the tradiitions started and why, nor do I really care all that much. The meaning of it is what is most important. But all of the things that go into it make it a fun time as well. Take the Christmas tree for example. I really don't know where that tradition started but it is kind of nice to have a centerpiece in the house, a kind of super lighted and decorated candle for Jesus cake so to speak.
I have always been a "real tree" person. I grew up having a real tree every year and it has always been kind of important to me. My wife and I have always gone the weekend of Thanksgiving and gotten the tree. When our boys were home and little (they are now 27 and soon to be 24) they often went with us. I think on two differrent occassions we went to a "tree farm" and actually cut the tree down. Two different places, one a "no frills" place and another that had other things going on as well. That was a lot of fun, and I hope those times are good memories for the boys, when they remember things like that.
We of course looked the trees over, tried to make sure they were straight, just the right height, and so on. We always did a pretty good job and were always happy with the trees that we picked. After the boys grew older and didn't really have any interest in the tree being a "family project" we began going to home improvement stores or the local lots to get the trees. As time wore on and the boys moved away we spent less time looking them over and got the job done quicker. Amazingly enough we always seemed to pick a good one and were never really disappointed in our choices. It was still fun, and there is something about the smell of a real tree during the season that seems kind of special.
The last two years we have finally gotten to a point of using a "fake tree". I have found that these trees have progressed quite a bit since I was young. They aren't all silver now, and in many cases they look pretty real. Once they are decorated and lighted and draped with tinsel....all trees should have tinsel (or icicles if you will)....they really do look pretty good. While they don't have the smell there are actually sprays you can get that give them the smell....no, we don't use that, but I know it's out there. Modern technology is amazing.
I guess my point is that we tend to evolve over time. Things change, the world changes, our lives change. The times that are special to me are the quiet times, when I am sitting in the family room where we put the tree, late at night, with all the lights turned off except for the tree. The colorful lights give off such a wonderful glow. The angel at the top of the tree is lighted and sits on top of the celebration of colors and decorations that have been accumulated over the years. The ones marking certain passages of time, the ones going back to years gone by that are special to different phases of a families history. During this quiet time I feel a sense of the wonder that is our lives, of the time that has passed during the year and of the upcoming new start to a new year. I realize that no matter how difficult things are financially or personally that sitting in the quiet with the lights of the tree, which carries the meaning of the season, that with faith and trust everything will be all right.
Most of all though I think of the greatest gift of all, the gift of the Son. To come to this earth and ultimately die for our sins. No matter how much things change, no matter how many people say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", no matter what kind of tree it is, real or imitation, the MEANING of what we are doing will never change. This is the season for the celebration of birth of the messiah. I hope that no matter what kind of tree, or what kind of decorations you might have, or put out, or up, that as you do it you will remember WHO it is for.
Enjoy this wonderful time of year.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Touching Tale
We are almost to Thanksgiving. A time when we should stop and remember all the blessings that we have, all that we have to be thankful for....gee, that really should be everyday shouldn't it?
I have been doing foreclosure and loss mitigation counseling for people who are past due, in default, and facing possible foreclosure on their homes for a non-profit agency. There is no charge to the client for this (more about this issue in another blog), the funding comes from grants. The number of people in trouble is very troubling, and it is getting worse, not better at present. There are some very touching stories among them, and since this month has both Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving I think one story is very pertinent.
I met with Joe the other day. Joe is a Vietnam veteran, a veteran of the Gulf War, and just returned from his third tour of duty in Afghanistan as a reservist for the Air Force in June. He was discharged in September. His wife and he live in the metro Atlanta area, she does work for a day care facility, and he has been searching for work since his return, to this point, with no success. As a result they have fallen past due on their mortgage and are struggling to make ends meet.
Joe is very concerned, is trying to do whatever he can to make some money, and, in his words, feels as if he is "drowning". Falling further behind without knowing what to do. I am fairly certain that we will be able to work something out with the lender and that he and his wife will not have to lose their home. But the situation itself is a statement on where we are at. Times are troubling.
When we finished our meeting he thanked me for my time and efforts, and we will continue to stay in touch as we try to work out a solution for the problem. I assured him that I had far more to thank him for, as he has done far more for me than I can ever do for him to repay him for his sacrifices.
As Veteran's Day is still in memory I honor him and all like him who have given so much so that we can be free. So that our way of life, our ideals, our freedom to worship, dissent, and vote, is maintained. As Thanksgiving approaches I give thanks to him and those who have kept the many reasons for thanks in place. I give thanks for the blessing of being in a position to help him and his wife, to tell him personally how much I and my family appreciate him.
I pray that we all focus on the many blessings that we have in the people around us, the wonderful life that we have, the love that we can all share, with or without "things", and remember that we can do this, not just on Thursday, but each and every day we live on this earth.
Tell someone today "thanks!". Thanks for just being them. It can make a much greater impact and difference than you might think.
I have been doing foreclosure and loss mitigation counseling for people who are past due, in default, and facing possible foreclosure on their homes for a non-profit agency. There is no charge to the client for this (more about this issue in another blog), the funding comes from grants. The number of people in trouble is very troubling, and it is getting worse, not better at present. There are some very touching stories among them, and since this month has both Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving I think one story is very pertinent.
I met with Joe the other day. Joe is a Vietnam veteran, a veteran of the Gulf War, and just returned from his third tour of duty in Afghanistan as a reservist for the Air Force in June. He was discharged in September. His wife and he live in the metro Atlanta area, she does work for a day care facility, and he has been searching for work since his return, to this point, with no success. As a result they have fallen past due on their mortgage and are struggling to make ends meet.
Joe is very concerned, is trying to do whatever he can to make some money, and, in his words, feels as if he is "drowning". Falling further behind without knowing what to do. I am fairly certain that we will be able to work something out with the lender and that he and his wife will not have to lose their home. But the situation itself is a statement on where we are at. Times are troubling.
When we finished our meeting he thanked me for my time and efforts, and we will continue to stay in touch as we try to work out a solution for the problem. I assured him that I had far more to thank him for, as he has done far more for me than I can ever do for him to repay him for his sacrifices.
As Veteran's Day is still in memory I honor him and all like him who have given so much so that we can be free. So that our way of life, our ideals, our freedom to worship, dissent, and vote, is maintained. As Thanksgiving approaches I give thanks to him and those who have kept the many reasons for thanks in place. I give thanks for the blessing of being in a position to help him and his wife, to tell him personally how much I and my family appreciate him.
I pray that we all focus on the many blessings that we have in the people around us, the wonderful life that we have, the love that we can all share, with or without "things", and remember that we can do this, not just on Thursday, but each and every day we live on this earth.
Tell someone today "thanks!". Thanks for just being them. It can make a much greater impact and difference than you might think.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
The Other Side of Things
As we go through life we make many contacts and have many relationships. Some are fleeting, even for an instant, some are for hours, days, months, years, and lifetimes. We often go through life with an outlook of inside out. By that I mean we look at things from our own perspective, whatever that may be, overall, that moment, that year, that lifetime. As a result it often becomes a one sided relationship. Certainly in some cases we are very attuned to the other person and their feelings and, in close relationships, to their viewpoint, their past, and their current situation. Whether we place much importance on it is another matter.
I didn't have a very good relationship with my father, which is a very long story. When I went to his funeral it was like going to that of a stranger which, in reality, it was. My family had been through a lot. My older brother had died when I was seven of leukemia, my younger brother had/has Crohn's disease, my mother died of a brain hemorrhage and, in between my brother and mother, three of my grandparents passed away. After my brother died my dad didn't pay much attention to me or my brother and sister and after my mother died the relationship was worse if anything.
I had a very bitter feeling toward my father. I didn't really have any relationship with him at all to speak of. We probably saw each other over the years maybe less than a handfull of times. I maintained my bitterness and hard feelings toward him and felt very justified in doing so for a lot of reasons. I could go into a lot of detail but that would fill a book which, someday, I hope to get accomplished. But for the sake of a short (kind of) post on a blog understand that it was a pretty bad relationship.
I have two boys whom I love very, very much. I always told myself that I would never be like my father was to me. In some ways though I was and I am very disappointed in that. But in the most important one I think I have done o.k. My boys do know that I love them. I told them everyday when they lived with us, and still tell them every time I speak with them. It is not just words, they know that I do. I hug them, and while our relationships have not always been "peachy" I am comfortable that they know how much they mean to me.
Over the years I have learned about looking at things from the outside in, not the other way around. I came to a point of understanding that I needed to look at relationships from the "other side". When I did that with my father I came to some interesting conclusions. I found out that I had never considered what it might have been like for him...when he lost a son. When the family was in disarray because of this. When we had to sell everything and move because my mother could not stand to stay where we were at because of the memories.
What it must have felt like to lose his own father. What could have gone through his mind when the doctors originally thought that my younger brother had leukemia instead of Crohn's. I never considered what his pain was when my mother died in a matter of three days, with two sons still at home. I never looked at these things from the standpoint of a man who was a second generation American of Swedish parents, of a father who was.....a disciplinarian at best and just plain mean at worst. I just looked at things the way I saw them, the way they affected me.
I wish now that I had been smart enough to take some of these things into consideration. Yes, I was just a young boy, and my life had been shattered many times over too, but that doesn't excuse me. Certainly these things don't neccessarily excuse the things my father did or the way he acted either. If I had looked at it from his viewpoint though our relationship might have been better. I could have at least tried. I certainly wish that I had.
My point in all of this is that we need to always remember to look at things from what we know of the other person's perspective. We need to try to walk in thier shoes, if not a mile, then at least a little bit. This goes for the cashier at the fast food restaurant who isn't the most courteous. Maybe they are just mean by nature, but maybe, just maybe, they are having a really bad day. Maybe their child is sick, their lights were turned off, their significant other just left. In our work relationships someone may just be having a bad day, might just have a heartache that we don't know about. Even just a smile might help them at that moment.
Maybe it is someone we know very well, maybe we should ask what's troubling them. Maybe, just maybe, we can help. Even if it just listening. Maybe it is just a smile and the question that will make a small difference in the right way.
Even when someone is happy it is nice to find out what has brightend their day. Take joy in someone else's good fortune as much as you do your own. It well help you learn what makes them happy. It certainly never hurts to brightened by someone else. When you are down yourself it certainly helps to have someone to tell.
God put us here to help one another. In doing so the blessing He gives us in a feeling that is hard to explain. My hope is that we can all start looking at things and people from the outside in, rather than the other way around. It just might make the world a better place for all of us.
I didn't have a very good relationship with my father, which is a very long story. When I went to his funeral it was like going to that of a stranger which, in reality, it was. My family had been through a lot. My older brother had died when I was seven of leukemia, my younger brother had/has Crohn's disease, my mother died of a brain hemorrhage and, in between my brother and mother, three of my grandparents passed away. After my brother died my dad didn't pay much attention to me or my brother and sister and after my mother died the relationship was worse if anything.
I had a very bitter feeling toward my father. I didn't really have any relationship with him at all to speak of. We probably saw each other over the years maybe less than a handfull of times. I maintained my bitterness and hard feelings toward him and felt very justified in doing so for a lot of reasons. I could go into a lot of detail but that would fill a book which, someday, I hope to get accomplished. But for the sake of a short (kind of) post on a blog understand that it was a pretty bad relationship.
I have two boys whom I love very, very much. I always told myself that I would never be like my father was to me. In some ways though I was and I am very disappointed in that. But in the most important one I think I have done o.k. My boys do know that I love them. I told them everyday when they lived with us, and still tell them every time I speak with them. It is not just words, they know that I do. I hug them, and while our relationships have not always been "peachy" I am comfortable that they know how much they mean to me.
Over the years I have learned about looking at things from the outside in, not the other way around. I came to a point of understanding that I needed to look at relationships from the "other side". When I did that with my father I came to some interesting conclusions. I found out that I had never considered what it might have been like for him...when he lost a son. When the family was in disarray because of this. When we had to sell everything and move because my mother could not stand to stay where we were at because of the memories.
What it must have felt like to lose his own father. What could have gone through his mind when the doctors originally thought that my younger brother had leukemia instead of Crohn's. I never considered what his pain was when my mother died in a matter of three days, with two sons still at home. I never looked at these things from the standpoint of a man who was a second generation American of Swedish parents, of a father who was.....a disciplinarian at best and just plain mean at worst. I just looked at things the way I saw them, the way they affected me.
I wish now that I had been smart enough to take some of these things into consideration. Yes, I was just a young boy, and my life had been shattered many times over too, but that doesn't excuse me. Certainly these things don't neccessarily excuse the things my father did or the way he acted either. If I had looked at it from his viewpoint though our relationship might have been better. I could have at least tried. I certainly wish that I had.
My point in all of this is that we need to always remember to look at things from what we know of the other person's perspective. We need to try to walk in thier shoes, if not a mile, then at least a little bit. This goes for the cashier at the fast food restaurant who isn't the most courteous. Maybe they are just mean by nature, but maybe, just maybe, they are having a really bad day. Maybe their child is sick, their lights were turned off, their significant other just left. In our work relationships someone may just be having a bad day, might just have a heartache that we don't know about. Even just a smile might help them at that moment.
Maybe it is someone we know very well, maybe we should ask what's troubling them. Maybe, just maybe, we can help. Even if it just listening. Maybe it is just a smile and the question that will make a small difference in the right way.
Even when someone is happy it is nice to find out what has brightend their day. Take joy in someone else's good fortune as much as you do your own. It well help you learn what makes them happy. It certainly never hurts to brightened by someone else. When you are down yourself it certainly helps to have someone to tell.
God put us here to help one another. In doing so the blessing He gives us in a feeling that is hard to explain. My hope is that we can all start looking at things and people from the outside in, rather than the other way around. It just might make the world a better place for all of us.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Veterans Day
This country is, despite of having it's faults, the greatest country in the history of the earth. The freedoms we have are envied throughout the world. Our lifestyle, even in these difficult financial times, is admired nearly everywhere. Many of the problems we face from outside are due to that envy and admiration. There are those who cannot have what we do and are so consumed by it that they will do anything to tear us down, to control us and eliminate our freedom.
I grew up in the Vietnam era. I was 18 in 1969 and had to register for the draft. I actually still have my original draft card. It is somewhat tattered and it never ceases to amaze what it has survived considering that I basically carried it in my wallet through some very interesting experiences. The first draft "lottery" was held in 1969 and I went into the lottery in 1970. Believe me when I say this was NOT a lottery that anyone wanted to win. Not because people didn't want to serve, they just didn't want to serve in Viet Nam. I was fortunate that my number came up higher than the last number that would be drafted for that year. I did have a lot of friends who went, and have a lot of stories not only from them but about the whole protest era as well, but those are all for another time.
I have always felt very, very blessed to have been born in this country. I truly appreciate the opportunities we have, the freedoms that we enjoy, and would certainly fight to maintain them, not just for myself, but for my family and for generations to come. I admire greatly those that do, and those that have. I am very, very thankful to them. When I look at the number of people who have given their lives over the years to maintain our freedom, our way of life, our country, I am humbled greatly. For those that survived and, in many cases, suffered greatly for it I say THANK YOU.
I still get emotional every time I hear the Star Spangled Banner, see our flag, and realize what we have. Yes, we have our problems. Yes, we have our faults. But we have the freedom to dissent, to disagree, to even argue about what the solutions are. That freedom is precious, and must be maintained. I wish it were not true that we had to battle against others to keep it, but that is the reality of the world. I am glad that we have so many that are and have been willing to do so.
If you know a veteran, thank them this day. If you see one thank them. If you don't know one or see one, pray for them, and give thanks for them. I know I will.
I grew up in the Vietnam era. I was 18 in 1969 and had to register for the draft. I actually still have my original draft card. It is somewhat tattered and it never ceases to amaze what it has survived considering that I basically carried it in my wallet through some very interesting experiences. The first draft "lottery" was held in 1969 and I went into the lottery in 1970. Believe me when I say this was NOT a lottery that anyone wanted to win. Not because people didn't want to serve, they just didn't want to serve in Viet Nam. I was fortunate that my number came up higher than the last number that would be drafted for that year. I did have a lot of friends who went, and have a lot of stories not only from them but about the whole protest era as well, but those are all for another time.
I have always felt very, very blessed to have been born in this country. I truly appreciate the opportunities we have, the freedoms that we enjoy, and would certainly fight to maintain them, not just for myself, but for my family and for generations to come. I admire greatly those that do, and those that have. I am very, very thankful to them. When I look at the number of people who have given their lives over the years to maintain our freedom, our way of life, our country, I am humbled greatly. For those that survived and, in many cases, suffered greatly for it I say THANK YOU.
I still get emotional every time I hear the Star Spangled Banner, see our flag, and realize what we have. Yes, we have our problems. Yes, we have our faults. But we have the freedom to dissent, to disagree, to even argue about what the solutions are. That freedom is precious, and must be maintained. I wish it were not true that we had to battle against others to keep it, but that is the reality of the world. I am glad that we have so many that are and have been willing to do so.
If you know a veteran, thank them this day. If you see one thank them. If you don't know one or see one, pray for them, and give thanks for them. I know I will.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
People Who Touch Each Other in Life
Modern technology is great. If I didn’t have a computer and we didn’t have the internet I probably wouldn’t have written this and certainly you, if there is anyone out there, wouldn’t be reading it. It is truly amazing how much information you can find these days with just a few clicks of a button.
I probably haven’t been back to my hometown in Illinois more than a handful of times since I left, really, after graduation from high school. I still keep in touch with some friends there, but I really have no family left there anymore, and no real reason to go there except maybe to a reunion. But I can still keep connected by going to my home town newspaper on the internet. I can still keep up with what is going on, how the local high school sports teams are doing, what the issues are, and, in the winter, how cold it is (and feel good that I live in Atlanta!). I often ask one of my friends still there how that global warming thing is going for them.
I also check out the obituaries. Not in a morbid way, but just to see who’s listed and to be sure I’m not on there. I have seen some of my parent’s friends, some other names that ring a bell, and some that bring back memories. I recently saw one for a man who I knew growing up. His name was Terry. He was the same age as I am in but was a year behind me in school. It doesn’t say what he died of, but 57 is an early age to pass on.
I dream a lot and things come to me, running through my head, at odd times. My brother and my mother both had “premonitions” of things, but more about that at another time. At about the time that Terry was dying, and before I saw the obituary, a memory was bouncing through my head about Pony League Baseball. It was about the best game I had at that age. It was against Terry’s team and he was pitching. There are some players or teams in sports when you play that just have your number, that for whatever reason you just can’t beat or overcome. Then are there those whose number you have, and you wish that you could play against every time out. Terry was a pitcher who I would have loved to have batted against every time up. I think I would have hit 1.000. He was a good pitcher, but for some reason I could see his pitches like they were beach balls.
The particular game that came to mind I was pitching for our team which, unfortunately, wasn’t that good. I think I pitched well, striking out nine in seven innings and only giving up three hits, but they scored seven runs. I’ll let you figure that out. But we won 9-7. I had three hits, a single, a triple with the bases loaded, and a grand slam home run. I drove in seven runs. It was certainly a memorable game, I think I still have the box score packed away some where. But the thing I remember most about that game was an exchange I had with Terry.
After the last hit, which was the grand slam, I crossed home plate and headed to the dugout. Terry hollered at me from the pitchers mound. He said “Merlin, what’s wrong, don’t you like me!?” It was said in with a smile on his face. I think I smiled back at him and shrugged my shoulders, at least that’s how I remember it. Terry was an easy going boy. He tried hard, was a good athlete, and a friendly person. The truth was, that while I didn’t know him that well, and we would never become close friends, I DID like him. He was very likeable. I would see him fairly often after that over the following years and always felt a warm connection to him.
I think though that the most important part of that exchange was the manner in which it was meant. While we were both competitive, and certainly both strived to be as good as we could at what we were doing, it put things in great perspective. I think that we both knew that there were far more important things in life than baseball, than that one hit, one pitch, that one game. That whether I could hit his pitches, or that he had some trouble getting me out really, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter all that much. WHO we were was far more important, and that he could kid about it said a lot about who he was.
I don’t know what the rest of his life was like. The obit says his nickname was “Scratch”, that he had seven grandchildren who he loved to spend time with and who adored him and called him PaPa, and that he had a great passion for motorcycles. I have the feeling that he probably didn’t change much, that he was probably always pretty easy going and easy to like. I hope and pray that he found a relationship with the Father and that his soul is at peace at his permanent home.
Through our lives we come in contact with many people, some for just a moment, some for longer, some for a lifetime. Memories come back to me at odd times about people I have known or run into and, for whatever reason, have left a small sentence or paragraph in the book that is my life. While the game I had that day is a very pleasant memory the exchange I had with Terry is far more important. I pray for his soul, for his family, and I think I can feel secure in giving thanks for his seven grandchildren having known their PaPa.
Try to remember the people and moments in your life. Treasure them, pray for them, even if you have no clue where they are or who they are anymore. It’s one thing that we can do for each other that is always a help!
Modern technology is great. If I didn’t have a computer and we didn’t have the internet I probably wouldn’t have written this and certainly you, if there is anyone out there, wouldn’t be reading it. It is truly amazing how much information you can find these days with just a few clicks of a button.
I probably haven’t been back to my hometown in Illinois more than a handful of times since I left, really, after graduation from high school. I still keep in touch with some friends there, but I really have no family left there anymore, and no real reason to go there except maybe to a reunion. But I can still keep connected by going to my home town newspaper on the internet. I can still keep up with what is going on, how the local high school sports teams are doing, what the issues are, and, in the winter, how cold it is (and feel good that I live in Atlanta!). I often ask one of my friends still there how that global warming thing is going for them.
I also check out the obituaries. Not in a morbid way, but just to see who’s listed and to be sure I’m not on there. I have seen some of my parent’s friends, some other names that ring a bell, and some that bring back memories. I recently saw one for a man who I knew growing up. His name was Terry. He was the same age as I am in but was a year behind me in school. It doesn’t say what he died of, but 57 is an early age to pass on.
I dream a lot and things come to me, running through my head, at odd times. My brother and my mother both had “premonitions” of things, but more about that at another time. At about the time that Terry was dying, and before I saw the obituary, a memory was bouncing through my head about Pony League Baseball. It was about the best game I had at that age. It was against Terry’s team and he was pitching. There are some players or teams in sports when you play that just have your number, that for whatever reason you just can’t beat or overcome. Then are there those whose number you have, and you wish that you could play against every time out. Terry was a pitcher who I would have loved to have batted against every time up. I think I would have hit 1.000. He was a good pitcher, but for some reason I could see his pitches like they were beach balls.
The particular game that came to mind I was pitching for our team which, unfortunately, wasn’t that good. I think I pitched well, striking out nine in seven innings and only giving up three hits, but they scored seven runs. I’ll let you figure that out. But we won 9-7. I had three hits, a single, a triple with the bases loaded, and a grand slam home run. I drove in seven runs. It was certainly a memorable game, I think I still have the box score packed away some where. But the thing I remember most about that game was an exchange I had with Terry.
After the last hit, which was the grand slam, I crossed home plate and headed to the dugout. Terry hollered at me from the pitchers mound. He said “Merlin, what’s wrong, don’t you like me!?” It was said in with a smile on his face. I think I smiled back at him and shrugged my shoulders, at least that’s how I remember it. Terry was an easy going boy. He tried hard, was a good athlete, and a friendly person. The truth was, that while I didn’t know him that well, and we would never become close friends, I DID like him. He was very likeable. I would see him fairly often after that over the following years and always felt a warm connection to him.
I think though that the most important part of that exchange was the manner in which it was meant. While we were both competitive, and certainly both strived to be as good as we could at what we were doing, it put things in great perspective. I think that we both knew that there were far more important things in life than baseball, than that one hit, one pitch, that one game. That whether I could hit his pitches, or that he had some trouble getting me out really, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter all that much. WHO we were was far more important, and that he could kid about it said a lot about who he was.
I don’t know what the rest of his life was like. The obit says his nickname was “Scratch”, that he had seven grandchildren who he loved to spend time with and who adored him and called him PaPa, and that he had a great passion for motorcycles. I have the feeling that he probably didn’t change much, that he was probably always pretty easy going and easy to like. I hope and pray that he found a relationship with the Father and that his soul is at peace at his permanent home.
Through our lives we come in contact with many people, some for just a moment, some for longer, some for a lifetime. Memories come back to me at odd times about people I have known or run into and, for whatever reason, have left a small sentence or paragraph in the book that is my life. While the game I had that day is a very pleasant memory the exchange I had with Terry is far more important. I pray for his soul, for his family, and I think I can feel secure in giving thanks for his seven grandchildren having known their PaPa.
Try to remember the people and moments in your life. Treasure them, pray for them, even if you have no clue where they are or who they are anymore. It’s one thing that we can do for each other that is always a help!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Finding Beauty
Another week comes to a close. Being in the mortgage industry I follow financial issues, economic information, etc. It can get pretty depressing lately. The amount of business that I have (pretty much zero) is pretty depressing too, actually. To help get extra income I am doing some contract work in foreclosure/loss mitigation counseling for a local non-profit that I have worked for in the past. That can be pretty draining, but more about that part at another time.
This mornings news is not pleasant either. Job losses are high, all the major domestic auto companies are suffering huge losses, and it is pretty evident that many more people will lose their jobs as continuing layoffs occur. So all in all it's really just one big mess, huh?
Well, not neccessarily. In His world He always gives us things to help us understand that He is constantly around. I don't know where you live, but here in Atlanta (actually Roswell, GA) today it is most beautiful. The trees are gorgeous, the falling leaves gently swirling their way to the gound in a myriad of beautiful colors. The sky is a serene blue with very few, if any, clouds. The temperature is wonderful. If I just stand outside, be quiet, and take in the wonder that is His creation I can clearly see His presence. That gives me peace in the moment.
Where you are it may be raining, cold, somewhat ugly, and not very pleasant. Certainly there are many days like that here as well. But even in that setting, if you look and listen, you will hear Him and see Him. If you know Him, even that type of setting can bring you a quiet peace.
I know that things in this world aren't great. Believe me, I know. I will as time goes on try to share on this space some of the things that I have experienced in life, both good and bad. There are many, many people hurting. In many ways. All over this world. But I can also tell you that I know, I truly know, that He is always here.
I heard a story one time that I treasure and repeat to this day. A man was standing thinking about all that was/is happening in the world. Wars, economic recessions and depressions, starvation, hurricanes, violence, and much, much more. He turned his gaze toward heaven and asked "God, oh God, can't you see all the hurt, pain, and agony in this world!? Why don't you send help!?"
And He responded to him "I did. I sent YOU."
Enjoy the world around you today. He is there......see if you can find someone to help.
This mornings news is not pleasant either. Job losses are high, all the major domestic auto companies are suffering huge losses, and it is pretty evident that many more people will lose their jobs as continuing layoffs occur. So all in all it's really just one big mess, huh?
Well, not neccessarily. In His world He always gives us things to help us understand that He is constantly around. I don't know where you live, but here in Atlanta (actually Roswell, GA) today it is most beautiful. The trees are gorgeous, the falling leaves gently swirling their way to the gound in a myriad of beautiful colors. The sky is a serene blue with very few, if any, clouds. The temperature is wonderful. If I just stand outside, be quiet, and take in the wonder that is His creation I can clearly see His presence. That gives me peace in the moment.
Where you are it may be raining, cold, somewhat ugly, and not very pleasant. Certainly there are many days like that here as well. But even in that setting, if you look and listen, you will hear Him and see Him. If you know Him, even that type of setting can bring you a quiet peace.
I know that things in this world aren't great. Believe me, I know. I will as time goes on try to share on this space some of the things that I have experienced in life, both good and bad. There are many, many people hurting. In many ways. All over this world. But I can also tell you that I know, I truly know, that He is always here.
I heard a story one time that I treasure and repeat to this day. A man was standing thinking about all that was/is happening in the world. Wars, economic recessions and depressions, starvation, hurricanes, violence, and much, much more. He turned his gaze toward heaven and asked "God, oh God, can't you see all the hurt, pain, and agony in this world!? Why don't you send help!?"
And He responded to him "I did. I sent YOU."
Enjoy the world around you today. He is there......see if you can find someone to help.
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