Thursday, September 4, 2014
Little Feathers: The Hard Part
Little Feathers: The Hard Part: Just yesterday, I wrote about the death of our friend Gus. And, just yesterday, another kind, gentle man went home. Harry Doss was Daddy to ...
The Hard Part
Just yesterday, I wrote about the death of our friend Gus. And, just yesterday, another kind, gentle man went home. Harry Doss was Daddy to my friend Cheryl. He was husband, friend and partner to Dolly. Heebee to some beautiful great-grandchildren. Friend to many.
When I called my mom to share the news, we both cried. Not for Harry. We knew that Harry was released, relieved of his worries and cares. We cried for Dolly, and for Cheryl. Mom knows the hard part of losing a life long partner. I know the hard part for a daughter who will miss her dad.
There are some years, for many of us, when our parents are healthy, our children are happy, and we roll along through life thinking it will always be so. Years when family gatherings are for baptisms, birthdays, weddings. When Christmas cards bear news of promotions and graduations, happy successes.
The hard times come for everyone. Because we lose people we love. And, no matter how much we want the easier times back again, grief changes us. It leaves a mark. Time eases the acute pain, but we will never be the same. I could repeat the common belief that we are stronger, better people because of the hard times. Personally, I would rather skip this part. The broken-hearted part.
I would rather call Cheryl and laugh about the antics of her grandkids. I would rather recall fun and funny times spent together. But the most helpful thing for me when my dad died was hearing from people who cared about my loss. And I care very much that Cheryl has lost her dad.
Harry is free. No more illness, no more hardship for Harry. So, I pray for Dolly, for Cheryl and all their family, that they may feel peace and solace, knowing that they were loved so well by a child of God gone home. Rest in peace, Harry. Well done, good and faithful servant.
When I called my mom to share the news, we both cried. Not for Harry. We knew that Harry was released, relieved of his worries and cares. We cried for Dolly, and for Cheryl. Mom knows the hard part of losing a life long partner. I know the hard part for a daughter who will miss her dad.
There are some years, for many of us, when our parents are healthy, our children are happy, and we roll along through life thinking it will always be so. Years when family gatherings are for baptisms, birthdays, weddings. When Christmas cards bear news of promotions and graduations, happy successes.
The hard times come for everyone. Because we lose people we love. And, no matter how much we want the easier times back again, grief changes us. It leaves a mark. Time eases the acute pain, but we will never be the same. I could repeat the common belief that we are stronger, better people because of the hard times. Personally, I would rather skip this part. The broken-hearted part.
I would rather call Cheryl and laugh about the antics of her grandkids. I would rather recall fun and funny times spent together. But the most helpful thing for me when my dad died was hearing from people who cared about my loss. And I care very much that Cheryl has lost her dad.
Harry is free. No more illness, no more hardship for Harry. So, I pray for Dolly, for Cheryl and all their family, that they may feel peace and solace, knowing that they were loved so well by a child of God gone home. Rest in peace, Harry. Well done, good and faithful servant.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
The Quiet Ones
Yesterday a good man died. There were no national news reports of his death, no special editions of Time or People. But the world said goodbye to a man who served God, his family, his church and his community.
Gus always had a smile for people. And he volunteered the labor of his hands for countless projects that helped make the world a better place. He was a quiet man, not one to draw attention to himself. But there was a twinkle in his eye and a kind word on his lips. He cared to live in such a way that his passing leaves a hole in the fabric of life.
There are as many personality types as there are people, and we need them all. We need the boisterous antics of the Robin Williams of the world. We need the stirring rhetoric of the Barbara Jordons. And we need the unselfish, quiet contributions of the Gus Grosskopfs. We need the men who run their businesses in an honest way, who would never consider taking advantage of others. The women who give of their time in volunteer efforts without thought for public accolades. We need the men and women who believe that work is a worthy part of life, time well spent. People who take pride in doing a good job. We need them more than ever.
I am grateful for the life of Gus Grosskopf. He raised a wonderful family, together with his beautiful wife, Carolyn. I am grateful for the difference he made. We will miss him. Another of the Greatest Generation gone home. I can't even imagine what a great crew God has at his fingertips there. In case some projects need doing in heaven, there is one more cheerful worker available. Thanks be to God for the life of Gus.
Gus always had a smile for people. And he volunteered the labor of his hands for countless projects that helped make the world a better place. He was a quiet man, not one to draw attention to himself. But there was a twinkle in his eye and a kind word on his lips. He cared to live in such a way that his passing leaves a hole in the fabric of life.
There are as many personality types as there are people, and we need them all. We need the boisterous antics of the Robin Williams of the world. We need the stirring rhetoric of the Barbara Jordons. And we need the unselfish, quiet contributions of the Gus Grosskopfs. We need the men who run their businesses in an honest way, who would never consider taking advantage of others. The women who give of their time in volunteer efforts without thought for public accolades. We need the men and women who believe that work is a worthy part of life, time well spent. People who take pride in doing a good job. We need them more than ever.
I am grateful for the life of Gus Grosskopf. He raised a wonderful family, together with his beautiful wife, Carolyn. I am grateful for the difference he made. We will miss him. Another of the Greatest Generation gone home. I can't even imagine what a great crew God has at his fingertips there. In case some projects need doing in heaven, there is one more cheerful worker available. Thanks be to God for the life of Gus.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Little Feathers: Daily Bread
Little Feathers: Daily Bread: Daily bread. Give us this day our daily bread. This petition is ingrained in my bones, repeated by me and my community since I was a baby. A...
Daily Bread
Daily bread. Give us this day our daily bread. This petition is ingrained in my bones, repeated by me and my community since I was a baby. As a child, I thought it was about my next meal. As a young woman, I thought it was about a house for my family, a car to get to work in; things. In this life, I have been given every thing I ever wanted, and more. Now this elemental request of God is not about things. It is about my real needs as a person.
Give me this day my daily compassion. Give me this day my daily humility. Give me this day my daily desire to love.
In the "How much is enough" conversation, our society presses us to consider what we have as lacking. There is always a better car, a bigger house, a more fashionable wardrobe, a higher educational degree. Status symbols. But status of what? Status of accumulation? Are we better people if we have newer and bigger, or is that promise just a hamster wheel that leads to self centered self-occupation? Planning for our family's security, working hard for a comfortable life, that is not what I am questioning. I am questioning the priorities that leave us feeling that we never have enough, even when we do. Instead of growing into our true potential, we strive and sweat and work and lust after an empty promise. That things will make us happy.
In the quest for the good life, how much does it matter that we listen to the wisdom of all religions that urge us to live in the moment, spend our days in gratitude, asking only for our daily bread? Give us this day our daily bread. Bread just for this day.
I love the saying that we are not promised tomorrow, we are only given today. It takes the pressure off. How differently will I live if I believe this is my last day? I have often thought about that. And what does it mean, really?
Part of the machinery our society uses to block this truth from us is fear mongering. Our country is going to the dogs. Our youth are uneducated, violent losers. Well, some of them are. Some of them always have been. What if the answer to that is not more prisons, or more welfare, but more people living as if this was our last day?
Give us this day our daily bread. Give us this day our sense of peace that comes from knowing we have been given every blessing we need to wake up today. Give us this day the solace that comes from knowing we can never earn our perfection, we can never earn our worthiness. We are given it. We have only to claim it. Our daily bread.
Give me this day my daily compassion. Give me this day my daily humility. Give me this day my daily desire to love.
In the "How much is enough" conversation, our society presses us to consider what we have as lacking. There is always a better car, a bigger house, a more fashionable wardrobe, a higher educational degree. Status symbols. But status of what? Status of accumulation? Are we better people if we have newer and bigger, or is that promise just a hamster wheel that leads to self centered self-occupation? Planning for our family's security, working hard for a comfortable life, that is not what I am questioning. I am questioning the priorities that leave us feeling that we never have enough, even when we do. Instead of growing into our true potential, we strive and sweat and work and lust after an empty promise. That things will make us happy.
In the quest for the good life, how much does it matter that we listen to the wisdom of all religions that urge us to live in the moment, spend our days in gratitude, asking only for our daily bread? Give us this day our daily bread. Bread just for this day.
I love the saying that we are not promised tomorrow, we are only given today. It takes the pressure off. How differently will I live if I believe this is my last day? I have often thought about that. And what does it mean, really?
Part of the machinery our society uses to block this truth from us is fear mongering. Our country is going to the dogs. Our youth are uneducated, violent losers. Well, some of them are. Some of them always have been. What if the answer to that is not more prisons, or more welfare, but more people living as if this was our last day?
Give us this day our daily bread. Give us this day our sense of peace that comes from knowing we have been given every blessing we need to wake up today. Give us this day the solace that comes from knowing we can never earn our perfection, we can never earn our worthiness. We are given it. We have only to claim it. Our daily bread.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Little Feathers: A Couple of Wings and a Furry Little Body
Little Feathers: A Couple of Wings and a Furry Little Body: There is a bat in my belfry. Or, at least, where my belfry could be. Actually, I'm not sure where the little creature is at this moment....
A Couple of Wings and a Furry Little Body
There is a bat in my belfry. Or, at least, where my belfry could be. Actually, I'm not sure where the little creature is at this moment. Somewhere in the cabin. Sleeping upside down, no doubt. Wings folded over his little bat face. Waiting for dark.
Bob is in Austin for a couple of days, so last night I did something I rarely do. I sat and watched TV for several hours. Mindless stuff. You will not be surprised to hear, if you know me well, that I spent those hours watching something other than hard-hitting news shows (which can be mindless, as well). I watched three Hallmark original Christmas movies in a row. Very much like eating cotton candy and reading magazines.
With the only light in the cabin coming from the television, I was well into the third movie when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I thought it might be a really big moth. We get those from time to time, so I didn't worry about it. Then it flew close enough that I felt a little breeze from the leather wings, and I shot out of the chair fast enough to impress myself and irritate my pulled hamstring. I flicked on several lights and waited just a few seconds until I saw the bat, dipping and swerving. He was looking for a way out. So I opened all the upstairs doors and told him in no uncertain terms that we have, in fact, no belfry, and he should depart in peace. I suspect this bat may be deaf in addition to being blind, because he did not oblige. Instead, he found a nice little place to hang at the tippy top of our cathedral ceiling. Maybe he made a connection: cathedral, belfry. Anyway, he did not exit, but moths were entering, so I shut the doors. I found that I could finish the movie (how, oh how, will it end? Will the prince marry the ordinary girl from Buffalo?) by covering my head with a throw blanket. When it was over, I turned off the lights and crept to my bedroom. I laid there thinking about that little creature for a long time. And questions did abound.
Why do we love some creatures ('we' being everyone just exactly like me) and not others? I love butterflies. Moths? Not so much. I love deer but not coyotes. I love geckos and other lizards, but their cousins, the snakes, are not my friends. Bluebirds and hummingbirds make me smile, but buzzards make me shudder. And it isn't just their job in the food chain. What is more beautiful than a cheetah running full tilt? What is uglier than a hyena?
The honing of our opinions of what is beautiful and what is ugly starts so early that I wonder sometimes if it is innate. I know that styles of beauty, admired by society, vary a little from culture to culture, and era to era. But the basics stay the same. When I think about it, I am puzzled by my reaction to the looks of a creature, amazed at the attributes I automatically assume belong to it. Here is the perfect example. I am not alone in my lack of love for...da da da duh...the spider. Spiders are sneaky, secretive and take great joy in scaring me. Some even take it to the extreme and crawl on me, just to prove the point. Spiders have way too many legs. Compare them to another irritating bug, (I said bug, not insect, you scientific minded folk) the mosquito. Mosquitoes carry diseases, live to bite us, and are a terrible pest in many humid climates. But do they make you shiver just by looking at them, like a spider? Well, here is my best argument: was it the mosquito that scared Little Miss Muffet away? I rest my case.
I know we humans extend the bias, the assumptions of characteristics, to other humans. If someone is very beautiful, it is not a stretch to think they are also well read, or at least moderately educated. If some is very ugly, we may not give them that same benefit of the doubt. Yet, I have met very beautiful people who are so self centered that their character has no beauty. And I have met very ugly people who have risen above the difficulty of bias and achieved great things. I have also met beautiful people who astound me with their generous spirit, and ugly people who have such a mean-spirited nature that I can only hope to protect myself from them.
We can say all we want about beauty being skin deep. And, that our true work as humans is to be good stewards of the body and mind we've been given. But my little furry friend in the upper reaches of the cabin ceiling didn't get to choose between his nocturnal life and more favored one of a cute little chipmunk. None of us choose our bone structure, height, coloring (well, we do get to choose our hair!!!) etc. We don't choose how big our feet are, how wide our shoulders. We do get to choose our character, though.
I guess my point is that I want to have a more unbiased eye for all creation. Especially for my own species. I hope the bat won't make my heart race with unfounded fear. I am pretty sure he was not a vampire bat. Too small. And I want to apply Forrest Gump's mother's wisdom to all things. Handsome is as handsome does. I'm trying to reserve judgement on the bat. Now, if he will just listen to reason and go out the door.
Bob is in Austin for a couple of days, so last night I did something I rarely do. I sat and watched TV for several hours. Mindless stuff. You will not be surprised to hear, if you know me well, that I spent those hours watching something other than hard-hitting news shows (which can be mindless, as well). I watched three Hallmark original Christmas movies in a row. Very much like eating cotton candy and reading magazines.
With the only light in the cabin coming from the television, I was well into the third movie when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I thought it might be a really big moth. We get those from time to time, so I didn't worry about it. Then it flew close enough that I felt a little breeze from the leather wings, and I shot out of the chair fast enough to impress myself and irritate my pulled hamstring. I flicked on several lights and waited just a few seconds until I saw the bat, dipping and swerving. He was looking for a way out. So I opened all the upstairs doors and told him in no uncertain terms that we have, in fact, no belfry, and he should depart in peace. I suspect this bat may be deaf in addition to being blind, because he did not oblige. Instead, he found a nice little place to hang at the tippy top of our cathedral ceiling. Maybe he made a connection: cathedral, belfry. Anyway, he did not exit, but moths were entering, so I shut the doors. I found that I could finish the movie (how, oh how, will it end? Will the prince marry the ordinary girl from Buffalo?) by covering my head with a throw blanket. When it was over, I turned off the lights and crept to my bedroom. I laid there thinking about that little creature for a long time. And questions did abound.
Why do we love some creatures ('we' being everyone just exactly like me) and not others? I love butterflies. Moths? Not so much. I love deer but not coyotes. I love geckos and other lizards, but their cousins, the snakes, are not my friends. Bluebirds and hummingbirds make me smile, but buzzards make me shudder. And it isn't just their job in the food chain. What is more beautiful than a cheetah running full tilt? What is uglier than a hyena?
The honing of our opinions of what is beautiful and what is ugly starts so early that I wonder sometimes if it is innate. I know that styles of beauty, admired by society, vary a little from culture to culture, and era to era. But the basics stay the same. When I think about it, I am puzzled by my reaction to the looks of a creature, amazed at the attributes I automatically assume belong to it. Here is the perfect example. I am not alone in my lack of love for...da da da duh...the spider. Spiders are sneaky, secretive and take great joy in scaring me. Some even take it to the extreme and crawl on me, just to prove the point. Spiders have way too many legs. Compare them to another irritating bug, (I said bug, not insect, you scientific minded folk) the mosquito. Mosquitoes carry diseases, live to bite us, and are a terrible pest in many humid climates. But do they make you shiver just by looking at them, like a spider? Well, here is my best argument: was it the mosquito that scared Little Miss Muffet away? I rest my case.
I know we humans extend the bias, the assumptions of characteristics, to other humans. If someone is very beautiful, it is not a stretch to think they are also well read, or at least moderately educated. If some is very ugly, we may not give them that same benefit of the doubt. Yet, I have met very beautiful people who are so self centered that their character has no beauty. And I have met very ugly people who have risen above the difficulty of bias and achieved great things. I have also met beautiful people who astound me with their generous spirit, and ugly people who have such a mean-spirited nature that I can only hope to protect myself from them.
We can say all we want about beauty being skin deep. And, that our true work as humans is to be good stewards of the body and mind we've been given. But my little furry friend in the upper reaches of the cabin ceiling didn't get to choose between his nocturnal life and more favored one of a cute little chipmunk. None of us choose our bone structure, height, coloring (well, we do get to choose our hair!!!) etc. We don't choose how big our feet are, how wide our shoulders. We do get to choose our character, though.
I guess my point is that I want to have a more unbiased eye for all creation. Especially for my own species. I hope the bat won't make my heart race with unfounded fear. I am pretty sure he was not a vampire bat. Too small. And I want to apply Forrest Gump's mother's wisdom to all things. Handsome is as handsome does. I'm trying to reserve judgement on the bat. Now, if he will just listen to reason and go out the door.
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