I am convinced that we are placed here on earth, engaged in a journey towards character. A high adventure. A swashbuckling story. We begin our story at different points, in comparison to others and we move at differing speeds. Some of us walk confidently in the right direction while others huddle fearfully near the beginning of the road. Others walk backwards and believe they are not.
For me, the path we travel is one that changes us from selfish, self-centered creatures into angels that consider and value others. I use the word angels deliberately, for that is exactly who I think they are.
If we learn nothing else from our life in mortality, this lesson, this shift in perspective, makes it worth all the effort God puts into sustaining us out on this beautiful globe hanging ever so precariously in the heavens.
For those of you who have made the heart-wrenching shift from looking at everything through the lens of ‘self’, to seeing the impact of life on others, bravo! For those of us who catch glimpses of it all but have a hard time making the change, keep working at it and praying for heaven’s help.
If you want to see for yourself the impact we have on each other, here is a simple yet profound example. The power of words combined with the beauty of an unselfish soul, what comes of it will have majesty and the effects will live on forever.
My favorite quote from the video, ‘Hate is a learned behavior, love is natural.’
Trusty, dusky, vivid, true, With eyes of gold and bramble-dew, Steel true and blade straight The great Artificer made my mate.
Honor, anger, valor, fire, A love that life could never tire, Death quench, or evil stir, The mighty Master gave to her.
Teacher, tender comrade, wife, A fellow-farer true through life, Heart-whole and soul-free, The August Father gave to me.
What is it about us that longs to be loved? We mortals are not designed to do well in mortality alone, so we depend on others to treat us kindly on our journey towards God and heaven.
Think, for a moment, about the faith it took for us to come to this mortal sphere packaged in an infant state. Helpless, dependent on our parents to meet our every need. We had to trust that someone would feed us, clothe us, sooth us and smile when they saw us. That first experience with love shapes us into much of who we are and how we view others. How grateful we should feel towards parents who, however imperfectly, worked at meeting our needs as infants and through childhood.
As our lives progress we experience life in relation to other people. Friendship, jealousy, competition, bullies, acquaintances, professionals. People become the way we learn and grow as they touch us in gentle or selfish ways. These people color our view of love.
Whatever our beginning, whatever the path our education in love takes, we can learn from the tutoring hand of man if we turn to God for understanding. It is possible to learn from the good as well as evil, kindness as contrasted with selfishness. We are in the process of creating an adult that is capable of giving and receiving love. We are essential in the creation of our character and in the way we view the world and our place in that world.
Do the words of Robert Lewis Stephenson stir you like they do me? They seem to challenge me to become a woman of strength and purpose, a loyal and tireless partner to the man I chose to marry and build a life with.
I fell in love with someone I had been friends with for years and over time that beginning has been proven to be a great strength. It seems logical that love should be built like a pyramid. The base of the pyramid can be called friendship, the ascending layers built of elements such as time, understanding, respect, patience, and restraint.
At the top of the pyramid is a glittering little mystery called romance. Upheld and supported by the layers and layers of strengths beneath it. And we determine the strength or weakness of the foundation upon which we build. After we build the foundation we attain the true pinnacle called romance or true love.
Are we willing to pay the price for the glittering little mystery? Go read the poem again and I am sure you will decide it is would be worth whatever it cost to have someone think those kinds of thoughts about you!
I am a word connoisseur, I collect them, relish them and use them. I try to be precise and descriptive and above all, to tell the truth with them. Some of my favorite include: melancholy, sneakers and the newly remembered, disinclination. Here are some non-English words that make me wish I knew more than one language:
Mangata (Swedish): The road-like reflection of the moon in the water
Ella Frances Sanders
Perhaps people don’t notice these glimmering, lyrical moments enough anymore, but the way the moon reflects and leaps across the black water of the ocean at night is surely a sight to behold.
Akihi (Hawaiian): Listening to directions and then walking off and promptly forgetting them
Ella Frances Sanders
When they explained how to get there, their directions all made perfect sense, you nodded and looked back with clear understanding. Then you parted ways, and now you can’t remember whether to take a left or a right.
Commuovere (Italian): To be moved in a heartwarming way, usually related to a story that moved you to tears
Ella Frances Sanders
Maybe you had a single tear rolling down your cheek, maybe you were crying for days afterward. Touching and powerful stories hit you in the most inexplicable, unexpected, and undeniably human ways.
Komorebi (Japanese): The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees
Ella Frances Sanders
It may be temporarily blinding, but it’s most definitely beautiful. There is something wonderfully evocative and uniquely magical about sunlight filtered through green foliage.
Glas wen (Welsh): A “blue smile,” one that is sarcastic or mocking
Ella Frances Sanders
Those sarcastic smiles are not so easy to escape. They make you squirm a little and leave you wishing that you could just slip away without having to return an awkward half-smile.
Kilig (Tagalog): The feeling of butterflies in your stomach, usually when something romantic or cute takes place
Ella Frances Sanders
You know exactly what this is. Once it’s taken hold, there’s no stopping that can’t-think-straight, smiling-for-no-reason, spine-tingling feeling that starts somewhere deep inside the walls of your stomach.
Luftmensch (Yiddish): Refers to someone who is a bit of a dreamer; literally means “air person”
Ella Frances Sanders
Your head is in the clouds and you aren’t coming down anytime soon. You’re living in a dream world, the 9-to-5 has no place here and paperwork doesn’t exist at this attitude. So it’s out with reality and in with the impractical.
Tretar (Swedish): A second refill of coffee, or a “threefill”
Ella Frances Sanders
Whether you read this and think, “Only three cups?” or you don’t understand how it’s possible to stomach even one cup of coffee, let alone three, you have to admit that this is a very logical and efficient word.
Tsundoku (Japanese): Leaving a book unread after buying it, typically piled up together with other unread books
Ella Frances Sanders
The tsundoku scale can range from just one unread book to a serious hoard, so you are most likely guilty of it. As intellectual as you may look tripping over an unread copy of Great Expectations on your way to the front door, those pages probably deserve to see the daylight.
Lost in Translation
Ella Frances Sanders
The charming book Lost in Translation shows you the poetry and beauty of the world’s languages, with illustrated definitions of more than 50 words that do not have direct English translations.
“Good morning”, said a woman as she walked up to a man sitting on a bench across the street from the White House. The man slowly looked up. His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of him, like so many others had done before “Leave me alone,” he growled. To his amazement, the woman continued standing.
She was smiling, “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No,” he answered sarcastically. “I’ve just come from dining with the president. Now go away.”
The woman’s smile became even broader. Suddenly the man felt a gentle hand under his arm. “What are you doing, lady?” the man asked angrily. “I said to leave me alone.
Just then a policeman came up. “Is there any problem, ma’am?” he asked..
“No problem here, officer,” the woman answered. “I’m just trying to get this man to his feet. Will you help me?”
The officer scratched his head. “That’s old Jack. He’s been a fixture around here for a couple of years. What do you want with him?”
“See that cafeteria over there?” she asked. “I’m going to get him something to eat and get him out of the cold for awhile.”
“Are you crazy, lady?” the homeless man resisted. “I don’t want to go in there!” Then he felt strong hands grab his other arm and lift him up. “Let me go, officer. I didn’t do anything.”
“This is a good deal for you, Jack” the officer answered. “Don’t blow it..”
Finally, and with some difficulty, the woman and the police officer got Jack into the cafeteria and sat him at a table in a remote corner. It was the middle of the morning, so most of the breakfast crowd had already left and the lunch bunch had not yet arrived.
The manager strode across the cafeteria and stood by his table. “What’s going on here, officer?” he asked. “What is all this, is this man in trouble?”
“This lady brought this man in here to be fed,” the policeman answered.
“Not in here!” the manager replied angrily. “Having a person like that here is bad for business.”
Old Jack smiled a toothless grin. “See, lady. I told you so. Now if you’ll let me go. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
The woman turned to the cafeteria manager and smiled… “Sir, are you familiar with Eddy and Associates, the banking firm down the street?”
“Of course I am,” the manager answered impatiently. “They hold their weekly meetings in one of my banquet rooms.”
“And do you make a goodly amount of money providing food at these weekly meetings?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“I, sir, am Penelope Eddy, president and CEO of the company.”
The woman smiled again. “I thought that might make a difference.” She glanced at the cop who was busy stifling a giggle. “Would you like to join us in a cup of coffee and a meal, officer?”
“No thanks, ma’am,” the officer replied. “I’m on duty.”
“Then, perhaps, a cup of coffee to go?”
“Yes, ma’am. That would be very nice.”
The cafeteria manager turned on his heel, “I’ll get your coffee for you right away, officer.”
The officer watched him walk away. “You certainly put him in his place,” he said.
“That was not my intent. Believe it or not, I have a reason for all this.”
She sat down at the table across from her amazed dinner guest. She stared at him intently. “Jack, do you remember me?”
Old Jack searched her face with his old, rheumy eyes. “I think so – I mean you do look familiar.”
“I’m a little older perhaps,” she said. “Maybe I’ve even filled out more than in my younger days when you worked here, and I came through that very door, cold and hungry.”
“Ma’am?” the officer said questioningly. He couldn’t believe that such a woman could ever have been hungry.
“I was just out of college,” the woman began. “I had come to the city looking for a job, but I couldn’t find anything. Finally I was down to my last few cents and had been kicked out of my apartment. I walked the streets for days. It was February and I was cold and nearly starving. I saw this place and walked in on the off-chance that I could get something to eat.”
Jack lit up with a smile. “Now I remember,” he said, “I was behind the serving counter. You came up and asked me if you could work for something to eat. I said that it was against company policy.”
“I know,” the woman continued. “Then you made me the biggest roast beef sandwich that I had ever seen, gave me a cup of coffee, and told me to go over to a corner table and enjoy it. I was afraid that you would get into trouble. Then, when I looked over and saw you put the price of my food in the cash register, I knew then that everything would be all right.”
“So you started your own business?” Old Jack said.
“I got a job that very afternoon. I worked my way up. Eventually I started my business that, with the help of God, prospered.” She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. “When you are finished here, I want you to pay a visit to a Mr. Lyons. He’s the personnel director of my company. I’ll go talk to him now and I’m certain he’ll find something for you to do around the office.” She smiled. “I think he might even find the funds to give you a little advance so that you can buy some clothes and get a place to live until you get on your feet. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you.”
There were tears in the old man’s eyes. “How can I ever thank you?” he said.
“Don’t thank me,” the woman answered. “To God goes the glory. Thank Jesus. He led me to you.”
Outside the cafeteria, the officer and the woman paused at the entrance before going their separate ways.
“Thank you for all your help, officer,” she said.
“On the contrary, Ms. Eddy,” he answered. “Thank you. I saw a miracle today, something that I will never forget.”
I ask you this, ‘have miracles ceased? or has the day of miracles ceased?” (Moro. 7:27, 35.)
“I say unto you, Nay; neither have angels ceased to minister unto the children of men nor will they, so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man upon the face thereof to be saved.” (Moro. 7:29, 36.)
And we can act as God’s hands, His eyes, His heart in watching and loving those people who stand in need of our succor. We just need to open our eyes.
Mitt and my marriage has always been a partnership: His job was putting money in the bank; I was a full-time mother. Being Mom was my job: I cooked every meal, I was the taxi service for five active boys, I cleaned the house. Baseball season was especially tough on our dinner routine; we ate a lot of boy-friendly meals, a lot of spaghetti, tacos, and chicken fajitas. Food has always been the glue in our family; after all, our meals were one of the rare times when we could all be together.
While I felt completely fulfilled personally, I also knew that there were some who judged women who had chosen my path. Mitt was at Harvard Business School, surrounded by type-A personalities chasing success, while I was a stay- at-home mother during the day and attending Harvard extension at night. Mitt and I got married young, but I promised my father I would graduate from college. I knew that those who judged my choices had different priorities from mine; that their happiness came from following a different path. Most important, I knew Mitt completely understood I was working just as hard as he was, but in a different way, and that he valued my contribution to our family. It wasn’t just lip service. In every way, he truly considered me as an equal partner.
I so wanted to speak out for other stay-at-home moms, but I just didn’t know how to do that. I got that opportunity in the mid-1970s, when the Harvard Business School invited Mitt and me to join several other people speaking about our career choices. Career choices? I had never actually seen it that way. I understood why Mitt had been invited. He was on the path to great success. He was a relatively young vice president of a respected management consulting firm. Only a few years earlier he had sat in that same auditorium as a student and could offer some valuable real-world advice. But me? I had spent those same years changing diapers, burping babies, and making sure our kids got to school on time.
At the time we were asked to speak, we were living near Cambridge, where the feminist movement was in full bloom and motherhood was going out of fashion. There were many people in academia who believed the role of stay-at-home mother, my job, was no longer a viable option for young women. While I had agreed to speak, I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was going to say. I would be speaking to students at one of the best business schools in the world, and I knew for certain they weren’t spending so many thousands of dollars on tuition so that, one day, they could drive a station wagon and watchSesame Street. Years later, Mitt would describe me as “chief family officer.” That was clever, but it certainly wasn’t a title that these people were pursuing.
As the day of my speech got closer, rather than being anxious, I became more resolute. Rather than preparing my speech, I decided to be bold; I was going to speak from my heart and talk about the profession I had chosen. Somehow I had to justify the fact that while so many of my contemporaries were shattering the glass ceiling, I was home scraping Marshmallow Fluff off our boys. As I sat on that stage next to Mitt, watching students stroll into the auditorium, I honestly expected to be booed.
I was the last person scheduled to speak. As the five people who spoke before me explained how and why they had chosen their high-paying occupations, I didn’t move. When Mitt finished, the audience applauded politely. Then it was my turn.
“I could have done a lot of different things,” I began. “But I didn’t. Instead I became a wife and a mother.” I turned and pointed at Mitt. “And, by the way, my job’s more important than his, because what I’m doing lasts a lot longer than what he’s doing.” I channeled all my energy into that speech. I hadn’t realized just how long I’d been waiting to say these things, and they flowed out of me.
Being a wife and a mother is a complex and physically challenging job, I said. Not only that, it’s a lot more difficult than an office job, because it consumes twenty-four hours of every day with no time off. Once I got rolling I didn’t hold back. Every child is unique, I continued. Every child is his or her own person, with needs and wants, and no handbook could possibly provide all the information and advice I needed to be a doctor and a nurse, a psychologist, a teacher and a speech therapist, a consultant, a coach, a caregiver, sometimes a boss, and always a friend. I spoke for about ten minutes, which might have been the longest I had ever spoken to an audience.
Finally I concluded: “Mitt and I both know how important his job is. He’s the provider, and it’s challenging and he’s good at it, but we both know that our most important job is raising our kids, and that a lot of that responsibility is mine. And I am fortunate to have a partner that values me as much as Mitt does.”
My goal hadn’t been to change anybody’s mind about their own future; I just wanted a little more respect for women who had made the same choice I had. And whether the audience at Harvard liked it not, I had finally gotten to say it.
As I gathered up my note cards, the applause began— and it grew into a standing ovation. I wasn’t used to anything like that, and I probably turned a little bit red. Yet I couldn’t spend too much time basking in the recognition — I had to pick up one of our boys to take him to a basketball game and then go home to get dinner ready.
This guys story and what he learned from it is exceptional! None of us seek difficulty but people who turn to God during hard times create something exquisite within their character. It takes time and a humble attitude, but the results are priceless.
The general ‘goodness’ of the people sometimes surprises me. It isn’t that I expect people to be self-absorbed or thoughtless, but the best part of each of us is unique and so it is manifest differently by each one of God’s children. That is one of the reasons I had so many children, each one of them is like a jewel. And as a one of a kind gem we are treasured as much for our flaws as well as our brilliance and luster.
This story captures a moment when a group of ordinary people decided to live up to the potential of our race.
And the moment lives on.
On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, we were about 5 hours out of Frankfurt, flying over the North Atlantic. All of a sudden the curtains parted and I was told to go to the cockpit, immediately, to see the captain.
As soon as I got there I noticed that the crew had that “All Business” look on their faces. The captain handed me a printed message. It was from Delta’s main office in Atlanta and simply read, “All airways over the Continental United States are closed to commercial air traffic. Land ASAP at the nearest airport. Advise your destination.”
While the flight crew prepared the airplane for landing, another message arrived from Atlanta telling us about some terrorist activity in the New York area. A few minutes later word came in about the hijackings. Forty minutes later, we landed in Gander. Local time at Gander was 12:30 PM …. that’s 11:00 AM EST.
There were already about 20 other airplanes on the ground from all over the world that had taken this detour on their way to the US.
The Canadian Government was in charge of our situation and no one was allowed to get off the aircraft. No one on the ground was allowed to come near any of the aircraft. Only airport police would come around periodically, look us over and go on to the next airplane.
In the next hour or so more planes landed and Gander ended up with 53 airplanes from all over the world, 27 of which were US commercial jets. Meanwhile, bits of news started to come in over the aircraft radio and for the first time we learned that airplanes were flown into the World Trade Center in New York and into the Pentagon in DC. At 6 PM, Gander airport told us that our turn to deplane would be 11 am the next morning.
About 10:30 on the morning of the 12th a convoy of school buses showed up. We got off the plane and were taken to the terminal where we went through Immigration and Customs and then had to register with the Red Cross.
We learned from the Red Cross that the town of Gander has a population of 10,400 people and they had about 10,500 passengers to take care of from all the airplanes that were forced into Gander!
Gander and all the surrounding communities had closed all high schools, meeting halls, lodges, and any other large gathering places. They converted all these facilities to mass lodging areas for all the stranded travelers. Some had cots set up, some had mats with sleeping bags and pillows setup.
Our 218 passengers ended up in a town called Lewisporte, about 45 kilometers from Gander where they were put up in a high school. Families were kept together. All the elderly passengers were taken to private homes.
Phone calls and emails to the U.S. and around the world were available to everyone once a day. During the day, passengers were offered “Excursion” trips. Some people went on boat cruises of the lakes and harbors. Some went for hikes in the local forests. Local bakeries stayed open to make fresh bread for the guests.
Food was prepared by all the residents and brought to the schools. People were driven to restaurants of their choice and offered wonderful meals. Everyone was given tokens for local laundry mats to wash their clothes, since luggage was still on the aircraft.
In other words, every single need was met for those stranded travelers.
Finally, when they were told that U.S. airports had reopened, they were delivered to the airport right on time and without a single passenger missing or late. The local Red Cross had all the information about the whereabouts of each passenger and knew which plane they needed to be on and when all the planes were leaving. They coordinated everything beautifully.
It was absolutely incredible.
When passengers came on board, it was like they had been on a cruise. Everyone knew each other by name. They were swapping stories of their stay, impressing each other with who had the better time.
Our flight back to Atlanta looked like a chartered party flight. The crew just stayed out of their way. It was mind-boggling. Passengers had totally bonded and were calling each other by their first names, exchanging phone numbers, addresses, and email addresses.
One of our passengers approached me and asked if he could make an announcement over the PA system. We never, ever allow that. But this time was different. I said “of course” and handed him the mike. He picked up the PA and reminded everyone about what they had just gone through in the last few days.
He reminded them of the hospitality they had received at the hands of total strangers. He continued by saying that he would like to do something in return for the good folks of Lewisporte.
“He said he was going to set up a Trust Fund under the name of DELTA 15 (our flight number). The purpose of the trust fund is to provide college scholarships for the high school students of Lewisporte.
He asked for donations of any amount from his fellow travelers. When the paper with donations got back to us with the amounts, names, phone numbers and addresses, the total was for more than $14,000!
“The gentleman, a MD from Virginia , promised to match the donations and to start the administrative work on the scholarship. He also said that he would forward this proposal to Delta Corporate and ask them to donate as well. As I write this account, the trust fund is at more than $1.5 million and has assisted 134 students in college education.
For me, the beauty of this story is in the way each one of the people involved did their part. The people of Gander served the stranded travelers. The people who were diverted to Gander accepted their help with humility and gratitude.
Part of life is figuring out the balance between giving of ourselves and taking care of ourselves. In a world filled with selfishness, I am grateful to know that there are occasions we forget about ourselves and focus on others who need us.
This is an epic rant and 100% true, you can find the original post here and it is worth reading just for the comments section. The only reason we survived our rather large family was because our nursery door weighed about 100 pounds and even with my ear pressed to it I couldn’t hear a thing that was going on on the other side. My kids are great sleepers, all of them – in fact, they are known for sleeping through an earthquake. Sleep makes all the difference!
Kay. At 2 am Child 3 shook me awake from a dead sleep to report with terror that: MOMMY! I JUST OPENED MY EYES AND IT WAS ALL DARK AND I WAS ALONE IN MY BED!! Once again, I explained that this was not a description of some shocking, unique horror but THE NORMAL PROCESS OF SLEEPING. “That’s just SLEEPING,” I said to my girl as she stared at me with a face that asked: “what is this “sleeping” of which you speak???? Is this something people DO?”
At 9 am I sat across the kitchen table, bleary-eyed, listening to Child 1 present a serious case for why he should get PAID by ME for, basically, breathing. Just breathing is what I gathered from him. Existing. Something about human rights. I don’t even know. I don’t know. What I do know is that I was so freaking tired from Child 3’s Breaking Sleeping News that I just picked up my coffee and said: “I need you to stop talking. Just stop talking. Now, please.”
At 10 am I took Child 2 with me to the store. There was a bird in a cage at the store. Child 2 spent ninety seconds with this bird. Upon leaving the store, Child 2 looked at me and said, “Mom, instead of buying me a horse, I’d like you to buy me a bird.” I stared at Child 2 and eventually said, “WHAT THE? I am not buying you a horse, or a bird, or even a popsicle. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, child? Get in the car.” It has been one full hour and Child 2 has not stopped talking about this bird. Apparently, I have ruined her life because — and I quote: “You say you value family, Mom. That bird was my family.”
I do not know. I just do not know.
Listen to me. Every time I go to speak somewhere — tired, worn out, wild-eyed mamas raise their tired hands and say to me, “Glennon, I feel like I’m losing it at home. I feel CRAZY.”
HOLD. UP. Okay: for obvious reasons, I am no parenting expert. But I know a helluva lot about crazy. And I want you to trust me on this one. I want you to write this down and put it on your fridge for me:
IT’S NOT YOU. IT’S THEM.
Listen: I spent time in a mental hospital and I am here to report that everyone, every single one of the beautiful folks I lived in there with was more reasonable than the small people I live with now. All of them.
YOU ARE GOOD AND NORMAL AND REASONABLE. IT’S THEM. The crazy is not in your head. It’s IN YOUR HOUSE. We have to wait them out. We just have to smile and wait them out. We have fought too hard for our sanity to lose it now.
I was driving home from a church in the northern part of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
You were visiting a different kind of church. Wearing a dark suit, you stood at the foot of what appeared to be a fresh grave in a quiet, sunny cemetery. You looked younger than me, but your face and posture breathed experience.
You were alone.
I admit that my heart suggested I slam on the brakes and approach you. But my mind argued otherwise. Yes, I did pull into the cemetery’s side entrance, but I observed from a safe distance and did not leave my car.
As I sat, I reminisced about my own graveside visits to those I’ve loved and lost. And I lingered on three words heaven has whispered to me over and over again.
It gets better.
Obviously, I do not know the circumstances of your loss, your relationship or your grief. You might have been there to mourn a mother who lived to 82, a brother who perished at 52 or a wife who passed at 32.
Or, perhaps most tragically, a toddler taken at just 2.
As an adult, you probably already know that the grief for every kind of death is distinct, like crayons in a box that are all the same size and shape, but when streaked across the paper are unique.
But perhaps in the postscript of a funeral, you don’t yet know that those three words are as real as the pain you feel.
It gets better.
I’m almost certain people who’ve been there surround you on all sides. Maybe not living the exact same shades of grief, but they’ve likely lost someone they loved more than anyone or anything. When you wonder about tomorrow, you wonder if they believe in those three words, too.
If my assumptions are correct and your own loss is recent, the grief might feel like a bright billboard that no matter where you turn or how fast you drive, is always right in front of you. It seems inescapable. Even when you close your eyes, even when you dream, your personalized shade of sadness finds you.
That’s part of the plan. Though today it may sound out of tune, grief is good. It means they lived, it means you loved, it means they left behind a piece of their soul inside yours.
Many years ago I invited one of my brothers to visit my father’s grave with me. Unlike the grave you watered with tears last week, our dad’s has seen only rain and sprinklers for a long time. My brother smiled and reminded me what I already knew. “He’s not there.”
I realized that day that for my brother, it got better. And, eventually, it got better for me, too. We miss him, of course, but our grief has turned into brighter shades of memories: the cheesy T-shirts, the bad jokes and a thousand lessons learned.
During this Holy Week, the days that lead to the victory of Easter morning, I’m reminded again of the many visits to gravesites that tugged at my heartstrings. I remember how cemeteries can be peaceful, healing settings and I don’t regret a single second spent there.
I also remember the billboard I couldn’t escape. I recall the pain that waited for me each morning like uncomfortable shoes at the side of my bed.
Perhaps like you, I wondered if the sun would ever rise again.
In time, I learned the most foundational and fundamental truth of eternal life.
The sun will rise again, because the Son rose.
Friends come and go, families grow, relationships end and 101 hearts are broken and healed every second of every day. But this Easter truth is constant.
He is Risen.
Just like Mary who sat outside an empty tomb, the graves we visit are simply symbols. The only life there is our own. The ones we mourn, the one you miss, is not there.
No, they’re not yet risen. But they will be!
Because he was.
And even though I don’t know you, because he is risen, I know these other three words are also true.
I grew up reading The Washington Post and was just barely 11 when the Pentagon Papers were published and the fall of President Nixon began. In an article written this last June the son of Daniel Ellsberg, Michael Ellsberg, wrote a stunning essay about finally understanding his parents. You can find the article here. It gives me hope as a parent and a child, and convinces me that compassion is rarely misplaced.
A huge piece of my emotional puzzle fell into place last week. For years, I had a story in my mind that my dad did not pay much attention to me when I was growing up. There was a lot of evidence I could marshal in support of this story. After he released the Pentagon Papers to many newspapers, including this one, in 1971, he devoted himself full-time to activism. By the time I came around, in 1977, he was immersed in the global movement for nuclear disarmament. He was often away for long stretches of time, and we didn’t spend a lot of time together during my childhood.
One of my clearest memories as a boy was waiting for dad to walk through the door after a long trip, off saving the world. He would always bring me a stuffed animal, which made me ecstatic. I was proud of what I saw as his heroism. And I was proud to have the greatest stuffed animal collection of any of my friends. Yet there was a bittersweetness to this delight: Why did I have so many of them?
Over the years, I had come to my own peace with his choices about where his focus went. As an adult, I greatly respect the work he did throughout my childhood. Even then, though I only had a child’s understanding of it, I had the sense he was up to big and important things. I was proud of daddy. But as a young boy, I longed for time with and attention from him as well.
At lunch with my father last week, he shared information with me that changed my understanding of that time. My parents have been married almost 45 years, and from my vantage point, it has always looked like a happy marriage.
At that lunch, he told me that, despite loving each other deeply, they had a very challenging marriage for about the first 15 years of my life. They managed to keep this hidden from me. He said there were times when he just couldn’t take any more of the challenges, and was ready to leave.
But he stayed, because he just couldn’t bear hurting me by leaving. He had already divorced once in his life, with two children, and he didn’t want to cause that pain again. They went on, after that period, to have decades more of a wonderful marriage, and they’re still happily married today.
I started crying when he told me this. It just blew my mind and my heart open that a man would stay in a difficult marriage for 15 years in large part to avoid my suffering. That’s more than twice as long as my six-year relationship with my ex-wife — and most of our marriage was quite happy, until the end. I could not believe the generosity of his heart. All my stories about him not caring, or not being there for me, instantly vanished in one conversation.
It got me thinking about the stories and interpretations we come up with and fix upon as adults, often based on emotional reactions we have as young children, based on not knowing the full story.
I say this not to shame anyone for divorcing with children. (As a divorcee myself, that would be rather lame of me, wouldn’t it?) Though I don’t have children, it is clear to me that sometimes divorce can be the most compassionate and loving act for children as well as parents.
Rather, I say this to share that, often our parents express their love in ways we didn’t realize when we were children. I am flabbergasted at the dedication and sacrifice my father showed to avoid my suffering. I cannot imagine enduring 15 years of a difficult marriage. I feel a bit silly at the stories I created about him in my head.
At the same meal, my father apologized for not being more present during my boyhood. He even said that, looking back, he felt he hadn’t been a great father to me. Even a day earlier, I would have relished this apology and recognition. Finally, that thing I had longed for out loud during so many therapy sessions!
But after hearing of my father’s stubborn resolve to keep in the marriage for my sake, suddenly his apology felt unnecessary — and his sense of failing as father felt like an insult to his caring heart.
As I assured him that his apology was unnecessary, I listed all the ways he had been a great father. It was the first time I had made such a list in my mind, let alone shared it with him.
I went on to tell him:
Dad, there is no way I’d be able to take the creative risks I take now, as an artist and entrepreneur, without your example of standing up for what you believe in, and speaking truth no matter what the consequences. I wade into some very controversial territories in my work, and I wouldn’t have been able to do that without your example. I always come back to my own moral compass in deciding what to put out in the public, and I learned that from you. I also learned how to open my heart, from you and mom together. That is the greatest thing you could have taught me. I hope you never, ever feel bad about the way you raised me. You were the perfect father for me to become who I am today. I will always be grateful.
Death is always a surprise. No one expects it. Not even terminal patients think they are going to die in a day or two. In a week, maybe. But never this week.
It was no different with my father. He was gone at age 27. He was young. Way too young. I was 8 and half, old enough to miss him for a lifetime. Had he died before, I wouldn’t have memories. I would feel no pain. But I wouldn’t have a father in my life. And I had a father.
I had a father who was both firm and fun. Someone who would tell a joke before grounding me. That way, I wouldn’t feel so bad. Someone who kissed me on the forehead before I went to sleep. A habit which I passed on to my children. Someone who forced me to support the same football team he supported, and who explained things better than my mother. Do you know what I mean? A father like that is someone to be missed.
He never told me he was going to die. Even when he was lying on a hospital bed with tubes all over him, he didn’t say a word. My father made plans for the next year even though he knew he wouldn’t be around in the next month. Next year, we would go fishing, we would travel, we would visit places we’ve never been. Next year would be an amazing year. We lived the same dream.
I believe — actually I’m sure — he thought this would bring luck. He was a superstitious man. Thinking about the future was the way he found to keep hope alive. He made me laugh until the very end. He knew about it. He didn’t tell me. He didn’t see me crying.
And suddenly, the next year was over before it even started.
My mother picked me up at school and we went to the hospital. The doctor told the news and my mother cried. She did have a tiny bit of hope. As I said before, everyone does. I felt the blow. What does it mean? Wasn’t it just a regular disease, the kind of disease doctors heal with a shot? I hated you, dad. I felt betrayed. I screamed with anger in the hospital, until I realized my father was not around to ground me. I cried.
Then, my father was once again a father to me. With a shoebox under her arm, a nurse came by to comfort me. The box was full of sealed envelopes, with sentences where the address should be. I couldn’t understand exactly what was going on. The nurse then handed me a letter. The only letter that was out of the box.
“Your dad asked me to give you this letter. He spent the whole week writing these, and he wants you read it. Be strong.” the nurse said, holding me.
The envelope read WHEN I’M GONE. I opened it.
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sorry. I knew I was going to die.
I didn’t want to tell you what was going to happen, I didn’t want to see you crying. Well, it looks like I’ve made it. I think that a man who’s about to die has the right to act a little bit selfish.
Well, as you can see, I still have a lot to teach you. After all, you don’t know crap about anything. So I wrote these letters for you. You must not open them before the right moment, OK? This is our deal.
I love you. Take care of your mom. You’re the man of the house now.
PS: I didn’t write letters to your mom. She’s got my car.
He made me stop crying with his bad handwriting. Printing was not easy back then. His ugly writing, which I barely understood, made me feel calm. It made me smile. That’s how my father did things. Like the joke before the grounding.
That box became the most important thing in the world for me. I told my mother not to open it. Those letters were mine and no one else could read them. I knew all the life moments written on the envelopes by heart. But it took a while for these moments to happen.
My teenage years and my mother’s new boyfriend triggered what my father had anticipated a long time before. My mother had several boyfriends, and I always understood it. She never married again. I don’t know why, but I like to believe that my father had been the love of her life. This boyfriend, however, was worthless. I thought she was humiliating herself by dating him. He had no respect for her. She deserved something a lot better than a guy she met at a bar.
I still remember the slap she gave me after I pronounced the word “bar”. I’ll admit that I deserved it. I learned that over the years. At the time, when my skin was still burning from the slap, I remembered the box and the letters. I remembered a specific letter, which read “WHEN YOU HAVE THE WORST FIGHT EVER WITH YOUR MOM”.
I ransacked my bedroom looking for it and finally found it inside a suitcase on top of the wardrobe. I looked through the letters, and realized that I had forgotten to open WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR FIRST KISS. I hated myself for doing that, and I decided that would be the next letter I’d open. Eventually I found what I was looking for.
Now apologize to her.
I don’t know why you’re fighting and I don’t know who’s right. But I know your mother. So a humble apology is the best way to get over this. I’m talking about a down-on-your-knees apology.
She’s your mother, kid. She loves you more than anything in this world. Do you know that she went through natural birth because someone told her that it would be the best for you? Have you ever seen a woman giving birth? Do you need a bigger proof of love than that?
Apologize. She’ll forgive you.
My father was not a great writer, he was just a bank clerk. But his words had a great impact on me. They were words that carried more wisdom than all of my 14 years of age at the time. (That wasn’t very hard to achieve, though).
I rushed to my mother’s room and opened the door. I was crying when she turned her head to look me in the eyes. She was also crying. I don’t remember what she yelled at me. Probably something like “What do you want?” What I do remember is that I walked towards her holding the letter my father wrote. I held her in my arms, while my hands crumpled the old paper. She hugged me, and we both stood in silence.
My father’s letter made her laugh a few minutes later. We made peace and talked a little about him. She told me about some of his most eccentric habits, such as eating salami with strawberries. Somehow, I felt he was sitting right next to us. Me, my mother and a piece of my father, a piece he left for us, on a piece of paper. It felt good.
My father followed me through my entire life. He was with me, even though he was not near me. His words did what no one else could: they gave me strength to overcome countless challenging moments in my life. He would always find a way to put a smile on my face when things looked grim, or clear my mind during those angry moments.
WHEN YOU GET MARRIED made me feel very emotional. But not so much as WHEN YOU BECOME A FATHER.
Now you’ll understand what real love is, son. You’ll realize how much you love her, but real love is something you’ll feel for this little thing over there. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. I’m just a corpse, I’m not a fortune teller.
Have fun. It’s a great thing. Time is gonna fly now, so make sure you’ll be around. Never miss a moment, they never come back. Change diapers, bathe the baby, be a role model to this child. I think you have what it takes to be an amazing father, just like me.
The most painful letter I read in my entire life was also the shortest letter my father wrote. While he wrote those four words, I believe he suffered just as much as I did living through that moment. It took a while, but eventually I had to open WHEN YOUR MOTHER IS GONE.
She is mine now.
A joke. A sad clown hiding his sadness with a smile on his makeup. It was the only letter that didn’t make me smile, but I could see the reason.
I always kept the deal I had made with my father. I never read letters before their time. With the exception of WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU’RE GAY. Since I never thought I’d have to open this one, I decided to read it. It was one of the funniest letters, by the way.
What can I say? I’m glad I’m dead.
Now, all joking aside, being half-dead made me realize that we care too much about things that don’t matter much. Do you think that changes anything, son?
Don’t be silly. Be happy.
I would always wait for the next moment, the next letter. The next lesson my father would teach me. It’s amazing what a 27 year old man can teach to an 85 year old senior like me.
Now that I am lying on a hospital bed, with tubes in my nose and my throat thanks to this damn cancer, I run my fingers on the faded paper of the only letter I didn’t open. The sentence WHEN YOUR TIME COMES is barely visible on the envelope.
I don’t want to open it. I’m scared. I don’t want to believe that my time is near. It’s a matter of hope, you know? No one believes they’re gonna die.
I take a deep breath, opening the envelope.
Hello, son. I hope you’re an old man now.
You know, this letter was the easiest to write, and the first I wrote. It was the letter that set me free from the pain of losing you. I think your mind becomes clearer when you’re this close to the end. It’s easier to talk about it.
In my last days here I thought about the life I had. I had a brief life, but a very happy one. I was your father and the husband of your mother. What else could I ask for? It gave me peace of mind. Now you do the same.
In September of 2005, on the first day of school, Martha Cothren, a History teacher at Robinson High School in Little Rock , did something not to be forgotten. On the first day of school, with the permission of the school superintendent, the principal and the building supervisor, she removed all of the desks in her classroom. When the first period kids entered the room they discovered that there were no desks.
‘Ms. Cothren, where are our desks?’
She replied, ‘You can’t have a desk until you tell me how you earn the right to sit at a desk.’ They thought, ‘Well, maybe it’s our grades.’ ‘No,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s our behavior.’ She told them, ‘No, it’s not even your behavior.’
And so, they came and went, the first period, second period, third period. Still no desks in the classroom. Kids called their parents to tell them what was happening and by early afternoon television news crews had started gathering at the school to report about this crazy teacher who had taken all the desks out of her room.
The final period of the day came and as the puzzled students found seats on the floor of the desk-less classroom. Martha Cothren said, ‘Throughout the day no one has been able to tell me just what he or she has done to earn the right to sit at the desks that are ordinarily found in this classroom. Now I am going to tell you.’
At this point, Martha Cothren went over to the door of her classroom and opened it. Twenty-seven U.S. Veterans, all in uniform, walked into that classroom, each one carrying a school desk. The Vets began placing the school desks in rows, and then they would walk over and stand along the wall. By the time the last soldier had set the final desk in place those kids started to understand, perhaps for the first time in their lives, just how the right to sit at those desks had been earned.
Martha said, ‘You didn’t earn the right to sit at these desks. These heroes did it for you. They placed the desks here for you. They went halfway around the world, giving up their education and interrupting their careers and families so you could have the freedom you have. Now, it’s up to you to sit in them. It is your responsibility to learn, to be good students, to be good citizens. They paid the price so that you could have the freedom to get an education. Don’t ever forget it.’
By the way, this is a true story. And this teacher was awarded the Veterans of Foreign Wars Teacher of the Year for the Arkansas in 2006. She is the daughter of a WWII POW.
The words to this Irish hymn are pure religion, pure prayer and supplication. My book, ‘The Throne of David‘ is all about the history of Britain, Ireland and Scotland. It tells a tale of where they came from and what they are destined to become. How it is foretold that they will keep a man on the throne of David until the Savior returns to reign on the earth.
When they make a movie of my book, IF it is ever made, this is the song I want playing in the background to make it important. Because music speaks to our souls and this song speaks to mine.
Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art. Thou my best thought, by day or by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my wisdom, and Thou my true word; I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord; Thou my great Father, I Thy true son; Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Be Thou my battle shield, sword for the fight; Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight; Thou my soul’s shelter, Thou my high tower: Raise Thou me heavenward, O power of my power.
Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise, Thou mine inheritance, now and always: Thou and Thou only, first in my heart, High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of Heaven, my victory won, May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s sun! Heart of my own heart, whatever befall, Still be my vision, O ruler of all.
My grandfather was a stickler about being on time. Once when visiting them for the summer we all woke up late on a Sunday morning and everyone was frantically trying to get ready for church. We were just passing the point of no return – the point at which we couldn’t possibly be on time – when my grandfather made the announcement that he was not going to church if we were late.
My father shooed us into the waiting car in spite of all the hair brushing that still needed to be done and we tore out of the driveway behind my grandfathers car. That made an impression on me and his example helped make showing up on time a priority.
When our first child was born I had to re-adjust everything to keep timeliness as an important part of my life with kids. And then adjust again and again and again. If I hadn’t already decided that being on time was important it would have been easy to let it slip.
Now, I am not holding this up as the most important of the virtues, but I do think that showing up on time is a politeness to others. And it has to be a priority to happen.
Greg Savage, posted this no-holds-barred post about the importance of showing up on time. It may offend some, but take a breath and think about it for a minute. Think about it as a way to be thoughtful of others.
This post may offend some readers. But only because it’s going to cut close to the bone for many.
I don’t care if I sound old-fashioned, because actually it’s nothing to do with ‘fashion’ or ‘generation’. It’s got everything to do with basic good manners and respect for other people.
So here goes… How did it get to be “OK” for people to be late for everything?
Because as far as I am concerned, it’s not OK.
In recent years it seems that a meeting set to start at 9 am, for some people means in the general vicinity of any time which starts with the numeral ‘9’. Like 9.30 for example.
People drift in at 9.10 or 9.20, or even later. And they smile warmly at the waiting group, as they unwrap their bacon sandwich, apparently totally unconcerned that others have been there since five to nine, prepared and ready to start.
10 people kept waiting in a meeting for 20 minutes, while some selfish pratt who idles his way via the coffee shop, is actually 20 minutes times 10, which is 200 minutes wasted – while you keep us waiting because you did not catch the earlier bus. That is over 3 hours wasted. By you! How much has that cost the business? Shall I send you an invoice?
And an arrangement to meet someone for a business meeting at a coffee shop at 3 pm, more often than not means at 3.10 you get a text saying ‘I am five minutes away’ which inevitably means 10 minutes, and so you wait for 15 or 20 minutes, kicking your heels in frustration.
And often these ‘latecomers’ are people who have requested the meeting in the first place, are asking for your help, or are selling something. Fat chance, mate!
And it’s not only business.
Why do people, invited for a dinner party at 7.30, think its cool to arrive at 8.30? It’s rude. It’s inconsiderate. And it’s selfish, as I witnessed in a coffee shop near my home one weekend. Three “ladies who lunch” (a species not confined to, but heavily represented on, the lower North Shore of Sydney) were chatting loudly at the table next to me. One inquired what time the ‘drinks do’ was that night. The reply for all the world to hear was ‘Oh 7.30, but we won’t get there till 9 because by then it will have warmed up and all the interesting people will have arrived’. Nice. Imagine if everyone took that view. Cocktail parties would start at 3 am eventually.
Or a dinner at a restaurant where I was meeting two other couples. My wife was away, so I was flying solo. I arrived at two minutes to eight for an eight o’clock booking. At 8.20, I was into my second glass of Pinot and at half-past I got a text saying ‘on the way’. We finally were all seated at 8.45. There were not even attempted excuses from either of the two couples, who seemed oblivious to the fact I might actually have got there at the agreed time. Meanwhile I had put a huge dent in the bottle of Pinot, and was ready to go home.
And it is not that we lead ‘busy lives’. That’s a given, we all do, and it’s a cop out to use that as an excuse. It’s simply that some people no longer even pretend that they think your time is as important as theirs. And technology makes it worse. It seems texting or emailing that you are late somehow means you are no longer late.
You are rude. And inconsiderate.
And I act on it, too. My dentist kept me waiting 50 minutes not long ago. She has done it for years and years. But enough! I walked out, past a literally open-mouthed receptionist who had never seen a patient act on their frustration, only to get a frantic call from the dentist herself as I got into my car.
Sure she was “busy”, another patient took longer than she expected, blah blah.
But hold on, I am busy too! I would not keep her waiting 45 minutes if she came to see me as a candidate. And yet I am HER customer. I told her I have been coming to you for 15 years but don’t take me for granted. See fewer patients in a day if you have to, but see me on time or close to it. She has never kept me waiting again.
Me? Am I ever late? Sure, sometimes. That’s inevitable even with the best intentions. But I never plan to be late. I never ‘let time slide’ because my stuff is more important than yours.
I am not talking about the odd occasion of lateness. I am talking about people who are routinely late. In fact, never on time. You know who I am talking about!
And certainly I consider serial lateness a character flaw which I take into account when working out who to promote, who to hire and who to count among my real friends.
It has been my experience that the best solutions for problems tend to be simple. Simple equates to elegant, workable and effective. Not always, but generally. That said, when I read this article about depression and sadness it struck a cord within me and I knew I had to share it. Can something this simple work? I have no doubt.
I have been treating patients for almost 15 years, and one of the most successful exercises I use is so simple I am still struck by how effective it is.
The difficult part of this therapy is not doing the activity. It is making yourself believe that enough to put forth the effort to do it.
Often when I give this assignment to patients, they come back for two or three weeks afterward, still not having tried it. It seems too simple. But once they are convinced of the benefits of shifting their attention and thinking and understand how thoughts relate to brain function, they are more willing to try this simple bedtime ritual.
So what is the exercise?
Keep a pad of paper next to your bed and every night before you go to sleep, write down three things you liked about yourself that day.
In the morning, read the list before you get out of bed.
Do this everyday for 30 days.
These don’t have to be big things, they can be simple, such as I like that I held the door for my co-worker, or I like that I didn’t lose my temper in traffic today, or I like that I am making the effort to try this exercise even if I’m not sure it will work.
For someone who is depressed, this activity feels like a lot of effort. Why? Essentially, people with depression generally spend a good deal of time thinking about what they don’t like about themselves—and they have a hard time stopping.
The more time you spend thinking about something, the stronger it becomes in your mental space—and the easier it becomes to access. The more you think of something, the more it primes your brain to keep looking for similar things in your environment, it actually causes you to distort information in a way that matches up with your dominant thoughts.
Someone with depression who goes to a party might get ten compliments, but if one of the comments mentions his ‘interesting’ shirt it can cause the patient to fixate on the ambiguous comment and turn it into a stream of thinking like this: I wonder what was wrong with my shirt, I probably looked silly in it, I bet they all thought I looked like an idiot. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I ever get anything right? This is so humiliating. The rest of the compliments have long been forgotten.
So how does the exercise help?
This simple exercise builds the strength to disengage from negative thoughts. It helps you redirect attention to positive aspects of yourself; and retrains what your brain pays attention to.
As you do this, you not only start to become aware of more of your positive attributes, they become more available to you as you interpret events around you. Compliments become something you can hear and accept because they are more consistent with how you think of yourself. You start to interpret events in a less critical way. As you continue identifying what you like about yourself it will elevate your sense of self-worth and eventually, change how you see those around you as well.
But remember: Just as there is no physical benefit from understanding how to use a treadmill, there is no benefit in understanding how the exercise works. The benefit comes from actually doing the work.
This is so precious! No one asked us if we wanted to donate organs when our son died, and I don’t know how I would have felt about it then. But after reading this I know how I feel now. Isn’t it amazing how much we can learn from each other? Thank you Sarah.
When she found out early in her pregnancy that one of her identical twins would die at birth, Sarah Gray began a five-year journey that culminated last week in Philadelphia.
She had to carry the sick baby to term in order to protect his healthy twin. And she also looked into organ and tissue donation.
“Instead of thinking of our son as a victim,” she said, “I started thinking of him as a contributor to research, to science.”
On March 23, 2010, Thomas and Callum Gray were born at Fairfax Hospital in Virginia. Callum, perfect, was five pounds, 10 ounces. Thomas, four pounds, was born without part of his brain. His mother nursed him, diapered him, cradled him.
He died after six days – five years ago on Sunday. Within hours of Thomas’ death, his eyes and liver were recovered and sent – along with umbilical cord blood from him and his brother – to researchers.
But that wasn’t the end of it for Sarah Gray.
She often wondered – what became of his eyes, his blood, his liver?
The Grays had received a thank-you letter from the Washington regional transplant organization, telling them their son’s corneas had been sent to the Schepens Eye Research Institute in Boston, and his liver and the cord blood to Duke University in North Carolina.
Two years later, on a business trip to Boston, Sarah Gray called the eye institute, which is affiliated with Harvard Medical School.
“I donated my son’s eyes to your lab,” she said on the phone. “Can I come by for a tour?”
The receptionist said she had never had such a request. “I’m not sure who to transfer you to,” she said, “but don’t hang up!”
The next day, Gray met James Zieske, the institute’s senior scientist, who told her “infant eyes are worth their weight in gold,” because, being so young, they have great regenerative properties. Thomas’ corneas were used in a study that could one day help cure corneal blindness.
Thirteen more studies had cited that study. Gray felt a new emotion: pride.
Before leaving, she bought a Harvard T-shirt for Callum, and decided she was going to go with the whole family to North Carolina, where Thomas’ liver and the cord blood had been sent.
Zieske also wrote her: “Your visit helped to remind me that all the eyes we receive are an incredibly generous gift from someone who loved and cared about the person who provided the eyes. I thank you for reminding me of this.”
A few months later in 2012, the Grays went to the Duke Center for Human Genetics in Durham, N.C., where even though the twins were identical, scientists found epigenetic differences in their cord blood, research that could one day help prevent Thomas’ fatal defect, anencephaly.
Sarah Gray bought Callum a Duke T-shirt.
The couple then drove down to the road to visit Cytonet, a biotech company that had used their baby’s liver in a trial to determine the best temperature to freeze liver tissue.
Already in the nonprofit public relations field, Sarah Gray became director of marketing for the American Association of Tissue Banks.
Her mantra has become donate, donate, donate, and not just for transplant, but also for research. Even if nobody asks you – doctors are often uncomfortable when a child is dying – bring it up yourself, she says.
At a conference last summer, by coincidence, Gray learned that the Old Dominion Eye Bank in North Chesterfield, Va., had shipped Thomas’ retinas to Philadelphia.
She couldn’t believe she’d never known this. She immediately wrote to the researcher at the University of Pennsylvania who used the donation in her efforts to cure retinoblastoma, the most common form of eye cancer in children.
Two days later, Gray got a reply from Arupa Ganguly, who runs the lab and is a genetics professor at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.
“It is almost impossible to obtain normal retina from a child,” Ganguly wrote. “The sample from Thomas is extremely precious for us.”
Ganguly sent Callum a Penn T-shirt.
They arranged to meet last Monday.
First, Sarah, Ross, and Callum Gray went to the National Disease Research Interchange in Center City, which Sarah Gray calls “the Match.com of science.” The interchange connects hospitals that supply organs and tissue with researchers who request it.
“This seems to have brought you a lot of peace and joy,” Bill Leinweber, the interchange’s president and CEO, told Sarah. “You’ve been such a strong advocate for research and such an eloquent spokesperson for the value of research.”
After a visit there, the Gray family went to Penn to meet Ganguly and tour her lab.
Sarah Gray saw the marbled composition book in which the receipt of retinas was logged on March 30, 2010, the 360th specimen to be received. They became “RES 360,” short for Research 360.
“Is this the log book?” she asked. “Oh, my gosh.”
Gray ran her index finger over the cursive of Jennifer Yutz, the lab manager who recorded the entry.
“Ross, look at this! Med 360!”
Her husband took a look. Callum, then 4, hugged an inflatable Godzilla as tall as he is, a gift from Ganguly, bouncing it on the lab floor.
“Wow,” Sarah Gray continued. “Can I Xerox this?”
“We have a copy for you,” Ganguly said.
Penn also gave the Grays a copy of the Fed Ex packing slip confirming arrival, which Sarah Gray said she would “treasure like a war medal.”
Thomas’ retina tissue is so rare, so precious, Ganguly and her team are still saving some of it for future research. Ganguly’s staff led Sarah Gray into the hallway, where a refrigerator, innocuous and ordinary, stood across from student lockers. Yutz unlocked it.
Inside were hundreds of 1.5 milliliter tubes – smaller than cigarette filters.
Yutz pointed to two.
“There it is,” Yutz said.
“Oh my gosh!” Gray said. She couldn’t touch them. The tubes were frozen at minus-80 degrees centigrade (minus-112 Fahrenheit).
“It’s the RNA isolated from the retina tissue,” Yutz said.
Call it what you will, that was a piece of Thomas Gray, her son.
Ross Gray has long supported his wife’s journey.
“It helped her get over the loss,” he said. “It was part of the healing process, seeing that there’s still research going on five years after. His life was worthwhile. He’s brought a lot of good to the world.”
“The way I see it,” Sarah Gray said, “our son got into Harvard, Duke, and Penn. He has a job. He is relevant to the world. I only hope my life can be as relevant.”
Without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing gear of any kind, two brothers—Jimmy, age 14, and John, age 19 attempted to scale a sheer canyon wall in Snow Canyon State Park in southern Utah. Near the top of their laborious climb, they discovered that a protruding ledge denied them their final few feet of ascent. They could not get over it, but neither could they now retreat from it. They were stranded. After careful maneuvering, John found enough footing to boost his younger brother to safety on top of the ledge. But there was no way to lift himself. The more he strained to find finger or foot leverage, the more his muscles began to cramp. Panic started to sweep over him, and he began to fear for his life.
Unable to hold on much longer, John decided his only option was to try to jump vertically in an effort to grab the top of the overhanging ledge. If successful, he might, by his considerable arm strength, pull himself to safety.
In his own words, he said:
“Prior to my jump I told Jimmy to go search for a tree branch strong enough to extend down to me, although I knew there was nothing of the kind on this rocky summit. It was only a desperate ruse. If my jump failed, the least I could do was make certain my little brother did not see me falling to my death.
“Giving him enough time to be out of sight, I said my last prayer—that I wanted my family to know I loved them and that Jimmy could make it home safely on his own—then I leapt. There was enough adrenaline in my spring that the jump extended my arms above the ledge almost to my elbows. But as I slapped my hands down on the surface, I felt nothing but loose sand on flat stone. I can still remember the gritty sensation of hanging there with nothing to hold on to—no lip, no ridge, nothing to grab or grasp. I felt my fingers begin to recede slowly over the sandy surface. I knew my life was over.
“But then suddenly, like a lightning strike in a summer storm, two hands shot out from somewhere above the edge of the cliff, grabbing my wrists with a strength and determination that belied their size. My faithful little brother had not gone looking for any fictitious tree branch. Guessing exactly what I was planning to do, he had never moved an inch. He had simply waited—silently, almost breathlessly—knowing full well I would be foolish enough to try to make that jump. When I did, he grabbed me, held me, and refused to let me fall. Those strong brotherly arms saved my life that day as I dangled helplessly above what would surely have been certain death.”
Is there someone who needs your arms to hold onto? Someone who needs your friendship and acceptance? We have the power to show forth the love of our Savior and by so doing save them as surely as the young boy in the story of the rock climbers saved his older brother. We have the power to give unselfishly to those we love like the older brother did.
People like to send me obituaries – I suppose it is my fault because of what I named my blog. Reading them always causes me to reflect on the uniqueness of each one of us. In the grand scheme of things we could feel small and unimportant but the dignity of love and life rubs off on our lives. Makes each individual of infinite worth. Especially people who live and die like this:
Purmort, Aaron Joseph age 35, died peacefully at home on November 25 after complications from a radioactive spider bite that led to years of crime-fighting and a years long battle with a nefarious criminal named Cancer, who has plagued our society for far too long. Civilians will recognize him best as Spider-Man, and thank him for his many years of service protecting our city. His family knew him only as a kind and mild-mannered Art Director, a designer of websites and t-shirts, and concert posters who always had the right cardigan and the right thing to say (even if it was wildly inappropriate). Aaron was known for his long, entertaining stories, which he loved to repeat often. In high school, he was in the band The Asparagus Children, which reached critical acclaim in the northern suburbs. As an adult, he graduated from the College of Visual Arts (which also died an untimely death recently) and worked in several agencies around Minneapolis, settling in as an Interactive Associate Creative Director at Colle + McVoy. Aaron was a comic book aficionado, a pop-culture encyclopedia and always the most fun person at any party. He is survived by… first wife Gwen Stefani, current wife Nora and their son Ralph, who will grow up to avenge his father’s untimely death.
I am sure that this little boy will grow up knowing that his father loved him, that he took the time to say goodbye in a way that also said ‘this is who I am’.
This man was not overly concerned with himself and his death, but rather, he seems to have been able to shift into a sublime unselfishness and concern for others. On another level, I doubt his wife will be able to top this guy as a husband. I hope she has a group of friends that figure out how to cushion the blow of his death with their love and companionship.
Not all of us are given the gift of knowing that the end is coming. So, we will just have to figure out how to live so that our loved ones will truly miss us when we go.
What will your obituary say?
The truth is, you are writing it in the hearts of your loved ones now.
Marriage, like parenting, has to be experienced to be understood. Most people default to preparing for the wedding since it is a once in a lifetime celebration, and hope for the best afterward.
How should we prepare for marriage? Is it possible to prepare?
I have found that when both parties come to marriage with an understanding that it will take work to succeed, it helps.
When both are poised to both forgive and repent of weaknesses and mistakes, love can flourish.
When the couple leans on God and His understanding and patience, their faith in God can support the marriage until they have roots deep enough to feed the marriage as well.
In any case, we can plead for the guidance of the spirit of the Lord to forgive wrongs, overcome faults and to strengthen relationships. Over and over and over, until weak things become strong and we find ourselves more in love than when we began our journey together.
Unselfishness, commitment and faith are the bedrock principles solid enough to support the structure of a great marriage. No matter how you begin the adventure of marriage, returning to these principles again and again will bear the fruit of happiness and love.
Women and men think differently, no surprise, but this video lays out just how men think when viewing a woman in a bikini – it is just how they are wired and if women want them to think of us with respect we need to realize how their brains work. Great topic, great information, great takeaways!
We all have a story to tell, the story of our life. All that we have experienced, all that we have learned and everyone we have loved – the knowledge we have gained will be lost if we don’t leave some sort of record.
But, we are not all writers and we do not all have the time (or inclination) to craft a story to share. What if you could write your story in a methodical way, over the course of a year?
Someone has come up with 52 great questions that will, when answered, be a comprehensive and interesting, record of your life.
Each week for a year, answer one of these questions. Write a little, write a lot. Don’t worry about how much you write, just write something. The questions do not need to be answered in any particular order.
Come with me on a year-long writing journey. Your children and grand-children will know you. It will be a valuable legacy and a gift that will bind you to them.
I am starting this project on June 1st, why don’t you come along with me? I have made a promise to my grand-children that I will spend an hour every Sunday afternoon making a record of my life and hope that they will be able to learn from my experiences. That they will see who their grandmother was and improve on what I have begun.
What is your full name? Explain why your parents gave you that name. When and where were you born? Describe your home, your neighborhood, and the town you grew up in. What memories do you have of your father (his name, birth date, birthplace, parents, etc.)? What memories do you have of your mother (her name, birth date, birthplace, parents, etc.)? What kind of work did your parents do (farmer, salesman, manager, seamstress, nurse, stay-at-home mom, professional, laborer, and so on)? Have any of your family members died? If so, explain what they died from and what you remember of their death; the circumstances of their death. What kind of hardships or tragedies did your family experience while you were growing up? Are there any obvious or unusual genetic traits that run in your family line? What are the names of your brothers and sisters? Describe traits and memories that stand out in your mind about each of your siblings. What are some of your family traditions that you remember? Did your family have special ways of celebrating specific holidays? Share some memories of your grandparents. Did your grandparents live close by? If so, describe how they were involved in your life. If they lived far away share some memories of visiting them or of them traveling to visit you. Who were your aunts and uncles? Write about any of your aunts or uncles who really stand out in your mind. Give some details about them (names, personalities, events that you remember doing with them, and so on). Where did you go to school? Give some details about what was school like for you and some of your memorable experiences. What were your favorite subjects in school? Explain why. What subjects did you like the least? Explain why. Who were some of your friends in school? Explain what your friends were like and what they are doing today if you know that. If you went to college or a vocational school, what school did you attend? Describe what memories you have of those years and what subjects you studied. What do you see as your greatest strengths? What were some of the challenges you have had to deal with in your life? What medical issues have you had to deal with throughout your life? Was religion an important for you and your family? If so, explain what religion your family practiced and what it meant to you. Explain if it is or is not an important part of your life today. What foods do you like and dislike? Describe any food allergies you or other family members had. Were there two or three food dishes your mother or father made that were especially memorable? How did you meet your spouse? What was your courtship like? Describe your marriage day. Share some stories about your spouse. How many children do you have? List their names and share a few memories about each one. Describe some of the major community, national, and world events you lived through. How did these events change your life? What are some of your life philosophies or life views that you would share with others? What are some of the personal values that are very important to you? Share some examples of what have you done and what are you doing now to teach these values to your children, grandchildren and others. List at least five people who have had a memorable influence on your life. What did they do that had such an influence on you? What are 20 things about yourself that make you uniquely you. What are 50 things that you are grateful for. What is your philosophy on money. If you could spend a day with any famous person in the world, who would it be, and what would you do during your day with him or her? What scares you? What makes you stop and go “Wow!”? What are some of the things you enjoy doing in your leisure time? If you could go back in time and spend an hour visiting with yourself at age 15, what would you tell your younger self? What are some of your talents? Explain how you discovered them and what you have done to cultivate and improve them. Describe how your talents have they affected your life. What did you do for a career? Explain how you chose that career. What were some of the jobs you had throughout your life and what were some of the memorable experiences you had with these jobs? What are 5 significant events or experiences in your life, and explain what effects they have had on you. What are some of the life lessons that you have learned and would like to pass on to your descendants? In how many places have you lived during your lifetime? Provide a brief description of each place you’ve lived, why you lived there, and why you moved. If someone gave you $10,000 and told you that you could NOT give it to any of your friends, family members or use it for yourself, what would you do with it? If you could go back in time and do things over again, what would you change? When all is said and done, what do you want to be remembered for? Write about what you are doing now to create a legacy worthy of remembering. If you were to leave 5 different bits of advice for your future posterity, what would they be? Have you traveled to any place outside of your home country? If so, explain the reasons for your trip(s) and what memorable things happened on some of those trips. If a newspaper wanted to do a story about you, what would the story be about? What were some of the popular fads you experienced during your life? How did you spend your summers? What were some of your more memorable vacations? Did you ever have pets? If so, tell us about them. List 20 things you think the world would be better off without.
Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago . Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.
Capone had a lawyer nicknamed “Easy Eddie.” He was Capone’s lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddie’s skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.
To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block.
Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.
Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object.
And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.
Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn’t give his son; he couldn’t pass on a good name or a good example.
One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done.
He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al “Scarface” Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. So, he testified.
Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.
The poem read:
“The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still.”
Story number two.
World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare.
He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.
One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank.
He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship.
His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.
As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet.
The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.
Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber’s blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.
Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.
Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.
Deeply relieved, Butch O’Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier.
Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft This took place on February 20, 1942 , and for that action Butch became the Navy’s first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Medal of Honor.
A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O’Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.
So, the next time you find yourself at O’Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch’s memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor. It’s located between Terminals 1 and 2.
So,what do these two stories have to do with each other?
Butch O’Hare was “Easy Eddie’s” son.
Grand gestures and tiny decisions, sometimes it is just a matter of asking ourselves – what is the right thing to do? Once that question is asked, it cannot be unasked.
It has been my experience that we do not know how to talk about death and because of that lack, our children suffer. How we address the experience of one of life’s dark moments is central to what we believe and the highlights the health of our faith. I wrote a little book on death last year, my attempt to help parents as they answer questions children naturally ask. I wrote it because I couldn’t find another book of quality, one that addressed death in a way that meshed with my beliefs. But, I have since found this book – The Heart and the Bottle by author Oliver Jeffers. It is a minimalist work of art.
The book tells the story of a little girl, we meet her and learn about her as we watch her read books with her dad.
We as we turn pages we are taken along on the father/daughter adventures until we finally turn a page and find the father gone. His chair is empty and the little girl is alone.
The little girl’s world turns dark, and the author doesn’t waste words explaining things to us. We are just caught up in his artwork and the emotions of the little girl.
The little girl solves the problem of her grief by trying to protect her heart against future hurt.
She puts her heart into a bottle.
We watch as the little girl soon finds out that protecting her heart limits her ability to love and feel alive.
She stopped wondering about the world around her. Stopped noticing the beauties of the stars and the ocean. She locked away her curiosity.
One day, when the little girl had grown up she was walking on the beach again and found herself watching another little girl. One who was still filled with childish curiosity.
She finally decides to take her heart out of the bottle, but she cannot get it out.
She threw it off a wall and it bounced down to the beach, right to a little girl that figured out how to set the heart free.
The heart got back to where it belonged and the woman learned to be open to love and the world again.
This book belongs on every book shelf. And, it not only belongs on the shelf it needs to be read again and again. Celebrated and embraced. This is my new go-to gift for those who are experiencing grief and pain. Beautiful!
With every breath, every beat of my heart, every fiber of my being, I believe that death is nothing. Getting there might be scary and heartbreaking, but death is just like walking through a door, from one room to another. We are still the same, we do laugh at all the same jokes. Just because we are out of sight doesn’t mean that we are out of mind.
I used to believe that but since our little son died I know it. It is not a matter of faith for me any more. There are times I feel Dale close to me, watching over me. There are times when I feel his love for me tremble on the air. There are days I hear whispers of ‘mother’ all around me.
Those who have preceded us in death watch over us, pray for us, laugh at us and grieve with us. Nothing has changed except the space we inhabit.
Death Is Nothing At All – All is well
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Whatever we were to each other, we still are.
Please, call me by my old familiar name.
Speak of me in the same easy way you always did.
Laugh, as we always laughed, at the little jokes we shared together.
Think of me and smile.
Let my name be the household name it always was,
Spoken without the shadow of a ghost in it.
Life means all it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
Death is inevitable, so why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, – for an interval very near.
Nothing is past or lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before,
Only better and happier.
All is well.
Most of us tend to define life in terms of our mortal, physical bodies. However, when we stop and think about it shouldn’t life really be seen in a big picture kind of way? Our spirits, our souls, existed before we were born and are an eternal creation. We will continue to live even after our bodies have died.
Audrey Curtis, a urogynecological surgeon, explains why she believes.
“When you ask people about the most amazing or memorable experience they’ve had in life, many will point to the birth of a child. Regardless of culture or religion, birth is universally a magical, spiritual experience.
As a urogynecological surgeon, I have seen the entry into life many times. It is a feeling like nothing else. But I also continue to see women through all phases of their lives. I’ve seen many through their pregnancies, through a time they’ve lost a child, or through a time later in life when they’ve lost a spouse. It’s the inevitable course of life.
Sometimes, too, I have the responsibility to deliver a message about them—that this is it. It’s a diagnosis that will mean the end of their life. And you know what? People don’t start talking about how “I never went to Europe” or “I didn’t get to buy the bigger house.”
They talk about experiences that are fairly universal: personal setbacks, hard things in their lives, changes they didn’t necessarily want. But there’s also a flip side, things that bring joy: a trip with a spouse, a week spent with grandchildren, a grown child’s success. Those are the things that light up people the most. Invariably, when my patients are faced with their own impending death, they talk about a relationship with someone they love.
When I share the belief that “one day, you will be able to see those people again, and it will be an incredibly joyful reunion,” there are only a handful of people who don’t accept that. I think there is a universal human desire to hope. I think it’s part of our divine makeup that we feel there’s something more.
It seems to me that during that moment when someone is passing, a door opens for just a brief moment for that person to go, and we who remain can sense a connection with something greater. I find that many people experience a sense of hope along with the loss.
It’s my profession to bring life into this world and prolong it while we are here. But when a treatment is not successful, when the medicine is not working, the only thing I have left to give is my voice of encouragement. Some physicians I know choose to disengage with patients, I suppose because it is difficult to come to grips with death and pain. But having perspective on the purpose of this life helps me. When someone gets a bad diagnosis, it is all part of the plan. Death is necessary, but it is not the end.
I have no doubt about where I’m going after life. And I feel comfort that when we die, yes, we’ll be saying good-bye to some for a short time, but we’ll also be saying hello again to others. I will be returning to people who I will be thrilled to see again. This life is simply part of a journey, and that journey doesn’t end.”
It is so hard sometimes to miss those who have preceded us in death and I wonder if they miss us as much as we miss them. Or are they watching over us and rooting for us as we navigate this obstacle course called life.
My belief in the reality of heaven and understanding that Dale is still a part of my life helps me to be brave in the face of danger or heartache, helps me to remember who I am and why I am here and ultimately, helps me to be the best person know how to be.
This life will seem like a small moment someday, when we have fought a good fight and finished our course. Shall we not go on in so great a cause? Just for today, let us live as if this were our last day on the earth. With joy, forgiveness and peace.
“Death is a mere comma, not an exclamation point. Since this life is such a brief experience, there must be regular exit routes. Some easy, some hard, some sudden, others lingering. Therefore, we can’t presume, even by faith, to block all these exits all the time, and for all people. Nor if possessed of full eternal perspective, would we desire to do so.”
“Patience is tied very closely to faith in our Heavenly Father. Actually, when we are unduly impatient, we are suggesting that we know what is best—better than does God. Or, at least, we are asserting that our timetable is better than His. We can grow in faith only if we are willing to wait patiently for God’s purposes and patterns to unfold in our lives, on His timetable.”
“Faith in God includes Faith in God’s timing.”
“To be cheerful when others are in despair, to keep the faith when others falter, to be true even when we feel forsaken—all of these are deeply desired outcomes during the deliberate, divine tutorials which God gives to us—because He loves us. These learning experiences must not be misread as divine indifference. Instead, such tutorials are a part of the divine unfolding.”
“If we are serious about our discipleship, Jesus will eventually request each of us to do those very things which are most difficult for us to do.”
“Coming unto the Lord is not a negotiation, but a surrender.”
These quotes, from Neal A. Maxwell, stand as sentinels over my thoughts. Words can be very powerful when combined with an open heart. They can be even more compelling when combined with action.
I know that there are those who need encouragement this day, take heart! The Lord is on your side.
Emily McDowell was diagnosed with Stage 3 Hodgkin’s lymphoma at age the tender age of 24. She spent nine months fighting it with chemo and radiation, her cancer is now in remission.
“The most difficult part of my illness wasn’t losing my hair, or being called ‘sir’ by a Starbucks barista, or even the sickness from chemo,” McDowell writes. “It was the loneliness and isolation I felt when many of my close friends and family members disappeared because they didn’t know what to say, or said the absolute wrong thing without realizing it.”
The emotional impact of the experience simmered and finally inspired her to design a series of Empathy Cards—flat out blunt cards that say the everything she wished someone would have said when she was so sick.
She and I both hope that her cards will provide “better, more authentic ways to communicate about sickness and suffering” between patients and friends and loved ones suffering illness of any kind. They are earnest and funny, without a single word of false cheer.
‘Get well soon’ cards can feel like a slap in the face when you seriously might not get well at all, and cards that contain black humor really aren’t funny when you are walking the lonely path of illness.
As she was designing these empathy cards, her goal was to help people connect through truth and insight. She wants the recipients of the cards to feel seen, understood and loved.
It is hard to know what to say to someone who is in anguish, and although I should know better I still find myself saying stupid, thoughtless things and regretting it later. How I love these cards, these sentiments! When I am suffering, please honor my distress with a card expressing your love and understanding. And don’t forget the hug….you can find the cards by Emily McDowell here.
Andrew White lives in Baghdad and serves as the vicar of St George’s Church. He has been dubbed “Vicar of Baghdad”, because his church is the only remaining Anglican church in Iraq. His people refer to him as their Aboona or father. His main aim to gain the trust of key religious leaders on both sides in various conflicts in the area.
Lately though, his role has been as witness the killing of Christians in the middle east.
He is not immune to danger, having been hijacked, kidnapped, locked up in rooms with bits of fingers and toes. He has been held at gunpoint, been attacked. Many of his staff have been kidnapped or killed, with 11 of his staff murdered in a single year.
He has 35 armed guards assigned to protect him.
Five days ago he reported that ISIS is less than two miles away from the Christian community he is protecting. Here is what he reported.
“The Islamist group (ISIS) just took over Quaragosh, the biggest Christian city in Iraq. There are hundreds of men, women and children that are being beheaded. The people of Quaragosh are asking for prayers to be made on their behalf concerning the ongoing atrocity in their country. Please take one minute to pray for them. Pass the message across to all your contacts so that the prayer chain will not be broken. They asked for this special prayer. Please, ensure you pass across the prayer request to the body of Christ for fervent prayers offered on behalf of the brothers, sisters and children in Iraq. This is an urgent SOS. May God bless you. From Andrew White the Vicar of Baghdad.”
He later reported that he “has lost count of the number of church members I have lost” to ISIS. “We are talking about thousands of people,” he said. “They kill children as well. They turned up to one of our church members and said if he did not agree to convert to Islam they would kill his five children.”
The father of these children phoned the vicar asking if God would forgive him for advising his children to convert to Islam to save their lives. The next day ISIS knocked on his door and didn’t ask the father, but asked each child if they would follow Mohammed. Each of them replied ‘never’ and the men shot them all dead.
I think of my children, still sleeping in our peaceful home. I think of what I am going to do today – buy our yearly pool passes, go to the grocery store and the library.
But before I do all that I will kneel before our maker and pray for my brothers and sisters in Christ who are dying because they will not deny their faith. There is no way for us to reach out and help them from here, but we can care, we can pray and we can strengthen our resolve to keep the faith ourselves.
And, I will tell their story to my children and help them to understand the perils and glories of living in the last days.
Will you join me in prayer for these people today?
I grew up in Maryland, which, although they fought for the North in the Civil War, was in no way, shape or form a Northern state. There are many Southern customs I have embraced regarding death and funerals, but I understand that not everyone was taught how to act during times of grief. One of these little understood traditions is the funeral procession.
For some reason a funeral brings out the best in Southerners. It showcases their commitment to family, no matter how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other, and it demonstrates their loyalty to friends when there is a need for sympathy and kindness. Although it is tough to experience the loss of a loved one, it is the support of family and friends left behind that makes it just a little easier to bear.
Perhaps the most famous historical story involving Southern funeral etiquette involves a Civil War General Joseph E. Johnston. Johnston had surrendered to General Sherman at the end of the war and had been so impressed with Sherman’s magnanimity that he would not allow an unkind thing to be said about his former enemy for the rest of his life.
When Sherman died, Johnston was asked to be a pallbearer in the General’s funeral. As is common for a public figure, Sherman’s funeral procession proceeded through the streets of New York City. Johnston walked along the casket with his hat in his hand. The freezing temperatures and rain caused fellow mourners to advise Johnston to wear his hat. Johnston replied, “If I were in his place and he standing here in mine, he would not put on his hat.” He ended up coming down with pneumonia and died several weeks later.
Johnson’s refusal to wear his hat was a symbol of his deep respect for his friend and mere convenience was not a good enough reason to put his hat on during the funeral procession.
Pulling your car over to the side of the road when you see a funeral procession is a sign of respect. You can tell who was brought up in the South when a funeral procession passes by, those raised in the south pull their car over to the side of the road. Some get out and stand respectfully as the cars pass.
Someday, we’ll all be a part of a funeral procession. Here is what you should know about that event.
After the funeral, everyone will get in their cars and proceed as a group to the cemetery. The cars will follow behind the hearse. Turn on your headlights and emergency blinkers and closely follow the car in front of you. The procession will drive slower than the speed limit. If the procession starts through a light while it’s green and it turns red by the time you get to it, keep on going. State laws allow funeral processions to drive through red lights and stop signs.
As a normal driver, when you come upon a funeral procession, do your best to let them pass and stay together. Do not try to cut into the procession. If safe, pull to the side of the road and let the line keep going. In the old days, men got out of their cars and doffed their hats while the procession passed. That is probably too dangerous on our modern roads, but it is a nice thought.
Never race to get in front of a procession, or break into the line of cars to make a turn. Cars in the procession usually have their lights on and a small sign in the front window indicating they are traveling together.
It is easy to understand how these traditions never took hold in large cities or in the North, there are just too many cars and too little space in New York, for instance, for people to pull over to the side of the road every time a funeral procession passes by. No matter where we live, or how we were raised, we can show our respect for those traveling to the cemetery in a funeral procession. Like the general, we can offer our good manners as a sign of our respect for those who are grieving a death.
As I look at the world around me, both in St. Louis and farther abroad, I see commotion and uncertainty and a lack of love. I can’t help but wonder what I can do about it, what we can do about it. I have come to the conclusion that what I can do is pray. In Australia, a team of leaders are calling on the nations of the world to fast and pray for the United States. This period of prayer will begin on April 30 and will continue through May 6, 2015.
April 30 is America’s Day of Repentance, and May 7 is the National Day of Prayer. April 30 is the 226th anniversary of George Washington’s inauguration as president and the 152nd anniversary of Lincoln’s Day of ‘Humiliation, Prayer and Fasting’ held during the Civil War.
The theme for the National Day of Prayer on 7 May, 2015 ‘Lord Hear Our Cry’ and is taken from 1 Kings 8:28: ‘Give attention to your servant’s prayer and his pleas for mercy, Lord my God. Hear the cry and the prayer that your servant is praying in your presence this day.’
“We in Australia believe it is our turn to bless the nation of America and pray for healing for the USA through prayer and fasting. We in Australia are grateful for the protection that America gave Australia and the nations of the free world during World War II. The 1942 Battle of the Coral Sea, led by the USA, was the turning point in the Second World War for Australia.”
“We are calling the nations of the world to join in prayer and fasting with our brothers and sisters in Christ. We are hoping for over 100 nations to join us in prayer and fasting.”
“There is a fight for the destiny of the USA now. The destiny of America hangs in the balance. The Lord is calling His people to arise and pray for the United States of America. It is time to contend.”
I hope that there are millions of us, here in America, that will join with the people of Australia in dedicating themselves to fasting and prayer this next week.
There is power in faith and prayer and the Lord looks upon the sacrifice of fasting with compassion and love. It is not weakness when we turn to the Lord. I pray that we might find answers to the perplexing problems of the world, peace in the midst of unrest and increased love for our fellowmen as we humble ourselves in prayer.
Thank you Australia, for turning to God at this time and uniting your prayers in our behalf!
I have never had a problem with aging, I was too busy to stop and hang on to youth. Now that I have hit the halfway mark I look in the mirror and see my mother and know exactly what is coming down the pike. It won’t be long before I look in the mirror and see my grandmother! Today I am celebrating growing older. I recently read an article by a 90-year-old woman about the 42 lessons life teaches and thought I would share it.
1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short – enjoy it.
4. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and family will.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don’t have to win every argument.
7. Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.
8. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
9. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
10. Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present.
11. It’s OK to let your children see you cry.
12. Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
13. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn’t be in it…
14 Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
15. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful. Clutter weighs you down in many ways.
16. Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.
17. It’s never too late to be happy. But it’s all up to you and no one else.
18. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don’t take no for an answer.
19. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
20. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
21. Be eccentric now. Don’t wait for old age to wear purple.
22. The most important sex organ is the brain.
23. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
24. Frame every so-called disaster with these words ‘In five years, will this matter?’
25. Always choose life.
26. Forgive but don’t forget.
27. What other people think of you is none of your business.
28. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
29. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
30. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
31. Believe in miracles.
32. Don’t audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
33. Growing old beats the alternative — dying young.
34. Your children get only one childhood.
35. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
36. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
37. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab our own back.
38. Envy is a waste of time. Accept what you already have not what you need.
39. The best is yet to come…
40. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
42. Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.
What you are seeing in this video is the annual mid-morning siren on the Jewish Day of Remembrance, during which all activity in all of Israel stops for a full two minutes. It is an act of respect, for the victims and the heroes and witnesses of the Holocaust. It is a display of duty. There is something much more than just a passive remembrance happening for people as they stop their cars in the street, get out, and stand in silence.
April 16 was the Day of Remembrance in 2015. There were documentaries about the holocaust on television, and there were many official ceremonies. But perhaps the most remarkable event of all is this remembrance. That at a certain time, sirens sounded everywhere, and an entire nation came to a standstill.
Workers stopped working. Pedestrians stopped where they were and most bowed their heads in remembrance. Cars and buses pulled over, and their drivers and passengers got out. As one, they all bowed their heads for two minutes in remembrance of the six million Jews killed by the Nazis in World War II.
In Israel, the phrase “Never again” is not just a political slogan. It’s a personal pledge, both to those who were slaughtered and to their own children and grandchildren. The pledge they confirm by repeating ‘Never again’ is why Israel will stand alone if need be to stop Iran from building nuclear weapons, in the face of the world’s condemnation. They say ‘Never again’ because they have lived through this before. And they remember that six million of their people did not.
It has happened to other people since WWII, it is happening now to Christians in the middle east. And it is evident that just saying the words ‘never again’ is not enough.
I believe, and I believe it with all of my heart, that these days have been foretold by prophets. That our days are truly ‘the last days’. That Christ will return to the earth, in power and glory and that peace will reign with him as he sits upon the throne of David. Until then, it has been prophesied that our times will be filled with contention and strife.
What can we do?
It is important to remember. To be an example of a believer. To stand for right. To preach peace. To share with the poor and to lift the poor in spirit.
I, personally, have pledged to re-read the commandments that Moses brought down from Mt. Sinai today. To seek to re-enthrone the values found in those commandments in my life and to call upon God to remember us, as we remember Him. With God, and only as we stand with Him, will right prevail!
When our son died in 1986 it was sudden, one minute he was laughing and calling me ‘Ann’ and the next he was cold and still and irretrievably gone. For a long time I clung to the thought that it would have all been easier to bear if he had gotten sick and sicker, if we had been given time to say goodbye. Watching other parents go through a long, drawn out process of watching their children die, I learned better.
The lessons we learned from his death are innumerable, Dale had nothing to learn and so it was good, in every way, that the process was quick.
I recently read a book by Bronnie Ware, she writes about the many years she worked in palliative care. Her patients were those who had gone home to die. She shared some solemn days with her patients and was with them for the last weeks of their lives. She learned that people grow in incredible ways when they are faced with their own mortality.
Bronnie grew a lot as well and learned never to underestimate the innate human capacity for growth, some changes she witnessed were phenomenal. Each patient experienced a variety of emotions and every single patient found peace before they departed, every one of them.
When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:
1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honored even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.
It is very important to try to honor at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realize, until they no longer have it.
2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard. This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.
By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings. Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.
We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends. Often they would not truly realize the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.
It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier. This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realize until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again. When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.
You have been given the great gift of another day on this earth. Go and live today doing the most important things and making memories that will last forever!
The art of refining silver is exacting and personal. The refiner must sit close to the furnace, feeling the blast of the brutal heat along with the material being purified.
The timing of the refining is unique to each measure of silver or gold. Depending upon the heat of the furnace and the amount of dross to be burned away.
With eyes steadily fixed on the furnace, the silver is carefully watched. Time in the furnace must be calculated moment by moment. If left in too long the silver will be injured. If taken out too early, it won’t be purified.
One refiner of silver commented. “When the silver is in the fire, I focus. I don’t let anything distract me. I watch the silver, carefully waiting for the right moment to take it out.”
“When is the right moment?”
“I know it is pure when I see my face reflected in the silver.”
It is important that we, as children of God, understand the purpose of life. When we have the right perception of the nature of God and our relationship to Him, we will have a greater understanding of God’s workings among us.
At times, when caught up in the sorrows and tribulations of life, we reach out to God and pray for deliverance, for relief. We say, in essence, ‘Help me, heal me, rescue me!’ We turn to God, as we should.
Some of the sweetest moments in life happen as a result of those pleading prayers, but sometimes He doesn’t seem to hear. He doesn’t come and doesn’t work miracles.
The Lord is the great silversmith, an eternal purifier of silver. When you feel the heat of the furnace, try to imagine our Savior as He watches and carefully considers the purity of the silver, of us.
His job isn’t to always rescue us. His job is to purify. He holds us to the heat until just the right moment. His understanding is vast. His love is eternal and his vision for us is magnificent. When times of trial come be still and know that God is watching over you, waiting to see a reflection of His very own countenance.
It won’t be easy, but then what else but extreme heat will purify gold or silver? Trust in God and there will come a time that you will understand why the heat was necessary.
After Emily Phillips was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, she decided she wasn’t going to let anyone else have the last say. Penning your own obituary is a brilliant move.
I don’t want to do this yet, knock on wood, but I hope to do the same when it is my time to go. Here are Emily’s last words:
This might be a good time to mend fences.
I apologize for making sweet Bonnie wear No Frills jeans when she was little and for “red-shirting” Scott in kindergarten. Apparently each of these things was humiliating to them but both were able to rise above their shame and become very successful adults. I’d also like to apologize to Mary Ann for tearing up her paper dolls and to Betsy for dating a guy she had a crush on.
Just when I thought I was too old to fall in love again, I became a grandmother, and my five grand-angels stole not only my heart, but also spent most of my money.
Sydney Elizabeth, Jacob McKay, and Emma Grace have enriched my life more than words can say. Sydney’s “one more, no more” when she asked for a cookie; Jake saying he was “sick as a cat” when I’d said that someone else was sick as a dog; and Emma cutting her beautiful long hair and then proceeding to shave off one of her eyebrows…Yes, these are a few of my favorite things. They’re treasures that are irreplaceable and will go with me wherever my journey takes me.
I’ve always maintained that my greatest treasures call me Nana. That’s not exactly true. You see, the youngest of my grand-angels, William Fisher and Charlie Jackson call me “Nana Banana”. (Thank you Chris and Scott for having such spunky children.) These two are also apt to insist that I “get their hiney” whenever I visit, and since I’m quite skilled in that area , I’ve always been able to oblige. (I actually hold the World’s Record for “Hiney Getting,” a title that I wear with pride.)
Speaking of titles…I’ve held a few in my day. I’ve been a devoted daughter, an energetic teenager, a WCU graduate (summa cum laude), a loving wife, a comforting mother, a dedicated teacher, a true and loyal friend, and a spoiling grandmother. And if you don’t believe it, just ask me. Oh wait, I’m afraid it’s too late for questions. Sorry.
So…I was born; I blinked; and it was over. No buildings named after me; no monuments erected in my honor.
But I DID have the chance to know and love each and every friend as well as all my family members. How much more blessed can a person be?
So in the end, remember…do your best, follow your arrow, and make something amazing out of your life. Oh, and never stop smiling.
If you want to, you can look for me in the evening sunset or with the earliest spring daffodils or amongst the flitting and fluttering butterflies. You know I’ll be there in one form or another. Of course that will probably comfort some while antagonizing others, but you know me…it’s what I do.
I’ll leave you with this…please don’t cry because I’m gone; instead be happy that I was here. (Or maybe you can cry a little bit. After all, I have passed away).
Today I am happy and I am dancing. Probably naked.
Many of us sense that Easter is important. More important than bunnies and chocolate and even a ham dinner, but don’t quite know how to shed tradition and embrace reverence instead.
The term Easter only appears once in the King James Bible. In Acts 12:4, where it could also be translated as ‘Passover’. And nowhere in the scriptures are we encouraged to celebrate the birth, death, or resurrection of Jesus as holidays, rather, we are commanded to remember as we partake of the sacrament. In a sense, every Sunday is Easter. Every day we remember the birth of our Savior.
Many Christians celebrate Palm Sunday and the week before Easter. And much of the Christian world enters into a period of reflection and celebration known as Holy Week. Each of the events commemorated during this week highlights Jesus’ true identity as the Son of God, and reviewing them deepens the faith of believers. While my religion does not formally observe Holy Week, the time from Palm Sunday to Easter morning can be a wonderful opportunity for all of us to use the scriptures to remember the last days of Christ’s ministry.
It can be useful to remember holidays, to use them to focus our attention and our thoughts and to celebrate significant religious events. For some years now, our family has benefited in many ways by using gospel accounts of the Savior’s last week as the focus of our family and personal scripture study. It is a significant way to celebrate the sublime season of Easter.
Here are some ideas for remembering each of the days leading up to Easter Sunday:
Palm Sunday: The Triumphal Entry; the Cleansing of the Temple
Monday: The Cleansing of the Temple; Teachings in the Temple
Tuesday: More Teachings in the Temple; the Olivet Discourse
“Spy” Wednesday: The Anointing in Mark and Matthew; Judas agrees to betray Jesus
Holy Thursday: The Last Supper; Farewell Discourses; Gethsemane; Before the Jewish Authorities
Good Friday: Jesus in the Hands of the Romans; the Crucifixion; the Burial
Imagine you married a great guy and spent half of your life together. You have traveled the world and made a family. Your kids are safe and loved and taught. You have done New York and camped in the Rockies, taken the kids to Disneyland and the gulf. You have a great marriage. Sure there are issues but everyone deals with those, your marriage is solid. You never imagine, not in your wildest dreams, that your husband would tell you that he never loved you, that he was moving out, that the kids will be fine, he is sure they want him to be happy.
A sucker punch, no doubt about it.
When this happened to my friend she did something remarkable, she decided not to believe him. And her decision changed everything.
What came to her in the moment was an image of a child throwing a temper tantrum. The child is in the middle of a melt down and tries to hit his mother. But the mother decides not to hit back, instead, she ducks. Then goes about her business as if the tantrum isn’t happening. She doesn’t take the tantrum personally because it has little or nothing to do with her. Brilliant?!?
She knew her husband was not a child and he was not throwing a temper tantrum, he was lost in the grip of a grown up size meltdown but she decided to respond by not buying his decision. For her, and for him, it worked.
It would have been easier to let him walk away, or to beg him to stay, but she told him she would give him the summer to work it all out. Somehow, she recognized that her husband was hurting but realized, as well, that the problem was not hers to solve. She decided to get out of his way.
She understood that she was not at the root of his problem – he was. If he could turn his problem into a fight between them they would all lose.
On good days, she found the high road. Ignored his anger and merciless jabs. On bad days, she raged at him, but only in her heart. And she somehow found the strength to stand firm. Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, she gave him options. She and the children created a summer to remember and invited him to share it with them.
He became unreliable and disappeared at times. Her heart grieved for her children. You can bet she wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love her. To fight for what they had created. But she didn’t do that. Something within helped her to hang on, to exercise patience and unconditional love.
She made lunch and watched the kids play in the sprinklers. Put on a movie and popped popcorn. Kept his place set at the table and loved him from afar. And gradually, by the end of the summer, he began investing in the family again. He fixed the lawn mower and painted the front door. He came back. All the way back.
He is amazed that she had the grace and strength to do what she did that horrible summer. Their children have a family because she was strong enough to see that it was not about her. She knows that she had help, that something within her knew what to do and then remembered why she was doing the hard thing.
Somehow, she did the right thing that summer and saved something precious, their family.
Before having his own near death experience, Dr. Eben Alexander did not believe in the existence of a spirit world, or even of a human spirit. Trained in the western medical tradition and surrounded by colleagues who are almost universally invested in a materialistic view of the universe, he thought that the idea of a soul was a little crazy. Like most skeptics, he believed stories of the afterlife to be hallucinations or products of a fertile imagination.
Dr. Alexander changed his mind about all of this after he was in a coma for seven days himself. The coma was caused by severe bacterial meningitis. During his coma he experienced a vivid journey into what he knew to be the afterlife, visiting both heavenly and hellish realms.
After returning to his body and experiencing a miraculous healing, a healing that defied medical odds. He went on to write the NY Times #1 best-selling book ‘Proof of Heaven’. What Dr. Alexander knows now is that our life here is just a test, an experience to help our souls evolve and grow. And the way we succeed in our life experience is to live with love and compassion. Sounds so simple, right?
Here are just a few other notable points he made:
The experience of the afterlife was so real and expansive that the experience of living on Earth seemed like a dream by comparison.
The most basic fabric of the afterlife was pure LOVE. Yes, he used the capital letters to emphasis that thought. Love dominated his experience to such a degree that the overall presence of evil was infinitesimally small. If you wish to know God, get to know Love.
When asked what he wants everyone to know about the spirit realm, he always answers saying that you are precious and infinitely loved more than you can possibly imagine. You are always safe. You are never alone. The unconditional and perfect Love of God does not neglect any soul.
Love is, without a doubt, the basis of everything. Not some abstract, hard-to-fathom kind of love but the day-to-day kind that everyone knows and longs for. The kind of love we feel when we look at our spouse and our children, or even our animals. In its purest and most powerful form, this love is not jealous or selfish, but unconditional and fills our hearts with joy.
Can you, for a moment, imagine pure, honest and powerful love? Can you open your heart to feel the love that God has for you?
I believe that Gods love is all around us. That we can feel it when we get close to Him, when we love as He loves or at least make the attempt.
How I long for the day when I leave this dream world behind and am free to remember that love in its fullness!
The stories that we tell ourselves, whether they be true or a complete fabrication, are our reality. The stories we believe shape our lives to such an extent that they become our reality. Our thoughts, our words, our actions have their foundation in what we believe, in the stories we tell ourselves. William James understood this and he observed: “My experience is what I agree to attend to. Only those items which I notice shape my mind.”
That is why siblings can spring from the same home, and yet have widely differing experiences in that home, with the same parents, breathing the same air. So, what we tell ourselves matters. In fact, it is critical.
Storytellers of all types, including journalists, songwriters, bloggers, TED speakers and everyone in between who has a point of view and an audience, whatever its size, help create the stories of how the world works. Storytellers, the best of them, empower us and help us see how the world can be better.
If you need another way of thinking about it, storytellers help us navigate between the ideal and plain old reality. They assist us when they keep the right balance, the juggling of criticism and hope.
That is how can a writer like William Faulkner, who grew up in a brothel and witnessed a version of humanity at its most depraved, managed to have faith in the goodness of the human spirit. In his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, he insisted that the duty of a writer, of a storyteller is “to help man endure by lifting his heart.”
Other storytellers believe that “writers do not merely reflect and interpret life, they inform and shape life” that the role of the writer is “to lift people up, not lower them down.” (E.B. White)
Yes, people sometimes do horrible things, and we can analyse those evil people and try to understand why they are that way. But, in reality, evil only wins if we mistake it for the norm. There is so much more goodness than evil in the world. And to nurture goodness, all we have to do is ‘remind one another of it, show up for it, and refuse to leave.’
I read a book once that told several stories and recounted them from several different participants in the conflict. Once I realized that it was the same story I had to stop reading and begin thinking. How could the villain in one story become the long-suffering saint from another perspective? How could both perspectives be true?
I do believe that truth stands independent and the search for truth is a noble pursuit. For me, as I have searched for truth and goodness, I have had to ask for help. I have only been able to recognize truth when my eyes have been opened to see it.
My goal for today is to look for the truth in my life and to tell myself stories that build faith in God, love of family and understanding of what is best in mankind. To make the world a better place by the stories that I tell myself and, ultimately, others.
As anyone over thirty knows, we are either in a crisis, coming out of a crisis or headed for a crisis. Right? Most of life seems to consist of juggling stress and moments of happiness usually seem to happen when we figure out how to take our mind off ourselves for just a minute and focus on something eternal, something outside our own problems and conflicts.
One Sunday afternoon we attended a church that was not our own and while you can find great truth in any church meeting, these were hard. It looked like a fashion show to me and the parking lot was filled with expensive cars. The church was in a wealthy area and everything seemed just a little too shallow for me to feel comfortable. It was probably just me, but that is what I saw and I was glad to get home and make lunch for the kids.
Later that afternoon my husband was asked to help conduct a church service at the children’s hospital. He said that the room was a stark, utilitarian room with a few rows of metal folding chairs. The pulpit was a temporary thing set on a folding table. The people filed in slowly and with great difficulty, some in wheelchairs, some holding onto IV poles. Some patients were too sick to attend but their family came dressed in whatever they had worn to the hospital, anxious to be fed by the spirit and then get back to being with their family.
The prayers offered were humble and pleading. The music was tenderly sung. The speakers were anxious to offer solace and peace. It seemed that the Lord was there with them.
He told me later how incredibly rich the spirit was in that little, woe-begotten meeting. And we both wondered who the Lord would truly consider blessed? The wealthy, healthy congregation, or the sick and afflicted souls? It was obvious to me that day.
When sore trials come upon us, that is when we learn the great lessons of life. Two of the greatest lessons I have learned I thought I would share with you today.
The first is the lesson of asking for help. It is hard to be someone who needs instead of the one who gives. But the beautiful thing is that after you finally admit to yourself and others that you can’t do it alone, you discovered that life is far more beautiful—and endurable. True strength is admitting we don’t have enough. Enough time or energy. Enough strength or health. Enough… And it isn’t usually friends or family I call on, it is the Lord I look to for what I need.
The second great lesson I have learned is the beauty of changing our vantage point, our perspective. Looking at a canvas up close, we can see all the gritty details, even the flaws. When we’re in the middle of tough times, it is very easy to focus on minutia and miss the beauty of the big picture.
Getting some distance and perspective allows us to see the bigger picture in which all harsh strokes and flaws are lost in the larger, grander story. That change of perspective will alter our experience, even in the midst of pain or grief.
There is no better way to gain perspective than immersing ourselves in the scriptures.
So, don’t be afraid of being weak, of needing help and when things look bleak don’t forget to seek higher ground. A change in perspective.
God has high expectations of us, His children. He wants us to live in such a way that we might have joy. The commandments are not a so much a list of ‘do’s and don’t’s’, but a way to become what our Father in heaven knows we can become.
Much of modern Christianity does not believe that God would dare to make actual demands on us, the believers. Seeing Him instead as playing the role of Santa – in dispensing wishes – or a benevolent therapist who helps us feel good about ourselves no matter what we do or say or think. A God that, as one author wrote, ‘that makes no pretense at changing lives’.
In contrast to this view of God, I would like to remind my readers of a few scriptures we would do well to remember. Hebrews 12:6 it says “For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.” And in Ephesians 4:13 it says that the Lord will correct us “unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.”
Though we never seek correction we ought to rejoice that God considers us worthy of His effort to correct and teach.
President Hugh B. Brown, told of a personal experience he had with the chastening hand of God. He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if the currant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”
Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:
“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.
“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …
“… And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough.’”
Many times, it does take the passing of time for us to appreciate the significance of God’s tutoring hand in our lives, for us to quit resenting how our life turned out and see the fulfillment of the promise God made to stand by our side through this experience we call life.
I know that many of the choicest lessons I have learned have come by way of suffering and terrible tragedy, and if I could do it all over again I would not avoid those tutoring experiences.
As we spend our hours this day, may we contemplate our immense worth to God. May we seek to please our Maker and seek also to bring joy and love to each other.
How many years has it been since television portrayed a father with respect? I remember The Dick Van Dyke show, the bumbling dad falling over the ottoman each week. We have Homer Simpson, Modern Family, Everybody Loves Raymond and so on and so on and so on. It appears to me that the world has drawn a cross hairs on the back of men, centered on husbands and fathers. Today’s media are relentless in attacking, ridiculing and demeaning husbands and fathers in every way possible.
In reality, in my life, it was my father’s love and respect that gave me everything I needed to succeed in life.
The story is told of a school teacher who assigned her students essays in hopes that it would motivate the fathers to attend a PTA meeting. The fathers came in expensive cars and junk cars, a bank president, a laborer, a clerk, a salesman, a meter reader, a baker. Every man there had a definite understanding of where he fit in the hierarchy of dads, in terms of money, skill, or looks.
The children’s essays were read at random.
“I like my daddy. My daddy built my doll house. My dad took me coasting, or taught me to shoot, or helps with my schoolwork. My dad takes me to the park, he gave me a pig to fatten and sell.”
Every essay could be reduced in essence to: ‘I like my daddy. He helps me, he plays with me, he loves me.’
Not one child mentioned his family house, car, neighborhood, food, or clothing.
The fathers went into the meeting from many walks of life; they came out in two classes: companions to their children or strangers to their children.
Children who grow up without fathers, fatherlessness as a condition, has been linked with virtually every social ill you can name. Young men who grow up without fathers are twice as likely to end up in jail, 63 percent of youths who commit suicide are from fatherless homes, and 71 percent of high school dropouts come from fatherless homes. What these connections mean, (is it a symptom of poverty or a cause?), can be the subject of debate, but, sociologically, it is now painfully apparent that fathers are not optional family baggage.
I have seen that the self-esteem of a child, male or female, is directly connected to how their father connects with them. I couldn’t begin to speculate about why a mother’s love doesn’t compute to the same degree of esteem but I have seen the numbers and I believe them. I know that my father thought a lot of me, he liked to talk to me about the news, or politics or religion. How do I know that he enjoyed being with me? You cannot lie to a child, it is impossible to trick them. Kids add everything up and when they do it adds up to the truth, eventually.
My dad looked at me when I talked to him, he asked me questions about what I thought. He didn’t rush away when the phone rang. All those details turned into the truth.
I wish that I could convince young women that when they choose a husband they are really choosing their children’s father and that will be the most important gift they can give their child. Please don’t think you are getting someone with a great body, someone who makes a good living or someone who is a great kisser, please! The minute you meet your baby, you will know what the rest of the world knows. It is vitally important that you choose someone who will be a good father to your children. It is essential to your child’s well-being and your own happiness.
It is useless to debate which parent is most important. No one would doubt that a mother’s influence is paramount. The father’s influence increases as the child grows older. However, each parent is necessary at various times in a child’s development. Fathers and mothers do things intrinsically different for their children. Both mothers and fathers are equipped to nurture children, but our approaches are different. Mothers seem to take a dominant role in preparing children to live within their families. Fathers seem best equipped to prepare children to function in the environment outside the family.
Studies show that fathers have a special role to play in building a child’s self-respect. They are important, too, in ways we really don’t understand, in developing internal limits and controls in children. Research also shows that fathers are critical in establishment of gender in children. Interestingly, fatherly involvement produces stronger sexual identity and character in both boys and girls. It is well established that the masculinity of sons and the femininity of daughters are each greater when fathers are active in family life.
I make two simple suggestions: work to sustain and respect the father in his position and second, give him love, understanding, and show some appreciation for him.
Let every woman understand that if she does anything to diminish her children’s father or the father’s image in the eyes of the children, it may injure and do irreparable damage to the self-esteem and personal security of the children themselves. How much more productive and satisfying it is for a woman to build up her husband rather than tear him down. Women can be so superior in so many ways that we demean ourselves by belittling men.
The exalted position of a father was well stated by General Douglas MacArthur who said, “By profession, I am a soldier and take pride in that fact, but I am prouder, infinitely prouder, to be a father. A soldier destroys in order to build. A father only builds, never destroys. The one has the potentiality of death; the other embodies creation and life. And while the hordes of death are mighty, the battalions of life are mightier still. It is my hope that my son, when I am gone, will remember me, not for the battle, but in the home repeating with him, our simple, daily prayer, ‘Our Father Who art in Heaven.’”
It should have great meaning that of all the titles of respect and honor and admiration that could be given him, that God himself, he who is the highest of all, chose to be addressed simply as “Father.”
Do we give the title of father the respect it deserves? I think we can do better.
Imagine you are a 19-year-old kid. You are critically wounded and dying in the jungle somewhere in the Central Highlands of Viet Nam. It’s November 11, 1967.
Your unit is outnumbered 8-1 and the enemy fire is so intense from 100 yards away, that your commanding officer has ordered the MedEvac helicopters to stop coming in. You are lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns and you know you’re not getting out.
Your family is half way around the world, 12,000 miles away, and you’ll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day.
Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear the sound of a helicopter. You look up to see a Huey coming in. But, it doesn’t seem real because there are no MedEvac markings are on the bird.
Captain Ed Freeman is coming in for you. He’s not MedEvac so it’s not his job, but he heard the radio call and decided he’s flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire anyway. Even after the MedEvacs were ordered not to come. He’s coming anyway.
He drops in and sits there in the machine gun fire, as they load 3 of you at a time on board. He flies you up and out through the gunfire to the doctors and nurses and safety. And, he keeps coming back, 13 more times. Until all the wounded were out.
No one knew until the mission was over that the Captain had been hit 4 times in the legs and left arm. He took 29 of you and your buddies out that day. Some would not have made it without the Captain and his Huey.
Medal of Honor Recipient, Captain Ed Freeman, United States Army Pilot, died at the age of 80, in Boise, Idaho, August 20, 2008.
Some people only see right and wrong, good and bad, selfish and unselfish. Those people can be hard for the rest of us to live with, because that clarity of vision cannot be turned on and off at will.
As I read the story of the courage of Ed Freeman, I feel inclined to thank God for people who are willing to sacrifice to do what is right.
Shouldn’t it be that easy for all of us?
We know what is right, I am convinced that we always know. I think that sometimes it is over thinking that causes us to be sacred and selfish.
I pray for the strength to know what to do and the courage to do it, regardless of the consequences and the difficulty of the task. And I thank those around me who are such great examples of this particular trait.
I recently heard from an old friend and in the course of our conversation he shared something he considered to be one of the choicest learning experiences of his life. The lesson was provided by his youngest son. Returning home from a long day’s work, this father made sure to greet his son with the words, “I want you to know how much I love you.”
The son was disappointed with the message and was quick to reply, “I don’t want you to love me, I just want you to play football with me.” While the message of love was real, those of us looking for love are watching for the fruits of the supposed love rather than the easy declaration of it.
The world is filled with too many of us who are inclined to indicate our love with an announcement, instead of showing our love by our actions.
You may have heard of an interview conducted with Dr. Tom Dooley before he died of leukemia. This fine doctor had spent the early years of his medical career in Indonesia, when he could have been home making a lot of money in a private practice instead.
The reporter was curious about his decision to service to the poor instead of enriching himself, saying, ‘Dr. Dooley, you are living on borrowed time, yet your contributions to humanity seem to take no account of the trials you personally are called upon to bear.’
‘Yes,’ Dr. Dooley replied, ‘I am living on borrowed time. So are you; so is every man who walks this earth. I may live to be as old as you are now; I may not live to see my next birthday. This does not matter. What really counts is what I do in terms of human good with the days, the weeks, the months or the years allotted to me by my creator.’
We have all known people like this. People who serve others regardless of their individual circumstances. One of my all time favorite stories tells of a woman who set an example of selflessness for everyone who knew her. I did not know her personally but I see echoes of her character in the women I love the most.
She fed the poor, comforted the weak and gave of herself relentlessly her whole life. As she grew older, her husband was the only witness that her finest hours were yet to come. The day came that they were shocked with an announcement that she had contracted a terminal disease. Her life expectancy could only be another six months to a year. She accepted this decision with a faith and courage her husband never expect to see equaled. As the doctor made this announcement, she turned to her husband and said with all the faith and peace that she could muster, “Don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want it to change our way of life or have anyone treat us differently.” Her life was then filled with physical hardship. It seemed to only make her more sensitive to the physical needs of others. Her empathy for her fellowmen increased, for now she had a greater appreciation for their need.
Three serious operations followed in very short order. There were only a few who knew about them and they were sworn to secrecy. Her pattern of life in the hospital was always the same. With careful planning, she would attend church on Sunday, the operation would be performed early Monday morning. By Tuesday, she was trying to get out of bed. By Wednesday she would be up moving around, trying to regain her physical strength. Thursday would find her helping the nurses assist others who were in the hospital. Friday she would spend trying to convince the doctor that she was ready to go home. By Saturday morning the doctor would give up in despair and discharge her. Sunday she would be back in church looking radiant. No one would ever suspect that she had just gone through major surgery. After the meeting her husband would rush down from the pulpit to take her home so she could rest. And as he would get close to her he would hear her say to someone else in need, “Now don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have dinner ready for you and at your home on Thursday night.”
Are you privileged to know someone like this?
Do you strive to be like this?
How rare it is to find a truly unselfish person, and what joy they bring to their loved ones!
Are you feeling up to trying a little harder today? To practicing the art of giving?
Let’s wear ourselves out in the service of others today and rest tonight with the knowledge we brought comfort to those the Savior would serve if He was here today.
It is natural to fear the unknown and so people fear death, until you find yourself up against it – then that fear changes to a specific type of bravery. I read an account of a man, Oliver Sacks, who is doing that just that. He has written about the experience here, and I quote.
A MONTH ago, I felt that I was in good health, even robust health. At 81, I still swim a mile a day. But my luck has run out — a few weeks ago I learned that I have multiple metastases in the liver. Nine years ago it was discovered that I had a rare tumor of the eye, an ocular melanoma. Although the radiation and lasering to remove the tumor ultimately left me blind in that eye, only in very rare cases do such tumors metastasize. I am among the unlucky 2 percent.
I feel grateful that I have been granted nine years of good health and productivity since the original diagnosis, but now I am face to face with dying. The cancer occupies a third of my liver, and though its advance may be slowed, this particular sort of cancer cannot be halted.
It is up to me now to choose how to live out the months that remain to me. I have to live in the richest, deepest, most productive way I can. In this I am encouraged by the words of one of my favorite philosophers, David Hume, who, upon learning that he was mortally ill at age 65, wrote a short autobiography in a single day in April of 1776. He titled it “My Own Life.”
“I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution,” he wrote. “I have suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a moment’s abatement of my spirits. I possess the same ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company.”
Hume continued, “I am … a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions.”
One line from Hume’s essay strikes me as especially true: “It is difficult,” he wrote, “to be more detached from life than I am at present.”
Over the last few days, I have been able to see my life as from a great altitude, as a sort of landscape, and with a deepening sense of the connection of all its parts. This does not mean I am finished with life.
On the contrary, I feel intensely alive, and I want and hope in the time that remains to deepen my friendships, to say farewell to those I love, to write more, to travel if I have the strength, to achieve new levels of understanding and insight.
This is not indifference but detachment, these are no longer my business; they belong to the future. I rejoice when I meet gifted young people, I feel the future is in good hands.
I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.
I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written.
Above all, I have been a sentient being, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.
I have watched people I know well face death, and the sentiments expressed by Mr. Sacks are almost universally shared by those who are given the gift of watching death approach.
At the end, life is distilled into its most pure form. Love, relationships and gratitude. My challenge to each of us this day is to live a day filled with these essential elements, to think and say and do what is most important for just one day.
And then to allow these priorities to seep into our tomorrows, keep them day by day. If we can do this we will have few regrets when it is our time to die. Few regrets when we find ourselves on the other side of the great and marvelous divide that separates us from the world of spirits and God, our Father.
I wish you a day of being present in your own life!
Sleeping has always seemed strange to me. That we as humans need to recharge every day is kind of endearing. My boys seem to regard eating and sleeping as unnecessary intrusions into the important stuff and resent stopping for any reason, but especially sleep.
My great-grandmother recorded dreams that seemed significant to her in some way or another, her dreams became a part of our family folk-lore. I wondered if I would be like her and so I would wake up thinking about my dreams and trying to file them away so I could remember them. I paid attention to them.
Then our son died. I remember that first night, after we left his small body at the hospital and went home, as if the whole experience was a dream. The lighting of our room seemed staged. The absolute silence was oppressive. Someone else had put Jody to bed and so I laid down on our bed – without taking off even my shoes – and fell into sleep.
It was an immediate release, all the burdens of that horrible day were gone. I remember sleep feeling like a drug, the nightmare was gone and I spent time in a place where Dale was still alive.
Then I woke up and the nightmare began all over again.
I once read an account of a prisoner at a Nazi death camp, his bunk mate was moaning and thrashing in his sleep and his instinct was to wake him from the terror but realized that any dream he was having was better than their present reality. We were in a similar situation and if it weren’t for Jody I might have wasted away in my bed. Jody needed a mother and I loved her enough to fake it until taking care of her became joyful again.
Certain dreams seemed to be tremendously powerful. Dreams of telling our little son how much I missed him, how much his father missed him. Some dreams seemed bursting with guidance and the best ones helped me feel a deep sense of rejuvenation. These dreams carried a life-changing potential.
For some people our dreams, during times of grief, carry great meaning.
The word ‘grief’ is derived from the French word ‘grève’, meaning a heavy burden. To be able to put that burden down and sleep is a tremendous relief, a balm for the heart.
Not everyone feels comfort in their dreams as they grieve and not everyone sleeps well as they grieve so I feel blessed to have taken comfort from dreams of our little son.
If you are troubled by your dreams of those who have passed on I would suggest that you examine the dreams closely. Are you trying to reach your loved one and are not able to get to them? Are you full of regrets? Do you have a message you want to give them? I am sure most of our dreams have meaning and if we can figure out what our subconscious is trying to tell us we can move on to more peaceful sleep.
If you regret something in your relationship with your loved one, I would suggest talking to God about it. There have been times when I just wanted to feel close to our children and was unable to get to them. Instead, when I prayed I would ask my Father in heaven to tell my boys that I missed them and loved them.
If you worry that you will never be with your loved one again, I would ask our Father that question. ‘Will I be with my child or sister or husband again?’ That is a question I am confident God will answer.
Do you have regrets about things that happened before their death? Again, I would turn to God and express to Him your sorrow and ask that your loved one can know of your regret, your need of forgiveness. You can feel peace again, over time it will come.
Gradually, my dreams about Dale have faded but they are not gone entirely. Now, when I dream of Dale, I see him as a man instead of a little boy. And always I am anxious to be with him again when I awake.
My dreams have allowed me to feel that we have an important relationship. To know that he has not forgotten his mother. Those dreams help me look forward to the day we are reunited at last.
Because of these dreams, I am not afraid of death. Because of these dreams I am deeply connected to those I love in heaven. And even the dreams that trouble me are a chance to examine the reasons I am having them and work now to repair what I can and accept what I cannot fix. To exercise my faith and hope and deepen the love I feel for them.
Don’t be afraid to do the hard work that grief demands of us. There is peace on the other side of the chasm of grief and I wish you sweet dreams and pleasant memories!
How strong are the relationships you are building? Are you using high quality materials to build the relationships that matter the most? How much time do you spend on the construction of those relationships? If the words you use, the thoughts you think and the actions you take are the building materials of those relationships, are you using the finest materials or shoddy junk?
I recently read an article by Richard Paul Evans, an author. As you read this, notice that God did not take sides in the conflict. He did reveal to them the tools needed to fix something that was very broken.
My oldest daughter, Jenna, recently said to me, “My greatest fear as a child was that you and mom would get divorced. Then, when I was twelve, I decided that you fought so much that maybe it would be better if you did.” Then she added with a smile. “I’m glad you guys figured things out.”
For years my wife Keri and I struggled. Looking back, I’m not exactly sure what initially drew us together, but our personalities didn’t quite match up. And the longer we were married the more extreme the differences seemed. Encountering “fame and fortune” didn’t make our marriage any easier. In fact, it exacerbated our problems. The tension between us got so bad that going out on book tour became a relief, though it seems we always paid for it on re-entry. Our fighting became so constant that it was difficult to even imagine a peaceful relationship. We became perpetually defensive, building emotional fortresses around our hearts. We were on the edge of divorce and more than once we discussed it.
I was on book tour when things came to a head. We had just had another big fight on the phone and Keri had hung up on me. I was alone and lonely, frustrated and angry. I had reached my limit. That’s when I turned to God. Or turned on God. I don’t know if you could call it prayer–maybe shouting at God isn’t prayer, maybe it is–but whatever I was engaged in I’ll never forget it. I was standing in the shower of the Buckhead, Atlanta Ritz-Carlton yelling at God that marriage was wrong and I couldn’t do it anymore. As much as I hated the idea of divorce, the pain of being together was just too much. I was also confused. I couldn’t figure out why marriage with Keri was so hard. Deep down I knew that Keri was a good person. And I was a good person. So why couldn’t we get along? Why had I married someone so different than me? Why wouldn’t she change?
Finally, hoarse and broken, I sat down in the shower and began to cry. In the depths of my despair powerful inspiration came to me. You can’t change her, Rick. You can only change yourself. At that moment I began to pray. If I can’t change her, God, then change me. I prayed late into the night. I prayed the next day on the flight home. I prayed as I walked in the door to a cold wife who barely even acknowledged me. That night, as we lay in our bed, inches from each other yet miles apart, the inspiration came. I knew what I had to do.
The next morning I rolled over in bed next to Keri and asked, “How can I make your day better?”
Keri looked at me angrily. “What?”
“How can I make your day better?”
“You can’t,” she said. “Why are you asking that?”
“Because I mean it,” I said. “I just want to know what I can do to make your day better.”
She looked at me cynically. “You want to do something? Go clean the kitchen.”
She likely expected me to get mad. Instead I just nodded. “Okay.” I got up and cleaned the kitchen.
The next day I asked the same thing. “What can I do to make your day better?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Clean the garage.”
I took a deep breath. I already had a busy day and I knew she had made the request in spite. I was tempted to blow up at her. Instead I said, “Okay.” I got up and for the next two hours cleaned the garage. Keri wasn’t sure what to think.
The next morning came. “What can I do to make your day better?”
“Nothing!” she said. “You can’t do anything. Please stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t. I made a commitment to myself. What can I do to make your day better?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I care about you,” I said. “And our marriage.”
The next morning I asked again. And the next. And the next. Then, during the second week, a miracle occurred. As I asked the question Keri’s eyes welled up with tears. Then she broke down crying. When she could speak she said, “Please stop asking me that. You’re not the problem. I am. I’m hard to live with. I don’t know why you stay with me.”
I gently lifted her chin until she was looking in my eyes. “It’s because I love you,” I said. “What can I do to make your day better?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“You should,” I said. “But not now. Right now, I need to be the change. You need to know how much you mean to me.”
She put her head against my chest. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean.”
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you,” she replied.
“What can I do to make your day better?”
She looked at me sweetly. “Can we maybe just spend some time together?”
I smiled. “I’d like that.”
I continued asking for more than a month. And things did change. The fighting stopped. Then Keri began asking, “What do you need from me? How can I be a better wife?”
The walls between us fell. We began having meaningful discussions on what we wanted from life and how we could make each other happier. No, we didn’t solve all our problems. I can’t even say that we never fought again. But the nature of our fights changed. Not only were they becoming more and more rare, they lacked the energy they’d once had. We’d deprived them of oxygen. We just didn’t have it in us to hurt each other anymore.
Keri and I have now been married for more than thirty years. I not only love my wife, I like her. I like being with her. I crave her. I need her. Many of our differences have become strengths and the others don’t really matter. We’ve learned how to take care of each other and, more importantly, we’ve gained the desire to do so.
Marriage is hard. But so is parenthood and keeping fit and writing books and everything else important and worthwhile in my life. To have a partner in life is a remarkable gift. I’ve also learned that the institution of marriage can help heal us of our most unlovable parts. And we all have unlovable parts.
Through time I’ve learned that our experience was an illustration of a much larger lesson about marriage. The question everyone in a committed relationship should ask their significant other is, “What can I do to make your life better?” That is love. Romance novels (and I’ve written a few) are all about desire and happily-ever-after, but happily-ever-after doesn’t come from desire–at least not the kind portrayed in most pulp romances. Real love is not to desire a person, but to truly desire their happiness–sometimes, even, at the expense of our own happiness. Real love is not to make another person a carbon copy of one’s self. It is to expand our own capabilities of tolerance and caring, to actively seek another’s well being. All else is simply a charade of self-interest.
I’m not saying that what happened to Keri and me will work for everyone. I’m not even claiming that all marriages should be saved. But for me, I am incredibly grateful for the inspiration that came to me that day so long ago. I’m grateful that my family is still intact and that I still have my wife, my best friend, in bed next to me when I wake in the morning. And I’m grateful that even now, decades later, every now and then, one of us will still roll over and say, “What can I do to make your day better.” Being on either side of that question is something worth waking up for.
In my mind’s eye I can see the effect this simple question could have, if asked and acted upon, on this earth we inhabit together.
I can feel the amount of love increase.
I can imagine happiness and gratitude begin to grow.
I can feel broken begin to heal and hopelessness dissipate as darkness flees before the morning rays of the sun.
I am asking all within the reach of my voice to ask this question today, ‘how I can make your day better?’
I’m headed downstairs now and it feels like the beginning of something very much like joy!
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I am a word connoisseur, I collect them, relish them and use them. I try to be precise and descriptive and above all, to tell the truth with them. Some of my favorite include: melancholy, sneakers and the newly remembered, disinclination. Here are some non-English words that make me wish I knew more than one […]
“Good morning”, said a woman as she walked up to a man sitting on a bench across the street from the White House. The man slowly looked up. His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of him, like so many others had done before “Leave me alone,” he growled. To his amazement, the woman continued […]
Benjamin Landart was 15 years old in 1888. He was an accomplished violinist and living on a farm in northern Utah with his mother and seven brothers and sisters was sometimes a challenge to Benjamin, as he never had enough time to play his violin. Occasionally his mother would lock up the violin until he had […]
We have been promised heaven’s help as we travel on the path of life. ‘God shall give unto you knowledge by his Holy Spirit, yea, by the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost.’ We are not alone. I don’t know if stories mean as much to you as they do to me but if you […]
Mitt and my marriage has always been a partnership: His job was putting money in the bank; I was a full-time mother. Being Mom was my job: I cooked every meal, I was the taxi service for five active boys, I cleaned the house. Baseball season was especially tough on our dinner routine; we ate […]
This guys story and what he learned from it is exceptional! None of us seek difficulty but people who turn to God during hard times create something exquisite within their character. It takes time and a humble attitude, but the results are priceless.
Photo courtesy of flickr.com/Cliff The general ‘goodness’ of the people sometimes surprises me. It isn’t that I expect people to be self-absorbed or thoughtless, but the best part of each of us is unique and so it is manifest differently by each one of God’s children. That is one of the reasons I had so […]