PLEASE, LISTEN

An email invitation to be a guest on Saturday morning radio

The topic: How did I find my writer’s voice?

Writer’s voice? What voice? Twelve solitary hours in the writer’s chair.

No food or drink.  No ideas or marvelous lines of rhyme and illiteration.

Provacateur requests a yes or no response in the morning.

Sleepless night. Tossing and turning. Groaning. Answerless.

Suspend the sunrise. Halt the Big Ben clock. Deny the deadline.

Crouched on the mattress edge. Black coffee steams on the night stand. How have I become a “kept

man?”

Daily devotion. God you owe me. Give me magic words.

Uh oh, silence becomes darker, more profound.

Takes personal hubris to challenge God. I never learn.

Agnes turns the radio to a classic station in Philly. A morning

ritual at 7:45.

Today’s stratosphere is different. Our kitchen is alive.

“ Mary Did You Know”? The beseeching melody which brought

us to our humbled knees at Christmas Mass  on the day

Karen boarded the train to Chicago fills the airways.

Just listen..Trust. Please He begs, listen.

 

Mother’s Prayer

Mom always said ” a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul”.

A shard of motherly wisdom emanates from her desktop picture.

The closed smile of an intense, oh so knowledgeable keeper of the faith

Behind her spectacles, the soul’s aperture heard all things, saw all things,

celebrated -cherished-protected  her sons.

Celebrated-cherished-protected the men in her life.

Sentry like – she observes me every day in every way.

 

The inevitability of life’s end becomes more clear,

her parting phrase  ” I pray for you every day” speaks louder and more emphatic

as the wintertime sunset is longer, darker, all encompassing.

She said, ” I am tired, the Lord can take me home”.

What a wonderful surrender. Peace.

May I listen and surrender.

 

 

 

 

 

 

GOODBYE DEAR FRIEND

The Lord is everywhere:

Steel gray clouds

Snow, Ice pellets in a crescendo

Crunching snow foretells our every step

The Lord has set the stage.

Oh yes, he knows our every move, every thought, every emotion.

HE knows we are coming.

The morose, gray atmosphere envelopes

the cemetery.

Silence, alone.

 

Fear heaving in our chest cavity.

Harold and Jean’s gravesite awaits

 

Somehow Harold knows we are coming.

Fifteen years gone by.. he knows we are coming.

He waited. As always patient and understanding.

He knew I had, yes had, to come and say goodbye.

Facing the pain of the moment.

 

The knees weaken

Tears flow

I grab for the tombstone

O Harold I cry, O Harold.

The father I never had,.that was Harold

A man of God

Harold knows.

We are together for a brief moment

God enables us to hold each other

God’s grace. Hold me Harold. I remember your hugs, your smiles

your words of wisdom, and your good works for the poor.

One last time.

The most difficult goodbye.

 

I turn to Al.. knowing I could not have

met with Harold without fear of collapsing

and having Al for support.

The Lord gives Al the grace to be a comforter

And so we silently walk

Chocking

Hoping to meet Harold in the afterlife.

May he rest in the arms of the Lord.

PLANTING THE SEEDS OF OUR FUTURE

Fire bombings, assaults in the streets,

Neighbors killing neighbors

Graffiti scarred walls act as barricades

Years pass, the “Troubles in Northern Ireland”.

So far away , across the pond.

We watched on the tele: sat in

the Irish bars in Chicago, Boston, Milwaukee

Horrified at the religious wars in the land of

Our ancestors.

It can never happen here.  Never happen here.

We’ve tacitly accepted the ongoing  black/white race wars.

Cities burn, race baiting is a common practice.

Separate but equal translates into plain separate

The dialogue , sensitivity community conversations

deteriorate to marches and riots.

A religious war? Protestant /Catholic/Jewish/Muslim

Listen carefully, watch body language

Attend “interfaith discussion groups”

Listen closely, very  closely.

Add the racial component.

The differences are visceral.

Demagoguery  run amok.

Genteel folks preface comments : “ With all due respect”,

Which is code for : You don’t know what you are talking about”.

Faces flushed. Fists hidden in pants’ pockets.

Inquire ; I dare you ..inquire

Have you studied a thesis of another faith? The Baltimore

Catechism, the Heidelberg Catechism, The Koran, The Torah,

Silence…

Any document other than our own is fallacious. By definition.

We know what we believe is the only true way.

It’s an obvious truth.

How far distant are we from “The Troubles”?

Internecine warfare begins when one faction  walls themselves

off  from another. Suspicion begets ignorance begets violence.

The increasing level of mistrust: the lessening of honest dialogue;

The troubles may not happen for generations… but the seeds are planted.

Are we all God’s people?

THEIR VOICES NEVER HEARD

We pause.  The plaintiff sounds of taps

reverberate from hamlet to city center.

Misty eyes.

Somber words from podiums spoke

remembering those who laid down their lives

to preserve our freedom.

Honor guards march with precision. Jaws squared,

Flags unfurled. Polished shoes glistening.

Barbeque grills and Bud six packs wait in the wings.

Where, where are the bodies of the dead unborn?

They have no headstones. No memorials, No national

day of remembrance.

Their voices – never heard.

Their talents never used. Their service to others a blank slate.

The lifelong pain of could have been mothers is

Intentionally hidden from public view. A topic unworthy of public discourse.

A fetus is not a child..say that three times while looking in the mirror

and  without choking.

What if ..yes what if, the mothers of our nation’s bravest who

are memorialized  had decided..yes what if they had chosen

abortion over life.  Who, yes who, would fight for our freedoms?

Have an answer? Tell it to God.

BLUEBERRIES AND MULBERRIES

paradise is obliterated. Worse, the summer sunlight is life threatening to these creatures accustomed to a world of total darkness.

What right do I have to intrude?

Gently rolling clumps of enriched black earth in my hands, enjoying grit under finger nails, recalls the wise of great grandmother Fisher ” Treat the earth as God’s gift and you will be rewarded. Abuse her and you will be punished. the earth is one of God’s fondest creations. He created it for us to cherish”. Ah, the Puritan ethic runs deep.

Peering from the underside of her ever present Amish bonnet, Grammy knew whereof she
spoke. the war gardens in which she toiled from sun up to sun down from April to early November in the 1940’s protected our family from the perils of starvation. Some of the less energetic neighbors did not fare as well.

The men of the family? They were members of the greatest generation fighting for their lives as part of the Big Red One, Pennsylvania’s keystone regiment during the Battle of the Bulge.

The women? They toiled amid oppressive heat and noise at chocolate factory.. Standing on unforgiving concrete floors for long hours, my mother never complained. The work was part of her patriotic duty –making chocolate bars for the troops- including her husband.

How did we survive?

Mounded rows of russet potatoes large red tomato plants, spring onions, stalks of pole beans and mint tea plants provided the staples. Additionally, we spent Sunday afternoons scouring the rocky hillsides of the Blue Mountains scrounging for blueberries and non-toxic mushrooms. The blueberries and their lesser respect relatives, mulberries, were subsequently canned and stashed on crude wooden shelves in the coal cellar.
All this begs the question. How inconsequential is the replanting of a lawn when we owe our existence to the pluck and determination of those who came before us?

All this begs the question. How inconsequential is the rep

The Silent Leaf

 

 

 Two trees are planted in our simple yard.  They are positioned prominently as remembrances to our deceased mothers.  Knowing we are on the downside of our lives, it is hoped that these trees will display the beauty  of God for generations to come. Yes, it was our way of sharing memorials of beloved mothers.We see this as a  simple and meaningful gesture.  Plant the trees, nurture them in the early years, and nature takes over.

 For any species to survive in the Great Plains is a miracle.  For two trees to battle and endure the harsh climes is amazing. Twenty four months ago, we stared out the kitchen window admiring the latest  6” of overnight snow fall.  As always, the sturdy backyard tree survived the snow, ice, and 40 mph winds blowing south from the Canadian provinces. Mid winter and the soybean fields are now acres of dormant brown splotches. Falling burnt orange needles from the stand of  blue spruce  trees creates a protective bed for rabbits, squirrels, to hide during the arrival of inevitable  blizzards.

As usual, Mother nature awakens us from the dreaminess of  superficial  observations.  A furled, fatigued singular leaf catches our attention.  It remains attached to a narrow limb  on Grandma Gress’ otherwise barren maple tree.  Strong! The leaf hangs on with a determination reminiscent of Grandma.What is the message? Each wintry morning, steaming Colombian coffee in hand, we  gather at the window to see if our friend remains.  Yes, December, January, February it is still attached.

 What is the message? Is there a message?

We struggle to interpret what are  Grandma Gress and God saying? Is she  reminding us about her lifetime of strength, perseverance, indomitable religious faith.? She played such a major role in establishing our life values. Regrettably, on a gray  March morning we jointly notice that the leaf has disappeared. Our friend has slipped away silently into the darkness of a frigid winter night.  Sadness envelopes our hearts.  Will the leaf return?

 This winter has seen 19 days of unrelenting snow in the first 23 days of December.  Temperatures are 6 or more degrees below normal.  Snow storms seem endless.  Beautiful white mounds become a curse when we daily grit our teeth and feel the brunt of early morning arctic cold. We apprehensively part the lace curtains and check to see if the driveway and deck are again covered with more of the white fluffy stuff.  The surrounding forests and fields are again void of leaves and green color.

 God takes us by the hands and leads us to the kitchen window to enjoy the beauty of His snow covered landscape. There it is again, a singular leaf clinging onto  the same tree.  An identical twin of the furled brown leaf from 2 years ago, it beckons for our attention.  Again!Like its predecessor, this fragile gift of nature survives the impossible forces of harsh winter storms. The leaf faces us each time we look out the window.  Is it smiling at us? Is this real or a product of our imaginations? A blessing?  Fervent prayers for healing and perseverance have been heard and answered by God again and again as we have endured medical and other challenges in the 24 months since first being greeted by our leafy visitor. The leaf seems to reach out and encourages us to continue to  pray, to have faith. 

A freak of nature? Accidental, just a coincidence?  We believe those with little faith may have a difficult time explaining away this remarkable happenstance. It is time for us to pray, to listen, to meditate.  We have been blessed.  May we welcome the spirit that rides with the leaf back into our lives and tell us what is wanted.  Now is the time for us to  sacrifice.  We remain convinced that this is more than a coincidence!

Solitude – A single leaf by Christopher Flees.  Used with permission.

 

 

 

 

LEADERSHIP IN ACTION

Yesterday was the day of exit for the church’s musical director.
A composer, master of many instruments,
Most of all a motivator of choirs and congregations.
Speeches of thanks by the priest, choir members, and the director:
Three standing ovations as the time to say adieu came closer:
The 1st ovation had an aura of victory . Like celebrating a winning touchdown.
The 2nd was more appreciative – hands clapping and body language of thanks.
The 3rd was unabashed sadness: Tears of farewell: bodies shaking with sad emotion.
Husbands, wives, children, holding each other as the moment of separation arrived.
Five hundred people overcome with loss – heads bowed: eye contact avoided:
big guys turned into jello.
What is the chemistry? The magic? The charisma that this stranger of 5 years ago
brought to this audience? Changed a moribund gathering into a group of bawling
children. There is no military command structure: or organization dictums which demand obligation to sing and participate
An aura created over time by the dynamism of his personality.

Knowledgeable, without a doubt Passionate about his faith

Energetic , obviously

Engaging , yes

Developer of mutual trust

Carrying the audience in his hands over and over again

Mesmerizing .
A prime example of “leadership” – taking people to places where they did not want to go: and didn’t think they had the talent or ability to take risks associated with musical cliffs.
Jeff believes in himself, his faith, AND the people to whom he is ministering. Most of whom he never met.. but all who feel they know him – and follow him: timidly then eventually without question.

In summary – a construct of mutual trust.
We know and treasure this rare combination when we have the privilege to experience this amazing
chemistry of superb leadership.

A case study in Leadership 101

THE CRUCIFIX FROM AUSTRIA –LEST WE FORGET

The onyx crucifix hung nailed to fading, pale green walls

 Above the Formica dining room chairs —  near the aging refrigerator.

 Years pass.  Children are born: grow tall and leave home.

The brick duplex sags beneath the weight of time in the steel town ghetto.

The crucifix remains.

 

Family dinners, pinochle games,  political discussions, high school football scores

 All take  place as the gray cross silently shows its pain.

Silence??  No one discusses the history of  the

old , almost   mystical icon which was hidden inside a

pillow case when the part Catholic – part Jewish family

Fled the Nazis  as the killers overwhelmed the Danube valley:

Penniless, weak, frightened, they stumbled into the US at Ellis Island.

 

Names changed to appear American, they labored in the steel

mills and breweries: cleaned houses: sewed the clothing of rich matrons.

Long days, short weekends: they fought to survive the depression:

Observed government agents checking their mail – their choice of

of newspapers-their phone calls to ensure they were not German agents:

 

Decades pass, the family matriarch passes into the hands of our Lord.

Grown  children scramble for the jewelry, furniture,

Assets in bank accounts.

The crucifix  remains alone : always watchful: revered

Yet ignored:

Shunted  aside on to a pile of “ we don’t want this”– you can have it.

 

History ignored.  Family values disregarded.. then….

Family lore talks about a tiny church on the other side of  the

Town:  Steel mills and woolen mills closed: This once prosperous

church now sits surrounded by fading row houses, empty lots.

 Once a German- Slovak enclave, the parish is in transition.

 

 

A welcoming Latino priest –dedicated to saving the history of the parish.

Says hi to the Anglo tourists in search of their roots.

What windows he queries.. oh yes, those windows ..no one can explain them.

Family legend says two lead windows were donated  by one of the family elders:

 One for his first wife – then for his second after the death of the first.

Yes, we find the family European name on the windows… and a replication

of the crucifix … wow!

The crucifix has indeed been part of the family for decades.. 

Coincidence?  A part of family devotion that could have been lost forever.

 

The crucifix had been posited a decade since past

as a semi-decoration on the side wall of a business office.

More of an after thought decoration than an object of veneration.

 

Recently blessed, and understood:

A proud reminder of faith and family courage.

 A gift from the Lord that has traveled many miles: Survived through generations.

A story that deserves to be retold to the next generation… not left as “stuff”.

 

An obligatory message to all of us to pass along our  stories of family relics, pictures, and

yes muses to the next generation.  Myths which will disappear when we pass on.

Lest we forget… take the time: share your stories and keepsakes with those coming behind

you..  Your traditions deserve to be preserved and repeated.

 

 

HE TOUCHES US AND WE WALK ON

Grey/ white heads:  colored hair: bald  guys:

 The view from the rear of the auditorium

Reminiscent of an AARP convention.

Aging couples: widows and widowers.

 

In their midst she sat alone, quiet, at peace.

Her husband died suddenly a year ago.

Molden, bend at the shoulders she blended in

Unnoticed, unassuming, expressionless.

 

It is said that Christ comes to us when we are least expecting

Be alert, for He may come at any time.

 

This quiet woman had requested the song

“My Cup Runneth Over” be played at her husband’s funeral.

The troubadour, with his wife seated beside him, did the honors again.

 

Grey hairs, sat and listened, attentively, respectfully.

A “sound of silence” air filled the gathered audience.

Emotionless, eyes front just like we learned in the military.

The song proceeded with a lively yet pensive air until..

“We grow old together and the earth grows cold”

Bam!

There is Christ again talking to all of us as we walk

Closer to the sunset.. each day .. together.

Couples don’t look at each other… 

Too painful? Too embarrassed to admit our mortality

In public?

 Or too proud to admit that the emotions of the

song, reflective of a life time together is indeed accurate?

 

The click of the locking of the front door:  lights turn off:

Quilts are pulled over legs which have traveled miles together:

 Sniffling tears as couples snuggle together.

 The earth is getting cold..  the last chapter is being written.

 

An unassuming lady dressed in summer white has delivered

Another gift from Christ.. a song which only an angel can compose and sing.

Words linger.. He touches us.. and we walk on..