Another Page Turned...A New Chapter Begun

At long last, the longest month of the year (at least in my opinion) fades into the pages of history, and with it, meteorological summer!  This has been an uncommonly long month filled with broiling heat, stifling humidity, and seemingly endless nights in which the temperature failed to drop below 80.  There is only one good thing about August--it ends!

Now we move into September and the hope of a fall with cooler temperatures and the promise of vibrant colors as Autumn looms on the horizon.  This year there is an added bonus to the family.  Within the next several days, the latest King will make her appearance.  She is already showing the world that she is one energetic young lady by doing gymnastics inside mom while growing and developing in preparation for life.

How fitting that the family's newest addition comes in as the seasons begin to change.  She will be welcomed with open and loving arms and will be a marvelous addition to the ever-growing list of grandchildren.  Spring is seen as the season of renewal and growth, but Autumn is the season of enormous beauty and hope.

Trees turn bright colors as the chill of the season begins to replace the oppression of the summer.  One cannot go more than a mile here in the Midwest without being struck by the glory of nature in transition.  Likewise, we, as a family, will also note a magnificent transition with the arrival of this new granddaughter.  There is no limit to the love that this little one has engendered.  She has already captured the heart of the oldest to the youngest members.  She is a reminder that life flows through human existence and will not be denied.  She is a manifestation in her own right of God the Creator Himself.

Her parents Josh and Melissa are now counting the unknown hours till their new joy arrives in this world.  Time seems to slow to a crawl at this point, but, as we all know, before we realize it, the youngest grandchild will charge through life and the passage of time shall seem to be measured only in seconds.  But what glorious seconds they will be.

And so, as we bid farewell to August, and with it the ravages of an inhuman summer, we look forward to the freshness of the Autumn breezes and that of a new life.  We enter this season with love in our hearts and hope in our very existence.  God is indeed glorious and giving and this is one transition that will be greeted with all the joy of the meaning of new life!

Parent...Child...Child...Parent

Life holds endless opportunities for growth and understanding.  From the moment of our conception, our parents begin teaching and guiding us through the many perils and pitfalls of life.  We learn how to relate to others.  We learn how to communicate.  We learn how to make decisions and see them through.  We learn how to embrace the things which are good for us and reject the bad and deal with the consequences of those bad choices we will inevitably make.  Most of all, we learn how to love.

My mother is a spry 83 years old but is struggling with a new lifestyle that is difficult for her to accept.  When I was a little boy struggling with whatever things I may have struggled with, she was there, listening, allowing me to vent and try to work out things on my own.  She would step in only if she saw what I was about to do would end up hurting me worse than I may already be, or she would step aside, knowing full well that whatever she may say or do I was hell bent to do it regardless of the cost.

As we age, we hopefully begin to acquire a sense of wisdom gained mainly by listening to our parents.  But it seems like it often takes some time for us to practice such wisdom!  Eventually, we usually do employ this quality making life a little easier to bear.

One of the most unique aspects of life I have discovered is the fact that as both we and our parents grow older, our roles begin to shift.  Once, they parented us, looking out for us, caring for us, and seeing to it that all our needs were taken care of and that what we did possess allowed us to experience a degree of happiness. 

As my mother has aged, there have been times when I have felt that I had become the parent and she had assumed the role of the child.  My mother has rarely come to me to talk to me to help her with some problem or issue she was grappling with at the time.  That just isn't in her nature.  Or so until very recently. 

There has been a great deal of gratification in this.  But, also, there is a sense of sadness.  Gratification, because I am able to draw upon years of life spent finding my way through those very pitfalls that she once helped guide me through.  But, sad, too, because I realize that she is now more dependent on me than I am on her on several levels.  I welcome this role and thank God for the honor and the opportunity to lend my ear to this very independent and proud woman. 

We all find ourselves at various points throughout our lives finding ourselves amidst surprising clarity.  It is now more clear to me than ever before why I have experienced the things in life which I have experienced.  God has allowed me to undergo trials (many of which were initiated by me), in order to apply the outcome of these trials to those around me who are in need--including my very own mother.

The moral of the story is this.  No matter how old you may be, no matter how aggravated you may become with your parents, always find a way to be present to them.  It is very clear that as they age they will need you in ways beyond your wildest dreams.  But you need them, too.  Not so much to protect you from the bumps in life, but to continue to grow within, thus becoming a better human being.  Never take them for granted for God has given them to you for very special reasons.  Embrace them as such.  Hold on to them, and once they are gone, keep alive the memories that you have of them by sharing them with succeeding family generations.

One day, if we all live long enough, we may very well find ourselves in this role reversal.  It is not an easy task but it happens because our loving God embraces us with the power and the ability to love someone on levels that He will continually reveal as long as we draw breath.  Even after our parents pass from this life, we continue to learn from them because, again, a loving God has given us minds that are capable of traveling far beyond our mortal existence.  Take strength in your parents and treasure each moment, each phase that you share with them.  Realize that this is the love of God touching your life in a very special way!

An Amazing Story

My mother continually surprises me at how amazing she can be.  On June 30 she fell and broke her hip in five separate pieces.  She was forced to lay flat in a hospital bed for three days awaiting levels of coumadin in her bloodstream to lower to the acceptable level so surgery could be successfully performed.

Surgery went well and her recovery began.  A week or so after her surgery she was transferred to a nursing home in the nearby town of Peoria about ten miles from her home town.  While there, she has gone through weeks of painful physical therapy as well as a drastic change of lifestyle that includes dependency on others for nearly all of her needs.

Over the weeks she has grown stronger and stronger and now, almost two months to the day she had the accident, she is ready to move back to her home town.  That is remarkable in itself, but the most remarkable thing is how she arrived at her decision that it would be necessary for her to spend the rest of her life living in a nursing home.  This is something that she has been steadfastly against for as long as I can remember.

My mother has never been a particularly religious person.  At least she has seldom spoke of her relationship with God.  I know she has one, but to what extent I had no idea.  She told me on the phone that the other night as she lay in bed, she grew fearful of what was to become of her.  She wanted to return to the assisted living facility that she has lived in for the last several years.  But that was not possible given her accident and blindness from macular degeneration.  She said she turned to God and said to Him, "I lay all my fear at your feet and ask you what to do."

This is an amazing statement from a woman who is not easily given over to her emotions.  She is not one to wear her faith on her sleeve.  Never has been.  However, one of the things she has become involved in while in the nursing home is a Bible Study group in which the members not only study scripture but talk about how their faith effects their lives.  She said that she has spoken up in this group about her faith in very personal ways like never before, certainly not to strangers.

God does, indeed, work in mysterious ways!  During her stay at the nursing home He has obviously used this time to open her heart to His Word and the Spirit has guided her to learn from this experience.  She said she had her answer in about 45 minutes when suddenly a sense of serenity came over her in a way that she had never felt.

Never, in my life, had I ever thought I would hear this kind of personal story from my mother.  God's majestic ways happen in the most unlikely of places to some of the most unlikely people.  And when He does act, His actions not only effect the person to whom He answers, but often to those around them. 

My mother's story has touched me deeply.  Her testimony to me came as a complete surprise.  Her faith in God and trust in His will has set me to thinking about my own faith and trust in God.  God, in His own unique way, has touched both our lives and we are the better for it! 

The Mosque

Over the last few days, a media firestorm and frenzy has erupted over President Obama's comments made at the annual White House dinner celebrating the end of Rama Dan.  The President in remarks made during the affair asserted that those of the Islamic faith have every right to build a mosque on private property anywhere they want.  The President said this to affirm that the first amendment to the United States Constitution protected all faiths.

The very next day, the President appeared to amend his comments of the evening before when he said to a reporter that he stood by his viewpoint from the previous evening but was not going to make any comment regarding the wisdom of such a move.

Only radicals far to the right are making the assertion that Islam does not have the right to build a mosque only a couple of blocks from ground zero.  The most certainly do!  The constitution guarantees that.  But that is not the argument no matter how much the White House tries to spin it in this direction in order to take the political high ground.

This issue is one of sensitivity.  Nearly three thousand people were killed only  a stone's throw from the lot where the proposed mosque is to be built.  It was the blood of innocent Americans going about their daily business while providing a life for their families.  The terrorists behind the attack were Muslims.  That does not mean that they represent the entire faith!  But it does mean that when most people think of 9/11 they do think of the religion to which the killers belonged.

The mosque should not be built that close to the scene of the greatest attack on American soil by enemies determined to destroy our way of life.  But it is not a constitutional issue.  It is a matter of sensitivity to those who lost loved ones, family and friends, on that dark September day now nearly nine years in the past.

All clear thinking people know that the Islamic faith is not one composed mainly of blood-thirsty war mongers waiting for just the right time to kill as many Americans as possible.  We know that the Koran teaches compassion towards others and that, for the most part, the members of Islam are a peace-loving, peace-seeking people trying to make their way through this life just as we.

Those who wish for the mosque to be built need to put themselves into the shoes of the survivors of the attack on the World Trade Center.  The wounds inflicted that day are, for so many, still fresh and bleeding.  It takes time to heal when a loved one passes because of natural causes, but when they are slaughtered like innocent lambs, the hurt is much deeper and more penetrating.  To build a mosque that close to what amounts to a cemetery for the many victims who were never identified is a slap in the face of those loved ones. 

We must peacefully urge those who are planning this project to pause and remember the passing of so many souls on a bright September morning.  We do not have to have a mosque only two blocks from Ground Zero in order to prove that we as a culture love and encourage diversity.  All the world needs to do is take a close look at us and they will recognize that diversity has been a part of the American fabric throughout its existence.  We are not a perfect society, but we are the best one the world has ever known!

Build the mosque elsewhere.  Celebrate the diversity of those who were killed in the cold-blooded attacks.  But don't listen to those who would turn this into a constitutional argument spurred on by a President governing from poll results.  This is not a constitutional issue.  It is an issue of sensitivity and it is high time that we become sensitive to our own people!

Another Passing

Life, as we all know, is a constant flow of acquisitions and losses.  I am not speaking here of property.  I am speaking, rather, of friends.

At various points in life, we gain friends.  They may become very close and foster the feeling that this relationship will, indeed, last throughout the rest of our life.  This is a rare occasion, however, since life moves forward, taking us often to places and events that we could never have predicted.  Still, while those friendships may burn for a while, most fade with the passage of time.  We express our regrets over this but also understand that this is the way of life.

While it is true that most friendships do fade into the background, nearly forgotten, there are those rare friendships that do last a lifetime even if contact with that friend has not taken place in years.  And when we hear of the passing of just such a friend, our hearts are saddened and our spirits a little emptier because this person meant something to us even if it was years ago since we last saw them.

This is just the case with a one time friend of mine from years ago.  Recently, on July 9, Bill Finn, one of the finest people I have had the honor to know, passed from this world after a battle with lung cancer.  Bill became my friend many, many years ago when both of us worked for Eagle Foods in Pekin, Illinois.  He was the store's assistant manager and I was just one of the crew. 

One day, completely out of the blue, Bill asked me to join him at his house for a beer and an evening of conversation and fun.  I gladly accepted and that evening proved to be the start of a long-lasting friendship.  Our families shared so many things with each other.  Birthdays were celebrated together.  Anniversaries were observed.  Holidays were gleefully and joyfully entered in upon.  The birth of my children were ushered in, often with the help of Bill and his wife Judy.

We shared deep sadness as well as was illustrated when Bill's only son Billy succumbed to an illness when Billy was only eighteen years old.  There was nothing that I could say.  I only could be present for them, lending my support for them as best I could.

Now, after a long and fulfilling life my friend Bill is gone.  I have not seen him in years, still, when I learned of his death, my heart sank and my thoughts immediately turned to his wife and three daughters.  Bill reveled in family life.  The passing of his son those many years ago was the hardest thing, I think, that he ever had to endure.  His girls were like three sparkling gems in his crown and as they grew, Bill became more and more proud.

But then the course of our lives took us in different directions and, in spite of our desires, we lost track of one another.  Bill remained enmeshed in his family while I wandered the countryside in search of some allusively false life that I imagined must be out there.

When the news of his passing reached me, I was immediately taken back in my memory to the night before my twins were born.  Since learning that we were having twins, we had busied ourselves in gathering together two of everything.  The only thing we had yet to do was to assemble the second baby bed.

Now, as anyone who has had a baby knows, putting together a baby bed is similar to trying to understand the theory of relativity without knowing how to read.  The instructions seem to have been written in some form of ancient Greek and the illustrations accompanying said instructions apparently were samples of the hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt.

Bill was far handier at such things than I and because he and Judy had helped us frequently throughout the ordeal known as pregnancy, I asked him to help me put together this one last piece of furniture necessary for a new born.

It was mid-August and the heat and humidity were at typical Midwestern levels.  Before we began, we enjoyed a beer in an attempt to relax knowing the great struggle that lay ahead.  Once the beer had been consumed, we launched ourselves into the construction of the bed.  A quick glance at the directions and we knew that we must have another beer.  Those directions could only be understood with the aid of alcohol!  To make a long story short, we finished the crib late in the evening, by that time well under the influence.  How that crib was ever assembled without killing its precious cargo is beyond for me.  All I know is that it lasted for years.

All through the construction phase, Bill was his typical self.  Wherever Bill Finn was, laughter accompanied.  He had an easy way about him and making people laugh at his ridiculous statements or jokes was a true gift of his.  That night, the night before the birth of my firstborn sons, Bill made me relax about what was soon to happen.  I do not remember anything that he said that evening but in my mind's eye I can still picture him puffing away at his ever-present cigarette and bottle of Miller High Life.

What this proved about Bill is that he was never afraid of giving of himself.  He was a generous man beyond any one's wildest imaginations.  Generous with his time.  Generous with his talent.  And generous with the love he had of people.

Bill will be sorely missed by Judy and his three girls who are all now adults.  He will also be deeply missed by the seemingly innumerable number of people who called him friend.  It is hard to understand why he had to go so early, but we are satisfied that he lived life to the fullest.  He never did anything half way.  His courage was great and his values were firmly embedded in the foundation of Midwestern culture.

Bill's departure has touched me deeply.  I was blessed to have such a friend and I will carry him in my heart for the rest of my life.   

The Face of Christ

I have an interesting job.  I am able to visit with people and help them keep their home safe and protected.  It also affords the opportunity to see how others live.  Because of it, I have been privy to great wealth and have also been exposed to grinding poverty.  I have visited the middle class who lives in a similar manner as do I and I have seen how "the other half lives."

Within the last week I have had the opportunity to visit a mansion that measured 10,000 square feet.  I was greeted at the door by the woman of the house, casually dressed and obviously comfortable with her surroundings.  She was warm and friendly and very conversational.  It was a palace when compared to my lifestyle.  Its floor consisted of highly polished marble and the main staircase was a work of art, hand carved and massive.  There were more rooms than I could count and there were two garages both of which were air conditioned.  The occupants of this magnificent home were just as kind and welcoming as anyone could be.  There was no sense that they felt themselves members of the privileged class.

Only a few days later, I was called to an inner city home on a very hot and humid July morning.  The contrast between the two homes could not have been greater.  Greeting me at the front door was an elderly woman of 92.  She looked ragged and worn.  She welcomed me to her home, a once magnificent home that was well over 100 years old.  In its day, this home must have been every bit as much a showcase as was the aforementioned palace.  But the years had not been kind to this building.  Years of poverty had taken its toll.  It was run down, worn out, very much as its occupant appeared.  I'm not sure if this home had ever had the chance to be cooled and comforted by air conditioning.  The temperature inside this structure on this oppressively warm morning was well into the 80's.

The owner of the worn out building shuffled from room to room, describing as she went what kind of help she needed.  I could not help but allow my imagination roam to days gone by when this house enjoyed all its grandeur.  Now, there was nothing but clutter and dirt.  There was an unpleasant odor of rancid cooking grease everywhere.  The sunlight streamed through windows that had there last washing apparently years ago.  My heart went out to the elderly woman who, despite her surroundings, managed, somehow, to keep her dignity.

Part of me wanted to run from the run-down home because it was an unpleasant experience.  In contrast, I would have found it very easy to take up residence in one of the palace's air conditioned garages!  The sad thing is that the physical distance between these two old homes is no more than three or four miles.  However, the lifestyles that the residents of each domicile exist in are light years apart.

God has given me this opportunity to realize that we can find the face of Christ in both places.  It is very easy to see and experience it in the palace.  There is a level of comfort there that is undeniable and very attractive.  On the other hand, just across town, in the dreary home in which the elderly woman survived, comfort was the least of concerns.  Survival was the most important thing.  But here, too, is the face of the Savior.  It was easy to spot in the lap of luxury.  But it was very difficult to find in the squalor of the run-down home. 

Admittedly, I was at first repulsed by what I found at the elderly woman's home.  I wanted to make quick work of my visit and be out of there as fast as possible.  It was hard to look into those aging eyes, realizing only partially, what it must be like to be her.  What must it be like to struggle so desperately from day to day just to survive?  And on these extraordinarily hot summer days, how, I wondered, did she ever make it through one day?

As time went on during my visit to the ninety year old's home, I began to look past the abject poverty that now enveloped me.  And to my surprise, I found the face of Christ amidst the filth and desperation that were a part of the home as much as the highly polished marble floor was of the palace.  I realized that through both these experiences God had led me to experience His Son in very different settings.  I saw the dignity of Christ in the palace, His glory and strength symbolized by this home's stature and polish.  In the old, nearly falling down home, I experienced the face of Christ in the poverty of the moment.  Here was a representative of Mother Theresa's poor of Calcutta.  Here was the face of Christ on the Cross, impoverished, totally without possession, waiting for me to embrace Him.

It would have been easy to embrace the dignified Christ and very important that I do so.  Just because someone is wealthy does not mean that they deserve my scorn or suspicion either out of jealousy or envy.  It was not easy, however, to embrace the face of Christ in the home where poverty resided. 

These incidents have allowed me to examine my faith more deeply.  I talk a good game, but where is my faith at this point in reality.  Is my faith one of action or just hollow words?  Do I practice Jesus' reminder to us that whatever we do to the least of his brothers and sisters we do to Him?  And if I do practice that, to what degree? 

We must all walk our own path and cooperate with the Holy Spirit in the development and growth of our faith.  I feel very privileged to have had these experiences because they are signs of God's love for me as unworthy as I am of it.

Think of times in your life when you had concrete reality present itself in such a way as to prompt an inner search for just how faithful you are and how committed you are to embracing Christ through all of humanity.  It is a courageous act, indeed, not entered in upon lightly.  I do not know where these experiences will lead me and the faith I have been given as a gift by our Father, but I do know that, once again, He has shown me the depth of His love.

Summer In My Mind

Those of you who know me know that one of the things I am least fond of is the season of summer.  The high levels of humidity added to the endless heat spells make me wish for Fall and beyond with an even greater longing every year.  But I must admit there are a few things about summer that I really do enjoy.

Summer brings back fond memories for me as a kid because I remember waiting on the front steps of the home I grew up in on Summer Street in Pekin for my mom to come home.  Even on those front steps I could smell the aroma of grandma's home cooked supper.  There was always a meat and potato dish usually accompanied by fresh sweet corn, green beans, or any other freshly made dish from the easily acquired fresh produce from the farms in the area. 

Mom worked for a local insurance company and for years got off at 4:30 Monday through Friday.  Her arrival at home between 4:40 and 4:45 was very predictable.  Occasionally, she would have an errand to run after work and that would push back her arrival time somewhat, but normally, she arrived on time.  Why was I so anxious to have her home? 

Every evening during the summer months, with the arrival of my mother, my grandmother, grandfather, mom and I would sit down to grandma's carefully prepared supper.  That time of the day holds some of the fondest memories that I have of my childhood.  Grandpa would always inquire after my mom's day.  Grandma spent her time bouncing from the supper table to the counter serving everyone in the room.  The meal started with the usual grace before meals and then we dug in.  I think I was almost always the first one done because of what was ahead for the evening.

Weather permitting, every summer weekday evening, once supper was finished, the dishes washed and enough time had passed, my mother and I would don our swim suits, grab a towel, and head for the local pool.  For about two and a half hours each evening I swam like a fish.  I dove off the boards that were in the pool, a fixture banned from most public pools these days because of the potential dangers they represented.  I loved swimming the width of the pool  while under water.  I vividly remember the setting sun and the changing colors of the summer evening sky as day lazily rolled into night.  It was an idyllic time.

Then there are the sounds of summer that had a melody all their own.  Crickets chirping wildly as evening came on accompanied our nights on the front porch.  We had a screened in porch and so could sit in the cool of the evening (relatively cool!) bug free.  Grandpa sat in "his" chair at one end of the porch, cigar in hand puffing away while talking about the "old days" on the farm when he was a kid.  Grandma would soon join us and just sit and relax, enjoying what must have been her first break of the day.  Mom would also be there, sitting on the porch swing, slowly seining to and fro listening to my grandpa spin his yarns.  Night came softly in those days as lightning bugs danced across the lawn.  An occasional car would travel up the brick paved street making such a racket that I am sure these days would be banned by the EPA due to excessive noise.

But that was a sound in those days that brought comfort and security to a little boy's life.  I often return to those days in my memory to touch base with the simpler times of my life.  It was a time of family and, once in a while a neighbor would drop by to add to the flavor of the evening.  Neighbors were neighbors back then, not just someone who lived near you, but someone who was like a part of your family.  They watched out for you and you watched out for them.

The evening skies from that front porch dazzled my imagination.  Stars seemed to shine a little more brightly back then.  These were the days when all the world looked to the evening sky with increasing wonder because the Soviet Union and United States had just begun what was being called the space race.  Shortly after the launch of Sputnik in the fall of 1957, the neighborhood would gather on the darkened street corner, heads firmly aimed at the sky, in an attempt to see that little point of light the Russians had only recently launched soar over our little Midwestern town.  It only took a few short minutes to cross from one horizon to another, but it filled everyone with sheer excitement and, in many cases fear.  After all, it was the Russians who had first reached space successfully.

Those summer evenings long ago passed into my personal history.  But they are the fond part of the season that I find mainly objectionable.  We didn't go camping.  We didn't swim in rivers and lakes.  Our simple pleasures came in the local pool, and warm summer nights spent as a family in the familiar and comforting aroma of my grandpa's cigar.  Laughter and memories punctuated those evenings with the sweetness of life that a child should experience.  They were marvelous times now receding into the past with ever increasing speed, but they shall always live for me in my memory.  And while we had no air conditioning and most of those warm summer nights were spent trying to find the coolest part of the sheet so you could sleep reasonably well, that, somehow, seems unimportant.

What is important that those summers on Summer Street gave me the life of a family and its memories to comfort me and bolster me as I journey along in life.  I'll never forget the sweet scent of grandpa's old cigar which today I might actually find offensive!  I'll never forget the ride to the pool with my mother and, often, a neighbor kid or two along for the fun.  And I will certainly never forget my grandmother and her home cooked suppers and the gentleness and tenderness that went into their preparation.  When I remember summer in this context, the season isn't so bad after all!