Spreading Love Goes Viral

Though Easter Sunday has come and gone, the isolation of a COVID Spring remains.

Even as the pandemic ebbs and flows over our lives, so too, a viral effusion of love is spreading everywhere. Oh how the ruckus finger pointing, rattling political swords, and hyper-hype of "Breaking News" would like to dominate our spirits. They are incessant.

Startling numbers and tragic loss of life, panic shopping and restless worry seem ever-unfolding.  But something else is rising to the surface. All of the good deeds, selflessness, and compassionate outreach we have been experiencing are sure signs that love is overcoming and conquering.

My wife and I have a good friend who writes a daily inspirational message, posts it on FaceBook and sends it out through email. Arlen never tires of talking about love. It's his topic and focus day after day. This guy is no stranger to struggles. He has had heart problems for over two decades. His wife, an angel in her own right, lost a long battle to cancer not so long ago.

Last year he was diagnosed with a recurrence of the same disease and given little chance for survival. He would not accept such a fate. Marshalling prayer warriors, he continues to fight and survive against all odds. And he is winning. His daily gift comes from an undaunted faith and belief that all things emanate from love.

Other evidence of love is everywhere. Famous people and philanthropists are responding in so many generous ways. Then there are the unheralded ones who are contributing in ways that make an incredible difference.

• My cousin, Margee who creates beautiful quilts is now making face masks for Johns Hopkins.

• Our loyal BFFs in Michigan, Margie and Bob, had hundreds of lawn signs printed thanking Healthcare Workers with a goal of "seeing them everywhere in our community so that on their way to work each day, our health care providers can feel our love and support."

• Our daughter-in-law in Memphis is one of those selfless hospital professionals. She says it means a lot to her too.

• A Rabbi we know left surprise Passover boxes on the doorsteps of congregation members.

• My little grandchildren have signed up (with parental guidance) to a monitored video message service. Almost every day we get connected through video with happy little faces, sweet voices and funny art work.

• A neighbor who makes a bunny cake every year when she comes for our Easter feast, brought one over so that our other grands would still have the traditional rabbit decorated treat even though we couldn't be together.

On and on, big and 'little' gestures of love are popping up all around us.

It might seem strange that our difficulties are the source of such outpourings of love. But love always comes from passion and brokenness. God's unfailing spirit reaches down into the pit of despair to rescue the afflicted. We are lifted out of the hopelessness to become heroes for others who suffer. Richard Rohr recently wrote to us saying'

Right now, it seems that the whole world is in the belly of the beast together. But we are also safely held in the loving hands of God, even if we do not yet fully realize it.

I wonder what will become of us when we get to the other side of the novel coronavirus. Will we have become a new creation? Today is the celebration of the seventh and holy day of Passover. It is a festival of the splitting of the Red Sea and Israel's salvation. The laws of nature were transcended by God's love. Nothing is impossible. That's how it works. Now it's up to us to keep spreading that love in everything we do and say. Just Imagine.

Easter In Isolation; The Light Hasn't Been Dimmed

Seven years ago I wrote to my patients that there is no longer anything to grieve at Easter.

Now, as we all sit separated by a world-wide quarantine, those words seem harder to swallow. From the perspective of what feels more like Good Friday, Easter Sunday is almost unimaginable. The cold hand of suffering has a tight grip as death tolls rise every day. But in fact, even in these dark hours, the light of Easter has not dimmed one bit.

It's true that the annual gatherings of family and friends after colorful religious services, a smell of lilies overwhelming cathedrals, sanctuaries and chapels, whole communities hunting for colored eggs, and children dressed in pretty outfits, have all been cancelled this year. We will miss those things. But we can live with that. Because, nothing can compete with what really shows up today. Simply put, the miracle of love we are given on Easter is that we don't have to live in perpetual fear of our last breath. No longer sentenced to an open grave, we have all been set free. This is pretty astounding. The words of poet and artist, Caryll Houselander ring so true during these times as she tells us;

When the world seems to be finished, given up to hatred and pride, secretly, in unimaginable humility, Love comes to life again.  There is resurrection everywhere.”

Easter happens, not only as an event expected and fulfilled, but also as an ongoing process. It will not be shut down by hard times. This Easter is both liberating and life changing for us as individuals and for the community-at-large. The most important thing we can do to going forward is to fully engage with one another (even if at a safe distance for the moment).

“By becoming radically available, our dreams and hopes move from the backseat to the front.  ”

Time is so fickle.  We always think there will be plenty of it and find that it has slipped away.  I clearly remember staring at the clock reading 2:47 at North Ridge Junior High School.  It was attached to a master time keeper in the principal’s office so that each classroom would be governed by the same moment.  The minute hand popped every sixty seconds from one number to the next rather than creeping toward its’ destination.  It took DAYS for those thirteen pops to take us to the 3:00 dismissal bell.

Now, at age 69, I glance at a clock that might say 2:47 only to look back up in a matter of seconds and find that it reads 5:00.  So, considering the nature of time, I think now is the best starting point for a renewed engagement. By becoming radically available, our dreams and hopes move from the backseat to the front. 

Our limited time becomes limitless.  No longer will we be prisoners of expectations and demands which constrict us to schedules set in stone.  A definitive announcement will be made to the universe as a prayer to God and a shout out to all of those who are waiting for our helping hand, willing spirit and dream-starved heads, declaring; ‘Here I am’. 

“No pandemic can diminish or limit the message of Easter. ”

Humankind, as the body of Christ, is fragile, broken and imperfect.  No one special group has all the answers to theological issues.  No one certain people or religion get a free pass to heaven while everyone else burns in hell.  Our whole fragmented, earth-bound body gets to participate in the ultimate miracle experienced today.  No pandemic can diminish or limit the message of Easter.

Light shines through the darkness of our isolation and cannot be dimmed. My opponents become my friends, my captors become my hosts, and past pain inflicted becomes a sacrifice for the sake of our mutual healing. Easter sets us free.  Easter renews us.  Easter brings us home.

Our Hardest Times; Birth Of The Next Greatest Generation?

Passover for Jews and Holy Week for Christians come this year during what has been projected as the most death-dealing week of the 2020 pandemic.

We are descending into an abyss without the normal physical embrace and comfort of extended family, friends, and community. There is no coincidence that these two most sacred observations coincide with what might well be one of the hardest of times. We are even restricted as to who can remain at the side of a dying loved one. And funerals are conducted when many can only attend online. Perhaps the truth we are being shown is that the most terrible things always yield to new beginnings. Could it be that our descent into darkness is leading to freedom from bondage and rebirth? Maybe the Next Greatest Generation is taking form.

It's hard to grasp that we must endure difficulties in order to fully triumph.  This is unfathomable in our modern world that rejects and honors only success and celebrates only strength.  We have been laboring under a Post World War II illusion that life is measured by achievement after achievement and continual accomplishments. 

There has been both a spoken and unspoken understanding that we should be climbing from one height to the next. The real struggle, descending into depths and failure, known well by The Greatest Generation, has been rejected.  Nowadays we love to celebrate the emancipation of Israelites from slavery in ancient Egypt and the empty tomb on Easter Sunday.

But waiting with bitter herbs while ten plagues destroy everything is not so uplifting. Sitting beside the tortured sacrifice on a bloody cross as dark clouds gather is not a place we wish to linger. Yet, turning away from pain and loss makes it almost impossible to accept the reality that hard times are harbingers of a phoenix who rises from his own ashes with renewed power and beauty.

“You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.
”

— ~ Ernest Hemingway (The Sun Also Rises)

The most terrible things that have happened always yield to something transformational.  I think about Auschwitz and The Holocaust with ghastly images and unimaginable misery. Their devastation cannot be undone. But from the ashes of horror came a homeland for Israel along with awakenings to our inhumanity from people like Elie Wiesel, Anne Frank, Viktor Frankl, and so many others.  We have been challenged to change. 

All of us are flawed in one way or another.  Never on a road of continual achievement and success, we travel downward into the place where we find out who we really are.  We find salvation on the same journey that Jesus takes with his cross and on which the Israelites find freedom.  But we must choose.  We can travel downward to receive wisdom and peace or we can run forward grabbing for whatever gives us temporary happiness.

By medicating with drugs and washing away reality with alcohol, money, sex, gambling, food, and entertainment, we flee from anything that hurts.  This flight from ashes is not anything akin to rising from them.  We are missing the point. 

For when we allow ourselves to experience dreams which have turned to dust, grieve losses and admit our failures, we are empowered to become a new creation.  We will have learned the lessons of humanity just like our ancestors.  We will have an appreciation for the suffering of others.  We will be endowed with a strength that comes from compassion rather than aggression.  We will rise.  We will rise. We will rise. Welcome to the Next Greatest Generation.

Getting Bored and Feeling Lonely; Why It's Time To Share A Story

Our sheltering at home, hunkering down, and battening down the hatches drags on with only a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

We watch updated news with somber infection and mortality numbers, hoping that the tunnel light is not a train barreling down on us. We have discovered different ways to amuse ourselves and formed some new good (and maybe not so good) habits. Even so, boredom with games, cable movies, and other diversions are beginning to come up a little short. Lonely for physical contact with family and friends, a dull ache seems to be as viral as COVID-19. If this rings true, you are certainly not alone. I suggest that this is a perfect time to write down and share your own story.

Every Spring presents an opportunity to plant seeds and watch as miracles of our gardening rise from the soil. There is no exception during these turbulent and often rancorous days. This extra time we’ve been given though, can present us with endless fallow fields to sow another kind of seed. The story of your life is one of the most precious and powerful gifts you can leave behind. It makes a difference as surely as the bounty of crops harvested in the fall.

There are several ways to tell your story. The old fashioned way would be to offer it verbally to children and grandchildren. It can be written down and put in a safe place. But nowadays, there are so many platforms and ways to pass it along. Joining a genealogy group and adding it to the family tree will create a digital resource that should be available forever.

FamilySearch.com is free and Ancestry.com has a small price. There are several others. StoryCorps.org will record your story or you can upload it to their site. Then it will be stored in The Library of Congress. ChaplainUSA.org has a project available to Police Chaplains for video capture as do some other organizations. You could also create a Blog or Vlog and create your own. I know this sounds like a big project, but what better time than now to get it accomplished?

We will fight this particular contagion by the disciplined labor of love...maybe in small ways, but add them up and they make a profound difference. ~ The Most Rev. Michael Curry, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church

Creating and saving your story may be one of those little things and labors of love related by Michael Curry. Just imagine how it might feel for you to find a box in the attic that contains old picture albums and letters. Among the treasures is a weathered binder and in it the handwritten life story of a great grandfather you never met.

Years and years ago, he sat at lantern light, toiling after long hard days to leave his memories so that they might become yours. What a gift to receive. Suddenly you are more deeply connected to your roots and have a better sense of who you are than ever before.

It has taken lots of research, recalling memories, and pasting together old county histories to recreate such family life stories for my descendants. Now it's time to write my own. How about joining me? Getting started is the hard part. Basic elements might be to tell where you were born, what your folks and friends were like, how you did in school, the games you played, your first job, marriage, deaths of loved ones, and other life events. These all contain ripe tales. But beyond facts, the narrative created can be even richer. Show your true colors. Think about challenges that came along threatening your happiness and way of life. What lessons came from obstacles along the way?

“Where you stumble is where your treasure lies.”

— Joseph Campbell

I try to remember the wisdom of Joseph Campbell who tells us that “Where you stumble is where your treasure lies.” With that in mind, we might as well get busy. Don’t put it off. Because down the road from now, someone will be thrilled and blessed by a priceless gift of love and seeds we planted…once upon a time…during tough months of 2020.

Transformational Suffering; Saved from the Calmness

In the calm of ordinary life, we often feel indestructible and empowered by accomplishments. Our identity is wrapped up in the role of human-doings rather than human-beings.

But now calmness has been taken away as the novel coronavirus disease (COVID-19) transforms who we are.

As we confront our vulnerability, stripped of our masks and hiding places, we might just awaken as a new creation.

What seems to be destroying us could be saving us.

An old friend from my hometown posed a series of questions on his FaceBook page which are on the minds of many of us. He and his wife had a long conversation about what our country might be like when this virus subsides and life outside our homes begins anew. 

"Will small businesses be willing to risk a lot of debt to restart?  How many restaurants will close permanently?  How high will our taxes have to go up to recover part of what governments are having to spend now?  Will social distancing be the new norm in all public venues?  How will the health care industry prepare for the next pandemic, because there will be a next one. And, that preparedness is going to cost us all a pretty penny. So many what-ifs."

There are no answers to his questions of course. Only speculation. Our increased awareness after having faced physical/social isolation, fear, and powerlessness, will have a lasting effect on how we navigate life. It is doubtful that our notions of self-reliance, pulling up by the bootstraps, and sheer positive determination will remain our long suit. Sadly though, the what-ifs could be replaced by if-onlys on the other side unless we are transformed by these experiences. 

We have been offered an unexpected gift during these days, weeks and months of confinement and loss. We will have an opportunity to realign and rotate our set of tires. With more time taken for silence, prayer, and meditation, important questions will surface which transcend those posed regarding what will become of us. 

Longing to be close to one another, we ask whether loved ones know how much they are treasured and whether we show it nearly enough. Harboring old grudges, we ask whether we have forgiven or asked forgiveness. Carelessly swerving through our days we wonder if it is possible to slow down, savor, and be more grateful. I wonder if we could take ourselves off of auto-pilot?

New and better people will show up when traveling the world with these new tires we have been given. Calm will return after this storm. Personal growth mixed with a deeper appreciation for what is most important will lead our transformed selves to be more accepting and less judgmental. Our suffering will have led us to a new freedom and new understanding. It is that which will bring us to the fullness of life for which we have always searched. 

So, even as I find myself longing to be close to you, my aching heart anticipates all of the wonderful days to come when we will be reunited in a wonderfully transformed and unfettered love.

Stronger than Death; Revealing Life's Hidden Promises

All we have to do is turn on the television, check email, or read a newspaper to discover what might be lurking in the dark shadows.

Already experiencing distorted perceptions from quarantines and lack of social interaction, we are quite susceptible to what we are being fed. One look at empty shelves in the grocery store and we panic.  Brené Brown, the popular author, speaker, and research professor posed the question to an audience not long ago which serves as our headline.

She was proposing that scarcity is a collective form of Post Traumatic Stress. I think she could be right. Of course this scarcity isn't about toilet paper, hand sanitizer, or even masks and ventilators. Those things are only harbingers of something far scarier. They are triggers that tell us we are in trouble and somebody must be to blame.

The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) defines trauma quite well with this guidance;

"Individual trauma results from an event, series of events, or set of circumstances that is experienced by an individual as physically or emotionally harmful or life-threatening and that has lasting adverse effects on the individual's functioning and mental, physical, social, emotional, or spiritual well being."

Like those who suffer from PTSD, we are terrified to be vulnerable and out of control. We so want to numb-out from this fear, grief and worry when such bumpy roads appear. But while numbing pain we also numb joy until, at some point we stop feeling like we are alive. And worst of all, the problem doesn't go away even when we find a good scapegoat to fault

My mentor, Henri Nouwen, taught that where we least expect it, something is hidden that holds a promise stronger than death itself. His wisdom shines a light on the powerful notion that we are not required to be victims of trauma. Through these hard times, we might come to terms with the fact that we are mortal, that each moment of every day is sacred, and that love is more important than money or anything else for that matter. There is absolutely no reason to numb out because, contrary to what we are told, there is nothing to be terrified of and there is nobody to blame.

Years ago, I worked with a boy named Thad.

He was among several who were assigned to me for outpatient counseling. The case history I read before meeting him was awful. At 14 he had been in the system already for a decade. DCFS reported details of abuse that descended into torture.

One foster family after another came and went. He had every reason to be bitter and hopeless. But it was far from a traumatized waif who lumbered into my office and plopped in the chair across from me. Thad was a survivor who refused to look on the dark side. No matter how hard I tried to dig into his haunted places, he remained undaunted.

What was baffling was that he didn't really appear to be in denial. He seemed well grounded and able to accept and understand what life had dealt. One day he said this to me; "Bad stuff has happened to me Dr. Bob and I got hurt bad sometimes. But that's not who I am. God loves me no matter what." This youngster I came to help became my teacher. 

So as we isolate in quarantine it is good to remember who we are. Though our arms ache for hugs and eyes long to see loved ones there is no need to fear or cast blame. Scarcity is only a shadow of abundance. After all, as Thad says, God loves me no matter what. And love always wins. May we be our best selves today ever-guided by our better angels.

Awfulizing the Future; Smoking Cigarettes and Watching Captain Kangaroo

The tendency to watch COVID news for hours on end is not a great idea.

Though rightfully concerned about how this bug is spreading and affecting life, most of us who are writers and media folk tend to awfulize. We can be like Chicken Little always worried and shouting that the sky's-a-falling. This makes it quite difficult to be at ease while smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo. Especially when few of us smoke anymore, and the good Captain has been gone for decades.

Our imagination can create and destroy. Boredom can dull us out or inspire. Even though many of us have become re-familiarized with singing Yankee Doodle while rubbing soap bubbles on our hands to get a good 20-second wash, the good it does mixes with my concerns about the lyrics. Sticking a feather in his hat to resemble macaroni is strange enough but what about the directive "with the girls be handy." Did Harvey Weinstein write this part? I don't think modern women could cotton to those words. See what I mean about imagination and boredom? They can run away with you.

Seriously, nobody knows what the future will bring. A myriad of graphic models offer varying apocalyptic forecasts. One chart rises and peaks, another shows a flattening curve which encourages people to restrict their contact with others. There is no doubt that quarantining will help to mitigate the pandemic. It is something we can all do to participate in the community and personal fight to slow and end this thing. However, since the future is unknown, we must focus on and deal with our lives in the here and now. Catastrophizing isn't going to help anyone. And it is incumbent upon each of us to go the extra mile to help those in need during these times. In so doing, keep the elders in mind.

We are all stuck at home in our still largely unexplored, sequestered, coronavirus reality. For us retired and semi-retired elders, the transition is perhaps less jolting than for our younger counterparts. At least as far as routines are concerned. Canceled meetings, closed restaurants, shuttered theatres, and cessation of other social gatherings are things we all miss. The sting most painful for elders is this distancing part. It stops us from seeing and hugging kids, grandkids, family members and dear friends. Like everyone else, we will adjust. But it would be nice if special, daily efforts were made to connect by phone. Email and messages are great, but we will do better if your live voices reach our ears.

Meanwhile, the deck of 51 is calling for another game of solitaire.

Wait a minute. I discovered Captain Kangaroo episodes on YouTube.  Sure enough, Captain, Mister Moose, Bunny Rabbit, and Mr. GreenJeans are there for my viewing distraction. Now, if I only had a Marlboro…

Quarantine Depression; How to Remain Resilient

This pandemic has created a situational problem I call Quarantine Depression.

It is much worse than feeling stir-crazy, sad and blue during a winter’s cabin fever. The lack of physical contact we must endure and experience for an extended period of time could result in a deep sense of loneliness. Groups of people we depend upon for support, celebration, and nurturing are not going to meet as we are accustomed. Even extended families and friends are discouraged from gathering.

All over the world, people creating virtual gatherings.

We are told to practice almost unbearable social distancing.  Recently, Rabbi Moshe Scheiner of Palm Beach Synagogue broadcast a short video on FaceBook called Don't practice SOCIAL distancing! Practice PHYSICAL distancing! He says that “now is a time to be socially engaged and helpful with one another. Physical distancing, absolutely. Social distancing, never. This is the spirit with which we will all get through this together...better than ever.”

I love how clearly he communicates the importance of connecting in these hard times of change. Those who fail to remain socially engaged face critical suffering. But even as the spectre of depression becomes incontrovertible, the fact remains that each of us can be resilient.

Depression is something with which I am pretty familiar. My professional counseling career and personal experience with depression is extensive. To start off, it is important to know that feeling depressed is not clinical depression. What we might feel related to being more isolated from hunkering down is quite different than the chronic psychological disorder. It does not necessarily require medication intervention, but rather, calls for resilient behavioral, spiritual, and emotional changes in order to alleviate it. Letha Warden, Psychologist and Law Enforcement Crisis Chaplain of Brownwood, Texas recently published a very thorough Guide to Social Distancing for ChaplainUSA.org. It gives timely and important measures for all of us to follow. The problem with any kind of depression is that it can escalate into desperate feelings of hopelessness. Many mental health professionals are worried about increasing rates of suicide ideation.

Richard Rohr wrote that “We’re not pushing the panic button. We ARE the panic button.” His point is well taken. None of us has experienced such a uniquely unsure and distressing time as this one. When things feel like they are beyond personal control and power, it eats away at our serenity. Instead of pushing a legitimate panic button we become the catalyst of that panic. What we do and say will impact how we feel. The good news is that we have charge and command of our words and actions. When we exercise that ability we are building resilience.

Resilience is the ability to adapt and bounce back. Becoming a resilient source of calm strength and composure sends a critical internal message as well as a signal to everyone else that we can overcome hard times. We create a kind of resilient zone where we can clearly think through options and make rational decisions. We are neither reactive nor impulsive. Quarantine Depression need not win the day. We are not alone. God walks beside us, in front of us, behind us, and within us.

Austin Fleming (The Concord Pastor) offers this little prayer for us; "Deepen my trust in your presence, Lord. Restore my faith in your power and strengthen my will to do all I can to make my way, with the help of your grace, to a time of healing and health."

The Glass Half Full; A Question of Scarcity or Abundance

Damned old COVID-19.

It sure is messing things up for a consumer nation of folks who are used to getting what we want when we want it. Amazon has taught us to satisfy our whims with one or two day delivery options. But now there is this new reality shaking things all up.

My favorite Prime orders are taking up to five days. What to do. What to do. Now, it even looks like the fast food joints I love might close. My glass is looking half empty. Or is that just an illusion?

Our lives have been disrupted as we learn how to “hunker down” at home. The images of empty shelves and crowds of panicky shoppers standing in lines at the grocery store are posted all over social media while the networks and news outlets report shortages of toilet paper, fresh meat, hand sanitizer, bread, and on and on.

This worrisome health crisis has people hoarding as if we are facing an end of necessities and food. But, of course, there is just as much now as there was three weeks ago. All of the lack of supply is due to our own over reaction. While this situation may be bigger than all of us, it need not compromise good common sense. When we stockpile things it causes other people to do without.

Here are some grocery store best practices to keep all of our wits about us;

• Buy things just like you would on any other grocery trip and add one extra day of staples and things to freeze or store. No hoarding.

• Use sanitizing wipes on your cart/buggy handles before and after use.

• Be patient, kind, cheerful, and generous to people who work in food service. They are stressed and tired.

• Check on elders and offer to shop for them.

Beyond all the food concerns, there seems to be some difficulty finding silver linings as we sequester at home. This will all come to an end, just as it did in 1918. There is no zombie apocalypse. It's up to each and every one of us to develop or maintain a glass half full mentality until it does (and perhaps forever forward).

My daughter in Chicagoland is one who looks on the bright side. She posted a picture of my grandchildren with a St. Patricks Day project they just completed saying this;

"Our leprechaun trap is ready. Our shamrocks are decorated and in the window and we made it through another day of the quarantine! I’m so lucky to be at home with my favorite people. Stay healthy and safe everyone."

What an opportunity we have in front of us. We can finish off those pesky tasks around the house we've been putting off. The people with whom we live can get our undivided attention and appreciation. Board games can be dusted off and played (even long lasting ones like Monopoly).

That book we got for Christmas can be read. Prayer time and meditation can be expanded causing a little grace to settle in. My guess is that you could add in a few more ideas. No matter what, it would be sad not to seize this time and make the most of it. We are in this together and another chance might never present itself.

Well look at that! I think my glass really is half full. Or might it be full to the brim?

Our Inability To Accept Trauma; I’m Okay Even Though You're Not

If somehow you hadn’t noticed, we are on the verge of an international health crisis with COVID-19 altering the way almost everything is done.

Grocery aisles are becoming empty. Community gatherings, concerts, sporting events, and meetings are cancelled. Schools are closed. We are quarantining, isolating, and battening down the hatches as this virus sweeps into our lives. Former Surgeon General Dr. Vivek H. Murthy says he thinks there will be a subsequent loneliness epidemic "because it affects a great number of people in our country but also because one person’s loneliness can have an impact on another person.” This effect could be long lasting. Certainly, everything we have discovered about trauma makes this seem inevitable.

I am reminded of the book I’m OK - You’re OK by Thomas Anthony Harris which was a bestseller 40 years ago. It was pop psychology that introduced Transactional Analysis to the public along with a communication model which was embraced and used by professionals as well as would-be therapists for years. I was a young behaviorist at the time and scoffed at the whole concept as nativistic nonsense.

Lots of rather silly and tongue-in-cheek publications followed. But there was part of what he wrote that was quite useful. Dr. Harris promoted the concept that trauma has a lasting impact on neurological formation. Extreme experiences definitively shape subsequent behavioral responses or patterns. Brain science has exploded with evidence to support this theory.

So, during this health crisis it would be wise to accept that our wounding and trauma will be practically universal.

Business as usual has been suspended. We cannot happy talk ourselves into being OK.

Spiritual teachers throughout history have asserted that brokenness is our common bond. Jesus points to salvation through his own suffering and resurrection. They tell us that trauma is overcome by accepting, embracing, and sharing it.

“The only way to avert or minimize chronic trauma during the COVID-19 pandemic will be to develop an ongoing strategy of reaching out to one another”

Yet, our overwhelming response to pain and adversity is to maintain that “I am perfectly OK” despite evidence to the contrary. While we might view those who struggle with sympathy, I will man-up and get through on my own. Disastrously, by exerting this response we remain disconnected.

The only way to avert or minimize chronic trauma during the COVID-19 pandemic will be to develop an ongoing strategy of reaching out to one another. It's no time for individualism and ruggedness.

A notion of “I’m OK even though you’re not” has to be abandoned. We must openly share our worries, fears, hopes and needs. The way to survive and get through this is hand-in-hand. Who knows, we might just come out the other side of this with an awakening that all of us are fragile, somewhat broken, and quite alike. Maybe we will finally realize how much we really need each other.

Incorporating Pain; Why Befriend Your Wounds

We are a people desperate to fix things. And if they can't be fixed, the only other thing to do is throw them away. While this may be relatively appropriate for an old toaster, this strategy is sometimes applied to people who are suffering.

Sitting in the presence of another's pain, conflict, or illness is uncomfortable.

So, many of us jump in to apply bandages of advice or offer any number of bail-outs. There is something deep inside that moves us to put an end to the agony. Of course, this is good in so many ways. Each of us should recognize the call to reach out when others are wounded. But often, the underlying motivation to make things better is as self-serving as it is humanitarian. That can be an issue because it involves a myriad of quick solutions which, if unsuccessful, might lead us to throw up our hands and walk away. Worse than that, as we turn our backs, the suffering person is discarded as being beyond help.

This truth is hard to face. But it is evidenced by overcrowded brutal juvenile prisons, increasing rates of suicide, burgeoning homelessness among veterans, medical bankruptcies, and tightening of relief services by our governments. Only to name a few. If we can’t solve the problem right away, we hide it from our sight. We shun those who won’t follow our sage suggestions as hopeless. 

It’s clear to many of us who serve suffering and wounded people that a reason we fail to deal with trauma and poverty of spirit is that we want to cover up our own pain. The last thing we want to do is to befriend our personal wounding and reveal our truth. Henri Nouwen, the author, professor, and priest. wrote about the reason for joining with and embracing our pain writing;

“Your call is to bring that pain home. As long as your wounded part remains foreign to your adult self, your pain will injure you as well as others. Yes, you have to incorporate your pain into your self and let it bear fruit in your heart and the hearts of others.”

Every one of us has been hurt, battered and wounded to one extent or the other. When we stop denying this and bring brokenness to light something transformative happens. We awaken to our oneness with everyone else. Befriending and incorporating our pain leads to an acceptance of the affliction that surrounds us.

Then we will stop trying to fix or escape those troubles and instead, offer ourselves as compassionate partners who fully understand. Life will take on a new luster in place of discomfort, fear, and bitterness. The result is an overwhelming sense of joy, peace, and freedom.

Owning Your Part; A Step Toward Healing

We sat at a big table...eight middle-aged professional men with egos as dominatinating as the storm clouds that brought us there. Despite extensive education, successful careers, financial rewards and notoriety we came to this place with demons and dragons which threatened to destroy everything in their path. We each shifted nervously or restlessly while waiting for our counselor to pose the next probing question. He was a crusty old professor from University of Georgia, who had not only witnessed, but also had been through it all. These group sessions were never easy. He cleared his throat and said; "Each of you has told us about terrible things that have happened in your lives. Now I want to know this. What is your part in it?" Something sucked all of the air out of the room. My mind was racing. What was my part in my tragedies? Well nothing. I was a victim. Anger tied my stomach in knots and rose up as burning blood to my face. How can that question do anything but take us back to self destructive patterns that were tearing us apart? But I got an answer when the second member of the group growled his response saying; "I was sexually abused by my cousin from the time I was six until I was thirteen. What the hell was my part in that?” Tom, the counselor, sat back in silence for a minute and then said; "No child is responsible for being molested Jerry. They are innocents. I was also abused as a boy." We all looked sort of vindicated until he added this. "Your part in it was that you have been drinking about it to kill the pain for thirty years." An Ah-Ha lightbulb clicked on in my head.

Even though I had spent most of my adult life as a therapist for abused boys and relapse prevention specialist for people suffering with substance abuse disorders, it never occurred to me that victims, including myself, had to own a part in whatever happened along the way. Nobody is a helpless bystander for long. That's not so easy to swallow. When you have been hurt through no real fault of your own, it's hard to abandon victim status. The fact is that intense feelings drive behavior. They originate as survival tools and then become default responses as the feeling intensifies. What once helped us to endure trauma now hangs on as a potentially destructive pattern which seems inescapable.

The best news is that we are not prisoners of learned behavior. Feelings come and feelings go, triggered by some stimulus to the five senses. With diligent work, we can change the way we respond to those feelings. It all starts with owning your part in the problem. This is universally healing, and removes us from the victims chair. If I had a part in it then I can do something about it. And like my friend, Jerry, even carrying around trauma and easing the pain with drugs and alcohol can be the part that we play.

Here is what I've learned and what I practiced in my role as a counselor after that Ah-Ha moment. It is my job to do the next right thing here and now. This allows me avoid resentment and depression. I am no longer in denial of my wounds. In fact, I discovered that it is the wound itself which has helped to form me. Instead of being governed or poisoned by it, I find an element of gratitude. For now I am authentic. I am valued not for what I have done, but for who I am. My worth and validation does not come from performance, success, or achievement and it doesn't hinge on your opinion of me. Though a classic Two/Three on the Enneagram, I now fully accept that I'm not Bob the addiction specialist, Bob the trauma expert, Bob the author, nor Bob the father, son, husband or friend. I am just Bob, another Bozo on the bus. I love life and life is good.

So let the healing begin. Own your part in any resentment you have. Whether it surrounds major disagreements at home or work, lurks in the shadows of childhood trauma, or nightmarish experiences that just won't disappear, the only way to disempower them is by taking some form of responsibility. See a trusted mentor or counselor for help. You will be amazed before you are halfway through. Soon you will find that you have the strength to get yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again.

Irresistible Hoops; Where Have All The Players Gone?

March Madness is upon us as the regular college basketball season draws to a close. Conference Championships, brackets, rankings, and the Big Dance are harbingers of Spring.

But the game of basketball is much more than an organized sport. It has been a unique rallying point for kids of all ages. It once called for TVs to be turned off in favor of outside neighborhood play. No matter how many people showed up, a game was on. 

I’m from East Central Illinois where basketball is a religion. Most of us were born with a ball in our hands. Birthing is a challenge, under those circumstances, I’m sure. Though I never heard a mother complain. There was no necessity for a net on the hoops we wore out. Backboards were made of wood with no breakaway rims, and courts were not measured off. They were mounted on garages mostly, measuring somewhere close to regulation ten feet off the ground. The favored home court was at Gary Cox's house. It was flat, wide, and long enough for some major tournaments. A few broken garage door windows were the only casualty over the years. Mr. Cox never seemed angry about replacing them. I think he enjoyed having all of the boys around.

Our neighborhood also was home to Schlarman High School, so we were very often part of the sixth man team of fans. There were bigger games at Danville High, holiday tournaments, and the occasional visit to University of Illinois George Huff Gymnasium (and after 1963, Assembly Hall) to watch the masterful Illini dominate Big Ten play. At least that's how I remember it. Regardless, basketball was a year round experience even during baseball and football seasons. It was true on about every block in about every town. If you dribbled a ball around and shot a few times, kids would show up.

I grieve the loss of spontaneous play.

We recently drove up to Naperville on a visit to my daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. My eyes were peeled, as we drove through the country and stopped in little towns. But there was never one hint of anyone playing basketball outside and no evidence that kids even existed. This is no surprise to me. We live in a suburb of Memphis, and I rarely see anyone playing anything that isn't organized and closely monitored by adults. My old friends back home in Danville sadly confirm that school playgrounds and courts we used to haunt are all but abandoned.

Parents seem terrified that someone will snatch up their child if their grip lock and hovering are relaxed. I get it. But the facts are that such a risk is miniscule. According to the Polly Klaus Foundation, "Only about 100 children (a fraction of 1%) are kidnapped each year in the stereotypical stranger abductions you hear about in the news." Stranger Danger is no more threatening than it was 60 years ago. 95 percent of all child sexual abuse comes at the hands of family, friends and acquaintances. This number hasn't risen either. But with all the hysteria surrounding lurking predators, we have ushered kids to an inside world. Sure, they are carted around to team sports and community activities under the watchful eyes of grownups. But we have lost something precious as independent play has all but disappeared.

I don't know that there is any answer to the problem. Mike Barnicle, the columnist, author and TV personality, said that we need baseball. "We need that pressure valve to be popped open for a little relief." He has a good point. I think we need basketball for the same reason. Maybe we really could change things around and bring kids back into the sunlight for some pure friend-to-friend unmonitored, unconstrained delight.

Perhaps all it would take is for the adults to put hoops up over their garages or at the end of driveways. Then we could put an orange ball in the hands of kids all across the country. We could unlock the doors and tell them to go outside. My guess is that if they dribble and shoot for awhile something wonderful might happen. To paraphrase a favorite movie line...If we build it, they will come…because hoops are irresistable.

What Are You Fighting About?

When we were little boys arguing and scuffling with one another, my mother would yell out the window: "What are you kids fighting about? Stop it!" That would almost always abruptly end whatever quarrel we were having. A simple question and directive put us back at play, sometimes with a grumble, but with enough resolution to carry on. Peace had been mandated from on-high.

What we are fighting about and what we are fighting for are quite different. Unlike children, we find it difficult to let go of things in deference to the needs of others. We fight about things that are silly, momentary and transitory. But we fight for the things held most dear. Freedom, liberty, basic human rights, our homes, and way of life are well worth the battle. I once asked a WWII Veteran what he fought for.  He replied; "Mom, apple pie, the girl next door, and her dog Spot." He was being whimsical of course. But there is plenty of truth to his statement. We also stand our ground against tyranny, injustice, and oppression. The differences between fighting about and fighting for are quite distinct. In either case, non-violent resolution is far superior to violent conflict.

Unfortunately, most of us think that we must win at all costs. Tribalism trumps our common bonds and oneness with the rest of creation.  Some are even willing to weaponize religion and scripture to justify violence against those who threaten us. Extremists have historically endorsed wars between nations and civilizations on the basis of differences in religious beliefs. I wonder how we might treat a Palestinian Jew who rallies huge crowds of followers telling us that we are responsible for feeding the hungry, housing the homeless and welcoming the stranger. Would we call him a Socialist Libtard? Would we crucify him again?

“If Christ Himself walked through these doors, teaching that we should love our neighbor and our enemy, that we should welcome the stranger, that we should fight for the least of us...He would be maligned as a radical and rejected.”

— Rep Ocasio-Cortez quoted by Jim Wallis, President and Founder of Sojourners 

Yet these are the very things that Jesus asked of his followers two thousand years ago;

• Love your enemies and do good to them, and lend without any hope of return

• Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.

He also told them this;

I was hungry and you gave me something to eat,

I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,

I was a stranger and you invited me in

I needed clothes and you clothed me

I was sick and you looked after me

I was in prison and you came to visit me

Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

All of this ridiculous fighting amongst one another would come to an abrupt halt if we stopped ignoring these age old directives of Jesus. We wouldn't have time for such nonsense. Maybe if we listened hard a voice could be heard from the kitchen window asking what the fight is all about and telling us to stop it. Perhaps that voice really is coming from on-high.

Headwaters; Our Connection to the Source

Once upon a time, not so many decades ago, I had a cabin at the Eastern Continental Divide a few hundred yards from the headwaters of the French Broad River in North Carolina.

I made my way several times through laurel thickets up the babbling stream behind Touchstones (the name I gave my little house). Water came up through the rocks from deep within its Source. There has never been anything sweeter that crossed my lips. Even below the headwaters, the pure water was like no other.

Unviolated by humans or cows, the taste and sounds of my stream will never escape my memory. I learned from natives to "tune" the stream by moving smooth rocks around beneath its surface. The nuanced melodies brought soothing knowledge that each of us plays a role in the Great Composition.

Life cannot be experienced fully unless one is able to make the journey upstream and down deep in search of the Source. Short of that, the beauty of creation and our part in it can only be self-centered and one dimensional. In order to survive without acknowledging the company of a power greater than ourselves, it is necessary to keep one foot in the past and one in the future. Savoring the present moment is too dangerous when thieves and pirates might come to take away your treasures at any turn in the road. The notion of being at one with each other and creation can only be transitory and might even feel threatening.

Being-on-the-way to God isn't always a conscious effort or even a continual process. It's more like hunger and desire which leads us beyond what is happening to what is meaningful. Beyond personal growth and change, this being-on-the-way is transformational. We will uncover True Self in God. This enables us to reach out and connect with a universal oneness.

“When we get in touch with our Essential Nature, we can use our unique, authentic gifts for the good of others and the world. ”

— Richard Rohr

On Wednesday, many people who practice Christianity will observe Ash Wednesday. It is a unique start to a season of prayer, fasting, and renewal which leads up to Easter and a celebration of new life. What is particularly appealing about this ritual is that it makes room for getting in touch with what Richard Rohr calls our Essential Nature. It's a time for listening to that wee small voice where your truth is being whispered.

Whether Christian or not, setting aside 40 days for discovery, new beginnings and reconnection is well worth it. Once the path has been found, it might appear that the only way is the one that led you there. But there are as many ways as there are individuals. I can’t travel by yours nor can you get there by mine. What we can do is to share our experience, strength and hope with fellow travelers.

What we will be empowered to do is reach out meaningfully to those who are poor, struggle, and suffer without measuring the personal cost of our generosity. It can become the springtime of the body, mind, heart, and soul. For what bubbles up from the spring of your headwaters is a pure manifestation of the Source.

Consider Yourself at Home; Welcoming and Belonging

One of the best and most heartwarming experiences is that of belonging and being welcomed. Kevin Ryan, President and CEO of Covenant House, recently wrote to me saying that 'welcome' is one of his favorite words.

He went on to tell that "When a young person walks through our front door, shattered by abuse, poverty, or injustice, desperate for a place to finally call home, the first thing we say is, "Welcome." And that word means the world to a kid who has gotten used to people turning their backs." His words ring true with me not only as a result of my volunteer work with Covenant House years ago but because welcoming was a cornerstone of my work with sexually abused boys and people who suffer from substance abuse disorders. They also echo in the lonely places of my heart which searches for that door-always-open saying I belong to you and you belong to me.

Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! are the opening words of the Welcoming Prayer developed by Mary Mrozowski. She asks us to welcome everything. The reason it resonates with so many of us is that we have become wanderers with an address but no home.  Not unlike the young people of Covenant House, we all seem to be outsiders, starving for such an unconditional, no strings attached greeting.

A smiling face, warm embrace, and the fragrance of something in the oven signals not only physical welcome but an inner reception of our hearts. When received with such openness we are no longer aliens in an unfamiliar place. We will be strangers no more.

The hospitality of welcome is an art which can be learned and practiced but is only authentic when it comes from a deep source of love. You can recognize it when the words; 'My home is yours. Eat and drink with me. Stay here' find their way to your center. When the reality settles in that we are all cherished family members, there will no longer be a need for security systems, bars on windows, and padlocks. There is no fear, expectation of departure, and no hidden agenda. Rather, there is a mutual vulnerability transcending the identity of the host or guest. If such vulnerability feels too dangerous then the welcome mat might as well be removed from the doorstep. And for those who approach with something to lose or something to gain, there will be no open arms.

Perhaps the mental image of a couch-surfing, homeless child (one of 700,000 adolescent minors) shivering in the night, with prospects of being trafficked is not enough to break or soften our fearful hearts. Maybe we could just see our own faces in the shadows and recognize the pain of loneliness and rejection each of us experiences. Then we might be able to reach out and reach in to extend a warm, undaunted Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! You belong here!

Having A Good Conversation

Let's talk. Pull up a chair, relax, have a coffee, and tell me all about it. Those are the words, or some variation, that I used for decades as a professional counselor. I really loved saying them too. It wasn't so much that I was champing at the bit to share some sage wisdom or life altering advice. Though sometimes that's precisely what a client may have wanted. What turned me on was the chance that a relationship might form or continue through our chat. My part was to create a safe space and to listen deeply. It requires humility. This can only be accomplished with the recognition that you don’t have all the answers. and an openness to discovering what the other is feeling. It is essential if we are to have a good conversation.

Author and journalist Kate Murphy recently wrote about the subject of authentic conversations and listening in the New York Times saying;

Once you know people well enough to feel close, there's an unconscious tendency to tune them out because you think you already know what they are going to say.  It's kind of like when you've traveled a certain route several times and no longer notice the signposts and scenery.

She has a good point. The problem is that it’s becoming harder and harder to feel close at all. Our one sided conversations are typed out on a screen of one kind or another leaving little room for understanding or humility. This has become the default mode nowadays at home, work, school, and in community. We aren't authentically relating with one another. There are just too many tweets and sound bites with fewer genuine conversations to establish or maintain meaningful relationships. These contextual observations leave damage done in their wake. Hate-filled tropes are ripping people apart, influencing prejudice, and promoting bullying.

Most of the time, when responding to social media, a conversational decision has been predetermined. This also happens when we are communicating on the fly or are absorbed in other matters. We set a course to conform, confront, or ignore. True listening requires a hearing, mirroring, and internalizing without filters, critiques or rationalizations. It demands intentional openness. That will never happen with a 280 character tweet limit. It won't occur on any platform or in any email. Transformational relationships are formed face-to-face. It is dependant upon putting everything else aside and paying attention. That might not be easy with our agenda based lifestyles. But it is indispensable if we ever want to connect with anyone more meaningfully than in an internet feed.

The Center for Action and Contemplation recently shared the words of Steven Charleston who relates to God as a grandmotherly figure. For me, this tells the story of true communication;

She takes my face gently in her hands and holds me in Her gaze as She tells me what She thinks I need to know, forming the words slowly so I can remember them and let them sink in.

Now is the time to slow it all down. If we are to do more than survive the current crisis of deafness to the needs of one another, there will have to be a concerted effort to be humble. We must become more willing to open up with patient and listening ears. In so doing we will create a space where true intimacy can flourish. Let's get started. I'll listen.

Defined by Love

There is no doubt about it. Life can be cruel. The things we go through often shape self-concepts. What other people think of us or say can lead us to define ourselves through the vision of one limited perspective.

Life can also be kind. Yet, even kindness molds who we think we are to fit the narrow definitions of others. Nobody can be fully known. And the perceptions of others are matched by a very limited understanding of ourselves. Hence, the proverbial question, Who Am I. All of us have dark secrets and even bright hopes never revealed. They are the stuff of combined experiences that make up the false self or ego. They keep us safe yet distant from the love which is at the core of who we really are.

A bold statement is heard around the tables of Alcoholics Anonymous. It must have been passed down for decades. They say; "Your opinion of me is none of my business." Participants who are changing their lives through living the 12 Steps have suffered mightily as a result of the disease which crippled them. Like tornadoes, their addiction has wrecked the world around them as well. But the restorative work they bravely do brings them to the realization that it is impossible to recover if they allow themselves to be defined by others.

In order to forge a new life, they cannot allow the judgments and opinions of even those who are closest to guide them. For if they do, all could be lost. Don't get me wrong, the AA people spend a lot of time making amends for their errors and omissions. This is a touchstone of healing. They have found, however, that authentic relationships with themselves, with others and with God can never happen if they are focused on what other people think about them. Perhaps this is why so many insist that they are glad to be an alcoholic.

I'm reminded of the wonderful story that Jesus tells of the Prodigal Son as recounted in the Bible (Luke 15:11-32). The wayward son, who has pretty much done it all, finds it impossible to continue living his wild and crazy life. He comes home expecting to be ridiculed and perhaps even rejected. His older brother, on the other hand, has been a good boy and expects to be lauded for his accomplishments and rewarded for his work. Neither of them gets what they think they deserve. Instead, the father embraces them both with the gift of unconditional love. No rewards and no punishments. Each son is prized for who they are, not what they might have done. So it is with us.

We cannot win or lose our way to who we are. There is a voice at the center of our being that whispers the truth. We never were nor ever will be measured by what has happened along the way. You are loved. And love is who you are. God stands in front of us with open arms. Beloved from all eternity…This is the ultimate spiritual experience of life.

Leaving an Epitaph; Time For Every Purpose

It seems like I am asked more and more often lately to provide comforting words about death and grief. Perhaps that comes as a byproduct of hanging around for seven decades. Here is something I now know. To every thing there is a season and a purpose under heaven. So says scripture and the once popular folk song titled 'Turn! Turn! Turn!' I guess there is some comfort to that. Good things and bad things come and go. But it's important to understand that there are at least some things over which we have a modicum of control. Among them is how we deal with each other in the present moment and another is our unique ability to leave behind some meaningful words to mark our passing through.

My experiences of death are wide and varied. I have learned that grief's partner, regret, is every bit as painful as loss itself. The night before my brother took his life, he made a phone call to me. There were folks having dinner with us, and I was impatient with our short conversation. He seemed very chipper with no real purpose to the call, so I told him about our visitors and said we would talk another time. Jack and I had disagreed on a trivial matter a few weeks before and I was still miffed. If only I had listened.

The sting of death and depth of loss won't be diminished right away just because the regret of 'if onlys' is minimalized. But if we have done the best we could do under the circumstances, never left one another with anger in the oven, forgiven mistakes, and cast off misunderstandings at the side of the road, we will be able to find our way to acceptance.

George Bernard Shaw is known for the epitaph he created which quips "I knew if I stayed around long enough, something like this would happen.” Then there was Mickey Mantle who left his with us saying “If I knew I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself.” When we are young grief is something we push aside as best we can. Rarely, if ever, do we entertain the idea of writing a personal epitaph. I've lived long enough to grasp that denial only works until it doesn't, and creating an epitaph is a pretty good way of thinking about how you would like to be remembered. It can be an impetus for change allowing us to consider what is really important and what might be missing.

Writing an epitaph lets the better version of yourself shine through to make a little difference in the lives of others.  It allows you to reflect on not only how you would like to be remembered but even how to set a new course with a good compass in hand. Since there is no such thing as an inconsequential life, why not deposit a few words of wisdom and wit. Here is the one I'm working on.

"I always tried to leave people laughing, smiling, or glad. Sometimes without success. So this is my amends; A priest, rabbi, parrot and elephant walk into a bar..."

No silliness is intended in my epitaph. Well maybe just a little. But what it does is steer me to the sunnier side of the street. And just maybe someone will remember the last line and finish it with a great joke. Now wouldn’t that be a fine legacy.

Looking Through The Window; More Angels Than Angles

Windows are greater than a source of light to brighten our homes and buildings. They are more than a window-washers drudgery. Windows open us from the inside to the outside bringing new perspectives. They connect us with the life that is going on beyond ourselves. Frederick Buechner wrote that "If you look at a window, you see flyspecks, dust, the crack where Junior's Frisbee hit it. If you look through a window, you see the world beyond." He is telling us to notice more than all of those obvious shapes, twists, and turns. Instead, I think he would like for us to look for and envision the unseen. Hidden in plain sight there are more angels than angles.

Children have it much easier seeing and embracing angels than those of us who have left Neverland in favor of time-clocks. We who work more and live less find it difficult enough getting through the day with completed agendas and task lists. Examining the head of a pin to wonder about perched celestial beings is an exercise somewhere between ridiculous and inane. Imaginary Friends, Guardian Angels, Monsters, and pals like Puff the Magic Dragon are whimsical at best and rubbish at worst. There's no way we would follow Alice down her rabbit hole. Even precious metaphors on the other side and through the window are usually ignored or dismissed.

When I was a boy, I traveled far and wide with My Old Grandpa. We went everywhere together, talked about the mysteries of clouds, things growing in endless fields, the mean monster who lived under our basement stairs, people who hurt me, and every other imaginable thing. If I was to write a book called Me and My Old Grandpa, it would boggle the mind. There were times when my parents overheard our conversations. I would be chatting it up in the backseat of our Chrysler on the endless way to somewhere-or-another and one of them would finally ask who I was talking to. Embarrassed we had been found out, I would tell that it was just "Me and my Old Grandpa." Of course, their queries didn't stop there. They asked whether it was Grand Dad Jones or Daddy Baum? I would stammer that it was neither. Exasperated, they would finally leave us alone. I knew they weren't able to see him or to hear his wise and reassuring counsel.

He donned a tall, wide-brimmed hat and dressed in a crumpled three-piece suit like farmers once wore to town on Saturdays. My Old Grandpa had rather unkempt hair and beard beneath soft, smiling eyes. His hands were large and calloused but gentle and comforting. His voice was soft, tender, and sometimes mischievous. In one way I was sorry he was invisible to them, but in another, I was glad to have him to myself.

We could all find that there are angels among us if we would start looking through our windows again instead of at them. They show up whether we want to accept it or just chalk up God-given miracles as coincidence. We could stop trying to explain the unexplainable and just go with it. Because just as certain as the angles we see so clearly are the angels at our side and all around us. I once wrote that they come just in time and in various shapes, colors and sizes.  The love and support they bring allow us to endure and overcome.  We also have the ability to be angels in the lives of people that we touch throughout the day. The angelic truth is that life is wonderful and we are all challenged to carry this news to others. Light shines in the midst of the darkness through our combined interventions. Because when forces of sacred and secular are joined, the revelations and possibilities become endless.

Endnote: Several years ago, our cousin Joan French discovered my great grandmother's photo album. It had been stored away among her mother’s things for so many decades that its contents were unknown or unremembered. Among the pictures was one of her husband, my great grandfather, Nelson M. Jones. None of us living descendants had ever seen his face. But to my delight, there he was…a Guardian Angel and Invisible Friend…None other than My Old Grandpa.

Nelson M. Jones 1895