Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Potential within us
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
by Marianne Williamsonfrom A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles
Friday, August 7, 2015
GRANDMA'S HANDS
Grandma, some ninety-plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench.. She didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.
When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if she was OK.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. 'Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she said in a clear voice strong.
'I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,' I explained to her.
'Have you ever looked at your hands,' she asked. 'I mean really looked at your hands?'
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making.
Grandma smiled and related this story:
'Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shrivelled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.
'They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.
They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.
'They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special.
They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse.
'They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbours, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.
They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer.
'These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life.
But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.
I will never look at my hands the same way again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of Grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.
I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.
Grandma, some ninety-plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench.. She didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.
When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if she was OK.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. 'Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she said in a clear voice strong.
'I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,' I explained to her.
'Have you ever looked at your hands,' she asked. 'I mean really looked at your hands?'
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making.
Grandma smiled and related this story:
'Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shrivelled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.
'They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.
They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.
'They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special.
They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse.
'They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbours, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.
They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer.
'These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life.
But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.
I will never look at my hands the same way again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of Grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.
I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Gordon B. Hinkley- A leader worth emulating
A leader worth emulating
by Mark Stoddard
Journal Publications
I’d like to keep this on a professional level, so my apologies in advance to those wanting something more spiritual and to those who think I’ve gone all religious on them.
Professionally, I’ve watched, up close and personal, many leaders perform. I’ve been with giants of industry, and leaders of nations as they’ve addressed those they lead. I’ve sat with Saudi sheiks and princes; Supreme Soviets; councils of ministers, city councils and a gathering of the USSR’s top 50 business leaders.
When President Ronald Reagan drove home his point about the national economic recovery, I was five feet away. But in all of those meetings and of all of those speakers, one stands head and shoulders above the rest as a true leader of men and women.
On March 16, 2002 I sat at a banquet table and listened as the President’s Club of BYU-Idaho was favored to hear from Gordon B. Hinckley, the head of the board of trustees for that school and the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I’ve never heard a man or a woman so totally in command of his topic and so totally confident in what he was saying. Yet, he wasn’t bombastic or dictatorial in his content or his demeanor.
President Hinckley is not a tall man, yet he seemed to tower over the room. His enthusiasm and vigor as a speaker belied his age. The man is nearly 92 years old, yet he strode to the podium and stood erect and spoke for between 15 and 20 minutes to a captivated audience. They might have been captivated just because of his title, but it was his unflinching dynamics that cemented the relationship with the audience.
President Hinckley spoke without notes and constantly showed what a good leader is all about. He never bragged of himself, never pointed to his accomplishments.
At one point he leaned across the podium and said in a lower voice, “I want to let you in on a secret...” He told of one night a few years ago that he was “pondering the situation of Ricks College. It struck me that it will never be a great school so long as it is a ‘college.’” He went on to say that he discussed this with his counselors and then the Council of the Twelve apostles of the church. Together they decided. Then he pointed out how he discussed the matter with the president of Ricks College and how they arrived at the course they needed to take.
It was never “I” but always “we” – a great lesson in leadership for everyone.
Normally, the church leader keeps an even tone in his speeches with occasionally an increased tone for emphasis – never the jingoism of a Jesse Jackson or the grand eloquence of a Jerry Falwell. But on this evening, for the first time, I heard him raise his voice and nearly shout. Not for a second, for quite a time.
He wasn’t excoriating people, but praising them for their diligence and faith.
President Hinckley pointed out that the church builds more than 400 buildings a year in more than 160 countries, that it funds a huge seminary and institute program the world over. He pointed out that the church he leads is led financially by the faith of the contributors who pay a full tithing and then some.
He grew very quiet as he said, “It is a great and worrisome thing to manage tithing funds.” Again, a great mark of leadership seldom seen – humility and the distinct feeling that he sees himself less as a leader and more as a servant and steward to the God he professes and to the 11-12 million people who see him as a great leader.
As I mentioned, his voice rose in volume as he said, “Never has there been a greater season upon the face of the earth. The growth of the church is at an unimaginable scale. These are exciting times. We couldn’t retreat if we wanted to do so.”
He then quoted from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caeser” when Brutus said, “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.”
President Hinckley went on to praise the Olympics and said, with a ringing voice, “The people of the world came to Salt Lake City with suspicion and left with appreciation and gratitude.”
In the world of leaders I’ve seen, leaders like Hinckley are rare in deed. He’s a dynamic leader filled with appreciation and trust in the people he serves. Love or hate his philosophies and one still can’t deny a fact – he’s a leader worth emulating.
my comment: It's been 7 years since he passed away- I still miss him
Steve Taff
by Mark Stoddard
Journal Publications
I’d like to keep this on a professional level, so my apologies in advance to those wanting something more spiritual and to those who think I’ve gone all religious on them.
Professionally, I’ve watched, up close and personal, many leaders perform. I’ve been with giants of industry, and leaders of nations as they’ve addressed those they lead. I’ve sat with Saudi sheiks and princes; Supreme Soviets; councils of ministers, city councils and a gathering of the USSR’s top 50 business leaders.
When President Ronald Reagan drove home his point about the national economic recovery, I was five feet away. But in all of those meetings and of all of those speakers, one stands head and shoulders above the rest as a true leader of men and women.
On March 16, 2002 I sat at a banquet table and listened as the President’s Club of BYU-Idaho was favored to hear from Gordon B. Hinckley, the head of the board of trustees for that school and the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I’ve never heard a man or a woman so totally in command of his topic and so totally confident in what he was saying. Yet, he wasn’t bombastic or dictatorial in his content or his demeanor.
President Hinckley is not a tall man, yet he seemed to tower over the room. His enthusiasm and vigor as a speaker belied his age. The man is nearly 92 years old, yet he strode to the podium and stood erect and spoke for between 15 and 20 minutes to a captivated audience. They might have been captivated just because of his title, but it was his unflinching dynamics that cemented the relationship with the audience.
President Hinckley spoke without notes and constantly showed what a good leader is all about. He never bragged of himself, never pointed to his accomplishments.
At one point he leaned across the podium and said in a lower voice, “I want to let you in on a secret...” He told of one night a few years ago that he was “pondering the situation of Ricks College. It struck me that it will never be a great school so long as it is a ‘college.’” He went on to say that he discussed this with his counselors and then the Council of the Twelve apostles of the church. Together they decided. Then he pointed out how he discussed the matter with the president of Ricks College and how they arrived at the course they needed to take.
It was never “I” but always “we” – a great lesson in leadership for everyone.
Normally, the church leader keeps an even tone in his speeches with occasionally an increased tone for emphasis – never the jingoism of a Jesse Jackson or the grand eloquence of a Jerry Falwell. But on this evening, for the first time, I heard him raise his voice and nearly shout. Not for a second, for quite a time.
He wasn’t excoriating people, but praising them for their diligence and faith.
President Hinckley pointed out that the church builds more than 400 buildings a year in more than 160 countries, that it funds a huge seminary and institute program the world over. He pointed out that the church he leads is led financially by the faith of the contributors who pay a full tithing and then some.
He grew very quiet as he said, “It is a great and worrisome thing to manage tithing funds.” Again, a great mark of leadership seldom seen – humility and the distinct feeling that he sees himself less as a leader and more as a servant and steward to the God he professes and to the 11-12 million people who see him as a great leader.
As I mentioned, his voice rose in volume as he said, “Never has there been a greater season upon the face of the earth. The growth of the church is at an unimaginable scale. These are exciting times. We couldn’t retreat if we wanted to do so.”
He then quoted from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caeser” when Brutus said, “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.”
President Hinckley went on to praise the Olympics and said, with a ringing voice, “The people of the world came to Salt Lake City with suspicion and left with appreciation and gratitude.”
In the world of leaders I’ve seen, leaders like Hinckley are rare in deed. He’s a dynamic leader filled with appreciation and trust in the people he serves. Love or hate his philosophies and one still can’t deny a fact – he’s a leader worth emulating.
my comment: It's been 7 years since he passed away- I still miss him
Steve Taff
Thursday, May 28, 2015
The Circle of Life
My dear girl, the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through. If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don't interrupt to say: "You said the same thing a minute ago"... Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep.
When I don't want to take a bath, don't be mad and don't embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?
When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don't look at me that way ... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life's issues every day... the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through.
If I occasionally lose track of what we're talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can't, don't be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.
And when my old, tired legs don't let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don't feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I'll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I've always had for you, I just want to say, I love you ... my darling daughter.
Original text in Spanish and photo by Guillermo Peña.
Translation to English by Sergio Cadena
When I don't want to take a bath, don't be mad and don't embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?
When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don't look at me that way ... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life's issues every day... the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through.
If I occasionally lose track of what we're talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can't, don't be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.
And when my old, tired legs don't let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don't feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I'll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I've always had for you, I just want to say, I love you ... my darling daughter.
Original text in Spanish and photo by Guillermo Peña.
Translation to English by Sergio Cadena
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
follow your instincts
I am sharing the following story, because Sunday in church a young woman gave a talk in which she shared a tearful story of something that happened to her. One evening, she had the thought come into her head to call to go visit a close friend who had been going through some tough times in her life. She did not follow the prompting, and that night her friend ended her life. In her talk, she pointed out that a call or visit may not have changed the outcome, but she feels that at least she could have provided some confort to her friend in need.
A Simple Gesture
Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had tripped and dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with two sweaters, a baseball bat, a glove and a small tape recorder. Mark knelt down and helped the boy pick up the scattered articles. Since they were going the same way, he helped to carry part of the burden. As they walked Mark discovered the boy's name was Bill, that he loved video games, baseball and history, and that he was having lots of trouble with his other subjects and that he had just broken up with his girlfriend. They arrived at Bill's home first and Mark was invited in for a Coke and to watch some television. The afternoon passed pleasantly with a few laughs and some shared small talk, then Mark went home. They continued to see each other around school, had lunch together once or twice, then both graduated from junior high school. They ended up in the same high school where they had brief contacts over the years. Finally the long awaited senior year came and three weeks before graduation, Bill asked Mark if they could talk.
Bill reminded him of the day years ago when they had first met. "Did you ever wonder why I was carrying so many things home that day?" asked Bill. "You see, I cleaned out my locker because I didn't want to leave a mess for anyone else. I had stored away some of my mothers sleeping pills and I was going home to commit suicide. But after we spent some time together talking and laughing, I realized that if I had killed myself, I would have missed that time and so many others that might follow. So you see, Mark, when you picked up those books that day, you did a lot more, you saved my life."
-John W. Schlatter
From Chicken Soup for the Soul
Thursday, March 19, 2015
yellow shirt
The Yellow Shirt
The yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the
front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.
'You're not taking that old thing, are you?' Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt.
'I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!''It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!' I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it.
After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings
when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois.. But, that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 25 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped
it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her
'real' gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.
The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture.
Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The
shirt and so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
1975 my husband and I divorced. With three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois ... As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians I read, 'So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up.
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn’t mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A
year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were
the words 'I BELONG TO PAT.'
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and
seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, 'I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER.' But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box
to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from 'The Institute for the Destitute,' announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds.
I would have given anything to see Mom’s face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our
honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: 'Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother.'
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: 'I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.'
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal ALS, Lou
Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
The yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the
front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.
'You're not taking that old thing, are you?' Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt.
'I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!''It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!' I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it.
After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings
when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois.. But, that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 25 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped
it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her
'real' gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.
The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture.
Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The
shirt and so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
1975 my husband and I divorced. With three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois ... As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians I read, 'So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up.
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn’t mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A
year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were
the words 'I BELONG TO PAT.'
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and
seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, 'I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER.' But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box
to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from 'The Institute for the Destitute,' announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds.
I would have given anything to see Mom’s face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our
honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: 'Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother.'
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: 'I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.'
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal ALS, Lou
Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Irena Sendler
The Holocaust - the systematic annihilation of six million Jews - is a history of enduring horror and sorrow. The charred skeletons, the diabolic experiments, the death camps, the mass graves, the smoke from the chimneys ... In 1933 nine million Jews lived in the 21 countries of Europe that would be occupied by Germany during the war. By 1945 two out of every three European Jews had been killed by the Nazis. 1.5 million children were murdered. This figure includes more than 1.2 million Jewish children, tens of thousands of Gypsy children and thousands of handicapped children.
Yet there were acts of courage and human decency during the Holocaust - stories to bear witness to goodness, love and compassion. This is the story of an incredible woman and her amazing gift to mankind. Irena Sendler. An unfamiliar name to most people, but this remarkable woman defied the Nazis and saved 2,500 Jewish children by smuggling them out of the Warsaw Ghetto. As a health worker, she sneaked the children out between 1942 and 1943 to safe hiding places and found non-Jewish families to adopt them.
For many years Irena Sendler - white-haired, gentle and courageous - was living a modest existence in her Warsaw apartment. This unsung heroine passed away on Monday May 12th, 2008.
Her achievement went largely unnoticed for many years. Then the story was uncovered by four young students at Uniontown High School, in Kansas, who were the winners of the 2000 Kansas state National History Day competition by writing a play Life in a Jar about the heroic actions of Irena Sendler. The girls - Elizabeth Cambers, Megan Stewart, Sabrina Coons and Janice Underwood - have since gained international recognition, along with their teacher, Norman Conard. The presentation, seen in many venues in the United States and popularized by National Public Radio, C-SPAN and CBS, has brought Irena Sendlers story to a wider public. The students continue their prize-winning dramatic presentation Life in a Jar.
Irena Sendler was born in 1910 in Otwock, a town some 15 miles southeast of Warsaw. She was greatly influenced by her father who was one of the first Polish Socialists. As a doctor his patients were mostly poor Jews. In 1939, Germany invaded Poland, and the brutality of the Nazis accelerated with murder, violence and terror. At the time, Irena was a Senior Administrator in the Warsaw Social Welfare Department, which operated the canteens in every district of the city. Previously, the canteens provided meals, financial aid, and other services for orphans, the elderly, the poor and the destitute. Now, through Irena, the canteens also provided clothing, medicine and money for the Jews. They were registered under fictitious Christian names, and to prevent inspections, the Jewish families were reported as being afflicted with such highly infectious diseases as typhus and tuberculosis.
But in 1942, the Nazis herded hundreds of thousands of Jews into a 16-block area that came to be known as the Warsaw Ghetto. The Ghetto was sealed and the Jewish families ended up behind its walls, only to await certain death. Irena Sendler was so appalled by the conditions that she joined Zegota, the Council for Aid to Jews, organized by the Polish underground resistance movement, as one of its first recruits and directed the efforts to rescue Jewish children.
To be able to enter the Ghetto legally, Irena managed to be issued a pass from Warsaws Epidemic Control Department and she visited the Ghetto daily, reestablished contacts and brought food, medicines and clothing. But 5,000 people were dying a month from starvation and disease in the Ghetto, and she decided to help the Jewish children to get out. For Irena Sendler, a young mother herself, persuading parents to part with their children was in itself a horrendous task. Finding families willing to shelter the children, and thereby willing to risk their life if the Nazis ever found out, was also not easy.
Irena Sendler, who wore a star armband as a sign of her solidarity to Jews, began smuggling children out in an ambulance. She recruited at least one person from each of the ten centers of the Social Welfare Department. With their help, she issued hundreds of false documents with forged signatures. Irena Sendler successfully smuggled almost 2,500 Jewish children to safety and gave them temporary new identities.
Some children were taken out in gunnysacks or body bags. Some were buried inside loads of goods. A mechanic took a baby out in his toolbox. Some kids were carried out in potato sacks, others were placed in coffins, some entered a church in the Ghetto which had two entrances. One entrance opened into the Ghetto, the other opened into the Aryan side of Warsaw. They entered the church as Jews and exited as Christians. "`Can you guarantee they will live?'" Irena later recalled the distraught parents asking. But she could only guarantee they would die if they stayed. "In my dreams," she said, "I still hear the cries when they left their parents."
Irena Sendler accomplished her incredible deeds with the active assistance of the church. "I sent most of the children to religious establishments," she recalled. "I knew I could count on the Sisters." Irena also had a remarkable record of cooperation when placing the youngsters: "No one ever refused to take a child from me," she said. The children were given false identities and placed in homes, orphanages and convents. Irena Sendler carefully noted, in coded form, the childrens original names and their new identities. She kept the only record of their true identities in jars buried beneath an apple tree in a neighbor's back yard, across the street from German barracks, hoping she could someday dig up the jars, locate the children and inform them of their past.
In all, the jars contained the names of 2,500 children ...
But the Nazis became aware of Irena's activities, and on October 20, 1943 she was arrested, imprisoned and tortured by the Gestapo, who broke her feet and legs. She ended up in the Pawiak Prison, but no one could break her spirit. Though she was the only one who knew the names and addresses of the families sheltering the Jewish children, she withstood the torture, that crippled her for life, refusing to betray either her associates or any of the Jewish children in hiding. Sentenced to death, Irena was saved at the last minute when Zegota members bribed one of the Gestapo agents to halt the execution. She escaped from prison but for the rest of the war she was pursued by the Nazis.
After the war she dug up the jars and used the notes to track down the 2,500 children she placed with adoptive families and to reunite them with relatives scattered across Europe. But most lost their families during the Holocaust in Nazi death camps. The children had known her only by her code name Jolanta. But years later, after she was honored for her wartime work, her picture appeared in a newspaper. "A man, a painter, telephoned me," said Sendler, "`I remember your face,' he said. `It was you who took me out of the ghetto.' I had many calls like that!"
Irena Sendler did not think of herself as a hero. She claimed no credit for her actions. "I could have done more," she said. "This regret will follow me to my death." She has been honored by international Jewish organizations - in 1965 she accorded the title of Righteous Among the Nations by the Yad Vashem organization in Jerusalem and in 1991 she was made an honorary citizen of Israel. Irena Sendler was awarded Poland's highest distinction, the Order of White Eagle, in Warsaw Monday Nov. 10, 2003, and she was announced as the 2003 winner of the Jan Karski award for Valor and Courage. She has officially been designated a national hero in Poland and schools are named in her honor. Annual Irena Sendler days are celebrated throughout Europe and the United States.
In 2007, she was nominated to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. At a special session in Poland's upper house of Parliament, President Lech Kaczynski announced the unanimous resolution to honor Irena Sendler for rescuing "the most defenseless victims of the Nazi ideology: the Jewish children." He referred to her as a "great heroine who can be justly named for the Nobel Peace Prize. She deserves great respect from our whole nation."
During the ceremony Elzbieta Ficowska, who was just six months old when she was saved by Irena Sendler, read out a letter on her behalf: “Every child saved with my help is the justification of my existence on this Earth, and not a title to glory,” Irena Sendler said in the letter, “Over a half-century has passed since the hell of the Holocaust, but its spectre still hangs over the world and doesn’t allow us to forget.”
This lovely, courageous woman was one of the most dedicated and active workers in aiding Jews during the Nazi occupation of Poland. Her courage enabled not only the survival of 2,500 Jewish children but also of the generations of their descendants.
The Nobel Prize recipient, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, has dedicated his life to ensuring that none of us forget what happened to the Jews. He wrote:
"In those times there was darkness everywhere. In heaven and on earth, all the gates of compassion seemed to have been closed. The killer killed and the Jews died and the outside world adopted an attitude either of complicity or of indifference. Only a few had the courage to care ..."
- Louis Bülow
Yet there were acts of courage and human decency during the Holocaust - stories to bear witness to goodness, love and compassion. This is the story of an incredible woman and her amazing gift to mankind. Irena Sendler. An unfamiliar name to most people, but this remarkable woman defied the Nazis and saved 2,500 Jewish children by smuggling them out of the Warsaw Ghetto. As a health worker, she sneaked the children out between 1942 and 1943 to safe hiding places and found non-Jewish families to adopt them.
For many years Irena Sendler - white-haired, gentle and courageous - was living a modest existence in her Warsaw apartment. This unsung heroine passed away on Monday May 12th, 2008.
Her achievement went largely unnoticed for many years. Then the story was uncovered by four young students at Uniontown High School, in Kansas, who were the winners of the 2000 Kansas state National History Day competition by writing a play Life in a Jar about the heroic actions of Irena Sendler. The girls - Elizabeth Cambers, Megan Stewart, Sabrina Coons and Janice Underwood - have since gained international recognition, along with their teacher, Norman Conard. The presentation, seen in many venues in the United States and popularized by National Public Radio, C-SPAN and CBS, has brought Irena Sendlers story to a wider public. The students continue their prize-winning dramatic presentation Life in a Jar.
Irena Sendler was born in 1910 in Otwock, a town some 15 miles southeast of Warsaw. She was greatly influenced by her father who was one of the first Polish Socialists. As a doctor his patients were mostly poor Jews. In 1939, Germany invaded Poland, and the brutality of the Nazis accelerated with murder, violence and terror. At the time, Irena was a Senior Administrator in the Warsaw Social Welfare Department, which operated the canteens in every district of the city. Previously, the canteens provided meals, financial aid, and other services for orphans, the elderly, the poor and the destitute. Now, through Irena, the canteens also provided clothing, medicine and money for the Jews. They were registered under fictitious Christian names, and to prevent inspections, the Jewish families were reported as being afflicted with such highly infectious diseases as typhus and tuberculosis.
But in 1942, the Nazis herded hundreds of thousands of Jews into a 16-block area that came to be known as the Warsaw Ghetto. The Ghetto was sealed and the Jewish families ended up behind its walls, only to await certain death. Irena Sendler was so appalled by the conditions that she joined Zegota, the Council for Aid to Jews, organized by the Polish underground resistance movement, as one of its first recruits and directed the efforts to rescue Jewish children.
To be able to enter the Ghetto legally, Irena managed to be issued a pass from Warsaws Epidemic Control Department and she visited the Ghetto daily, reestablished contacts and brought food, medicines and clothing. But 5,000 people were dying a month from starvation and disease in the Ghetto, and she decided to help the Jewish children to get out. For Irena Sendler, a young mother herself, persuading parents to part with their children was in itself a horrendous task. Finding families willing to shelter the children, and thereby willing to risk their life if the Nazis ever found out, was also not easy.
Irena Sendler, who wore a star armband as a sign of her solidarity to Jews, began smuggling children out in an ambulance. She recruited at least one person from each of the ten centers of the Social Welfare Department. With their help, she issued hundreds of false documents with forged signatures. Irena Sendler successfully smuggled almost 2,500 Jewish children to safety and gave them temporary new identities.
Some children were taken out in gunnysacks or body bags. Some were buried inside loads of goods. A mechanic took a baby out in his toolbox. Some kids were carried out in potato sacks, others were placed in coffins, some entered a church in the Ghetto which had two entrances. One entrance opened into the Ghetto, the other opened into the Aryan side of Warsaw. They entered the church as Jews and exited as Christians. "`Can you guarantee they will live?'" Irena later recalled the distraught parents asking. But she could only guarantee they would die if they stayed. "In my dreams," she said, "I still hear the cries when they left their parents."
Irena Sendler accomplished her incredible deeds with the active assistance of the church. "I sent most of the children to religious establishments," she recalled. "I knew I could count on the Sisters." Irena also had a remarkable record of cooperation when placing the youngsters: "No one ever refused to take a child from me," she said. The children were given false identities and placed in homes, orphanages and convents. Irena Sendler carefully noted, in coded form, the childrens original names and their new identities. She kept the only record of their true identities in jars buried beneath an apple tree in a neighbor's back yard, across the street from German barracks, hoping she could someday dig up the jars, locate the children and inform them of their past.
In all, the jars contained the names of 2,500 children ...
But the Nazis became aware of Irena's activities, and on October 20, 1943 she was arrested, imprisoned and tortured by the Gestapo, who broke her feet and legs. She ended up in the Pawiak Prison, but no one could break her spirit. Though she was the only one who knew the names and addresses of the families sheltering the Jewish children, she withstood the torture, that crippled her for life, refusing to betray either her associates or any of the Jewish children in hiding. Sentenced to death, Irena was saved at the last minute when Zegota members bribed one of the Gestapo agents to halt the execution. She escaped from prison but for the rest of the war she was pursued by the Nazis.
After the war she dug up the jars and used the notes to track down the 2,500 children she placed with adoptive families and to reunite them with relatives scattered across Europe. But most lost their families during the Holocaust in Nazi death camps. The children had known her only by her code name Jolanta. But years later, after she was honored for her wartime work, her picture appeared in a newspaper. "A man, a painter, telephoned me," said Sendler, "`I remember your face,' he said. `It was you who took me out of the ghetto.' I had many calls like that!"
Irena Sendler did not think of herself as a hero. She claimed no credit for her actions. "I could have done more," she said. "This regret will follow me to my death." She has been honored by international Jewish organizations - in 1965 she accorded the title of Righteous Among the Nations by the Yad Vashem organization in Jerusalem and in 1991 she was made an honorary citizen of Israel. Irena Sendler was awarded Poland's highest distinction, the Order of White Eagle, in Warsaw Monday Nov. 10, 2003, and she was announced as the 2003 winner of the Jan Karski award for Valor and Courage. She has officially been designated a national hero in Poland and schools are named in her honor. Annual Irena Sendler days are celebrated throughout Europe and the United States.
In 2007, she was nominated to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. At a special session in Poland's upper house of Parliament, President Lech Kaczynski announced the unanimous resolution to honor Irena Sendler for rescuing "the most defenseless victims of the Nazi ideology: the Jewish children." He referred to her as a "great heroine who can be justly named for the Nobel Peace Prize. She deserves great respect from our whole nation."
During the ceremony Elzbieta Ficowska, who was just six months old when she was saved by Irena Sendler, read out a letter on her behalf: “Every child saved with my help is the justification of my existence on this Earth, and not a title to glory,” Irena Sendler said in the letter, “Over a half-century has passed since the hell of the Holocaust, but its spectre still hangs over the world and doesn’t allow us to forget.”
This lovely, courageous woman was one of the most dedicated and active workers in aiding Jews during the Nazi occupation of Poland. Her courage enabled not only the survival of 2,500 Jewish children but also of the generations of their descendants.
The Nobel Prize recipient, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, has dedicated his life to ensuring that none of us forget what happened to the Jews. He wrote:
"In those times there was darkness everywhere. In heaven and on earth, all the gates of compassion seemed to have been closed. The killer killed and the Jews died and the outside world adopted an attitude either of complicity or of indifference. Only a few had the courage to care ..."
- Louis Bülow
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Poem to a Missionary from a Russian Convert
Who Are You Boy”
(
)
Who are you boy? You journeyed to this land of ours
This land where I have endured my days
And felt oppression kill my soul
And forced me into some tight mold
And teach me that I should not hope
Unless I care to smell the smoke
Of dreams that the Red Army tamed.
Who are you boy? From this land of plenty.
Teaching of God if there is any.
You have all, we have none.
Do you know what that feels like son?
And yet, you ask me to believe
In something that I cannot see.
Some force you say will bring me joy.
Do you know what that feels like boy?
Where you are from, faith is free.
But it has a price for me.
When I have pain, I have my bottle.
Hurt dies quick when you drown it in vodka.
That’s enough to warm my soul.
I work, I sleep, the days go by –
I am waiting for the day I die.
You don’t understand this place.
You say believe, obey, have faith.
Live life well, serve and give.
Here in Russia we just live.
Who are you boy? Why did you come
To save a soul who once was numb?
To teach a wretched, hateful man
Who cursed your help, refused your hand.
I thought that we were worlds apart.
So how is it you knew my heart?
A fraction my age, you calmed my rage.
I should have been left behind
It is hard to love my kind.
Hope in your heart, power in your hands
Why did you come to this distant land.
I know now, it was for me
The Red Curtain fell, but I was not free
Until a boy from nations away.
Brought me my Lord. I bless the day
He led me to weep at my Master’s feet,
The American boy I met on the street.
New and naïve, still in his teens,
With a message to bring the world to its knees
I thought that the truth would come from another
I did not know this boy was my brother.
(
Who are you boy? You journeyed to this land of ours
This land where I have endured my days
And felt oppression kill my soul
And forced me into some tight mold
And teach me that I should not hope
Unless I care to smell the smoke
Of dreams that the Red Army tamed.
Who are you boy? From this land of plenty.
Teaching of God if there is any.
You have all, we have none.
Do you know what that feels like son?
And yet, you ask me to believe
In something that I cannot see.
Some force you say will bring me joy.
Do you know what that feels like boy?
Where you are from, faith is free.
But it has a price for me.
When I have pain, I have my bottle.
Hurt dies quick when you drown it in vodka.
That’s enough to warm my soul.
I work, I sleep, the days go by –
I am waiting for the day I die.
You don’t understand this place.
You say believe, obey, have faith.
Live life well, serve and give.
Here in Russia we just live.
Who are you boy? Why did you come
To save a soul who once was numb?
To teach a wretched, hateful man
Who cursed your help, refused your hand.
I thought that we were worlds apart.
So how is it you knew my heart?
A fraction my age, you calmed my rage.
I should have been left behind
It is hard to love my kind.
Hope in your heart, power in your hands
Why did you come to this distant land.
I know now, it was for me
The Red Curtain fell, but I was not free
Until a boy from nations away.
Brought me my Lord. I bless the day
He led me to weep at my Master’s feet,
The American boy I met on the street.
New and naïve, still in his teens,
With a message to bring the world to its knees
I thought that the truth would come from another
I did not know this boy was my brother.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
King Arthur story- What does woman really want?
What Does Woman Really Want?
King Arthur, in his youth, was caught poaching in the forests of the neighboring kingdom and was caught by its king. He might well have been killed immediately, for that was the punishment for transgressing the laws of property and ownership. But the neighboring king was touched by Arthur's youth and winsome character. He offered Arthur freedom if he could find the answer to a very difficult question within one year. The question? What does woman really want? This would stagger the wisest of men and seemed insurmountable for the youth. But it was better than hanging, so Arthur returned home and began questioning everyone he could find. Harlot and nun, princess and queen, wise man and court fool - all were approached, but none could give a convincing answer. Each advised, however, that there was one who would know the old witch. The cost would be high, for it was proverbial in the realm that the old witch charged ruinous prices for her services.
The last day of the year arrived, and Arthur finally was driven to consult the hag. She agreed to provide an answer that would satisfy, but the price had to be discussed first. And her price was marriage to Gawain, the noblest knight of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend. Arthur gazed at the old witch in horror: she was ugly, had but one tooth, gave forth a stench that would sicken a goat, made obscene sounds, and was humpbacked - the most loathsome creature he had ever encountered. Arthur quailed at the prospect of asking his lifelong friend to assume his terrible burden for him. But Gawain, hearing of the bargain, asserted that this was not too much to offer for the life of his companion and the preservation of the Round Table.
The wedding was announced, and the old hag gave of her wisdom: What does woman really want? She wants sovereignty over her own life! Everyone knew on the instant of hearing this that great feminine wisdom had been spoken and King Arthur would be safe. The neighboring ruler did, indeed, give Arthur his freedom when he heard the answer.
But the wedding! All the court was there, and none was more torn between relief and distress than Arthur himself. Gawain was courteous, gentle, and respectful; the old witch exhibited her worst manners, wolfed the food from her plate without aid of utensils, and emitted hideous noises and smells. Never before or since had the court of Arthur been subject to such a strain. But courtesy prevailed. and the wedding was accomplished.
Over the wedding night we shall draw a curtain of circumspection, except for one astonishing moment. When Gawain was prepared for the wedding bed and waiting for his bride to join him, she appeared as the loveliest maiden a man could ever wish to see! Gawain in his amazement asked what had happened. The maiden replied that because Gawain had been courteous to her, she would show him her hideous aspect half of the time and her gracious aspect the other half of the time: which did he choose for the day and which for the night? This was a cruel question to put before a man, and Gawain made rapid calculations. Did he want a lovely maiden to show forth during the day, when all of his friends could see, and a hideous hag at night in the privacy of their chamber; or did he want a hag during the day and a maiden in the intimate moments of their life?
The noble Gawain replied that he would let his bride choose for herself. At this, she announced that she would be fair damsel to him both day and night, since he had given her respect and sovereignty over her own life.
King Arthur, in his youth, was caught poaching in the forests of the neighboring kingdom and was caught by its king. He might well have been killed immediately, for that was the punishment for transgressing the laws of property and ownership. But the neighboring king was touched by Arthur's youth and winsome character. He offered Arthur freedom if he could find the answer to a very difficult question within one year. The question? What does woman really want? This would stagger the wisest of men and seemed insurmountable for the youth. But it was better than hanging, so Arthur returned home and began questioning everyone he could find. Harlot and nun, princess and queen, wise man and court fool - all were approached, but none could give a convincing answer. Each advised, however, that there was one who would know the old witch. The cost would be high, for it was proverbial in the realm that the old witch charged ruinous prices for her services.
The last day of the year arrived, and Arthur finally was driven to consult the hag. She agreed to provide an answer that would satisfy, but the price had to be discussed first. And her price was marriage to Gawain, the noblest knight of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend. Arthur gazed at the old witch in horror: she was ugly, had but one tooth, gave forth a stench that would sicken a goat, made obscene sounds, and was humpbacked - the most loathsome creature he had ever encountered. Arthur quailed at the prospect of asking his lifelong friend to assume his terrible burden for him. But Gawain, hearing of the bargain, asserted that this was not too much to offer for the life of his companion and the preservation of the Round Table.
The wedding was announced, and the old hag gave of her wisdom: What does woman really want? She wants sovereignty over her own life! Everyone knew on the instant of hearing this that great feminine wisdom had been spoken and King Arthur would be safe. The neighboring ruler did, indeed, give Arthur his freedom when he heard the answer.
But the wedding! All the court was there, and none was more torn between relief and distress than Arthur himself. Gawain was courteous, gentle, and respectful; the old witch exhibited her worst manners, wolfed the food from her plate without aid of utensils, and emitted hideous noises and smells. Never before or since had the court of Arthur been subject to such a strain. But courtesy prevailed. and the wedding was accomplished.
Over the wedding night we shall draw a curtain of circumspection, except for one astonishing moment. When Gawain was prepared for the wedding bed and waiting for his bride to join him, she appeared as the loveliest maiden a man could ever wish to see! Gawain in his amazement asked what had happened. The maiden replied that because Gawain had been courteous to her, she would show him her hideous aspect half of the time and her gracious aspect the other half of the time: which did he choose for the day and which for the night? This was a cruel question to put before a man, and Gawain made rapid calculations. Did he want a lovely maiden to show forth during the day, when all of his friends could see, and a hideous hag at night in the privacy of their chamber; or did he want a hag during the day and a maiden in the intimate moments of their life?
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