FATHERS NEED HELP TO BE FATHERS

Role model progams desperately needed

I may be generalizing and idealizing a little too much, but the way I see it is that mothers have the primary function of making a child secure in life through unconditional love while the father's role is that of a teacher preparing the child to cope with the society within which it was born.

A father's love should be guided by principles and expectations; it should be patient and tolerant, rather than threatening and authoritarian. It should give the growing child an increasing sense of competence and eventually permit the youngster to become its own authority and to dispense with that of the father. Eventually, the mature person comes to the point where he/she has become free of the outside mother and father figures and has built them up inside. In contrast to Freud's concept of the super-ego, however, the child has built them inside not by incorporating mother and father, but by building a motherly conscience on its own capacity for love and a fatherly conscience based on his reason and judgment. (You'll no doubt need to read the forgoing at least one more time to grasp the essence of it.)

This all sets the stage for me to go off on a personal tangent.

I think that there is general agreement that studies, magazines, books and TV documentaries have helped women meet the changing demands of motherhood in recent years. They have been instrumental in teaching techniques of child care and examining the needs of both children and mothers. They offer advice, sympathy, humor and counselling while providing challenge and inspiration for being a mother.

Now look at men's magazines for instance: sports, business, investment, seduction, hobbies -- but nothing to help a man be a father to a son or daughter. Let's face it, being a father today is not easy and it does not always come naturally. The old techniques just no longer apply. Once upon a time, a son worked by his father's side, sharing the satisfactions and the frustrations, the successes and failures of the field, the barn, the shop or store.

What model does a father follow today? Some fathers still choose the army model, demanding discipline and obedience. Others choose to be pals, playing street hockey or swapping teeenage jokes, being just one of the guys. Still others do not involve themselves much one way or the other, leaving parenting pretty much to the mother. Then of course, there is the other side of the gender coin -- daughters, bless their hearts. Confused by the complexity of fathering a daughter, many dad's simply choose to back off completely when their girls reach the teenage stage. More and more I think there is a genuine fear of vulnerability -- of not understanding, of making a mistake.

So how does a father fulfil what is expected of him? Where does he turn when self help is needed and desired? It is not a laughing matter. I truly believe fathers need help today more than ever. Consider too, increasing cases of single parent families where mothers are required to take on the unnatural role of fathering as well.

It is time our society took fatherhood more seriously. Government, service clubs, churches, community and business organizations, the media, should all be discussing this subject with the goal of establishing educational programs for desperate fathers who want to do the right thing in raising their children.

It cannot be taken for granted that every father will turn out to be as lucky as me.

MOTHER: THE HOME WE COME FROM

Natural growth requires "milk" and "honey"

I have talked a lot about parental love in recent weeks and I want to dig a little deeper into the subject over the course of the next few posts because, after all, it affects every one of us.

I think that there is general agreement that unconditional love of the parent corresponds to one of the deepest longings, not only of the child, but of every human being. It is little wonder that we all cling to the longing for the first love we experience in life -- that of motherly love.

Mother is the home we come from, and this is not to diminish the role that fathers play in our lives. Fathers truly enter the picture after natural mother nurturing has taken place. They represent the other pole of human existence; the world of thought, of man-made things, of law and order, of discipline, of travel and adventure. Fathers show the child the road into the world and I will talk more about this in my next Wrights Lane post.

Today is about mothers, however, and the best place to start is at the beginning.

Motherly love, as Enrich Fromm points out in The Art of Loving is unconditional affirmation of the child's life and needs. This affirmation has two aspects; one is the care and responsibility absolutely necessary for the preservation of the child's life and its growth. The other aspect goes further in that it is the attitude which instills in the child a love for living and enables feeling -- it is good to be alive, it is good to be a little boy or girl, it is good to be on this earth.

It is interesting to note that these two aspects of motherly love are expressed very succinctly in the Biblical story of creation. God creates the world and man which corresponds to the simple care and affirmation of existence. On each day after creating nature and man, God says: "It is good." The same idea may be taken to be expressed in another Biblical symbolism.

The promised land (land is always a mother symbol) is described as "flowing with milk and honey." Milk is the symbol of the first aspect of love, that of care and affirmation. Honey symbolizes the sweetness of life, the love for it and the happiness of being alive. Most mothers are capable of giving "milk" but fewer are capable of giving "honey" too. By means of explanation, in order to give "honey", a mother must not only be a good mother, but happy in other areas of her life as well. A mother's love for life, her positiveness and cheerfulness, her love of others, is as infectious as is her anxiety. Both attitudes have a deep effect on the child's entire personality.

Certainly, one can distinguish among children -- and adults -- those who were given only "milk" and those who were blessed with both "milk and honey."

Unlike brotherly love and erotic love between equals, the relationship of mother and child is by its very nature one of inequality, where one needs all the help and the other gives it. It is for this altruistic, unselfish character that motherly love has been considered the highest form of love, and the most sacred of all emotional bonds. The mother transcends herself in the infant, her love for it gives her life meaning and significance. It seems, however, that the real achievement of motherly love lies not in her love of the infant, but in her continuing love of the growing child.

And grow, the child must. It must emerge from the mother's womb, from her breast; it must eventually become a complete separate human being. The very essence of motherly love is to care for the child's growth and that means to want the child's separation from herself, as difficult as it may be. Unlike other forms of love where people who were separate become one, in motherly love two people who were one become separate. It is only at this stage that motherly love becomes such a daunting task, that it requires unselfishness, the ability to give everything and to want nothing but the happiness of the loved one.

Only the really loving woman, the woman who is happier in giving than in taking, who is firmly rooted in her own existance, can be a loving mother when the child is in the process of separation. Motherly love for the growing child, love which wants nothing for oneself, is perhaps the most difficult form of love to be achieved.

Motherly love is half instinctive and half very hard work. It involves a lot of giving and very little receiving. Of course you mothers already knew that, didn't you.

The payoff comes in giving the world a solid, productive citizen who is capable of perpetuating the unconditional love that they themselves experienced when growing up, thanks to good old mom. Mothers of the world, I salute you!

IF ONLY WE COULD LIVE AS A CHILD

Madison, 3, got me to thinking...
------------------------------
Photo: Madison and mom, Cindy
------------------------------
I was treated to a wonderful visit with my family this past weekend, including five grandchildren -- four teenagers and one little oops, three-year-old. I am fascinated by them all and discretely study them, wishing I could briefly invade the privacy of their developing minds to find out what they are really thinking and feeling at that particular moment. While you can almost hear the wheels turning, you never seem to be able to get close enough, if you know what I mean, and I find myself reverting to what I may have been thinking and feeling when I was their age.

My attention this weekend was particularly drawn to little Madison who is three going on 13. When you have a bubbly three-year-old in your midst you just cannot help but get caught up in their enthusiasm, energy and innocence. I caught myself, more than once, thinking how wonderful it would be if we could stay in the mode of a little child all our life -- where every valley is green and every rose is red.

Where laughter is always ringing and every smile is real. And where the hurts are little hurts that just a kiss will heal.

Where jealousy, bitterness and strife are unheard of and no one speaks unkindly.

Where peaceful dreams really do come true and the sun is always shining and the sky is for ever blue.

Where each one loves the other and every one is fair; and cheeks are *pink with beauty and singing fills the air.

Where innocence prevails and there is not a thing to dread.

Where care is not an ogre and sin is but a name, and no one thinks of money and no one sighs for fame.

Ah, yes, I yearn for the life of a three-year-old. Heaven can wait!

Meantime, stay as sweet and as innocent as you are Madi, for as long as you can. I'll try to trudge along behind, seeing and feeling life as you do -- for as long as I can.

*Madie's favorite color is pink.

THE GOLDEN LANDMARK?

Rosanne and I will settle for "tin"

Young couples tying the matrimonial knot today have a better than three out of 10 chance of living long enough to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary. Research some time ago revealed that the odds for a 23-year-old man and a 21-year-old woman (a median age for marriage) surviving 50 years of marriage had climbed from 140 per 1,000 marriages 85 years ago to 350 today. Of course, people are living longer too.

The not so good news is that more and more people are divorcing long before they reach the golden landmark. The national divorce rate has more than tripled during the past 70 years. Yet because most people who divorce marry again (75 per cent of the women and 80 per cent of the men) the prospects of reaching less distant marital milestones have also improved.

For example, the chances of a 35-year-old bridegroom and 30-year-old bride celebrating a silver anniversary are about seven out of 10, which are better odds than those for even a very young couple at the turn of the last century.

It follows then that a couple marrying at age 65 today can look forward to their tin anniversary, or at least 10 years of marriage. If we mind our Ps and Qs, Rosanne and I can look forward to collecting some of that tin in four years' time.

I will be writing more about marriage and mothers and fathers in the next couple of Wrights Lane posts.

WE'RE NOW LINKED TO WWW.DRESDEN.CA

Have been working on my Dresden: Turning Back the Clock feature site the past couple of days. Have added a lot of pictures and expanded somewhat on the text. I think that I have now exhausted the subject and can move on to other things. If you have already visited our Dresden site, you may want to have another peak.

All of which leads to some pretty exciting news for me personally. Thanks to Lynda Weese in Dresden, Wrights Lane and its Father and Son Turn Back the Clock site have been officially linked with the Town of Dresden's web site, http://www.dresden.ca/ (see Links New). So anyone interested in Dresden history can now click on "dicktheblogster" directly from the town's web page. A lot has happened in the past month and I am extremely pleased.

NEW NAME...SAME OLD STUFF

I know, I hate change just as much as the next guy but sometimes it is for the better.

I've decided to change the name of this site to Wrights Lane for several reasons, primarily though because I wanted something a little more unique. When I first chose The Wright Slant, I had no idea there would be so many other Wright Slants in existance --advertising, editorial commentary and political slogans.

The "Wrights Lane" idea comes from a photograph in my office/den that I look at easily a dozen times a day. It is a photo of a street sign at the corner of North Street and Wrights Lane in my hometown of Dresden, ON. Wrights Lane is on the southern boundary of a chunk of land once owned by my grandfather Wesley Wright and eventually subdivided for residential purposes. The photo (shown to the left) will now be a corner stone of this site.

So, it's off with the old and on with the new! Something that they'll be saying about me someday, no doubt. Meantime, I'll continue with the occasional stroll down memory (Wrights) lane. --Dick

ME MUDDER

Me Mudder 'n me, December 1938

When my prayers were early said,

Who tucked me in my widdle bed,

And spanked my rear till it was red?

--ME MUDDER

Who lifted me up from my cozy cot,

And put me on an icy cold pot,

And made me pee if I could not?

--ME MUDDER

And when the morning light had come,

In my widdle bed I'd dribble some,

Who wiped my tiny widdle bum?

--ME MUDDER

Who would my hair so neatly part,

And press me gently to her heart,

And sometimes squeeze me till I'd fart?

--ME MUDDER

---

Just couldn't resist this one, with love.

Learning is a day-to-day process

...it sometimes just takes a while

They say you learn somethin' new every day.

Well, I got to figurin' last night. By my calculatin', so far I've lived a total of 25,781 days. To my way of thinkin' that's a lot of livin' and a lot of learnin'. Don't rightly know what I've done with all that stuff I got stored up there between my ears. Forgotten a lot of it I guess. But still, by golly...Even if I've managed to remember only half of what I've learned, maybe I'm a lot smarter than I thunk I wus.

Ever notice though, that it often takes a long time to learn some things?

When it comes to computers I'm one of them thar what ya call a "slow learner". Seems like I'm always learnin' things about this damn word machine that I should have learnt yesterday. As a result I'm always playin' catch up in learnin' about this confounded apparatus.

For instance, for the better part of two weeks I've been trying to figure out a way to link my new web sites to the main page of The Wright Slant. Nothing seemed to work, although I just knew there had to be a way to do it. Suddenly, as I was preparing supper last night, something struck me. I dropped everything (figuratively speaking) and rushed to the computer. And, much to my wondering eyes, there was the answer!

As a result of this lastest and reluctant break through, I am as pleased as punch to introduce to readers "Yours just for the clicking" as displayed for the first time at the top left of the current page. No more going to my Profile Page to link to other sites, for which I sincerely apologize. Only trouble is that I now have to create new sites with which to link.

---

Anyway, I learned not one but three things today.

1. How to link web sites
2. When you seek a solution, don't give up
3. I'm smarter than I thunk I wus!

Experiencing racial discrimination first hand

...Unfortunate incident had happy ending

In adding a story to my reflections of home town Dresden web site this morning, I hesitatingly made reference to "racial discrimination". I say hesitatingly, because the subject is still very much a sore spot for long-standing residents of the community.

Just as in other countries where slavery was instituted, emancipation in Canada did not come easily. Even after slavery was abolished, Blacks and Aboriginal peoples found themselves confined to the bottom rung of society and denied their most basic rights. It was actually not until 1960 that racial segregation was rendered illegal in Canada. Fortunately, our country has changed dramatically in the past five decades and as citizens we are all equal before the law. Communities across the country now reflect and celebrate their cultural and ethnic diversity but, as I say, this type of stability and social harmony did not come easily overnight.

When I was growing up in Dresden, Black people were not allowed in restaurants nor in local hair cutting establishments. Bear in mind that this was at a time when Black people made up one third of the town's population, so we are not talking about a mere handful of people. Add to this the fact that Dresden was/is the site of Rev. Josiah Henson's world famous Uncle Tom's Cabin.

Many of my closest friends were Black and I was fully aware that they and their families were victims of discrimination, yet we never talked about it. We simply pretended it did not exist, although that was easy for me because my life was not being adversely affected.

Little by little, Black kids would occasionally join Whites in a couple of the local restaurants but they still could not order anything. I well remember a Black friend (we'll call him Joseph) sitting with me at a soda counter after a baseball game one evening. We were hot and thirsty. Spontaneously and without thinking, I'm convinced, Joseph said to the waitress behind the counter "I'll have a butterscotch milk shake!"

"I'm sorry, Joseph, but I can't serve you" said the waitress who was also a school friend. I could not believe what had just transpired. All I could say to Joseph was "It's hot in here, let's go outside." Typically, not another word was ever spoken about the incident.

Two years later, Joseph and the waitress were married. How ironic is that?

I talked to both of them a few months ago. They're still happily married, comfortably retired and proud grandparents. I also met them several years ago together in a restaurant. Definitely a case where times have changed for the better.

But the hurt lives on, quietly and deeply, I'm sure. It has to!

Talking to strangers can be interesting

...Sensitivity, sense of humor helpful

In case you haven't already noticed, I'm an odd sort. I like to speak to perfect strangers -- in stores, on the street, just about anywhere. What is so strange about this is the fact that I used to be extremely shy and reluctant to even acknowledge the presence of others, often looking the other way in order to avoid eye contact.

I really do not know how to explain the change in my personality other than the realization that as we mature we become more comfortable in our skin and we tend to open up and reach out more. I honestly feel that you do not have to know a person to speak to them as long as it is a light-hearted comment accompanied by a smile and a twinkle in the eye.

More often than not people react favorably to my unsolicited invasions. Surprise, at first, is generally followed by a smile and a few words of response. Of course I pick my targets carefully. I like to speak to young and old alike, people with frowns on their faces, people who appear to be deep in thought, people who are handicapped in some way. The payoff for me is to see someone relax, if only for a moment, and make the all-important person-to-person contact that is so lacking in many lives today. For instance, while in a cash-out line ahead of a First Nation couple, I happened to comment on the weather and made a reference to some high calorie food I had in my basket, adding: "Of course you folks are so slim and trim you don't have to worry about that." They laughed. When I left I heard the man say to the woman: "He was a nice guy, wasn't he!"

Of course reaction is not always favorable. The other day I was exiting Foodland grocery store with a cart full of groceries when a woman in her 50s came racing around the corner. Her body was going in one direction and her mind in another. I pulled my cart to a halt as she did a quick side step, narrowly avoiding a collision. "We've got to stop bumping into each other like this!" I laughingly commented. She stopped abruptly, removed her sun glasses and looked me square in the face for an uncomfortable few seconds. "I don't know you," she said as she turned on her heels and disappeared into the store.

A few days later I stopped off at Hi-Berry Farm to pick up a few items. I couldn't help but notice a middle aged couple painstakingly picking over a large counter of raspberries. It was my invitation to reach in front of them and randomly pick out a box of beautiful berries with a "there I think that I got the best one". Then it was over to the green beans a few minutes later and there they were again deliberating over each bean that they examined individually. As before, I reached in and scooped up a handful saying: "By golly, I think that I got the best ones again." The man (I think he may have been a retired farmer or police officer) turned and growled at me: "Are you just about through?" Some people just do not have a sense of humor.

It seems like I'm always buying food. I was at a diary case one day recently when I was joined by a neatly dressed older woman (she was older than me so that qualified as "old"). I could not help but detect a very pleasant aroma, prompting me to comment boldly: "You smell very nice today!" With a sweet smile she replied: "Thank you. It's Alfred Sung."

Sometimes responses are not only spontaneous but delivered with humor equal to mine. "How do you kiss your boy friend? I asked a young Kentucky Fried Chicken attendant sporting four protruding lip piercings. "Very carefully," was her surprise answer.

The one that really gave me cause to reconsider the consequences, however, involved a cute little girl and her mother. As they approached me on the sidewalk I noticed that the child was lagging behind her mother by quite a few yards. As little three and four year old girls do, she was pausing every few steps to adjust the dress on a doll she was carrying. As I passed her I said: "That is a very pretty dress on your doll." "Thank you," she said. "Her name is Cathy."

Continuing on my way, I heard the mother ask in a firm voice: "What did we say about talking to strangers?"

"He wasn't a stranger," the little one replied matter-of-factly.

"Looking back at downtown Dresden"

I am pleased to announce that my third web site has now been completed and may be viewed by clicking on it from the "list of blogs" at the bottom of my Profile Page. In producing this site I wanted to highlight an interesting newspaper "word picture" written by my father, Ken Wright, reflecting on the Town of Dresden at the turn of the last century. There is not a lot of information in Dresden archives about this period in the town's history. I also wanted to pay tribute to my father for what he contributed to me and the community in his short 53 years of life.

I may add to this site in the future but for the time being I will give it a rest.

Good and tough golfer in the making?

...maybe, if he plays as good as he did "yesterday"

Some things are just too good to keep to yourself, like the Golf poem written by my grandson Ryan (pictured at right) when he was about eight years of age. He may not be the next challenger to Tiger Woods but there is every possibility he could be the literary world's new Edgar A. Guest whose poem "Yesterday" was featured in the previous Wright Slant post. While Ryan has gone on to produced some extremely colorful prose, I am proud to share his first poetic effort with you at this time.

Golf

by Ryan Rocha

I love golf, I really do.

I swing the club without saying boo.

One day my friend took me out for a shot

And I really did good, he said I was hot.

---

My Poppa soon gave me his old club,

He too played golf and that was no lub'.

Then on my birthday I got a great gift,

It was a bag and clubs that I could not lift.

---

My Dad showed me how to loosen the strip

So I could carry it without breaking a hip.

This is my story about golf and its stuff...

Soon I will be good and really tough.

---
Dedicated to Poppa Wright and family.

Thanks for the clubs and bag!

Damn, I made that shot yesterday!

...golfers' excuses are predictable

I used to play a lot of golf away back when. I haven't played for quite a few years now. Pins and screws in an ankle will do that to a fellow. I sold my clubs at a yard sale when I moved up to God's country, but I still look longingly at the plush green fairways of our local course every time I drive past it, at least twice a day.

My young neighbor is an avid golfer and I like to quiz him on his game from time to time. Invariably, he will say things like "not bad" or "I was having trouble with my driver today. Can't figure it out, it was working beautifully yesterday."

I've heard that "yesterday" more times than I can count. I also like the one when you team up with another golfer and the first thing he says is: "I haven't been playing much lately so don't expect too much." That means he's going to hit his first drive off the tee at least 300 yards straight down the middle of the fairway. Then, of course, there's the classic "the sun was in my eyes" or "that damn wind, it does it to me every time."

I gew up enjoying the work of homespun poet Edgar A. Guest. I give the rest of this post over to him because he captures so perfectly the excuse mentality of most duffers today and yesterday. Things really haven't changed on the links since Edgar's 1920s and 30s because golfers will be golfers, regardless the era.

Yesterday

I've trod the links with many a man,

And played him club for club;

"Tis scarce a year since I began

And I am still a dub.

But this I've noticed as we strayed

Along the bunkered way,

No one with me has ever played

As he did yesterday.

---

It makes no difference what the drive,

Together as we walk,

Till we up to the ball arrive,

I get the same old talk:

"Today there's something wrong with me,

Just what I cannot say.

Would you believe I got three

For this hole -- yesterday?"

---

I see them top and slice a shot,

And fail to follow through,

And with their *brassies plough the lot,

The very way I do.

To six and seven their figures run,

And then they sadly say:

"I never dubbed nor foozled one

When I played -- yesterday."

---

I have no yesterdays to count,

No good work to recall;

Each morning sees hope proudly mount,

Each evening sees it fall.

And in the loker room at night,

When men discuss their play,

I hear them and I wish I might

Have seen them -- yesterday.

---

Oh, dear old yesterday! What store

Of joys for men you hold!

I'm sure there is no day that's more

Remembered or extolled.

I'm off my task myself a bit,

My mind has run astray:

I think, perhaps, I should have writ

These verses -- yesterday.

---

Amen. I love it. Been there and felt that!

(* A "brassie" was a wooden club with a brass plate on the sole, or head. I have one that belonged to my dad. It is a collector's item. I also have a "mashie", equivalent of a six-iron.)

The old days vs. the new days

...Joy and hope are common threads

I'll be the first to admit that I have been living in the past a lot in recent weeks. It is not a conscious thing. I just guess I have a lot to catch up on. After all, the past is where most of my experience lies. But don't get me wrong. I'm very much into the present.

I think that it is only natural for most of us to reflect on the good old days -- the days when hope came with each spring season, when hearts were true, when everyone wore a smile, when every sky was blue, when dreams were golden and every night brought rest, when youth and love were at their very best. But, you know what? We all have good new days right in front of us. And they are the selfsame days of the past.

Just think about it for a moment. The same spring with all its newness still comes and goes, the same sun still shines in blue skies that span the world and people still smile, dreams are as golden as ever and hope springs eternal. The old days had their pleasure, but likewise have the new. We love today in the selfsame way they loved in days of old. If we take the time to look, we'll still find beauty in the things around us and the world is not growing cold, in fact it's getting warmer. True, we're not any younger but in many ways we've gotten better and we gladly leave youth to the young.

The way I see it is that we are so very lucky when we have experienced the good old days but still have good new days right here and now. So take time to smell the roses that are, incidentally, every bit as beautiful as they used to be!

I like the Toby Keith song: "I aint as good as I used to be, but I'm as good once as I ever was."

So look out world, here I come!

Is religious tolerance possible?

...inter-faith conference takes major first step

You won't read or hear about it in local media, but an interfaith conference was held last week in Madrid, Spain, hosted by King Abdullah of South Arabia. The three-day World Conference on Dialogue included not only the three so-called "Abrahamic" faiths -- Judaism, Christianity and Islam -- but also representatives of Buddhism and Hinduism.

VOANews agency reported that the conference concluded in agreement with King Abdullah's premise that religion should be a means to iron out differences, not a cause for disputes. The legacy of the meeting, however, will depend partly on what happens next and on further steps, if any, that the Saudi monarch can take. Cynics say he must start by opening his own nation to the concept of religious tolerance.

Intra-faith and interfaith understanding is an ambitious plan and Abdullah has stepped forward to lead the Muslim's dialogue with the world at a time when the militant extremism and the United States' war on terror have divided the world into Us and Them and the Islam-West rift is at its widest. Consider also that half the world consists of those who practice religions that do not trace their spiritual descent from Abraham and eventually they will need to be reached out to as well. So the conference can be seen as the first stage of an "earthquake", the result of which could eventually bring positive shifts in religious tolerance.

We can live in hope. Christians, Jews and Muslims may hold different understandings of how God has been revealed to humankind, but all three groups are called to love God and neighbor and care for the poor. That, in itself, can be a springboard to conversations and, as one religious scribe put it, "...to celebrate religious holidays together and even set aside days to worship together -- all to promote understanding, respect and goodwill."

Sorry to say, at this point I am pessimistic. We Christians are just too insular for this kind of "togetherness". A propensity to Evangelism is the major stumbling block. There is a deep-rooted segment of the Christian community that fears "watering down" and favors converting those of other faiths, not forming an alliance with them. I hesitate to confess that I really do not know where I stand on this issue and that might make me "unChristian" in some people's eyes.

Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just bug off and leave us to quietly believe and to worship in the manner in which we have become accustomed? Heaven knows, you and I are tolerant enough!?

A NOTE TO READERS

3:15 p.m. Computer problem seems to have solved itself. I can now go back to over-using quotation marks, brackets and apostrophes. """(())''''????!!!! Feels good!--Dick

From the other side of the keyboard

...Overcoming small obstacles to bring you my Slant

I absolutely have no idea where I am headed with this post, nor where it will end. But after 21 entries to The Wright Slant in roughly 30 days, can we talk (sorry, cannot use a question mark-- more about that later -- no time to fool around) .

To date, reaction to my ramblings has been minimal although the number of hits on this site have increased in the past couple of weeks. My experience was similar when writing six editorials a week in the newspaper business. It was like taking a handful of puff balls and throwing them to the wind each day...The only time that I knew one of them had landed was when I heard from a reader who did not agree with something I had written. So I go into this project with humble expectations and a special appreciation for those few who have provided welcomed encouragement.

The upside to all of this is the fact that I am doing something I enjoy. I honestly feel that The Wright Slant has given back at least 10 years of my life. Regardless of frequent warts and wrinkles, I derive great satisfaction from each piece that I produce and I am now able to approach my daily routine with renewed mental and physical energy. My general outlook on life has improved immensely. I am seeing and thinking with refreshing clarity. There is definite truth to the saying: If you do not use it, you loose it!

One great regret coming from my newspaper career was the fact that I never broke publisher ranks. Well, I am technically a publisher now, even if it is in twilight years and only a web site. My astute granddaughter, Alyssa, hit the nail on the head when she said that this site is a perfect release for me.

It is absolutely true that I now have an outlet for my thoughts and experiences and there is great satisfaction in sharing them. As I have said before, this is a labor of love. While I have communication limitations, it is somewhat comforting to know that I am at least able to express myself more effectively, freely and creatively though the written word. I did not always have this feeling after delivering one of my lay sermons. When speaking I am halting and slow, even deliberate, almost as though I am editing in my mind what I am going to say before I say it. At times of spontaneity, I am quite proud of myself and wish I could be that way more often.

When writing these days, however, I have to be very careful and go over each sentence after I have written it. I have never officially been diagnosed as dyslectic but I am sure that I am and for this reason my work has to be checked and double-checked. Still, I can review something a dozen times and overlook an obvious transposition of letters or word repetition each time. I am also notorious for letting my mind get ahead of my typing fingers. This is where my wife, Rosanne, can be of great assistance in the role of proof reader. She has a sharp eye for errors and I find myself calling on her services more frequently as time passes. With experience, I just do not trust myself all that much any more. So when errors appear in my text you can depend that it is because I have slipped something past Rosanne and I apologize.

Today I am facing a new problem that has me really scratching my head in wonder. My computer is not accepting question marks, exclamation marks, quotation marks, apostrophes or brackets and I have to admit to a degree of frustration. I am getting weird typographical characters instead that make no sense at all.

There is always something to overcome in my world.

Anthony Burger lives through his music

...God spared him temporarily for the world to enjoy

Rosanne and I appreciate music of all kinds. Symmetry seems to engulf us when we are listening to music. It brings out feelings and emotions in both of us and thankfully we have similar tastes. We are also totally hooked on all the music reality shows -- American Idol, Canadian Idol, Nashville Star and the most recent How to Solve a Problem Like Maria. In short, there is rarely a time when music of some kind is not playing in our home.
I introduced Rosanne to gospel music shortly after we were married and she is now as big a fan as I am. In fact it can be said that gospel has become one of our most favorite forms of music. Of course Rosanne still does flip-flops over Elvis Presley and many of Elvis' hits came from the gospel venue. Personally I lean toward Shania Twain, but I digress. We are particularly fond of what is popularly known as "Gaither music". We have tapes and CDs and regularly listen to The Gaither Hour and Gaither Homecoming on television every Friday evening. One of our all-time favorite Gaither personalities was the late Anthony Burger, a gifted award-winning pianist. His exuberance and superior talent at the keyboard was unequalled and he continues to be celebrated in gospel music circles the world over. If anyone could make a piano "talk", it was Anthony. He was all about the lyrics and he explained his ability by saying that he had been trained to "play the words", not the music. And it was true that as he played you could actually hear the words as if the piano keys were singing them.

As an infant, Anthony suffered extensive burns to both his hands, legs and face when he fell on a red hot furnace grate and was not strong enough to lift himself free. Doctors told his devastated parents that he would never have the use of his hands but as he healed and grew, God-given talent was not to be denied. By the time he was 16, he was the pianist for one of gospel music's foremost quartets, the Kingsmen, and very much in demand. "The Lord healed my hands because He had a job for me to do," Anthony said in a biography on his web site.

Sadly, at only 44 years of age, Anthony suffered a massive heart attack several years ago and died on stage following a performance as part of a Gaither cruise out of Miami. Some time later when we learned of his death, Rosanne and I were in agreement that Gaither music would never be the same again. "How could God let this happen? Why would He give the world Anthony's wonderful talent and then take it away so prematurely at the peak of his career. Perhaps Anthony had fulfilled and exceeded his Maker's "job" description for him and it was time to collect his Heavenly reward.

We have to be thankful that we could enjoy Anthony for as long as we did. Like millions of other admirers, we have his tapes and CDs and we can play them and enjoy them over and over again. In essence, Anthony comes back to life through his recorded music and he will continue to bless the lives of countless millions for years to come.

To a lesser degree, perhaps, every one of us has potential for enduring life. It may not be in the form of recorded music but, in the end, we leave a legacy nonetheless. Maybe we all should give more serious consideration to what we will be leaving behind someday, apart from a Last Will and Testament.

Do rabbits really lay eggs?

...Well if the rabbit is your dad you just gotta believe!

Many times in life we are more or less asked to believe in unseen possibilities, to trust that there is some reality beyond the one that we presently understand. Having faith in something that we do not fully comprehend, can be a challenge that some people just cannot accept.

In the book Humbug Rabbit by Lorna Balian, I love the faith of the little rabbits who believe that their father is actually the Easter Bunny. Influenced by a mouse, the wabbits, as cartoon character Elmer Fudd would say, stick to their belief even when their father tells them that it is absurb and points out that rabbits "don't lay eggs". But then a cat enters the picture and events conspire to make it seem like the father really is the Easter Bunny.

My favorite scene is toward the end of the story where father rabbit is sitting in the burrow all by himself. He has this sort of wondering, half smile on his face and the text reads: "Father rabbit is wondering if he really is the Easter Bunny."

Sometimes we have to keep on believing things, even when there is much evidence to the contrary. Sometimes impossible things really may be true.

Remembrances of "The Church Ladies"

...consistently the backbone of all congregations

Several reports and names from the past recently came to my attention, bringing back memories of my early exposure to the work of "women of the church". Regardless of denomination, the faithfulness and commitment of women's organizations have, without question, been the life blood of all churches.

At a very early age I came to realize what "women of the church" really stood for, be they auxiliaries, societies, ladies aid, missionary groups -- whatever. I remember very clearly being relegated to my upstairs bedroom on the evenings when my mother hosted church group meetings. I would curl up on the floor with my ear cupped to the grate that allowed air from downstairs to circulate to the upper floor level. I would listen to what was transpiring in the parlour and living room below -- the prayers, the hymns, the committee reports, the updates on care packages and those coarse khaki wool socks and mitts lovingly knit by the ladies for the troops, "our boys", overseas. Of course there would always be at least one fund-raising program on the agenda to help bolster church coffers.

I was able to put a face to every voice that came up through the grate and I was fascinated by what was being said and who was saying it:
A school teacher,
the banker's wife,
a public health nurse,
my Aunt Hattie,
my best friend's mother,
a farm lady who delivered eggs to us every Thursday,
our choir leader with her unmistakable laugh,
the minister's wife with her quiet voice of reason,
occasionally, my mother;
the collective face and voice of mission and outreach in churches, small and large, around the globe to this day.

Looking back now, maybe I was hard pressed for entertainment. Maybe I was just curious. Remember that there were no televisions, computers or cell phones in kids' bedrooms in those days. Certainly, it was a different era and I am glad that I was exposed to it. At that impressionable age I came to understand how the efforts of a small group of women could reach around the world.

I would generally drift off to sleep just as tea cups began to tinkle amidst the hum of female conversation at the conclusion of the business portion of the meetings. All was right with my world. I could depend that there would be leftover peanut butter cookies and at least one date square put aside for me next day...Mrs. McFadden would see to it. I was warm, I was secure, God was in Heaven and "The Church Ladies" had everything under control.

Fond memories all, and an appreciation for the work that church women have continued over the decades with much dedication and little fanfare. I dare say that there are no inquisitive little boys eavesdropping on meetings these days, but it goes without saying that God has an ear to His Heavenly "grate" and He blesses all church women for what He hears.

Not tonight, not tomorrow, not next week

...Wow, rejection as I'd never known it

There was interesting reaction to my "Sylvia story" (see Blog Archives: Easy to kiss, easy to forget) posted a dozen items ago. Well, in terms of meeting a girl at church, lightening can strike twice. Unlike the first strike however, there is not an immediately obvious moral to the second bolt, or is there? You be the judge.

It was like deja vu all over again. A month removed from baseball in Florida and Georgia and still recovering from a love lost, there I was again sensing an angelic-like presence beside me as I walked out of a Sunday morning service at Knox Presbyterian Church in St. Thomas. "Hi! My name is Mallory (not her real name). I've seen you play baseball. My father is a real fan too and he has talked a lot about you." Conversation after that out-of-the-blue introduction seemed to flow easily and naturally. I could hardly believe this was happening again, so soon after an almost identical encounter a mere four months earlier outside a church in Cocao, Florida.

An hour and two miles of walking later I was saying goodbye to Mallory at her front door across town. We arranged to meet again the next evening for a movie and the beginning of a "going steady" relationship that would be the first for both of us. We got along well, had mutual interests and enjoyed each others' company. Like me, Mallory was a "spoiled" only child and very close to her family. She too was just nicely getting started in her first full time job as a secretary.

The year that followed was a period of emotional adjustment for us, experiencing many things for the first time and developing as individuals. As fate would have it, developing for me included a certain amount of wild oats sewing. I bought my first car, as did Mallory. I was meeting new people and even developed a short-term infatuation for a certain other young lady.

This was also a period of swallowing a bitter pill as I gradually realized that I was not destined to become the professional baseball player that I had hoped and, furthermore, I was not all that prepared for the working world. So much to deal with...So personally overwhelming. Eventually, at my suggestion, Mallory reluctantly agreed that we should split up and just be "friends". In retrospect, I know she was hurt, but maybe in the long run I did her a favor. I'm not quite sure.

Some time later, the clothing company that I was working for transferred me to head office in Toronto. I was in touch with Mallory on and off over the course of the next year and was even invited to attend her family's reunion at one point. As Mallory appeared to be growing increasingly distant, for good reason no doubt, I failed to recognize the writing on the wall. In the back of my mind I always felt that we would eventually get back together after I had "things sorted out" and there was a semblance of stability in my life. In fact, I confidently sort of took it for granted that she would always be there. In reality, I underestimated Mallory, allowed distance to grow between us, and lost a friend in the process.

The possibility of an anticipated picking up where we left off loomed large, however, when it was learned that I was being moved back to the St. Thomas store as assistant manager after a 20-month grooming period in Toronto. The first telephone call that I made upon arrival in St. Thomas was to Mallory. "Hi. I'm back!" I announceded excitedly. "Any chance we could get together tonight?"

"No" was Mallory's almost spontaneous reply.

"How about tomorrow night then?"

Again, "no".

"Well, maybe sometime next week?"

"No"

A one word brush off, to be sure. Maybe it looked good on me!

I'm a slow learner, but I can (eventually) take a hint. I fought the impulse to add one more "...next month or perhaps next year, if you're available?" Instead, I just said "goodbye" and hung up the phone, shocked and confused.

As it turned out I would be busy the next year anyway. I'd be busy marrying a girl from across the street by the name of Anne!

The rest, as they say, is history.

Ah, the resiliancy of youth...and destiny.

There's a blessing in backwardness

The Nuthatch sees what other birds miss

You simply cannot live along the shores of Lake Huron in Bruce County and not be a bird watcher to some degree. There is such a wide variety of little winged friends -- and some not so little too, for that matter (i.e. Blue Herons and Swans that inhabit Fairy Lake, just below our property).

I was amazed to learn from a recent Natural Heritage Environmental Impact Study of the Lake Range property we used to co-own on Miramichi Bay, that 19 individual species of birds had been observed as being common and demonstrably secure in the habitat. I remain particularly fascinated by the white and red-breasted Nuthatch which I came to label "the upside down bird" because instead of climbing up the trunk of a tree like other birds, it can climb either up or down. When it climbs down a tree trunk it goes head first. A Nuthatch can also move about on the underside of a branch rather than walk on the top like other birds.

Because this busy little "upside down" bird moves around on a tree in this unusual manner looking for insects, nuts and seeds, they find food that other birds miss. I can't help but think that there is a lesson to be learned here because sometimes things in our world seem to be upside down. We see sadness, hurt, weakness, hunger, catastrophic occurrences and we question the fairness of it all. Sometimes we see clearly, but at other times only dimly. When our vision is blurred and we are overwhelmed with negativity we need to become like the Nuthatch, backing up to find what others (or ourselves) have missed. When we experience difficulties or doom and gloom, we can reverse our thinking just a bit to see the blessings we otherwise would have overlooked. Kind of like finding the "silver lining behind a cloud".

That's the way I see it anyway.

What's in store for us after death

...Let us trust that it is something better

Thoughts for this item were formed a while ago and tucked away in the back of my mind during a protracted death bed vigil for a loved one. I really do not know why the thoughts are surfacing now, but I have a gut feeling that they might be relevant to someone, somewhere, at this time.

I read somewhere that we are all infected with a sexually transmitted disease which is 100 per cent fatal. It is called "life". You can twist it, or deny it, but there is no escape. I thought at first that this was a rather unusual analogy, but after I considered the words a little more carefully I fully understood.

The question remains however, is there an end when death occurs?...Or, is it the beginning of a new stage of our evolution? This is a subject about which countless writers have written, poets have sung, philosophers have speculated, and law makers have legislated. We come without knowing why, we go without knowing why, and in the words of Arthur Brisbane, "we travel our journey balanced on a thread stretched between the finger and thumb of destiny."

Dr. Carl Jung, the famous Viennese psychoanalyst, seemed to support Biblical references to a "life hereafter" when he wrote: "What happens after death is so unspeakably glorious that our imagination and our feelings do not suffice to form even an approximate conception of it." I tend to accept what he was saying. Just think of an amazing, limitless future where sorrow, imperfection, pain and mental and physical limitations will be no more. It's exciting, but difficult to comprehend, isn't it? This is where we call on faith and trust for comfort and hope.

The teachings of all faiths on what lies ahead of our present life span, and in the case of Christians, the solidity of a belief in a "bodily" resurrection (a spiritual body, not a physical one) makes all the difference between being able to keep going on with renewed energy, hopefulness and purpose, and being completely overcome by depression and despair.

We feel sad and we naturally mourn the death of a loved one, but in the end we can celebrate their passing into a better realm, or stage -- the same one that we ourselves will experience some day, providing we have lived a decent kind of life. This is all a sound basis for ultimate hope for ourselves, our loved ones and the rest of humanity. It is what, in essence, keeps us on a relatively straight and narrow path during our earthly journey.

Death then, is not to be feared. It is to be welcomed and prepared for. What lies beyond death should be considered a reward for doing our best in the time allotted us on this earth -- doing good more times than we did bad, receiving and extending forgiveness, loving unconditionally. Death, as I have witnessed it, is a quiet, peaceful release. We, the living, are left behind for the time being to complete our journey, advisedly maximizing every minute, every mile. Our dear departed loved ones would have it no other way.

What animal controls your spirit?

Don't be a stubborn a mule, study your make-up

I have made a study of the work of Arthur Brisbane, a clever writer and commentator on life, who was in his prime at least 10 years before I was born. What impresses me most about Brisbane is his clever, thought-provoking style, often with a touch of subtle humor and an unusual turn of phrase. His take on man's link with animals is a classic case in point. "Our good and bad qualities are mapped out in our humble animal relations," was his particular thesis. "Of all animals upon earth man came last...All earth's animal creations are bound up in man."

The Bible and Darwin do agree that man and woman were created last of all animals. Very superficial observation suggests also that humans contain in their mental make-up many "inferior" animals. In Brisbane's words, "If you could be divided into your component animal parts there would be a menagerie in your house...That thing we call 'soul' would be floating around, impalpable, looking for home."
It was his observation that we see the animal make-up in our neighbors more readily than we recognize it in ourselves. For example:
He is as sly as a fox.
He eats like a pig.
He has dog-like faithfulness.
He is as brave as a lion.
He is as slippery as a snake.
He was as hungry as a wolf.
He runs like a deer.
He is as meek as a lamb.
He is as stubborn as a mule.

You get the point. Good and bad qualities are linked to our humble animal relations. With tongue firmly in cheek, Brisbane suggested that "no doubt each of the 12 passions that enter into *Fourier's complex analysis of man each has its prototype in some one animal." He contended further that to rebel at the animal combination which make up a human would be folly. "The Maker of us all, from ants to anti-imperialists, naturally gathered together the various parts in lower animal form before finishing the work in man. A harmoniously balanced mixture of all the animals is calculated undoubtedly to produce the perfect man."

True to form, Brisbane did not leave the subject without offering some sage advice. He urged us to analyze honestly and intelligently the so-called "lower" creatures from whom we derive our mental characteristics. Then do our best to control the menagerie that is at work in our mind. "Discourage Mr. Pig, if he is too prominent. Circumvent Mr. Fox, if he tries to rule you and make of you a mere cunning machine. Do not let **Old Dog Tray qualities of friendship lead to your being made a fool. In short, study carefully the animal qualities that make up your temperament and prove in your own person the falseness of Napoleon's irritating statement that a man's temperament can never be changed by himself."

Now you know a little of why I enjoy this luminary of the written word so much. To me he was a clever, funny and wise "old owl".
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Several of Brisbane's dated references no doubt require explanation. * Jean Baptiste Fourier (1768-1830) was a French mathematician and physicist best known for initiation of Fournier series and their application to problems of heat flow. Don't even attempt to understand his "analysis of man" unless you are at least a third-year applied mathematics undergraduate. Lyrics for ** Old Dog Tray were written and composed by Steven C. Foster in 1853. A portion of the chorus goes something like this: Old dog Tray`s ever faithful, grief cannot drive him away. He`s gentle, he`s kind; I`ll never find a better friend than old dog Tray.
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What good are tombstones and cemetery fences?

Here's another Brisbane gem.
"A tombstone is a queer thing, something like a fence around a cemetery. If you amount to anything, you don't need a tombstone. If you don't amount to anything, a tombstone won't do you any good. The fence around a cemetery is foolish because those inside can't get out, and those outside don't want to get in."

Moon landing completed 40 years ago

...giant leap for mankind that went where?

Apollo 11 astronauts departed from the moon 40 years ago today after making history with man's first visit to the lunar surface. As the world watched in awe the previous day, astronaut Neil Armstrong took the very first step on the moon declaring, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." The journey back to earth ended a space odyssey in which the astronauts etched their names beside those of history's great explorers, Columbus, Balboa, Magellan, de Gama and Byrd. Through the magic of television, an estimated 500 million people around the world, including daughters Debbie and Cindy, wife Anne and myself, had a ringside seat to history's greatest adventure.

The Apollo 11 mission fulfilled President John F. Kennedy's goal of safely bringing a man to the moon and back by the end of the 1960s. As Armstrong and fellow flight member Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin stood by the American flag on the moon, President Richard Nixon commented on their success. "Because of what you have done, the heavens have become part of man's world. It inspsires us to double our efforts to bring peace and tranquility to earth," he said. Uh hu!!

Had poor Nixon not been embroiled in the infamous Watergate scandal, we may have been well on our way to world peace by now. Not!

A new age of hope is needed

...our youth can succeed where we failed

I was interested to read in the newspaper this morning that Pope Benedict XVI told young pilgrims at an open-air mass in Sydney, Australia, "a spiritual desert" is spreading in the world and challenged them to shed the greed and cynicism of their time to create a new age of hope. He urged young Christians the world over to be agents of change because "the world needs renewal". It is encouraging for someone of my age to learn that the world's foremost spiritual leader has issued this mass appeal because, in my view, the world as we know it is rapidly going to Hell in a hand basket -- thanks in no small measure to my narcissistic, permissive, politically correct generation.

The Pope emphasized that in so many of our societies, side by side with material prosperity, a spiritual desert is spreading -- "an interior emptiness, an unnamed fear, a quiet sense of despair." He said that a new generation of Christians can build "a new age in which hope liberates us from the shallowness, apathy and self-absorption which deadens our souls and poisons our relationships."

I do not feel very proud of my pre-baby boom generation for contributing to the society that now finds itself facing these issues. We did not do a very good job in addressing the spiritual needs of our off springs. True, we led by example but, more often than not, our example was not conducive to passing on the best of our heritage. We were too busy making a living, happy with just getting by, content with providing the material necessities of life for our children and placing emphasis on having a good time wherever possible. No one will take it upon themselves, but we should admit that generally we have failed the current generation and apologize for our grave shortcoming.

Oh sure, peer generationists have paid lip service to "right living" and there is goodness and faith of some kind in every human being today, in the agnostic, even in the atheist. But don't look to those who have faith only in themselves to make any great contribution to society, now or in the future...Never have, never will!

What we need do now is to pray very hard that there are enough young people today, leaders of tomorrow, who are kind, giving and forgiving; who will espouse principled living; who will reach out to feed the hungry, to provide shelter for the homeless, to rescue the fallen. In short, positive role models are what we need now for future generations to emulate. Really, its called "the Christian way", a way that has been sadly eroded in my time.

The least I can say to my grand kids (Alyssa, Ryan, Becky, Joshua and Madison) is: "As you follow your life's destiny, please look for truth in all things and commit your heart, abilities and enthusiasm to making the world a better place, fostering hope and filling human needs where ever you see them. You can succeed where I have not. Give your old Poppa reason to be proud once again."

A thought for today...

Enthusiasm is the power and the health of the mind. Enthusiasm is the force that drives us. It is youth, ambition and will. Humans live and are worthwhile as long as enthusiasm lives. When enthusiasm dies, the person dies too, although they might not know it.

A pretty tree's blossoms have a limited life span

We enjoy them while we can

For two days out of the year we share with a neighbor one of the prettiest trees in the Town of Saugeen Shores. The only trouble is that after a mere 48 hours the beautiful white blossoms start to wilt and fall to the ground like snowflakes in the Lake Huron breeze. I have learned that it behooves me to take advantage of this short time span to absorb the beauty of the tree while it lasts. I drink a lot of coffee and wine while sitting on my porch on a balmy June day with sidekick Lucy curled up on my lap, just looking and marvelling...It doesn't get much better than that!

It struck me the other day that the blossoms are a lot like life. They don't last long and we should make the best of them while we can. Unlike life, however, the blossoms come back year after year to give us a lift after a long and dreary winter. Just one of the many pre-summer miracles of nature. No one seems to know the name of this particular tree or how old it is. To my knowledge there are no others like it in the area, but I hope to eventually solve the mystery. Meantime, we look forward to enjoying the blossoms for a couple of days again next spring.

Hollyhocks and nasturtiums have special meaning

I've written before about my favoite old fashioned flowers. Without question, I love them all -- the morning glories on the wall, the pansies in their patch of shade, the violets stolen from the glade, the bleeding hearts and columbine, have long been garden friends of mine; but memory every summer flocks about a clump of hollyhocks.

My folks loved hollyhocks years ago and I just grew up with them. To me they are like old friends. One of my favorite things to do as a youngster was to make dolls out of the colourful flowers by inverting them and creating a head by inserting a bud into one of the convenient holes at the top.

Hollyhocks are not that plentiful today, but when I see a patch I always have to pause to think back and admire them. To me hollyhocks are a real man's flower -- tall, stalky, dominant, and prickly. Typically and sadly, in time, they too wilt.

Nasturtiums with their pungent odor, shield shaped leaves and funnel-like red, orange or yellow flowers, are another favorite of mine. I love to look at them, smell them -- and eat them. I like nothing better than nasurtium leaves, with their crisp watercress taste, in a salad or in a sandwich with sliced cucumbers and tomatoes.

Ah, the mind's bright chambers life unlocks, each summer with the nasturtiums and hollyhocks.

Joshie's message from Heaven

...from a grandmother who loved him

I have been holding a little story close to my heart for some time now and I think that the time is right to give it wings on this site.

On the eve of the funeral of my first wife Anne, grandson Joshua (then five years of age, see photo to the right) asked his mother Cindy if there was any way he could "talk" to his grandmother in Heaven. Thinking quickly, his mother confirmed that communicating with his grandmother would be possible. All he had to do was talk to her just as he had when she was alive. "In this way you can send messages back and forth to Gramma in Heaven," she explained.

There was a brief pause and then: "Oh, wait," exclaimed Joshie, "I'm getting a message now."

"From Gramma?" Cindy asked.

"Yes!" Joshie replied.

"What is she saying," was the natural next question from Cindy.

With eyes glancing upward, the five-year-old responded without hesitation: "She says, 'I love you too' !"

Taken by surprise, Cindy discreetly chose not to push further. She would later divulge that at the time she was attempting to comfort her son during a very confusing and sad period in their lives but, instead, it was Joshie's words that gave her comfort. Out of the mouths of babes...!

There is nothing I can add to this story. It is what it is. I resist rationalization and speculation. But just think for a moment: "...I love you too!"

Gramma's "message" was the thing.

Through faith and trust we are saved

...from the Goliaths in our lives

Trust: to have faith; place reliance; have confidence. -- Webster's dictionary
For some reason I have been thinking a lot about "trust" these past few days. Really, where would we be without it? Sadly, there are those who would take advantage of trust, or break trust, but we cannot let unscrupulous and insensitive forces destroy something that is so important to our very existence.

Trust must prevail in a society in order for it to overcome massive obstacles and unexpected challenges that threaten to rob us of hope and joy in our lives. We are born into a world where trust permeates at every level. Trust, and a belief that we are safe, forms the basis for all relationship; the basis of love. We do not come into this world immune to the changes of human life, but we are given the grace and ability to trust that enables us to find comfort and courage necessary to endure.

There is some serious insight to be gleaned from the rather controversial and violent story of David and Goliath that can help us when we encounter problems of gigantic proportions. My rather simplistic view is that first we need to identify the "Goliaths" in our lives. Frequently, we have difficulty identifying the real issue and when we become frustrated for any reason, there is fallout all around us. Our personalities change. We alienate and victimize others. If we are sick, it is very easy for us to become depressed and we withdraw.

Certain health issues sap our ability to fight back and there is a tendency to simply surrender. Prognosis can overwhelm us and we choose to be deflated and defeated. Like the nine-foot giant, our big problems stand out and are not all that difficult to single out and recognize. By asking ourselves how we can uncover our limiting beliefs, identify our Goliaths, clean them out and replace them with empowering ideas from a perspective of trust, we more often than not get the satisfying results we are looking for.

Again, it all comes down to trust, no matter what others may consider to be the best way out of the difficulty. When the adolescent shepherd boy David went out to fight Goliath, it was not the standard resources that he trusted in -- it was not armor or the strength of the entire Israelite army -- but it was his God. If David had bought into the standard thinking, he would have most assuredly been killed. He thought outside the box, however. He trusted that God would be his strength and he slew the towering and intimidating Goliath with a well-placed stone from his slingshot.

Most of us would really like to have the courage of David and his trust in God, but we have difficulty bringing ourselves around to entering the field of battle. What is stopping us, however, from mustering up our best impersonation of the young courageous David and proclaiming to our Goliaths: "You will not get the best of me. I have faith and trust on my side to overcome you. I will be free to live another day and to fight many more of life's battles."
When we allow ourselves to enter the world of trust we can open up to possibilities that we never knew existed. Trust helps shift attention to eliciting solutions and allows us to get into the "victorious" mindset, what ever that means to us individually. In surrendering our resources and trust to a Divine power, we make the wonderful discovery that our particular Goliath is really quite small after all.

Distrust needlessly cost him his life

Not many people enjoy going to a doctor, but according to the Reuters News Agency some time ago, one London accountant took it to the extreme. The 63 year old man knew he needed bladder surgery but he could not overcome his fear of doctors and hospitals. He lacked the necessary trust, so he self-reliantly did what he thought he had to do. He tried to perform the surgery on himself.

Tragically he developed an infection from his attempt at self-surgery and later died. The coroner was quoted as saying: "Unfortunately, his drastic remedy went terribly wrong. A simple procedure by any qualified surgeon would have corrected the problem." Distrust cost the man his life...Sadly and foolishly, at his own hand.