In Fog

I’ve always been curious about Fog.

I know there’s a scientific reason for it, but I’ve always wondered about it.  The interesting thing about Fog is that you see it.  It’s there all around you.  But you can’t touch it.  You can’t feel it.  You can’t grab it.  You can’t put a bit in your pocket for safe keeping.  But Fog is there nonetheless. 

Fog is interesting that way.  Makes me curious.

My wife, Kim, gets up to run early every morning.  Usually way, way before the sun peeks over the trees and landscape behind our house.  Crazy that way.  Disciplined.  Far more disciplined than I am.  As she set out on her run that one morning, the sky was clear.  Dark, but clear.  The morning warm.  At least that is what she told me.  I was still sound asleep.

As she ran, she saw Fog developing eerily among the woods on either side of the street she runs on.  Eerily is the word she used.  In her words, it seemed to fall among the branches of the trees, making its way to the ground. 

Nothing one minute.  Then suddenly . . . there.  One minute nothing.  The next minute surrounded by Fog.  Everywhere. 

It came on suddenly.  Silently.  Quietly.  No warning.  No welcoming bell.  No shot from a starter’s pistol.  No “Ready . . . Set . . . Go!”  

When I woke up, the world  . . . my world . . . was shrouded In Fog.

As I do each and every morning, my first stop is at the bedroom windows overlooking our backyard.  I had trouble seeing the trees in the woods.  I knew they were there.  I see them every other morning.  Just not that morning.  The little pond was gone . . . swallowed up.  Absent.  I couldn’t see the cul de sac at the end of our block.  Gone.  Seemingly vanished.

I left for work with my headlights on.  I drove more slowly than I usually do.  Took my time.  I left earlier than I usually do.  Took caution.  Care.  Yet, I arrived at about the time I normally do.

At some point that morning, the sun broke through.  The sky turned to a brilliant blue.  Bright.  Cloudless.  Clear.  Clean. 

There are times when we find ourselves In Fog.

Ourselves.  Our world.  Our life.  Those around us.  Our loved ones.  All shrouded In Fog. 

Sometimes we’re not sure how Fog got there.  Not sure at all.  Clear, calm one minute.  In the

next . . .

Nothing one minute.  Then suddenly . . . there.  One minute nothing.  The next minute surrounded by Fog.  Everywhere.

Nothing clear.  No visibility.  Things that we know are there, vanished.  The clarity we usually have, gone.  Sometimes the judgment we normally have, absent.  Like the trees in my backyard, a way out, a path, a road, not visible.

Yet . . .

If we take our time . . .  if we move through life . . . that stretch of life . . . with our lights on, with precaution, with care, with deliberation and purpose, just like later that morning, the sun breaks through.  Things become brighter.  Clearer.  Cleaner.

If we take our time, if we take precaution, a bit more care, our thinking becomes sharper.  Decisions can be made safely, maybe easier.  With a little care.  With a little caution.  With a little extra time.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Living In Fear

This past week, one of my best and favorite teachers came to see me.  She is one of those special people you want your kids to be with.  To learn from.  To grow from.  She quietly shut my door, smiled through teary eyes, and shared terrible news with me.  Doctors found a spot.  It had spread, but not sure where or how far.  Surgery scheduled for this past Monday.  Her hope is that they wouldn’t find that it had “spread” too far.  Me too.

You see, her late husband died from the same.  She is afraid.  Scared.  For herself, I’m sure.  But more for her daughter, her son, and her husband.  She told me that she’s going to be strong.  That she’ll beat it.  That she has to remain positive. 

She smiled.  She wiped a tear or two.  Me too.  We hugged and I told her that she was in my thoughts and prayers.  She is and she will be.  Each day.  Every day.

Living In Fear.

I know a principal.  Older guy.  Veteran who’s been around the block and then some.  He’s on a board member’s hit list.  Lord knows the reason, because I sure don’t.  He does what he can.  Loves the kids.  His kids.  His teachers.  Tries to put them first. Makes a mistake here or there, but who doesn’t?  Big school.  Big issues.  Bound to happen here or there.  He reflects.  He corrects.  He moves on.  His heart is in the right place- with kids.  With others.  First and foremost.

I know that each day he walks into his building, he worries.  For his job.  His family.  Each day.  Some days might be better than others.  Most maybe.  But he worries.  He puts on a brave face.  He smiles and laughs with others.  But I dare say no one . . . no one . . . knows what this man is going through.  Daily.  Each day.

Living In Fear.

Living In Fear is dangerous.  Deadly, really.  Debilitating.  Dehumanizing.  Humiliating.

One feels beaten.  Beaten down.  One questions decisions, actions, words.  One wonders what should be said.  What shouldn’t be said.  Choices become limiting, few.  Or so it seems.

One feels absolutely, totally alone.  So very alone.  Lonely.  Isolated.  Beaten.  Beaten down.

For those who are Living In Fear, each minute of life . . . of living . . . is robbed of joy, of happiness, of peace.  Life and living become empty.  Void.

There are those among us who walk down this endless, empty and lonely road.  Perhaps you know who they are.  Perhaps you just suspect.  Perhaps you have a hunch. 

There might be those who are reading this who walk this road.  Each day.  Every day.  Alone.

Living In Fear.

But . . .

You aren’t alone.  Not ever.  Not really.

There are those of us who walked down that road once or twice.  There are those of us who know what that life feels like.  What that road is like.  There are those of us who reached out . . . who reach out . . . to others to reassure, to tag along with.  To walk side by side willing to listen.  There are those who had the courage to ask for help.  And to offer help.  To offer a shoulder to lean on.  An ear to listen.  A heart to accept.  Arms to hold.  To support.  To hold up.  To lift up.

Reaching out . . . asking for help takes courage.  To ask for help is an admission that you don’t have all the answers.  To ask for help is an admission that you cannot do it by yourself.  That takes courage.  That takes guts.

And it takes courage to offer help.  It takes guts to offer one’s shoulder, one’s heart. 

But we’re all in this together.  Offer it and someday, someday, that help might be needed in your own life. Extend it, give it, and one day as you walk along that so lonely and empty road, you might find a hand to help you along, an ear to listen, a heart to care. 

We’ve all been there.  All of us.  We need to help each other.  Each of us.  For each other.  Silently strong.  Vocally too.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

After The Storm

The other night, it rained.  Poured.  Thunder and lightning.  The works.

Our Golden Retriever, Bailey, didn’t know what to do.  Timid anyway from some sort of abuse.  Our ‘Rescue Dog’.  Antsy all night.  Ran upstairs.  Ran downstairs.  Hunkered down at Kim’s feet.  Finally settled on lying down on the landing.  Still in the family room, but hidden . . . sort of, not quite.  Not really out of the room.  At least all together.  We could still see her and she, us.

The TV acted up.  Satellite TV does that in severe storms.  We get a “Searching For Signal” notification.  Doesn’t usually last long.  Not even a minute or so.  But annoying nonetheless.

Kim played a game on her IPad.  Emily read her Kindle.  Hannah was out with friends.  I wrote.

Eventually we went to bed and at some point, the storm ended.  No loss of power.  No having to reset the clocks.  No one was late for work.

After The Storm.

I like mornings anyway.  The quiet.  The solitude.  The peace.  My thinking time.

After The Storm, there is a clarity that isn’t necessarily present on many mornings.  There is a freshness in the air.  I like the beads of water on the grass and trees.  The droplets of water seem to make everything fresher.  Greener.  Clearer.

After The Storm.

Not during the storm, but After The Storm.

During the storm, there is always a question as to whether or not we’ll lose power.  Many do.  During the storm, there is an unsettled feeling . . . anxious . . . like Bailey.  It isn’t peaceful or clear or fresh like it is After The Storm. 

Everything is just, well . . . wet.  And dark.  And dreary.

During the storm, we wonder.  We worry.  Or, if not worry, we wonder.  We might be anxious.  At least, a bit unsettled.  We sometimes have to “Search For A Signal”.  Some signal.  Any signal.  Maybe like our Golden, we want to hide.

After The Storm, there is peace.  Quiet.  And as I wrote in an earlier post, there is always an end.  It seems to last a while.  It can seem to last a long time.  Forever, perhaps.

But it doesn’t.  The storm ends.

After The Storm, there is no more thunder.  There is no more lightning.  No more violent wind.  Things that were once blown around are put back in place.  Rearranged.  Settled. 

Storms don’t last that long really.  They just seem to.  Especially if we find ourselves in the midst of a storm.  Especially then. 

But they end.  They always do.  There is always an After The Storm.  Really.  Whether or not we have to “Search For A Signal”.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Tolerance (republished)

Desmond Tutu stated: "Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate.  We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another." 

Sometimes we get caught up in this belief or that philosophy without realizing that we need all viewpoints and ideas.  One of my grad professors told our class once upon a time that the collective mind is always better than one mind, one idea.  

I believe that.  

It didn't necessarily come easy for me to accept or believe, but I've grown in that knowledge, fostered by teachers, by mentors, and by folks who roll into my life.  I think one of the best gifts or "learnings" we can give to our kids, maybe to each other, is the belief that there is always difference of opinion, difference of belief and difference between individuals.  

That difference and the acceptance of difference is sometimes a hard lesson to learn.  But I think kids will learn acceptance and tolerance if we preach it and model it ourselves.  It will cause change and you and I both know change isn't necessarily easy.  

It is difficult because change challenges our patterns of belief and behavior, and sometimes when our pattern of belief and behavior is challenged, we take that as an attack on ourselves.  It doesn't have to be viewed or perceived that way though, which I know is easier said than done.

But as Nelson Mandela said, "Education is the most powerful weapon we can use to change the world."  Part of that education is reflecting on who we are, what we believe, how we react and why we react.  It's all education really. 

So, let's endeavor to teach ourselves, each other and our kids.  Tolerance is learned behavior.  We can teach it.  I think in the long run, our world will be better off. Don't you?  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Up On The Pedestal

On the mantle above our fireplace sits two decorative but small candelabra with scented candles.  A small musical picture frame that contains Kim’s and my wedding program.  A gift from my sister-in-law.

We have a small side table in our dining room, void of any furniture except for that. On it are pictures of our kids, our dog Bailey, and two pictures of Kim and me.  One from our wedding and the other on a trip when we were engaged.  Our favorite pictures.

I’m sure you have similar items, trinkets and knickknacks in your house or office.  Reminders.  Things near and dear and valued.

Sometimes we put people on mantles and pedestals.

Not sure why we do.  But they are there nonetheless.

Famous athletes who earn millions of dollars for hitting a small round ball.  For shooting a ball through a hoop.  For throwing a football.  Maybe catching or running with one.  Sometimes the glamorous who appear in movies and in our television shows acting funny, romantic, serious or dramatic.  Perhaps ones who sing so sweetly and play guitar.

Not sure why they’re there.  But there they are.  Up On The Pedestal.

The problem is, at least one of the problems, is that they are human.  Very human. 

When they don’t act as we think they should, off the Pedestal they fall.  Some slowly, gracefully, like the actor or actress who age beyond the action hero role they normally play.  Perhaps the face becomes too wrinkled.  Hair turns too gray.  Can’t quite sing as they used to once upon a time.  We’re shocked that this singer, that actor turns 50 . . . 60 . . . 70.

Even worse when this person or that person makes a mistake.  Takes a wrong step.  Heaven forbid he or she fails to live up to our expectations.  The role that we’ve assigned to them. 

No longer Up On The Pedestal.

Some of it their own tragedy.  Drugs.  Sex.  Stupidity.  Lack of guidance.  Lack of direction.  Too much money, glamor, notoriety too soon.  Far too soon at such a young age.

Human.  Very human.

I’m careful of who I put Up On The Pedestal.  Very careful.

Because once up, the only place they can fall is down.  Knocked down by accident.  Taken down because . . . well, just because.  I’ve decided long ago that I don’t really want to be Up On The Pedestal.  Not really.  It’s a long, and often lonely, way down.  Besides, I’m not that famous.  Not famous at all.  Too old.  Too wrinkly.  Too many mistakes.  Too many missteps.

Human.  Very human.  Our heroes.  Those we think are heroes.  Those who we think we like and want to be like.  All human.  Very human.  And they, like we, make mistakes.  Take missteps.  Human.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Sinner And Saint

I’m a sucker for the guy who’s down and out, but climbs back and makes it.  The underdog.  Seemingly beaten at every turn.  Knocked down.  Even kicked while he’s down.  But somehow manages to get back up on his two feet and keeps walking.

Been there.  A whole lot of times, but then again, I think I have a lot of company.

I’ve always been intrigued by some of the characters in the Bible.  Perhaps it’s my growing up in a very traditional, Catholic home and educated through elementary in a Catholic school that I’ve always been intrigued by Sinners And Saints.

I have several favorites.

Peter jumps to mind.  He just seems like a good guy to me.  Good heart.  I picture him gregarious.  Full of fun.  Full of laughter.  Impulsive.  Remember the story when he’s out fishing in the boat with the rest of the Followers, the Apostles, and he recognizes a familiar voice from the shore telling them to throw the net over the other side of the boat.  I mean they’ve been fishing long hours and caught nothing.  Here’s this guy from the shore telling these experienced ‘professional fishermen’ what to do and how to do it.  But, they throw the nets over the other side of the boat and what happens?  The nets almost break because of the number of fish they caught.

But Peter is impulsive.  He recognizes the voice as His Friend walks on the water to meet them.  Peter jumps overboard and decides to walk on the water too.  Doesn’t work so well for him.  Probably not for us either.

Peter also denied His Friend when His Friend was being tried by a kangaroo court on trumped up charges in the middle of the night.  Peter ignores Him.  Peter decides “he doesn’t know Him.”  Harsh thing to do for a friend, don’t you think? 

But . . .

Somehow, Peter overcame all the impulsiveness.  Peter overcame the betrayal of His Friend and was given charge over the Followers, the Church.

Hmmm . . .

Then there’s Paul.  Before he was Paul, he was Saul.  In today’s vernacular, Saul was a ‘hit man’, an enforcer.  He had people killed.  Thrown in prison.  

But . . .

On a trip to go round up or kill some more Followers (probably), the story goes that he had a vision, heard a voice.  He was blinded (like he wasn’t blinded all that time before???) and he changed course.  Took a new direction.  In so doing, he changed his life.  Saul, now Paul, became one of those he persecuted.

Lots of other stories.  I’m sure you have some of your own.

As a teacher and counselor, it gave me no greater pleasure than to see a kid ‘turn it around’.  Somehow, someway, change from bad to good.  Perhaps the kid was always good, but we, nor he/she, didn’t recognize it for all the bad we did see.  But he/she changed.  Turned it around.

Lots of kids.  Lots of stories.

It makes me realize that there is a very thin line between a Sinner And Saint.

In some ways, a Sinner And Saint are the sides of a coin, separated by a very thin edge.  One side Sinner.  Other side Saint.  All it takes is to flip the coin over and you have one or the other.

A change in thought.  A change in action.  A change in a life.

It can happen.  It does happen.  To you.  To me.  To those who drive us crazy.  To those who in one moment we can’t stand, but in the next, we sit back and think, ‘. . . not so bad after all’.  Happens all the time.  He/She turns it around.  Changes.  Decides on a different course.  A different life.

Sinner And Saint.  Different sides of the same coin.  But the same coin.  Just flip it over.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!