Archive | May, 2014

A lasting thought

29 May

 

For Blog 011

 

It was one of the nicest things I ever received. Our grandson got this for me while he was on his honeymoon. Imagine that! Thinking of his grandfather on his honeymoon.

Somehow this makes me understand better the bonds of love in a family. Love remains in us and part of us no matter where we are or what we do.

Love never dies!

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Beauty Soothes, Like Music

28 May

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Silent, but beautiful. Soothing to heart and  soul, much like soft, captivating music. But silence is part of its beauty. God speaks to us in silence: “Be still and know that I am God.”

Soooo Gooood!

27 May

For Blog 017

 

Whew,  I’m so full!

That was great!

Umm, oh yes,

thank you, Lord.

 

Hyphen? No!

24 May

pierre and marley

A new life. A new love. An eternal mystery bundled in joy.

It was in a hospital room where our 27th great-grandchild was about to enter the light of day.

Our granddaughter was surrounded by family of various ethnic origins, religions and life experiences.

We were black, brown and white.

We were also Christians—Baptist and Catholic and perhaps a few other denominations.

It was, I thought, a small United Nations with each of us focused on the miracle of new life.

But, no, that is incorrect. We were not a “united nations.” We were family, even though we had just met some of our granddaughter’s in-laws and friends—a family formed in love and the mystery of life, the beauty of life.

You noted, perhaps, that I did not use the term African-American. No longer will I use hyphenated anyone such as Latin- or French-or German- or Polish-American.  

I don’t believe in “hyphen-anything-or-anyone.”

We are American or we are not.

I’ve known too many Catholics, and I was once one myself, who claimed to be, and perhaps really wanted to be Catholic, but were undecided to follow our Lord in the Church he founded. And, I suppose, Christians of other denominations could say the same about themselves and others.

Likewise, I’ve known Americans who were totally dedicated to the principles upon which our nation was founded, among them those Americans who suffered and died for our nation. And then, there are those others who seem to be totally oblivious to the demand freedom places on each one of us.

When I look at our new great-granddaughter, at her very white mother and her dark-skinned father, all I see is family, love and the gift of life always coming anew. I see also the hope for a world without hyphens, a world in which each person is accepted as “one of us.”

What a grand day that will be.

That’s the “day” for which Christ died and rose again, and the “day” to which he calls us all.

The Mail Truck

12 May

You see them every day, those mail trucks—boxy-looking, white with the USPS insignia prominently displayed on either side. They deliver birthday and sympathy cards, utilities bills, junk mail and, sometimes, letters from attorneys, or your church asking for special donations.

What we don’t see delivered so very often are the treasures of the past—those letters from Grandma with her second-grade scrawl, or those “letters-to-be-read-in-total-privacy” from that special young girl or boy.

The arrival of the mail truck no longer brings that sense of joyful anticipation and eager longing as you await word from that son or daughter in the military, in college, or, God forbid, in prison.

In present times, there are so few handwritten letters, so much “junk mail,” so few of those once-cherished Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogues, so little to anticipate. Even those retirement and social security checks can be sent directly into your bank account.

And those cherished phone calls are getting scarce. I like phone calls. You hear a voice. You hear inflections. You understand better the message being conveyed.

Am I just being old? Are the modern means of communication not serving us as well or even better—twitter, Face Book, Face Time, texting, and what have you?

I think not. Face Time aside, we are losing the wonderful gift of presence, that sense of really touching one another.

Texting is about as impersonal as you can get—to say nothing of dangerous while driving and even walking.

I do a lot of e-mail. You can’t fight them all. Nor can I send out a reflection or meeting announcement so quickly and inexpensively to large numbers of people.

Yes, I keep in touch with family and friends via e-mail—but I often call as well.

And I do have a blog—my concession to modern technology—for those who are spiritually desperate enough to follow my thoughts.

I cancelled Face Book. I grew tired of the lazy and superficial “Like” and “Don’t Like” and the voiceless comments that can sometimes be badly misunderstood or even crassly hateful.

Indeed, sometimes there were bits of wisdom and wit—but overall, I was left feeling lonely. I miss the personal touch—the sound of a voice, the touch of a handwritten letter.

And horrors! I heard recently that children are not being taught to write longhand! I wonder what would happen if we lost all electrical power?

Three cheers for that old mail truck.