Month: July 2017

I Gotta Have Faith

Published on by Sharron Burnett1 Comment

3437383987_3ab93e21d0_bIt is seemingly becoming less and less popular to adhere to religious beliefs. We live in a world of great scientific knowledge that offers the possibility of precluding something as abstract as blind faith in a supreme being. To some the idea of God is primitive and silly, a concept that belongs to another era. Faith is intangible and never easy to explain. It requires a leap of trust that is both frightening and exciting. For those of us who are true believers it is impossible to consider a life without God, but for those who question His very existence those who depend on Him are foolish.

I recently had an extended conversation with a young woman who is not quite an atheist but who is tending in that direction. She finds it downright silly to think that there is some spiritual element watching over us. She posed the usual arguments about the hypocrisy and downright hatefulness of some religious sects as well as the observation that people suffer. She asked how a loving and generous God would be capable of simply watching as we humans struggle.

I have to admit that in spite of twelve years of Catholic education and a stint as a Director of Religious Education I was not particularly effective in counteracting her arguments. Saying that God gives us free will and does not interfere in our choices carried little weight with her. Nor did she accept the idea that we humans often impose our own thinking onto our religious institutions rather than adhering to the teachings of God.

I have long believed that as people we sometimes become a bit too enamored with religious rules rather than simply accepting the new covenant of Jesus that states that our focus should be on loving one another. I also think it more than likely that God has revealed himself to humanity in different forms to different cultures. Therefore it would be presumptuous of us to decide that one religious group is better than another.

We also forget the difference between faith and religion, too often equating the two. It is my faith in God that sustains me. My religion provides me with a vehicle for praising Him and reminding myself of His presence in my life. I cannot prove that He is real but I fully trust that He is constantly with me. I feel Him in my very soul, and I know for certain that His spirit has guided me for all of my life.

I seriously do not know how anyone who does not have faith in God is able to navigate the rocky roads of living. There have been so many times that I have felt as though the very ground beneath me was melting away and that I was in free fall. Being human is like that. Rarely does an individual have a lifetime without pain or suffering or loss. Without faith in God I would never have made it this far. Just when I sense that I am about to explode with negative emotion I sense His presence. He may not take away the challenges that I am facing, but He provides me with the strength that I need to face whatever is happening. I truly feel his arms embracing me, His fingers locking with mine. He is and always has been a best friend, a counselor and a consoler. I don’t have to see Him to know He is there.

Just a little more than a week ago my husband had a stroke. It was a terrifying time. Had my children and their families not been with me in that moment I am not sure how well I would have done. In retrospect I believe with all of my heart that it was God who provided me with the love and support that I needed. Call me foolish if you will, but I am convinced that this was His way of helping me. He continues with His merciful goodness even as we visit doctors and learn of the dramatic changes that this event will make in our lives.

I have never believed that God gives us everything that we want just because we wish it. We all have to face the realities of living in an imperfect world. His promise to us is not that we will never have to endure hardship, but rather that He will help us to do whatever we have to do at any given moment. If we do our best in this world, the perfection for which we all wish will one day be ours. 

There are indeed religious sects that appear to have perverted the very word of God. They engage in self righteous behaviors and pretend to know who is beloved by the Lord. They inflict hateful and sometimes even violent dictates on their fellowmen. I pity them because I sense that they have misinterpreted the intent of God. I do not however presume to judge them because I will never really know what is in their hearts, or why they behave the way they do. It is not up to me as a fellow human being to inflict my own thoughts on others.

This is what I believe. In my own feeble way I attempt to model my faith from day to day. I don’t always succeed in being as good as I wish to be. I backslide, become jealous, say and do ugly things. I have to continuously ask for forgiveness both from people and from God. It is the way of things so I try not to be too hard on myself. Luckily my faith in God is so strong that I know without a scintilla of doubt that He never betrays or abandons me.

I see God everywhere. He is in the colors of the sky and my backyard. He is on the faces of the people that I encounter. He is in the remarkable human intellect that finds ways to heal and teach and feed and create and love. Our power as people does not come only from ourselves. It is from the spirit of God that lives within us. He always believes in us even when we do not believe in Him.   

They Dance Alone

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

IMG_1914-e1373088974248For days now They Dance Alone, a song from Sting, has been playing in my head. It begins with the words, Why are these women dancing on their own? Why is there sadness in their eyes? It refers to those who were widowed by the war of revolution, but it might apply to anyone who has lost a spouse.

I’ve always imagined that I have enough empathy to truly understand what it is like to lose that person who has been one’s best friend, soulmate, lover. I thought I had the concept down pat until my own husband had a stroke. Just seeing him become so vulnerable nearly brought me to my knees, and even though he is still with me I find myself constantly looking for him and listening to him breathe at night. Having him gone forever is unimaginable. I now know that I did not ever truly understand what it has been like for friends and relatives whose spouses or partners are already gone. I now feel the raggedness of the hole that punctures the heart. I think of those who dance alone constantly.

I remember the devastation that my mother endured after my father died. Only now do I think that I am moving closer to understanding the extent of her emotional breakdown. I find myself wondering how she found the strength to pull herself together. I suspect that it was only her love for her children that pushed her to rise up from the despair that she must surely have felt.

Not long ago I attended the funeral of a young man who once lived next door to me. I still think of him as a cute and friendly teenager who was always eager to help. He was far too young to die and his widow was bereft. I have since followed her on Facebook and she struggles every single day to continue without him. Now more than ever I somewhat comprehend what she is experiencing.

And so it goes. There is the young widow whose husband left on a business trip and never returned, the neighbor whose husband was sick for years but somehow overcame each challenge to his health, our dear friend whose wife died of cancer. There is my cousin whose husband passed just before Thanksgiving after years of fighting to survive heart failure, the colleague whose spouse finally fell victim to heart disease. I suddenly have a far deeper kinship with them. I feel the visceral attack that such an incident engenders.

I’ve also been thinking of the people that I know who are caring for spouses who are very very sick. A long time friend literally devotes every hour of every day to her husband who had a major stroke that left him unable to do anything for himself and attacked his brain so violently that he suffers from early onset of dementia. I have been watching the courage and grace of my son-in-law’s mom who has spent months visiting one doctor after another with her husband. Her life has been upended and yet she keeps a smile on her face and demonstrates a level of optimism that inspires everyone. Still another friend has been caring for a husband with Alzheimer’s for many years now. She literally has to plan for someone to be with him each time she leaves home. I also have a cousin who has been watching over her husband who has Parkinson’s disease for longer than I can remember. These women are so remarkable and before now I underestimated the love and devotion that they so generously share with their husbands.  It’s so difficult to think of the fear that they have somehow managed to subdue as they watch their loved ones suffer through their illnesses.

The old saw that we sometimes see our lives flash in front of us is all too real. During the days since my husband’s stroke I have literally thought back on the first time that I met him when he was so handsome and enchanting and I got that tingle of love each time I saw him. I’ve had flashbacks of him holding our girls when they were babies. I’ve remembered the times when he helped me hold it together when my mother was very sick. I’ve relived every single trip that we ever took. It is as though the chronicles of our time together have played in my mind like a biographical movie. In my heart I have laughed and cried and always in the end I worry, which is sadly so much a part of my nature. I once again have been feeling that little tingle of unadulterated love just at the sight of him. I also find myself thinking of all of those people who dance alone.

I just attended a wedding in Cancun where two people began their lives together. They celebrated their love and I thought even then of how happy I was to be there with the love of my life. In just a little over a year we will have been married for fifty years. He has been the most important person in my world for so long now that it feels impossible to ever be without him.

I have great faith that his stroke was only a warning of what might be if we are not more careful. We will change our ways and do everything possible to help him to heal and become stronger. It will be a partnership as we work our way back to a healthy lifestyle. Our friends and family will be with us. Of this I am certain. We are surrounded by prayers and positive thoughts and love. Still I feel guilty that I never fully appreciated the gravity of loss until this moment. I was cavalier in believing that I was somehow so sensitive that I might comprehend what they were feeling. Now I know that I wasn’t even close. I need to send lots of love to the people whose hearts have been rent in two. I have to congratulate them on being so strong, often without the level of compassion that they really needed. Now I know why there has been sadness in their eyes. I feel how awful it must be to dance alone. I promise to remember them.

Our Time

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

download.pngThere are moments in our lives that leave us without words. They body slam us to the ground and we find ourselves lost in a maelstrom of anxiety and confusion. We suddenly see clearly and yet feel unfocused and muddled. Time becomes so relative that it practically stops. We see the world around us acting as though everything is normal and we want to scream out, “Hey, don’t you know what just happened?” We’ve all had those kind of experiences and they are raw and visceral, hurting while making us just a tiny bit stronger even as we feel so vulnerable and weak.

This past week has been like that for me and my family who had gathered together in the beautiful Texas hill country to celebrate the freedoms and abundance that we so enjoy as citizens of the United States. We’d just had lunch on Monday and were laughing and talking and trying to decide what to do for the rest of the day when we heard a strange thumping on one of the doors. Once, twice, three times it interrupted us, and so my son-in-law Jeremy went to investigate at just about the time that we all heard my husband Mike’s voice weakly exclaim in a very slurred voice, “I can’t get up!”

Of course we all jumped to attention at that point realizing that he was behind the guest bathroom door and that something had gone terribly wrong. Thanks to the good thinking of my daughter Catherine there was a little key perched on the door frame that allowed her to open the locked door quickly. There we saw Mike lying on the floor lodged between the toilet and the vanity with his feet splayed in such a way that he was keeping us from opening the door all the way. It was his face that caused our hearts to stop, for his left eye and the corner of his mouth were noticeably drooping while he proclaimed that he thought that he was having a stroke.

I shouted for someone to call 911 and I think that my grandson Andrew responded first. Meanwhile son-in-law Jeremy had worked his way inside and managed to comfort and reassure Mike and pull him into a sitting position. Son-in-law Scott and grandson Jack attempted to remove the hinges to the door so that the EMTs would be able to get inside when they arrived, while Andrew, daughter Maryellen and I searched for Mike’s medical information from his wallet. Admittedly I also used this time to have a complete and total meltdown out of view of Mike. I didn’t want him to realize the depth of my concern so I let it all out so that I might recover quickly enough to show him a brave face.

Meanwhile all of the younger grandchildren, Ben, Eli, Ian, Abby and William were in the front yard waiting for the first responders to arrive, which they did very shortly. Those young men who emerged from the fire truck and the ambulance were a beautiful sight as they strode inside so confidently, ready to get down to the business of assessing Mike’s situation and rendering aid. By then the family crew had managed to get Mike situated in such a way that the opening to the small room was sufficient for the rescue workers to do their work.

After quietly taking control of the situation they had Mike safely ensconced in the ambulance with me in the front and Scott sitting in the back with the paramedic. By then all of the physical symptoms that we had seen in Mike had disappeared which was somewhat reassuring, but our fears had not abated as we raced to Methodist Stone Oak Hospital in San Antonio.

Soon Mike was in the care of the very professional emergency room team that included Dr. Mansur and nurse Alyssa, strong, compassionate and highly professional women who became my idea of perfect angels in that moment. Before long Maryellen, Catherine and Abby had arrived to sit with us as well. Mike smiled and mentioned how happy it made him to have all of his girls together.

By then his vital signs had stabilized and I suspect that his blood pressure was better than mine because I felt as though my heart was going to literally jump out of my chest. Still it was wonderful to hear him being his old self, laughing and joking with the medical personnel about being a Rockets fan rather than cheering for the Spurs. All of this was reassuring to all of us, but we were not yet ready to celebrate.

Hospital time is unlike that in the world outside its walls. It is a ritual of hurrying up and waiting. The wheels grind slowly, particularly on a holiday weekend when the staff is half of what it normally may be. We tried to remain patient as the medical personnel slowly but surely performed one test after another on Mike, all with great precision. Eventually they announced that he would be staying overnight for observation so that the various diagnostic procedures might continue in the morning. We reluctantly left feeling exhausted and confused.

The following day was a repeat of waiting endlessly. Mike demonstrated that his mental acuity was intact as he answered a question about the date by stating that it was July 4, 241 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and then proceeded to quote the document. I can’t remember a moment when I was prouder of his knowledge or happier to see that it had not been destroyed.

It was well into the evening before the hospital discharged Mike instructing him to follow up with visits to his doctors and a neurologist. It seemed as though the whole city was celebrating the holiday and we had to pinch ourselves into the realization that the world was indeed still rolling along. Later we sat outside Catherine’s house and enjoyed fireworks displays that gave us a tiny bit of hope and the first moments of happiness that we had felt in the last forty eight hours.

I’ve made a long story a bit too long. We have all been left traumatized by the events, but we are trying our best to hold on to the fact that Mike is still here with us. We know how much worse this might have been. Our new reality for the moment is uncertainty filled with questions. Ours has been a frightening journey but we now know that we were never all alone. We have a renewed affection for first responders who toil almost unnoticed day after day until we need them. We have a great appreciation for the doctors and nurses who stand ready to help in emergencies. We realize the magnitude of the love that surrounds us from friends and family. We know that the road ahead will be different but we are ready to accept its challenges.

I’ve often written about the serendipitous nature of life. I’ve urged everyone to seize the day and embrace the love. After our most unusual week I realize that such thoughts are far more than mere platitudes. They are guideposts for living. We really don’t know what is in store for us from one moment to the next. We truly do need to stop long enough to see and appreciate the incredible beauty of life. It is more important than anything to express our love and our gratitude as soon as we feel it. None of us have the assurance that we will see another day. This, here and now, is our time and it is up to us to use it well.    

Dancing and Walking With Friends

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

sunset_0“ A friend is someone who dances with you in the sunshine and walks with you in the shadows”

We have many acquaintances over a lifetime but those who are true friends are often quite rare. I remember sitting with my mother-in-law many many years ago in one of our after dinner tea times. We always delved into deeply philosophical topics during those moments, and I reveled in the wisdom that she provided. On one occasion she spoke of the nature of friendships using the life of Jesus as an example. She noted that Christ had twelve disciples and many fans during the three years of His ministry, but when push came to shove as he was dying on the cross only his mother, a cousin and a woman of questionable repute stood grieving for his pain and suffering. She then went on to note that we should count ourselves as fortunate if we have one or two or three special people who faithfully support us in our hours of greatest need.

I suppose that most of us would indeed view our mothers, fathers, siblings, spouses and children as our most loyal supporters. I know that I have been fortunate in that regard, but along the way I seem to have found just the right friends for just the right moments. These are the people who gave of themselves when I most needed them. We shared good times and bad. They were there for me even when I wasn’t much fun to be around.

I had a very difficult transition into first grade. My favorite uncle was dying. My mother had just brought a new brother to our house. I was only five years old and nobody had warned me that I would be going to school. It all happened so fast that I was terrified. A sweet girl named Virginia somehow noticed how afraid I was and befriended me. I adored her and never forgot her kindness even after my family moved. I thought that I would never see her again, but unbeknownst to either of us we went to the same high school. At our fiftieth reunion I connected the dots and realized that she was the same Virginia who had meant so much to me. I have since learned what a remarkably loving person she has always been, and that she has given generously of herself to many many people. She understands implicitly how to be a friend.

After the first grade my family moved to a new neighborhood. A girl named Lynda lived across the street from our home and we became inseparable. We shared our deepest thoughts and dreams. At the time I believed that she and I would never part, but fate intervened and I was moving once again. Somehow we kept up with one another in spite of the growing distance between us. More than sixty years later we can pick up the phone and hold never ending conversations as though it had only been yesterday since we last spoke. There is something magical about our friendship that belies time and space.

My confidante in high school was Claudia. She was my soulmate at the time. Somehow our minds seemed to be as one. There was nothing that we dared not discuss or reveal about ourselves. She introduced me to books and music that I might otherwise have never found. We were debate partners and planned to go to college together. I thought that she might be by my side until I drew my last breath, but things changed and we somehow became very different. I recall our very last phone conversation which was stilted and uncomfortable. I knew then that our days of easy companionship were at an end, but I would always cherish them because they were perfect at the time in which they occurred.

In college I accidentally happened upon another Linda. She and I arrived very early for our English classes one morning. We had attended the same schools in elementary, junior high, and senior high school. I had idolized her from afar because she was beautiful, bright and always incredibly sweet. I often found myself feeling as though I was the luckiest person on earth just to be talking with her, but I soon realized that ours was the real deal. Our friendship has endured over five decades and she has always been one of the first to come to my aid in times of distress. She is an angel in every sense of the word and someone whom I love beyond words.

As a young bride I had little money for entertainment. I met each Friday with two other friends from school, Nancy and Susan. We played a card game called Bridge, but it was more like a close approximation and would have driven serious players to the brink of insanity. Mostly we chatted and laughed and enjoyed cheesecake and lemonade, our favorite snacks at the time. I lost track of the two women for many years but thanks to Facebook we have been reunited and lucky enough to rekindle friendships that probably never should have lapsed. It’s amazing how easily we picked up where we had left off and how much we are alike.

During my middle years I connected with Pat. She opened up so many vistas for me, showing me worlds that I had never known. We were as close as sisters, so much so that we didn’t even have to call ahead to go to each other’s homes. I spent so many years with her that I felt that her children were mine and my children belonged to her. Pat, like Linda, possessed a generous spirit that was boundless and just being with her was a joyful experience. She liked to create “rainbow days” for us the memory of which still make me smile. I had truly thought that she and I would grow old together but she died far too soon. Since that time her daughter Lisa has become a loyal and loving friend to me and my daughters. Like her mother she literally defines what it means to be a friend. I know that I can count on her no matter what is happening in either of our lives. It is so reassuring to know that Lisa will come to comfort me at a moment’s notice. I do my best to reciprocate. Then there is Zerin, a woman with the mystical power to read my very soul even from thousands of miles away. No matter where we are she somehow knows when I am happy and when I am in need of a shoulder to lean on. She is my guru, my angel. my muse. Just the sound of her voice comforts me and beings a smile to my face. She possesses a rare gift of empathy that she shares unconditionally.

I cannot forget Monica who goes all the way back to second grade. She is the strong and wise person in my world and always has been. She patiently puts up with my silliness even thought it must be irritating to her. She’s been one of the first to show up through thick and thin. She is the sister that I never had along with my cousin Ingrid, a rare beauty who knows how to read my very soul.

I have been blessed with special women who have danced with me in the sunshine and walked with me in the shadows. Cappy, Adriana, Jenny, Betty, Lisa, Carol, Marita, Bree, Guadalupe, Keiry, Militza, Maria, Joana, and Jennifer are women who have all touched my heart. Each of these women have been true friends, not just interlopers. They have taken the time to allow me to be me and to build my confidence. They have been kind and patient and loyal. Their love never failed. They have been friends.

Words As Weapons

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

words-are-weapons“The tongue has no bones but is strong enough to break a heart. So be careful with your words.”

How often do we hear of words “killing” someone’s soul? Jesus tells us that gossip is like letting a bag of feathers loose in the wind. No matter how hard we try we are never able to get them all back. What we say has repercussions that are sometimes irretrievable. We know this and yet time and again cruel sentences leave our lips or end up floating in the ether on Twitter or Facebook. Sometimes this happens in a moment of anger but other moments are the result our intent to brutally harm someone with our most ugly thoughts. We say that sticks and stones can break our bones and words can never hurt us, but we know that this really isn’t true.

Sadly we read again and again of young people who are so harassed by their peers that they are driven to killing themselves. I suspect that none of the individuals who poke at someone and make them feel weak actually intend for harm to happen but all too often it does. I recently watched a program about a young woman who was recently found guilty of manslaughter for taunting a depressed friend into committing suicide. Texts on his phone showed that he was reluctant to take his own life, but eventually went through with it at the urging of this young lady who assured him that his family might grieve briefly, but would quickly get over their loss. When he admitted to her that he was scared to follow through on his plan she insinuated that he needed to man up. Eventually he did the deed. The jury felt that without the woman was complicit in his death because he was trying to back out, and she pushed him to follow through on what he had started.

While this is an extreme example of how words have the power of being lethal there are so many examples of youngsters whose confidence is ravaged by the horrific comments of their peers. It’s all well and good to teach our children how to ignore such behaviors, but we also must implore them never to be part of such destructive actions. We’ve all witnessed individuals who become the butt of jokes and sometimes we do so little to help them. It’s very difficult to stand up to kids who are popular or powerful, and yet we need to show our kids how to draw upon the courage to always do the right thing. We cannot sit back and watch the suffering of another even if it means losing our own place in the pecking order. Our children need to understand that they will ultimately be much happier if their own character is strong and just.

Most of the time none of us become involved in such extreme examples of using words as weapons, but we do sometimes say things to the people with whom we are the closest in the heat of a moment. We know their weaknesses and we charge ahead ready to hurt them with a little sting. We have to be very careful in such situations because once our barbs have landed we can’t really take them back. We would all do well to think before we speak and to consider the damage that our words may cause.

We seem to believe that we have a certain level of anonymity whenever we post comments on social media. We believe that out of the millions of words being slung around each moment there is little reason to think that ours will be noticed, but time and again people have lost jobs, tested relationships and angered friends over a snarky response, when the truth is that the only result that is likely to happen in such instances is to upset someone. We rarely change anyone’s opinion with our insulting remarks, so why would we take the risk of speaking out and possibly hurting feelings?  I have literally cringed over the words that I have heard people express or seen them write.

We have almost unlimited freedom of expression in this country, but it is up to each of us to know when saying certain things goes beyond the pale. A joke about assassinating the president isn’t funny. Racist comments about those who are different from ourselves have no place in the public forum. While we cannot and should not restrict speech, it is up to each of us to monitor our own utterances and to consider the effects of what we say. Perhaps it is time to instruct our young in such things as well.

Words can be as sharp as any sword. They can mortally wound a soul. We really do need to watch what we say. Gossiping, lying, bullying, threatening, hurting should all be anathema to us. We would not point a gun at another human being, so why do we so blithely allow our words to sting? Whether we shout them or whisper them or write them down they should always be intended for the betterment of the people that we encounter, but never to tear them down.