December 2017 – Page 2 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

God’s Wink

Published on December 22, 2017December 21, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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This is a busy time of year with people traveling all over the world to take mini-vacations or meet with family and friends. My husband Mike and I joined the road warriors last weekend by taking a small trip to San Antonio to camp for a few days and see our grandchildren and other friends who live in the area. It was going to be our first venture in our trailer since Mike had his stroke back in July. I was a bit reticent about going, but understood the doctor’s advice that we have to continue living in spite of the scare we had only months ago. He told us that camping is just fine as long as we don’t go too far off the beaten path, so early on a Sunday morning we headed west on Interstate 10 in search of fun, adventure and relaxation.

Things were going rather smoothly until we had gone a few miles outside of Houston. It was then that we heard a loud thunk, and Mike realized that one of our tires had blown out. Luckily he maintained his composure and steered the truck and the trailer without incident, while I thought of the many times that I had witnessed overturned trailers with damaged tires. I was thankful that we were still upright, a fact that Mike attributed to having double axles on the trailer, something that he had insisted upon when we were searching for ours.

Unfortunately we were on a busy highway too far from an exit to continue driving in order to get to the safety of the feeder road. Mike had to proceed slowly while searching for a wide shoulder suitable for parking our rig. When we found a decent place he insisted that he would change the tire, but I was instantly worried about having him exert so much effort. I knew, however, that I would have to allow him to decide for himself because he doesn’t take nagging too well. With that in mind I kept my thoughts to myself and prayed that God and the angels would watch over him. I really did not want to witness him having another stroke.

He struggled with the unfamiliar jack for the trailer and couldn’t seem to find a good steady spot for raising the structure. In the meantime the traffic was speeding by so quickly that I found myself worrying that someone was going to accidentally swerve and take both of us out. My only comfort was that we were both wearing red for the season which I hoped made us more visible. When it became apparent that Mike was not doing well with the task I finally insisted that we call AAA. I was thankful that he conceded immediately and that we had fully charged cell phones and a GPS system that gave us the exact address of our location.

We were inside the truck dialing for help when a young man suddenly appeared at Mike’s window. He asked if he might help us to change the tire, and of course we said that we would be most happy for him to do so. He appeared to be big, strong, confident and drove a huge well equipped but battered old truck . He definitely seemed to be up to the task, and I was silently saying prayers of thanks that he had arrived, because I knew that our wait for AAA would have been long and I really did not feel comfortable being so vulnerable. I believed that it was just a matter of time before a distracted driver hit us, complicating our precarious situation even more.

We learned that our angel was from southeast Houston, the area of town where I grew up as a child and the place where Mike and I had lived for over thirty years after we were married. The man told us that he worked at the intersection of Almeda Genoa and Telephone Road, a location very familiar to both of us. He was a pleasant fellow so typical of the people that we have known from that part of town. I didn’t ask, but I imagined him helping people stranded by the floods of August in that area. Somehow I suspect that he had been there being a Good Samaritan because when we offered to compensate him for his time he insisted that it was his gift to us and wished us a Merry Christmas as he left as quickly as he had appeared.

In the meantime a Waller County sheriff had come to assist us as well. He directed traffic to help us return to the highway, and watched to be certain that we were safely on our way. I know that Waller County was also badly affected by hurricane Harvey and I felt that he too was no doubt responsible for saving lives back then just as he was looking out for us. I felt an enormous amount of gratitude for the kindness of the two strangers who had come to our aid.

We thought that our travails were behind us but when we later stopped for gas Mike took a survey of the tires on both the truck and the trailer only to find that yet another tire was slowly leaking. His inspection revealed a piece of embedded metal that had created a slow but steady leak. Our troubles were not yet over, but we were close to our destination and decided to search for a business that sells trailer tires. Luckily there was a Discount Tire store only ten minutes away, and Mike was certain that the tire would make it there without incident. We took a deep breath and headed off in search of new shoes for our home on wheels. Imagine our consternation when we arrived and realized that the place of business was still under construction. It was beginning to feel as though we were players in a tragic comedy of errors, when our vision cleared and just behind the not yet ready tire store we saw a huge Walmart.

After driving to the auto section we learned that they had exactly two tires of the kind that we needed and took care of our needs immediately while commiserating with our dilemma. The price was reasonable and the men who worked there were eager to help us as quickly as possible. Within less than about thirty minutes we were all set and finally heading for our campground and what would ultimately prove to be a great time in the Texas Hill Country.

The news is filled with horrific stories of violence, crime and ugliness. It isn’t often that we hear of kind acts, but the reality is that they abound. The reason that bad things are so often featured is that they are actually rather uncommon. On any given day generosity rules the day, and often we simply take it for granted until we are in a situation similar to the one that Mike and I so recently endured. When we find ourselves in trouble and someone takes the time to help us, we appreciate them far more than words or compensation will ever demonstrate. So it is with the benevolent gentlemen who turned a frightening situation into one that renewed my faith in mankind, strangers who will never adequately know how much we appreciated them. It literally felt as though God Himself had winked and smiled upon us when these souls so generously stopped whatever they had been doing to render aid.

In this Christmas season it would behoove each of us to take the time to look around and find troubled souls who need our assistance. Perhaps all that they need is a phone call, an invitation, a visit or even just a smile to lighten the burdens that they carry. We might all learn from the goodness of the men who helped me and Mike when we were in a bind. It’s up to each of us to spread the good news that mankind has not lost the way. The true meaning of Christmas is peace on earth, good will toward men.

Enjoy the holidays. Celebrate with family and friends. Remember those whose hearts are heavy. Be an angel and reveal God’s wink to someone.

Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukah, Happy Holidays.

Mad Dogs and English

Published on December 21, 2017December 20, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

maxresdefault I’ve loved to read from the time that I was quite young. I suspect that the warm feelings that I get from escaping into a well written tale began with the times when my father entertained me with his collection of fairytales and poetry. He’s been gone since I was only eight years old, but I have a vivid image of him devouring all forms of print with a joy that literally lit up his countenance. I suppose that in a Pavlovian sense I associate the act of reading with the love that my father gave so generously to me. For that reason delving into books is an immensely pleasurable experience. Sadly there are many for whom reading is an onerous task associated with negative encounters with teachers who were less about actually leading them to an appreciation of great works of literary art, and more about pounding them with cold rubrics and grading systems.

Besides learning from my dad at an early age that reading is one of our most glorious gifts I was lucky enough to have a high school English teacher who made every aspect of exploring the English language a beloved experience. I so looked forward to his class every single day that I was inspired to major in English in college. My professors there often asked me where I had received my educational background because I always seemed to be a bit more advanced in my command of the English language than my peers. Mostly it was because my teacher had inspired all of us to love the poetry, literature, grammar and usage of our language so that we became prolific writers and lifelong readers. It was his enthusiasm that lured us, not sets of rules. Like my father he understood that first one must appreciate the words, then the interpretations and ability to string them together comes almost naturally.

Recently I heard of a young man who has been working quite hard to please his freshman high school advanced placement English teacher. He faithfully read the book that she had assigned for summer reading and carefully followed her instructions for writing a report. He is a rather self motivated soul, and so he had completed the assignment far in advance of the opening of school so that he would be ready to present it to the teacher on the first day of class. The floods came to Houston delaying the beginning of the school year, but when the doors finally opened he was ready. The teacher decided to give everyone some extra time and refused to take his early submission. When she finally collected all of the work he was more than happy to hand his over to her. Nine weeks later she had still not graded the papers. When she finally did she essentially gave everyone the same mark and never returned the work so that they might determine the areas where they might improve.

A similar thing happened with a poster project that she gave them after reading their first novel of the year. The teacher provided the students with a rubric and emphasized that it was not an art project. The students only task was to select one of three themes and then find quotes from the book that represented one of that idea. The rubric instructed them to choose ten references, no more and no less. Neatness was a consideration, but not elaborate artistry. They eager student selected a black poster board and attempted to find a variety of color references from throughout the story. He meticulously typed them in the required font and carefully affixed them onto paper of the colors that they represented. Then placed them on the black background. He noticed that they represented the colors of the spectrum, so he used some colorful crystals to create his title in those hues. He carefully checked each aspect of the rubric and felt that he had a great submission. When he got to class he was proud of his efforts until the teacher began gushing over posters that included detailed drawings and other artistic creativity. In the end the students who had turned their projects into works of art worthy of a gallery earned the high grades and those who had followed the instructions on the rubric only received average marks with no comments as to why this was so.

With only another rubric to follow and no direct guidance for mastery, the young man recently wrote a research paper, his first ever for this same teacher. He worked quite hard but was somewhat unsure as to what his teacher might be hoping to see. Still he was confident that he had done a more than adequate job, so he was utterly dismayed when he saw online that he had made a sixty seven on the paper. He literally broke into tears as he relayed his frustration to his mom who shared his story with me hoping to garner from advice regarding how to proceed from this point forward.

I could not help thinking of my old English teacher who had a very different and humane style of teaching. When I wrote my first research paper for him it was a mess, but he did not fail me. Instead he used the moment as a great learning experience by patiently demonstrating to me where I had gone wrong and how I might improve my writing in the future. After that I became well known for having superior skills in writing research papers. Again and again all the way through graduate school I used the techniques that he showed me. He might have humiliated me and left me wondering if I was somehow deficient, but he chose to help me master the technique of composing a worthy paper. The end result was that I not only improved, but I also came to love writing. To this very day he remains my all time favorite teacher.

In my final years in education I mentored teachers and helped them to improve their skills. The best among them always understood that their job was not to catch students failing, but rather to help them to become proficient. I remember attending the class of an English teacher who had his students enthusiastically quoting Beowulf as though is was a modern day rap. When some of his kids totally missed the mark on their senior research papers he asked me to work with him in an effort to help them to edit and rewrite their compsisitons so that they would earn satisfactory marks. Like my old teacher he encouraged his students every step of the way and in the end they were all much stronger writers capable of deep literary analysis.

I saw a novelist on PBS last week who reminded me with his brilliant words of just how we learn to be courageous when it comes to mastering the intricacies of language. He likened the fear of reading and writing to a child who is terrified of dogs. He pointed out that we would not force such a youngster to interact with a snarling pitbull in order to learn how to be more comfortable with canines. Instead we would let him/her cuddle sweet puppies and then slowly but surely provide interactions with bigger animals. He suggested that the way to teach the beauty of the English language to children is to begin with little chunks in the form of poems about topics that they might love, not worrying so much about how well they will interpret the words. An ability to think critically about what we read and write will evolve as we tackle more and more difficult tracts because we so love the very idea of reading and then writing about what we have learned from the words.

It saddens me to think that a young man who approached his English class with so much care and enthusiasm before school had even begun is now feeling incompetent and negative about the processes of understanding and using his language. It might have been a grand adventure like mine was, but the teacher in her unfeeling ways has made it an onerous task through which he must endure. I can only hope that this will not color his lifelong feelings about something that should instead be beautiful.

Outdoor Illumination

Published on December 20, 2017December 14, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Griswold-house-Christmas-Vacation-movie-in-lights I miss all of the lights that used to glow all over my neighborhood. For some reason very few people near me are bothering to get enthusiastic about outdoor illumination this holiday season. My daughter’s neighborhood in Sugar Land has been glowing for weeks now, but mine is mostly dark save for the house across the street. I suspect that my husband Mike might have been willing to join the energy saving club had I not insisted that we were going to buck the trend and light up our little cul-de-sac with a bit more merriment. It took us longer than usual to accomplish this year because winter storms came making the task almost impossible. Eventually the sun returned and along with it came my resolve to deck our halls.

The first phase of the project involved climbing into the attic and crawling to its farthest reaches to retrieve the boxes holding all of our materials. Since my knees are a shell of their former selves I had to wear kneepads for this part of the venture. Then came the real fun which involved testing all of the strings of lights before hanging them. Invariably there will be a set or two that has somehow decided to die during the long hibernation period from one year to the next. Because I have no desire whatsoever to examine one hundred tiny bulbs to find the source of the problem I generally just toss the nonfunctioning array and substitute one of the new strings that I have purchased as soon as the Christmas items show up at Hobby Lobby along about August. I’ve learned the hard way that waiting until December is like playing Russian Roulette. The odds are very good that nothing will be left anywhere if I procrastinate, so I grab spares right away even though it feels strange to invest in Christmas gear when the temperature is hovering in the high nineties.

Once I have determined that all of the lights that we will use are in working order Mike and I get down to business. Mike has a routine that he follows to hang icicles along the fence line of our corner. He is quite meticulous. Each box is carefully labeled and stored in such a manner that there is rarely any problem with the procedure. My methodology is a bit more haphazard. I’m so ready to put Christmas away come January that I tend to just throw my lights into a big container where they manage to get tangled somehow. I utter more than a few naughty words as I struggle to untie the knots. Then I create a lovely twinkling pathway by scooting along the sidewalk on my bottom. Invariably I will be in the process of just finishing a section when half of the string decides to die. That’s when the real despicable language escapes from my mouth and I begin collecting demerits from Santa for my profanity.

Eventually we both manage to line the perimeter of our home with lovely twinkling lights that would be wonderful all alone but we have more to add. A jolly snowman sits at the edge of a flowerbed. He’s been bringing joy for years now. He used to blow away and end up dangling from his electrical cord in the middle of the yard but Mike finally found a way to keep him in place by tying him to a tall stake. He’s happy throughout the season now even though he looks a bit like a prisoner.

We place a lighted Christmas tree in the middle of the yard. It’s a wooden structure that is anchored into the ground. I keep an assortment of replacement lights for it because there always seems to be one or more that decide not to operate. I sometimes think that Mike would love to get rid of the display because it’s difficult to store. It won’t fit in the attic so it has to sit along the wall all year long getting in his way. He glares at it now and again, but puts up with the inconvenience because it’s one of my favorite things. After the tree is in place I bring out a set of lighted boxes that look like gifts that I set them lovingly in front the the tree.

Long ago my mother-in-law gave me some birthday money that I used to purchase a cute wooden Santa from a craft store in Beaumont. He’s a great little character that I set on the front porch. He has a few design flaws that have created some problems over the years. There is a little circle at the top of his cap that fell off almost as soon as I brought him home. We used glue, gorilla tape and all sorts of adhesives in an attempt to repair him but nothing has worked for very long. I think that Mike wonders why I keep Santa, but he understands how sentimental I am about the old fellow so this year he tried a new repair trick. He performed an operation on the old guy which he referred to as brain surgery, attaching the little ball with both a screw and some glue. It appears to be the fix for which we have long hoped. The only problem now is that a stiff wind has a tendency to topple St. Nick, so we have to place him in a corner out of the line of fire. So far all is good.

Thanks to Costco and my tutoring we were able to invest in a new wreath and lighted garland for the front door. The fresh new greenery happily gives the place a much needed uplift. Added to that was my idea to place an indoor tree on top of a table upstairs in front of the big window above the front door. It sets off the whole display quite well and brings balance to our efforts. Finally we installed a set of huge multicolored light bulbs along the sidewalk leading to our entryway. They are a bit comical and reminiscent of Whoville, but I love them.

Mike’s job is to get all of the illumination in sync with timers so that we don’t have to turn our handiwork on and off during the season. It automatically lights up the night each evening and politely darkens when it’s time to go to bed. Mostly it is a grand way to welcome visitors to our neighborhood and to spread cheer to our neighbors.

Mike and I aren’t the energetic kids that we once were. By the end of our work my back was screaming at me and asking why I was silly enough to do so much bending. I’ve filled the cuss jar to the brim with my outbursts that make Griswold appear to be a choir boy by comparison and Mike does his best Grinch impersonation mostly to play with me. When all is said and done we are always happy and proud that we did this one more time. I think our neighbors like it too.

Stayin Alive

Published on December 19, 2017December 13, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

article-2708593-04EAC45700000514-459_634x652-optimised Forty years ago the iconic movie Saturday Night Fever debuted and became not just a an instant hit, but a film classic. I was a twenty nine year old mom with two little girls and a sense that a lifetime of adventures lay ahead of me. I had matured beyond my years not just due to my parental responsibilities, but also because I had helped my mother through two difficult mental breakdowns and had watched helplessly as my husband endured chemotherapy to combat a life threatening disease. Still I was young at heart and ecstatic when my mother suggested that we go see the movie together. I knew that it was not the kind of fare that my husband would enjoy, so I was happy to have a companion with whom to share the enjoyment of escaping into a world of music and dance for a few hours.

Back then there were still several drive in movie venues in the Houston area and Mama thought that it would be fun to watch the flick in the comfort of her car. Just as she had done so many times when my brothers and I were children she created a bed for my girls in the back seat of her automobile and brought sandwiches, cold drinks and a huge bag of homemade popcorn for our dining pleasure. I loved that she was feeling so healthy that she was her old self, and I laugh now that it never occurred to either of us to consider that perhaps the content of the film might be a bit inappropriate for my underage children. We headed off with great anticipation, glad to be a group of girls out on the town.

As it happened we were all stunned by the movie. John Travolta amazed us with his dancing and the music from the Bee Gees and other disco groups of the era was incredible. We were even surprised by the actual quality of the story and the acting. My daughters who were then three and six years old never fell asleep, because they were as taken by the film as my mother and I were. I assumed that they were unable to understand the adult nuances of the plot and simply enjoyed the characters, the soundtrack and the display of talent. As for my mom and I, we were smitten and felt like a couple of giggly teenagers as we gushed about the film on our way home. Both of us had fallen for John Travolta in his white suit, and my mom who was a stunning dancer in her own right gave him a high grade for his artistry.

I suppose that I reverted to the silliness of a high school groupie when I recounted our evening to my husband. He sensed my excitement and because he has always been quite sensitive to my every need purchased several items related to the movie as Christmas gifts for me that year. Among them was the soundtrack album which I wore out with repeated playings. The girls and I danced our hearts out on many a day, pretending that we were boogying on a disco dance floor in a contest that we would surely win.

In addition to the music my man gave me the iconic poster of John Travolta dazzling the world in that gorgeous white suit in a dance pose that seemed to represent the disco era in all of its glory. I mounted the image inside my closet door and there it stood for decades making me smile every single time that I caught a glimpse of it. It made me love my husband even more because it was symbolic of his efforts to make me happy as much as possible. While I knew that he thought that my giddiness was silly, he enjoyed seeing me smile, and so he never once suggested that maybe it was time that I finally remove my remembrance of a movie that I truly loved.

When my man and I celebrated our anniversary the following year he even went so far as to present me with a lovely dress and a pair of shoes most suitable for a night at a discotheque, as well as a promise that he to take me dancing. This was the ultimate sacrifice on his part and a sign of his undying devotion to me, because everyone who has ever known him understands that he does not like to dance. I have often joked that he is almost perfect save for that one little glitch. The very idea that he was going to subject himself to a night of twirling me in rhythm to the music was stunning, but he indeed spent an entire evening making me incredibly happy as I imagined that he and I were the most striking couple on the floor. My purple dress and and new hairstyle were virtual clones of the outfit that Travolta’s partner wore in the film and my spouse was stunningly handsome. It was a night that I shall never forget.

Somehow the next forty years flew by. Drive in movies became as difficult to find as dinosaurs. My mom continued to endure peaks and valleys in her fight with mental illness. She and I and my daughters continued to dance to whatever the latest tunes happened to be. My husband reverted to his old ways and rarely tapped his feet again unless he heard the strains of a Michael Jackson tune. My children grew into lovely young women and there came a day when that old poster that still hung inside the closet had begun to dry rot. When I finally took it down it tore in so many places that I threw it away rather than attempting to salvage it. Nonetheless, I always remembered how much I had enjoyed Saturday Night Fever.

My youngest daughter laughs to think that my mother and I actually took her to see the movie when she was only three years old. It seems that she understood a great deal more than we had imagined, but it doesn’t appear to have harmed her in any way. Like me she recalls the dancing and the music so fondly and eventually she and I sat down with her daughter to relive the moment when we became so enchanted with the film long ago. We laughed at how we had missed the scene when John Travolta was preparing for his evening on the town. There he was in all of his glory blowing his hair dry while wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. With the beauty of modern technology we were able to rewind the scene any time that we wished, and like adolescents we took full advantage of that feature while we laughed at our silliness and my granddaughter rolled her eyes.

Back in 1977, I had barely begun my lifetime of teaching. I had not even met so many of the people who would become my dear friends. I was exiting a dark and difficult time and had become far stronger than I had ever imagined I might be. My optimism was full blown in spite of the stops and starts that had changed the trajectory of my life. Saturday Night Fever gave me a moment when I did not need to feel so serious. It provided me with a memory of just how fun my mother actually was. It blunted that pain that I had so recently endured and helped me to realize that with a balance of work and play in my life I would be able to handle any challenge that came my way.

So much has changed in forty years but the essence of the human heart and its longings that the film portrayed so well is virtually the same. Each of us have dreams and experience love and joy along with tragedy. We find ways to heal and to move ever forward. If we can do so with a lilt in our steps and a little song inside our heads, we are all the better. It’s how we stay alive.

Lion Kings

Published on December 18, 2017December 11, 2017 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

the-lion-king-disney-reboot This year marks the twentieth anniversary of the Broadway musical The Lion King. On any given day the shows for each performance are sold out, and there is no indication that interest in the story has waned since it rocked the entertainment industry two decades ago. Aside from the stunning costumes and the enchanting music, its story of loss and love resonates with virtually everyone. We are all Simba, and have felt both the sting of death and the exhilaration of love and friendship as surely as he did.

As I think back on this past year I recall moments of great pain and sorrow that have been balanced by lovely times shared with family and friends. My journey through the past twelve months has been marked by more than enough dark days, but somehow those times were always followed by sunshine and loveliness so exceptional that they seemed to blot out the sorrow that I was experiencing. In the course of a full revolution of the earth around the sun I felt the circle of life with all of its ups and downs and like Simba I survived to stand at the mountain top and rejoice.

I’ve attended far too many funerals this year. I suppose that it is inevitable that such occasions have become more and more frequent given my age. Many of my elders who were blessed with long lives and were nearing the century mark succumbed to the inevitability of our existence. We all know that there is no infinity for any of us, but we push the envelope of our lives as far as we are able. Sometimes when someone lives a very long time we lose sight of the reality that we may not have them forever, so when they leave us we are almost as surprised as when a young person dies. It is always difficult to let go no matter how old someone may be.

I have also lost peers this year, people who have walked along beside me from the days when we were young and so full of dreams. My book of memories is overflowing with images of the fun and laughter that we shared. We grew up together and then we began to grow old together as well. Somehow our human tendency is to ignore the years and the images of ourselves that we see in the mirror. Instead we think that we are as young and spry as we were when we were in our twenties. It is shocking to us when someone from our own generation dies. Somehow it doesn’t seem right. It causes us to falter just a bit. It reminds us that our time here has an expiration date and we secretly wonder what our own will be.

In that moment when my husband lay helplessly on the floor of a bathroom after having a stroke I was filled with terror. While I understand that neither of us will live to any guaranteed age, I had not even considered the possibility that death might come so soon. Both my brain and my heart were jolted into reality in that split second and it was a painful and devastating experience. I still have flashbacks that remind me to cherish every single moment that I have with the man who has filled my days with so much happiness.

My life has changed during this year. I don’t take much for granted anymore. I somehow appreciate the breathtaking beauty of life far more than ever before. I love with a more open heart and I find particular joy in being with young people who still possess such a zest for living. I have been to weddings and graduations and birthday parties that have brought me incredible joy. Seeing love unfold before my eyes is like experiencing the most enchanting miracles that we ever enjoy. It reminds me that there is a season for everything and that I am a part of the glorious unfolding of the cycles that have repeated across the centuries.

I went to a wedding in Cancun in the summer with a group of very special friends. Two of the sweetest men that I have ever known pledged their unending love to each other. It was a beautiful ceremony wrought with so much emotion that we all cried tears of joy. I never imagined that I would be blessed to be part of something so wonderful, but there I was, and I felt so much renewed faith in mankind. I was surrounded by such an abundance of love and good feelings that it carried me through the tough times that I did not yet know lay ahead.

There have been other occasions that have kept my optimism flowing. Two of my former students were married this year and I rejoiced at the ceremonies that they invited me to share with them. I saw the expressions of devotion on their faces and thought of all the wonderful times that they would experience together just as my husband and I have. I sensed that their love is so pure and strong that they will even be able to endure tragedies and everyday problems. I felt so much happiness for them and wondered if they realized how much hope they gave me as well. Weddings allow us to come together in celebration of the most wonderful traditions of unity and commitment to one another, the joining of lives that has transcended history.

Recently my husband and I traveled out of town to a magical party at my niece and nephew’s home in Dallas. They feted us with good food, incredible generosity, and so much fun. I doubt that they realized that it was the first time that we had dared to venture so far away since the incident of the stroke. That trip meant so much to us and our family’s outpouring of love only made it all the better. It reminded us that we have never been alone and that we will be fine no matter what the future brings.

Simba the lion cub thought that all was lost when his father died. He saw his world coming to an end. He ran away from the reality of his situation and experienced the deep hopelessness that sometimes creeps into our lives. His world fell apart and he felt as though there would never again be a way of controlling it. He found small comfort in the generosity of strangers who ultimately became his friends and taught him lessons in taking what the world offers one day at a time. In the process of providing for one another the unlikely friends all changed for the better, so much so that Simba began to realize that his situation had not been as dire as he had imagined. He embraced love and his own destiny, and then found his way back home. In the end he understood that he was never truly alone in his battles and never would be. He also realized that as we travel in the circle of life we have to learn how to deal with both the good and the bad.

While 2017 might be viewed as a terrible year in so many ways, it has also been a year of discovery. Somehow when life appears to be at its worst, that is the very moment when we have the opportunity to see the best of our blessings. This year has taught me to love more deeply and to set my worries aside as much as possible. The future will unfold with or without us, and it will up to each of us to decide how we will accept its challenges and its blessings. If we open our eyes and our hearts we will surely know that the spirit of all of the people who have loved us lives forever inside our souls. We will be lions. We will be kings.