Author: Sharron Burnett

The Content of Our Hearts

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

tenn_fireWhen my daughters were still children our family traveled to Smoky Mountain National Park. I have to admit that we didn’t find it to be as breathtaking as the Rocky Mountains or other scenic destinations that we have visited and yet there was something almost primally inviting about the place. I found myself wondering if the wilderness that I saw on our hikes resembled the world of my grandfather. He had grown up in the shadow of the area before the dawn of the twentieth century, describing his boyhood home as being quite primitive but lovely beyond the limits of words. He spoke of seeing the mountains in the distance and longing to travel there. Eventually he made it like we did and he thought them to be as enchanting as he had imagined.

I’ve been quite sad to hear of the destruction in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, two towns that have struggled economically over the years but found a way to survive by catering to the tourists who have been flocking to the mountains for decades. Most of the businesses in those places are owned by local residents who operate candy stores, eateries and ice cream emporiums as a way of earning a living. There are hotels, mini golf courses and amusements for virtually every taste. I admittedly found the place to be a bit over the top and didn’t want to stay long but I know people who visit every single year and are absolutely convinced that it is a kind of heaven on earth. I tend to prefer natural beauty to manmade sights and sadly the raging wildfires are destroying both human structures and ancient forests.

The photos coming from that location are heartbreaking. Some of the townspeople are calling it Armageddon. Having a rather primitive fear of fire makes me especially sympathetic to those who have lost their homes, businesses and possessions, not to mention the unfortunate souls who have died. Today I looked at photos of exhausted firefighters literally collapsing onto the pavement after hours of fighting desperately to control the blaze. The look of defeat on their faces said more than any descriptions of what is happening there.

One of my aunts lost her home in a fire a few years back. She was happily decorating her yard for Christmas when she saw flames coming from her roof. She did her best to save a few treasures but the burning accelerated even before the firefighters arrived. Her house with everything in it burned to the ground, so many memories gone forever. She has never really moved on from the tragedy of losing so much of what she had accumulated over a lifetime. All of her home movies melted into celluloid balls. The family Bible that had been handed down for generations was a heap of ash. Nothing was spared but her life and that of her husband.

They moved to a senior living facility where they have found a semblance of peace but there has been a sadness about her that was never before there. She was ninety years old when it happened, far too old to think of starting over again. She is, of course, happy to still be alive and she realizes better than anyone that everything that burned was nothing compared to a human life and yet in each of our homes there are priceless items that we enjoy and that seem to define us in some ways.

I recall learning in English class that we have the power to “love” people but we should only “like” things. It is an important distinction that we should all observe because in the long history of humanity there have been many instances in which people lost everything but the clothes on their backs. They had to begin anew, start fresh. I think of the victims of the Holocaust whose very humanity was threatened for a time. I consider the citizens of New Orleans whose homes were swept away by punishing waters. I wonder how it must have felt to watch the tsunami instantly destroying a modern city in Japan. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, wars have stolen the humble belongings of countless people and time and again they have risen like phoenixes. It is in our human DNA to pick ourselves up and try again.

Still such events leave a scar on those who must endure them. I know people from New Orleans who lost their homes to hurricane Katrina. They become fearful when heavy rains pour from the sky. My daughter won’t light a candle in her house because she was once the victim of a fire started by an unattended candle in the apartment building where she lived. Just as I shutter when I hear of car accidents because such an event caused my father’s death, so too do those who have had horrific experiences relive them in certain circumstances.

My heart is heavy for the people who have had to flee their homes in the Smokey Mountains. It will be decades before the lovely beauty that they have enjoyed returns. Nature will eventually come back to life and they may rebuild but the precious sense of security that they may have felt is gone for a time, if it ever even returns.

I look around the home that I so enjoy and think of how horrible it would be to suddenly lose it. I remember a time when a priest asked us to imagine how we might feel if every thing that we owned were taken away and we were left standing naked but with our family and friends intact. He urged us to look into our hearts and decide what is truly important, hinting that what we own is never where our focus should be.

In this season of Christmas we should think of the young couple who traveled to Bethlehem so long ago, staying in a cold manger on the night of their child’s birth. Their earthly possessions were few and yet they had brought a savior into the world whose influence would live right into our present century. He would teach us that there is nothing that we ever do that is as important as loving ourselves and our neighbors. It is a difficult command that we do not always follow as well as we might. We become distracted by the pursuit of wealth, power and things that in the end turn to dust. It is only in how we truly live according to God’s word that we find the peace and contentment that we seek.

We should all look within especially when we see the constant reminders of how fragile our lives are. As terrible as those fires are they should send the message that what truly matters is the content of our hearts.

The Tree of My Life

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img_0670I set up my Christmas tree today and it is literally dripping with ornaments. I have to be honest that I had to purchase a second tree just to hold all of the lovely trinkets that I have collected over the years. My main tree is well over ten feet tall and the other one is smaller. Every single ornament has a story. In fact, I might fill a book if I were to write a paragraph detailing how and why I have each of them.

Many of my ornaments were gifts from friends, family members and students. One is especially beloved. It is a pink crocheted bell that a youngster gave me when I was completing my student teaching. She was a troubled child and I had been warned to watch her. Somehow I never thought to be wary of her. Instead the two of us bonded almost immediately. I found her to be enchanting and when she brought me that bell that she had crafted with her own hands I was touched to the very center of my heart. I often wonder where she is now. She would be in her forties. I hope things turned out well for her. I suspect that she would be surprised to know how much I treasure her thoughtful present.

My tree wouldn’t be complete without two decorations made from old Christmas cards and photographs. One was made by my friend, Linda, and it holds a picture of her two boys when they were tiny tots. The other came from my daughter, Catherine, when she was a little girl. It has an image of our first dog, Red, a beautiful and sweet golden retriever. They sit proudly amidst far more elegant ornaments but somehow they seem more important than even the annual Swarovski crystal snowflakes that I have been collecting since I visited the factory in Austria with friends, Monica and Franz, more than a decade ago.

I have a plastic angel with faded silver paint that came from my grandmother’s tree. Most people would think it quite ugly but it always reminds me of the fun times we had every Christmas Eve at her house with all of my cousins. I also have the glass globes that were on the first tree that Mike and I ever had. They too are a bit the worse for wear but I haven’t had the heart to part with them.

I have a large number of Hallmark ornaments. I tend to go back for more Mickey Mouse and Snoopy creations than any other. I also love the ones that replicate the toys that my girls had when they were small. My favorite among those collectables is Steamboat Willie. He whistles away as he steers his little ship. It always takes me back to the old black and white cartoons that sometimes played on television when I was a child.

When the Harry Potter books came out I became an instant fan and I have purchased themed decorations depicting many of the characters in the stories. My mother noted my enthusiasm and found a number of them for me. Harry is great but I am madly in love with the one that resembles Hagrid.

My friend, Pat, was a true lover of Christmas and gave me dozens of the decorations that don the branches of my fake fir. Over the years she gave me Snow Babies, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, silver bells, gingerbread men, redbirds, snowmen, and some of my most adorable and beloved adornments. Other friends like Cappy and Marita filled the my tree with trimmings from all over the world. There are straw bells and baskets from Mexico, blue and white globes from Denmark, ships in bottles from Italy and Santa figures from here and there.

I tend to purchase a new ornament any time that I take a trip. When I place those trinkets on the tree each year I instantly recall the fun that I had. I bought tin toys from the FAO Schwartz store that used to be in Chicago, a replica of Cafe du Monde in New Orleans, a double decker bus from Canada. There is a brown bear from Yellowstone and workers sitting on a steel beam from New York City. I have Revolutionary War soldiers and ballerinas. Nutcrackers and humming birds. I particularly enjoy an Elvis from Memphis and a duck from the same city.

My Christmas tree is really a tree of my life. Christmas after Christmas it records my travels, my friendships and the people and things that I most love. It tells as much about who I am as anything. I doubt I would be able to describe myself better than that tree does. It has bells and whistles and lots of sounds and is actually quite fun. I love nothing more than sitting in its light with the rest of the house in darkness and just enjoying each of the many decorations and the memories that go with them. They speak of the blessings that have followed me and the people who have always meant so much to me.

My tree has no coherent color scheme or theme. It appears to be a hodgepodge but I think of it as one of the loveliest things on earth. I used to prefer live trees but when I realized that my children were sick every year because of they were allergic to the sap I learned to love my artificial ones. I’ve had to replace those a few times but I carefully pack away the same ornaments year after year. I’ve had to make repairs and once in a great while I’ve had an accident and broken one which is momentarily heartbreaking but the memory that is associated with it never goes away.

My grandchildren especially love my tree. They press the buttons that make the decorations whir and spin and light up. They search for new ones each year and attempt to find the pickle that I purchased in Indiana way back when my eldest grandson was born. They like to hear to stories associated with each of them as much as I enjoy telling them. Somehow they never tire of laughing at their silly grandmother and like me and their mothers they would never change a thing about my crazy way of decking the boughs of my holiday fir.

It takes me hours to fit all of the ornaments on my tree. I worry that I will one day be too frail and weary to enjoy it as much as I do now. Both my mother and mother-in-law eventually eschewed their big trees in favor of small tabletop bushes. I truly hope that I never have to do that. I’d like to think that my children and grandchildren will help to bring my tree to life because they delight in it as much as I do. It is truly a tree of my life, a special view into who I am.

Goodness

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aaeaaqaaaaaaaaitaaaajdzjzdrkywrilwjlngqtngrmoc1hyzrmlwi4ndk0mjzjymjmzqHe always seemed to have a smile on his face, an impish grin. He was a perpetual teller of jokes that made us laugh. He even filled our email accounts with hilarity that made even the most difficult day seem brighter. He rarely missed a special event and went out of his way to let us know that he cared. We all enjoyed his company and knew that he loved us and we loved him. What we did not know was how complex he actually was. We had little idea of the depth of his influence on the lives of people all across the city. We did not truly understand how genuine his faith actually was. He was exceedingly humble and rarely spoke of his good deeds or his beliefs. He was not just the same person as his words, but more.

He had been suffering for years but did not complain about his pain. His only goal was always to make each of us feel happy and loved. We did not know that he had been given a deadly prognosis many months ago. When his time here on the earth was drawing to an end he spent most of his last moments attempting to make us feel better about losing him. Then he was gone and we all felt adrift. We spent Monday and Tuesday laying him to rest but mostly learning how truly awesome he had actually been.  It seems that he had busied himself for decades making life just a bit more pleasant for virtually every person that he met.

He was enchanted by the Christmas season, his favorite time of year. Each December he donned a red suit and invoked the persona of Santa Claus for the children at his church. He took his role quite seriously, becoming the incarnation of the jolly old soul. His smile and his generosity was magical. It was as if Father Christmas had come down from the North Pole to visit with the kids but it was his giving spirit that lit up the room and it did not ever end there.

He was always only a phone call away from anyone who needed help. He responded to an SOS regardless of the time of day or the difficulty of the task. He made things happen with a determination that was unfailing. There were many souls who felt a debt of gratitude to him but he never asked for anything in return for his favors. He preferred the cloak of anonymity to glory.

He loved his family and His God above all things. He worked hard at his job bringing the same enthusiasm to his work that he gave to each minute of his day. His routine never failed to include prayers and devotions. He had a second sense about who might need the comfort of his unending belief in the Lord. Just the right words for an occasion would pop up on a Facebook wall or an email post. His sensitivity matched his sense of fun. He loved every breath of his life and inhaled his blessings with gusto while giving back even to those who did not return his favors.

When he knew that he was dying he did not falter. He believed that the very best was yet to come, the paradise of eternity. He smiled at the thought of the reward that surely awaited him. He was unafraid and even inspired the priest who anointed him for the last time. He was surrounded by family and friends to whom he had meant so much. He knew without hesitation that God was waiting for him.

The church was packed for his funeral. Those who had known him from childhood and those who had only recently had the honor of calling him friend spoke of his optimism and goodness. They remembered laughing with him and were able to recall times when he went out of his way to help them. The outpouring of love and appreciation for who he had been was remarkable. It almost seemed as if a king or potentate were being honored, or perhaps a saint.

We left his body under the shade of a tree not far from where my own parents’ remains now rest. We all believed that his beautiful soul was already luxuriating in heaven, a place for which he had longed. We were sad, not because we did not appreciate the reality that he was no longer suffering, but because we knew how much we would miss him. We had learned just how real he truly was. We worried a bit that our lives would never be quite the same without having him around to enchant us. We suspect that our gatherings will be just a bit bleaker and yet even in death he has somehow made us feel good. He taught us how to truly live and we are certain that he wants each of us to take a chance on opening our hearts to everyone that we meet.

We all know of individuals who appear to be good Samaritans but are actually hypocrites. They put on a face of virtue but their character is only skin deep. Finding someone who never wavers from the path of righteousness is not an easy task and yet in this man we found someone who was the genuine article. For that we will always be grateful even as our hearts ache just a bit today. I know that I am the better for knowing him. I suspect that he wants me to remember his family for they are surely hurting. It will be difficult for them in the coming days, weeks, months. There will be moments when they think of him and long for him. They will need our support and sometimes just a friendly ear.

They say a good man is hard to find and yet so many of us realize that we knew one in knowing him. I suspect that he will continue to watch over us just as he did while he was still on this earth. He will be a heavenly guardian angel now instead of an earthly one. One day perhaps the heavy feelings that now envelop us will be gone. I can only pray that we will never forget his example and the message of hope that he gave us.

This man taught us that a good life has little to do with possessions. Those things are fleeting and of little worth. All we need embrace are the people that we encounter as we go about the living of each day. If we truly and faithfully trust in God just as he did we will receive the best possible rewards and our impact will have been immeasurable.

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

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A-Stormy-Atlantic.jpgThe weather outside if frightful. No, it’s not snowing. It’s too warm. This is the last day of November and I have yet to wear a sweater or a pair of boots. My grass is stilling growing and in need of a good mowing. I have hibiscus blooms and dozens of roses. While it is a lovely sight I am a creature of habit and it is simply not supposed to be this temperate at this time of year. I’m all in for some cold weather but it doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the horizon.

The stores in my city can barely give away coats. I won’t be surprised if someone is one day standing at the exits passing them out to anyone who wants to take them away. Sweaters are faring no better. The winter season will pass and I will never have removed my flip flops. Usually by now I have switched my winter things to a more prominent position in my closet but this year I have left those things hidden in the dark recesses. I wonder if I will need them at all.

I point all of this out because I can’t imagine how anyone still clings to the false premise that climate change is a myth. It stands to reason that we have a symbiotic relationship with nature. There are photos from space that show the destruction that we have wrought on our planet and our atmosphere. We have already reached a dangerous tipping point and yet there are far too many people who argue that we humans have nothing to do with the changes that are so apparent to those of us who have witnessed many seasons.

A recent article in my local newspaper pointed out that areas of the city are experiencing flooding problems for the first time in their history. An expert noted that when communities are being initially planned the builders generally take drainage into account and grade to insure that run off goes into the gutters. Of late individuals are tearing down older homes and erecting massive houses that disregard the way heavy rains will flow. The result has been devastating in some places. This of course is just one more way in which we humans sometimes ignore the negative effect of our decisions.

We have a world of problems and we have become accustomed to living in relative luxury compared to our ancestors. My children are members of the first generation to spend all of their lives in air conditioned homes. Back in the day we left our windows open in the summer and used fans to stir up a breeze. It was sometimes brutally hot but we learned how to live with it. There weren’t many electronics to run and most families owned a single car regardless of the size of the family. In other words we used far less energy than most people use today. We all too often believe that it would be impossible to live in conditions that were commonplace in the past.

I realize that it would be difficult to revert to the old ways and I don’t necessarily think that we should. What does need to happen is a nationwide investment in finding new and reliable ways of providing energy. When we put concerted effort into reaching the moon we were successful in a very short span of time. We should create the same level of excitement for dealing with climate change. In my day young people dreamed of working at NASA and being part of the space program. The best and the brightest wanted to be part of the action. If we were all to agree that solving the problems that so devastate our planet are just as important we might turn the tide.

My brother was one of those youngsters who walked around with an illustrated book written by Werner von Braun which described a station in space that would house humans. He told people when he was a tiny tot that he was going to work on building such things. He studied hard with the goal of one day achieving something exciting. He has now spent virtually his entire career designing the navigational systems for the International Space Station. What had once been only pictures in his mind became stunning reality.

I feel that it is incumbent upon all of our leaders to accept the facts that scientists around the globe have proven with compelling evidence. My own anecdotal comments about the weather may be false but the data and photographs lead to the same conclusions as mine. I worry when I travel to the western United States and see dangerously dry conditions so unlike what I witnessed in the same places when I was young.

Some people seem to think that climate change is a political football. An entire party appears to embrace the very dangerous idea that it is somehow a made up concept designed to funnel money to particular industries and take it from others. The game that they play is dangerous. It overlooks the possible future of our children and grandchildren. It is a gamble that I don’t wish to make.

A group of Native Americans are waging a battle at Standing Rock. They do not want a pipeline to be built near the Columbia River. They worry about its potential effect on the very water that the people in that area drink. Whether or not their concerns are real or foolish seems to matter little to me. They deserve to have a say over what happens to land that once belonged wholly to their ancestors and was taken away by people who somehow thought their claims were invalid. We have treated our native peoples with gross disregard for far too long. We have ignored their traditions and dishonored the animals and the environment. They have been right more often than not as we blithely altered the landscape. Now it is time to hear them out. Theirs is a voice that we should not ignore on both moral and objective grounds.

We are beginning to understand the error of our human ways but there are still those who have managed to convince themselves that we are entitled to the fruits of our planet without consequence. The time for such thinking should be long past. It is too dry in some places and too wet in others. The extremes that we see in weather should not be reproduced in our political landscape. I long for true leaders who will educate the public rather than pander for votes. Our fate depends whether or not we are able to finally take the necessary steps to save us all. 

The Best Gift

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

deddfa2e6c8561515b485b35fa01724fHow do we speak of grief when it is so personal? Why do we have a tendency to judge the level or appropriateness of one’s sadness? Each of us will face loss and death, either our own or that of a loved one. Our feelings and the way we express them are the result of multitudes of lessons we have learned. We cope in so many different ways and yet we find ourselves wondering why there are so many different approaches to tragedy.

My mother was quite strong but the deaths of loved ones revealed a crack in her outward facade that was almost disturbing. She allowed her emotions to have free range. She would take to her bed and cry in convulsive fits. She became unable to perform even the simplest tasks. Because of the extreme nature of her reactions I found myself in a state of forced control whenever our family endured an horrific situation. I maintained a fake coolness and appeared to be seemingly detached. It was an act and I’m not certain that it was the proper way to be but it became my way of coping.

I have watched people at funerals and noticed just how quirky each of us becomes whenever we have to endure the anguish that overtakes us at such times. Few people know how to properly deal with the misery of such situations. Those who do are a blessing. They say the right things and seem to know when to cry and when to smile. They are normal and natural and comfortable to be around. Most of us falter. We sense that the public has certain expectations for us but we simply do not know how to be. We are awkward with our feelings and our comments and wish that we might express ourselves with a brilliance that allows people to understand the essence of our souls.

A former student from the high school where I last worked lost her mother to cancer just before she was to graduate from college. She was quite close to her mom and they had both dreamed of the day when she would earn her degree. Having to walk across the stage when everyone surrounding her was in such a festive mood became more like a nightmare for her. In her heart she knew that her dear sweet mama should have been there to watch the triumph but instead she was forever gone. Every step that she took and every smile that she made on that day was little more than her effort to keep herself together when what she really wanted to do was rage against the unfairness of her loss. Of late she has been able to channel the enormity of her feelings by writing blogs designed to reveal her heartbreaking journey and to discuss the complexities of grief. Her hope is that by honestly discussing her emotions she will somehow help others who will most certainly find a time when they must deal with the loss of those that they love.

Not everyone is so willing to open their hearts. Most of us have masks that we use to hide the hurt and misery that stalks us. I am personally quite guilty of such behavior. I often pretend to be just fine when I am instead feeling quite low. I suspect that most people don’t really want a totally honest assessment of my emotional status and so I mostly smile to make them feel reassured. I only provide a truthful appraisal of my hurt and disappointment to those whom I most trust. I suppose that most of us are like that. We have one persona for home and another for public display.

Somehow there has to be a delicate balance between abject agony and stalwart stoicism. There also must be understanding. It really is not up to any of us to judge another for their despair or seeming lack of it. Unless we are close enough to them to truly know the content of their hearts we never realize exactly what they are thinking or feeling. Our only job should be to support them however they choose to be.

Long ago one of the teachers at my school was killed in a car accident. She was a delightful soul who was beloved by all. Those of us who worked with her attended her funeral in a state of shock and discomfort. Her mother was calm and gracious, attending more to our needs than to her own. I accidentally wondered allowed how she was able to maintain her composure under such circumstances and she laughingly told me that she was filled with so much medication that she could hardly feel her feet much less the pain that had ripped a crater open in her heart. When a lone tear ran down her cheek I saw the devastation in her eyes for the first time and we just stood holding hands until she was able to regain her composure and move to the next guest who had come to honor her daughter.

I have a dear friend who worked with me for many years. When my mother died she reacted in the most appropriate and loving ways. She came to the visitation and kept her remarks quite simple, telling me how much she loved me and how sorry she was. A week or so after the funeral she sent me a lovely plant that almost six years later continues to grow and flourish as a symbol of her kindness. Not too long after that she wrote a beautiful letter to me, reminding me of beautiful moments when I had shared stories about my mom. She kept in touch just to be sure that I was doing okay long after everyone had gone back to their normal lives. She took a few moments here and there to let me know that she understood that my pain was not yet healed. I will always love her for her insightful attention and ability the see through my attempts to appear strong.

Someone that you know may be suffering and not even showing the signs. Particularly during the holiday season we should each take the time to find that person who is unable to be merry because of illness, disappointment or loss. It takes very little to provide a bit of comfort, a funny card, a quick phone call, a bouquet of flowers, a visit. Those small gestures really do make a difference.

My daughter and I were feeling pensive this Thanksgiving. One of my cousins died just before the big day of feasting. Another cousin is battling lymphoma. All of my surviving aunts are well into their nineties and experiencing major health problems. We spoke of how fragile life is and the changes that are inevitable for all of us. We commented that during our most difficult times we are often quite surprised to learn who truly cares. There always seems to be someone who unexpectedly steps forward to provide us with exactly the tonic that we need to begin to heal. Perhaps each of us should find someone for whom we might offer solace in the midst of the rush to celebrate the season. There is no better gift and it need not cost a thing. Someone is hoping for your gentle touch.