Category: Commentary

Heaven On Earth

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Robin-Hoods-Bay-270967-800px

When I was just a tad older than forty my husband and I decided to attempt a climb of Long’s Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park along with our two daughters. We camped a little way up the trail and rose in the dark of the early morning hours to begin our trek. There was a silence between the four of us and our fellow adventurers who moved patiently up the mountain with only the illumination of flashlights to guide the way. Around five in the morning we stopped to gaze at the lights of the town of Estes Park far below where humanity was just waking up for a new day. It felt like looking at a little fairy village in a scene inside a snow globe.

By the time the sun rose above our heads we had reached the Boulder Field, an outcropping of massive rocks over which we would have to climb to get to the final stages of our journey. As I stood there with a brisk wind blowing across my face I looked all around and down below experiencing an other worldly sensation. It was as if I had somehow found a slice of heaven on earth, a vision that stays with me and soothes my soul to this very day.

I was unable to continue the trek to the summit because one of my daughters became quite ill with mountain sickness. I knew that I had to get her to a lower altitude where the air was more rich with oxygen. I might have been disappointed in coming that far and not being able to continue to the to the end of the trail but for the fact that I felt such serenity in the place that I had already encountered. I literally was aware of God’s presence in the world and it was not necessary to go any farther to feel a sense of divine ecstasy.

There have been other times when I believed that I was in a heavenly place and each of those moments were defined by the people with whom I had shared the experience and the magnificence of the scene before me. Last year I traveled to a quaint little town near York in England. It was called Robin Hood’s Bay and the combination of sharing fun times with my brothers and sisters-in-law along with a spectacular view made me once again feel as though heaven had somehow come to earth.

Robin Hood’s Bay is a seaside town rumored to have once been an outpost for pirates. It is now a sleepy fishing village with a passage to the North Sea and from there to distant shores like Norway. It is built on rugged cliffs and the wind seems to whisper the stories of the valiant people who once lived and worked. It’s main street features shops and buildings sitting precariously on steep hills that meander up and down while sea laden breezes fill the air. The whole place appears to have come from a fantasy with its quaintness, but in truth life was once very hard there. Somehow now the people have settled into a slow pace of living and being there was quite glorious. Sitting with the people I love while laughing and looking into the eternity of the horizon brought me a heavenly peace.   

Heaven on earth has meant holding my babies, first my daughters and then my grandchildren. There is a hopefulness about being near little ones. Their innocence makes them seem like tiny cherubs. They remind me that there is still pure unadulterated goodness in the world. A baby sleeping on my chest brings me a calmness that only paradise itself might otherwise provide.

I have found heaven on earth in the most unexpected ways like sitting in the bough of a tree, watching the sunset in Grand Canyon, hearing the haunting cry of a loon. Sometimes relaxing in the quiet of my living room while listening to the laughter of the neighborhood children fills me with so much joy that I think this must surely be what heaven is like.

Each day I draw closer to the inevitable end of life here on earth that each of us will face. I sometimes wonder what heaven will actually be like. Will I get to choose what makes me happiest or is it so unimaginably special that my own images of it fall short of the reality? Will I once again see all of the people that I have known and loved? How will they appear? If I want to see Abraham Lincoln will that be possible? I’d like to believe that the contentment that I have felt on that mountain top and in that village will be mine for eternity but will it take a form that is more special even than my own thoughts?

Heaven is ethereal. How is it possible that we might get a glimpse of it even for a second here on earth? Somehow I believe that the glory of the best moments of my life will be magnified a thousand fold when I finally see my divine reward, but for now I am here and I want to find more of those times when the earth itself has felt so perfect. I think of a rainbow over the winding road of Glacier National Park, the first kiss from my husband, my mother’s smile, my father reading to me, my little girls kicking me from inside the womb. Surely heaven must be even more wonderful. 

Teach Your Children Well

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
Photo by August de Richelieu on Pexels.com

At the end of my junior year of high school I decided to run for Student Body Secretary. I doubted that I had much of a shot at winning because I was running against two of the most popular girls on campus. Nonetheless, I threw myself into the campaign process with the same abandon that I applied to everything I did. I made posters to hang all over the school, polished the speech that I would have to make to the entire student gathering, and created materials to hand to the students to let them know I was a contestant. It was a fun process that pulled me out of my shyness and taught me that taking risks was a good exercise.

One morning I was standing at the school entrance greeting students as they arrived and asking them to consider voting for me. I was a nervous wreck at first but I got better and better with each person who politely returned my smile even if they had no intention of voting for me. The tardy bell had rung and I was picking up my campaign materials when a straggler suddenly strode through the door. I grinned, held out my hand and gave him one of my flyers. His response was to stare at me with disdain, tear my offering into tiny pieces and toss them on the floor like confetti. Then he turned to me and said, “Nobody is going to vote for you. Nobody likes you. Save yourself the embarrassment.” 

I was stunned by his anger but I remained calm, saying nothing in response. Once he had left I quietly picked up the pieces of paper on the floor wondering what might make someone feel the need to be so hurtful. I knew that what he had said was not true, but I was a bit shaken nonetheless. My confidence definitely took a silent hit that returned on the day I had to deliver my speech. I remember having to grip the podium where I stood because my legs became rubbery as I looked out on the sea of faces that I was addressing. I don’t know if my voice was as shaky as it seemed to be in my own ears but I somehow managed to say my piece and hurry back to my seat relatively unscathed. 

I did not win the election but I had never really thought that I would. I was mostly proud of myself for pushing past my fears and trying something that was outside of my comfort zone. I was also quite happy that I had been able to mostly ignore the student who had been so despicable to me. Nonetheless, I thought of him often even after I had graduated from high school, not because he had somehow wormed his way into my psyche but because I worried about him. It seemed to me that someone with such a dark heart might have a difficult time forming loving relationships in life. I wondered what kind of abuse had made him feel the need to be so vile. I had always felt so much love in my life and it seemed to me that someone like him might have been lacking in the kind of affection that had helped me to grow into a happy person.

I eventually learned that my fellow student had died rather young, apparently in a car accident. I did not really know him, nor had I followed his progress after graduation but somehow I felt a profound sadness for him. I realized that he had needed to be a cruel bully to feel superior to me and it occurred to me that someone had taught him to be that way. 

Our children do indeed learn from what they see us do and hear us say. My husband has always encouraged my independent spirit. He has not felt challenged by my quest for knowledge and learning. I have a competitive spirit that he supports. Somehow he is so very different from the young man who wanted to terrorize me. I know that it is because my husband’s family dynamic was grounded in love and respect that he saw every single day as a child. 

My mother-in-law was indeed one of the most brilliant individuals that I have ever met. She was a woman of unwavering strength. My father-in-law was and still is the consummate gentleman. He cherished and cultivated my mother-in-law’s intellect and free spirit. My husband saw these things and so it became second nature to him to value both women and men without self righteous judgement. His parents were kind to him and to each other and so he is kind to everyone. 

If children witness abuse in the form of words or fists they often begin to emulate such behaviors themselves. Some manage to escape and change, but far too many continue the ugly cycle of bullying. From one generation to the next it becomes an acceptable way of life and may even be viewed as a sign of strength. They push their way through life with intimidation and fear. They may even seem to be successful and happy but that is rarely the truth.

Teach your children how to be kind. It begins with how everyone is treated inside your home. How you behave is more important than what you say. If you not only accept, overlook and admire someone who is vile in the treatment of others, you send the message to your children that the pathway to success is found in power, rather than in respect. Be careful that you are not robbing your children of the gift of confidence that comes from healthy relationships. Teach your children well. 

It’s Never Too Late

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Follow-Your-Dreams

First I loved to read and then I loved to write. First my father inspired me and then my high school English teacher helped me to believe in myself. I headed to the University of Houston determined to major in English, hoping to become a writer but convincing myself that I would most likely earn a living by becoming a teacher.

I was enchanted by the written word. Reading for my classes was a source of joy and then authoring papers became my passion. If I had been totally honest I would have admitted that my ultimate dream was to become so proficient in the art of writing that it might have become my profession. Instead I believed the naysayers who shook their heads and assured me that becoming a published author with enough income to live was akin to a sandlot ball player getting a spot on a professional team.

I hedged my bets by minoring in mathematics and securing certifications for teaching. I not only never got an opportunity to teach English, but I also never had the pleasure of writing for a fee. I admittedly enjoyed being an educator and have no regrets after a long and happy career. Still, the idea of actually being paid for doing the one thing that most enchants me is alluring. I sometimes wonder if I would have made it as an author or a journalist if I had not been so afraid that I might fail. After all, I had a class with a young man who began his journey to professional sports playing at a Houston city park. Clyde Drexler certainly had skills but he had to be willing to take risks to show the world that he was a champion.

I sometimes chide myself for being so overly cautious and for making excuses for my unwillingness to follow the less certain path. I might easily have continued writing even after I had secured a job as a teacher. Stephen King initially supported himself and his wife by working as a high school teacher. He wrote in his free time and submitted manuscript after manuscript until Carrie finally caught a publisher’s eye. He did not find excuses to abandon his passion but I certainly did. For a very long time I stifled that little part of myself that brought me so much joy because I believed that even thinking that someone might want to read what I had to say was silly. I hid behind a wall of apologetics while my heart longed to be free.

It was not until my children were grown, my mother had died, and I had retired that I allowed myself the luxury of writing again. At first I was so fearful of what people might think of my ideas. I wrote and rewrote passages to tame my thoughts, make them more acceptable to a wider audience instead of letting my heart speak. I had so often told students that the best writing has a very personal voice but I broke my own rules. It was only after I enrolled in a one day class at Rice University that I understood that I must overcome all of the trepidation and negativity that resided inside my head. I had to be myself on paper just as I had so unselfconsciously done when I was writing for my professors in college. They had seen the possibilities and had encouraged me to continue to develop my craft. I had believed that they were only being kind. I convinced myself that they were flatterers and the real truth came from people who insisted that I be practical, realistic.

So here I am at the age of seventy one suddenly shedding the my protective facade and showing myself as the person that I am with blogs written five days each week. I have become almost fanatical in my devotion to writing every single day. It is as though all of the pent up emotions that I failed to put on paper in the past are flooding onto the blankness of each new page. I am fearless in my adherence to the truth. My voice chatters on and on and on.

I may never earn a dime from my words. I may never receive an invitation from Oprah or Ellen to speak of my musing or the books that I hope to write in front of millions of  people, but I have finally made writing a priority in my life for no other reason than it seems to be something that I need to do. It feels oh so good to finally grow up and be my own person. Ignoring the clang of negative voices that we all seem to encounter has been one of the most freeing experiences of my life. Writing has sustained my optimism during Covid-19.

I remain devoted to my thousands of students. I don’t believe that I would have been a particularly interesting or empathetic author without knowing them. They have been a source of inspiration for most of what I believe and do. I would urge them as they grapple with decisions about their own lives to listen to their hearts and follow the passions that speak to them. Take some risks and see where they may lead. There is nothing more wonderful than finding one’s true self. I found mine in being a teacher and now I have expanded my world through writing. Go find your dream. It is never too late.

(This blog is dedicated to a young man with the initials H.F. who is struggling to find himself while he watches his peers graduate with advanced degrees, work at extraordinary jobs, purchase homes and begin families. He is quite gifted and talented in his own right and I hope that he reads this and is inspired to take some risks to embrace his own passions.)

Love of Country

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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I have little doubt that mostly everyone in our nation is exhausted, some more so than others. In between the pandemic and the vitriol of the recent election our emotions are frayed. We need a moment of rest, a brief time to heal mentally. Sadly the very man whose influence might best reassure us and provide us with respite from the anxiety has so far been unwilling to graciously accept the reality of his defeat just as men and women have done from the beginning of our democratic republic. 

While the results of the election demonstrate just how divided we are, the process has been fair and no amount of recounting is likely to change the outcome. We must begin to heal. That is the imperative for all of us if our country is to survive and thrive. Healing means loving our country and its people more than personal or party ambition. It means urging all of us to turn to our neighbors and work together to do the hard lifting that lies ahead. 

One of the most interesting American political stories involved Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, two of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, men who had very different ideas of how best to build a new nation but who had mostly admired one another until the poison of politics stressed their friendship. Eventually they ran against each other for President. It was a hard fought race filled with venom and accusations. Jefferson was victorious but Adams’ bitterness was so intense that for many years the two of them would neither acknowledge nor speak to one another. 

Theirs was a feud that seemed unlikely to end until Adams held out an olive branch suggesting that they had both always wanted what was best for the fledgling country. He came to see that their mutual love of the nation was far stronger than their differences so he sent a conciliatory letter to Thomas Jefferson and the two men began a correspondence that would last for the remainder of their lives. Not only were they able to discuss their dreams for the nation that they had helped to establish but they became the best of friends. Ironically both of them died on July 4, 1826. Adams last words were “Jefferson still survives” not knowing that Jefferson had actually died five hours earlier.

We have real issues to face, important battles ahead. We need our President to be conciliatory. We need for him to hold out an olive branch for all of us. We all must acknowledge the results of the election and begin the process of transition and President Trump can help us to do so. Presidents traditionally do these things for the preservation of the systems created by men like John Adams and Thomas Jefferson who believed that power should lie with the people, not a king or a dictator. We speak with our votes and then our leaders concede to our voices.

President Jimmy Carter transformed defeat into public service for those struggling to find a safe place in which to live. President George H.W. Bush was heartbroken when he was defeated by Bill Clinton but he too became a model of graciously accepting loss. Eventually he and President Clinton would join forces to remedy the devastation of hurricane Katrina. Their partnership resulted in a deep and respectful friendship. In fact when our former Presidents gather together we see that they are united in the work they have done for the nation. They set aside their partisanship for the good of the people and learn to respect one another just as Adams and Jefferson did.

We are watching, President Trump. We need for you to honor our country and its traditions. We long to see moral courage from you. We need to know that you love all of the people, not just the ones who voted for you. We are exhausted and anxious. Please end your days as our leader with dignity. Model the behavior of the best of our leaders. Ease our fears. 

I know that President Trump is beloved by much of the country. I understand the disappointment in his defeat. I have been in those very same shoes a number of times. It is difficult to concede after a hard fought and contentious battle but it is what a truly good leader does in the United States of America. 

The winter months ahead will most surely be difficult. President Trump will retain the reins of power until almost the end of January. There will be many issues that he must address during that time. I pray that he will not let us down by sulking and continuing to chafe over his loss. I hope that he will not keep spreading seeds of distrust among his supporters that will only have the effect of further dividing and weakening our country. I want him to be a man who graciously spends his final days in office doing whatever it takes to bind our wounds and keep us as safe as possible from any form of harm. 

President Trump may stand in front of thousands of flags flaunting his patriotism but such gestures are  meaningless if he tears down our most precious freedom, our right to vote. The voice of the people must be heard. There has been no theft of votes, no fraud so large that it has stolen the election, but right now President Trump is the one appearing to be in the process of mounting a coup. He needs to stop the ridiculousness right now. This is not who we are as a nation. We are a democratic republic and while many may not believe that the best man won, he is still the person with the most popular and electoral votes.

Please, President Trump, acknowledge Joe Biden and ask us all to work with him, not for selfish reasons, but because we all love our country. If you do not destroy the legacy of our election process you will not destroy your own place in history. Be a true American and show your love of country.

Our Children Are Hurting

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment
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Our world is hurting. Our nation is hurting. Our people are hurting. Humanity is weary and anxious. We are many different cultures with different concerns but for one moment in time the specter of Covid-19 unites us in the realization that a virus has the power to upend us with the force of an army. It has no special regard for prime ministers or presidents. Any of us might succumb to its invasive determination to use our bodies for its own survival. Covid-19 has changed the way we do things, changing our routines and traditions and threatening our sense of freedom and control. It has left us divided and angry, spilling over into our workplaces, schools and even houses of worship. 

We are tense and argumentative with one another. We want to control our destinies but we disagree on how that should be done. Only hindsight will prove beyond a doubt who among us has had the right answers and who has been very wrong. For now we use our reasoning and our emotions to decide how to protect ourselves and our loved ones from harm, and some of us even argue that our concerns about Covid-19 are ridiculously overblown. They insist that if we simply ignore the virus, take our chances, we are more likely to become universally immune. 

We cling to scientific data or stories that seem more like superstition. Our reactions spill over into how we want to be led, what we are willing to personally do to stall the spread of the disease. While we may attempt to simply carry on as usual from day to day Covid-19 is always lurking in the background. Just as we become more relaxed we hear of an uptick in cases near us or learn of a friend or family member who is fighting for life in the hospital. All the while our emotions are tested again and again. Our disagreements become feuds, our feuds lead to disruptions of once treasured relationships. All the while we pretend that we are okay even as we know with certainty that we are not.

Our young see this and because we are attempting to shelter them we sweep our fears aside. We think that being as normal as possible will reassure them until we learn, often by accident, just how anxious they actually are. We find that they need to talk. They need to express the sadness that is washing over them, the sorrow that they do not understand, the oppressive feeling that somehow we will never be the same again.

I am retired from teaching, and yet I am not. I have been unable to fully walk away from educating the young. I am unable to endure the rigors of the sixteen hour days that most full time teachers experience, but I enjoy having interactions with students for a few hours each week. There are ten young men and women with whom I interact on a regular basis. Sometimes the most learning occurs not in an hour long lesson about mathematics but in a five minute discussion of feelings. Almost always such conversations lead to revelations about their fears and for now those fears center on the uncertainties created by Covid-19. 

If we have no other reason to work together to address this pandemic it should lie in our desire to protect our children. While the virus itself has thankfully had a somewhat minimal impact on the physical health of our young, it has profoundly affected their mental health. Whether they continue to learn remotely or have returned to a face to face encounter with their teachers and their peers they are feeling the tension and divisiveness that is ripping through the adult world. In the worst case scenarios it is causing them to break down mentally, and their depression presents itself in many different ways. It is not always obvious that a young person is in the depths of darkness. Sometimes the only clues are falling grades or temper tantrums or risky behaviors. 

It is important that we have very honest conversations with the children. We have to do more than just take their temperatures each day. We should be allowing them to voice their concerns with impunity. We should be willing to find counseling for them if their sorrow is extreme. Sometimes just talking with a professional makes all the difference. At the same time we must be aware that all of our anger toward one another is only adding fuel to the fires of confusion that are haunting the youngest among us. We ourselves must admit that we have become a nation in the throes of depression, a world filled with more questions than answers. Ignoring the realities around us is infecting our minds in troubling ways. 

Our children need to feel secure. They need to see us respecting and embracing one another, not constantly quibbling. We must demonstrate that we are caring people whose only goal right now is to work in a spirit of love and cooperation to ensure the safety of everyone. As adults it’s time to set aside our differences and step up to our responsibilities. This should not be a game or a contest of wills. It should not focus on winning and losing. Our children are hurting and the cure will only be found in working with one another. We all need to heal.