Family – Page 78 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

Angel Wings

Published on September 7, 2016September 6, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

angelwings A man was laid to rest this week. There were no banner headlines marking his passing. Only his family and those few who were his friends or coworkers knew of him. There were a smattering of comments about him on Facebook and the newspaper held the usual kind of obituary outlining the essential elements of his life. He was quiet and unassuming and so too was his final memorial.

I first met Michael when he was still a young boy, a teenager only nine years younger than I am but who at the time seemed to be from another generation. He was the only son of my next door neighbors and I mainly saw him coming and going from school and outings with his friends. He was always polite and helpful, quite pleasant, and I liked him even without talking much. His was a blended family melded from the union of two people who had each been married to someone else. All together there were five girls and Michael who had been born in France while his father served in the Air Force. I never really knew what became of his birth mom but I learned soon enough how much his second mom truly loved him. I suppose that it was inevitable that she would because Michael was so sweet with an oh so genuine smile.

Michael followed in his daddy’s footsteps and joined the Air Force as soon as he could. He loved planes and flying, something that he also inherited from his father. He was one of those people who always tried so hard but seemed to be stalked by bad luck. Somehow he never let the setbacks get him down. Each time life dealt him a blow he got right back up and began again.

He eventually found great solace in God. His faith was joyful and profound. He was so happy to know his savior that he proclaimed his newfound faith to the world. He was lit up with a fervor that wasn’t always understood or appreciated. He wanted to share what he had learned so that everyone he knew would feel the love that had made such a difference for him. At one point he actually lost a job because he refused to still his voice when it came to proclaiming the word of the Lord. Luckily other employers were more understanding of his fervor and he proved to be a remarkable worker who gave his all to his jobs.

Everyone who knew Michael loved him. He possessed a generous spirit much like his mom and dad. He was never particularly concerned with hoarding earthly treasures as much as making certain that the people he encountered would be okay. He loved unconditionally and believed totally in salvation and forgiveness. Even when people hurt him he was willing to take them back into his heart.

After Michael left home I didn’t see him that often. He always came to the big family celebrations that his parents held. The ever growing family would crowd into their little home and fill the air with their laughter. When his father began to grow weak from his own illnesses I often saw Michael mowing the lawn or doing other tasks around the house to help his parents. He’d always wave and smile just as he had done when he was still a teenager.

I moved from the old neighborhood almost twelve years ago. At first I lost track of everyone but through the power of Facebook I found members of Michael’s family one by one. I was saddened to learn that his father had died. He was such a good man who took care of all of us who lived near him. I found out that his mother had moved to east Texas and on one occasion when I was camping I was close enough to her new home to go see her. She was as hospitable as ever, stuffing me with all of the wonderful delicacies that she is known for creating in the kitchen. Since that time I read all about various family trips and parties and emergencies. It was with great sorrow that I heard that Michael was dying in the hospital. It somehow didn’t seem right that someone so young was being taken from those who loved him so.

Michael was taken from this world far too soon. He was only fifty nine. He suffered more than most. The pain in his final weeks was almost unbearable but he saw it as a small price to pay for the eternal glory that he was convinced he would soon share with God. He was certain that his heavenly home would be far grander than anything that he had acquired on earth. He assured his wife, his children and his grandchildren that he would always be watching over them even when he was gone and that one day they would all be reunited in heaven.

Now Michael is free of pain and hurt. He is flying high above us with the wings of an angel. Those who knew him will surely miss him. He was a good man. All of us should have someone like him in our lives. Rest in peace, gentle soul. You have surely earned your reward.

Watch and Learn

Published on September 5, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

123images-of-love I come from a great big crazy Slovakian family on my mother’s side. She was one of eight siblings who were the first born in the USA. They grew up in a Catholic home that was often chaotic and lacking amenities but they always had a roof over their heads and food on the table. Their parents taught them to work hard and be responsible. When they went out into the world all but two of them found mates and built families resulting in dozens of cousins. We grew up as close as any extended family might be with gatherings almost every Friday night at our grandmother’s house and all day picnics at Clear Lake or Sylvan Beach. Most of our elders are either gone now or becoming increasingly incapacitated as they move through their nineties. It falls to the eldest among the cousins, Leonard, to be our wise and inspirational family leader. Luckily there is no better man to serve as the consummate role model for how to live a very good life.

My mother used to admonish me to watch and learn. From Leonard I have collected much knowledge about how to have a loving marriage, how to be a truly good parent and how to build a strong relationship with God. While he is a remarkable man I suspect that he would not be nearly as amazing without an equal partner by his side, his wife Jeannie. Sixty years ago the two of them stood before God and man to exchange vows to love, honor and cherish one another till death and they have honored that pledge through both good times and bad. They were impossibly young when they became man and wife. They did not launch their life together with an expensive ceremony. In fact, Jeannie jokes that the whole shebang, including her dress and the reception, cost only fifty dollars. They had a church ceremony and a party at Jeannie’s mother’s home with a cake, some homemade sandwiches, punch and coffee. They began life together on a wing and a prayer but more importantly with a profound love and respect for one another.

Leonard worked steadily to support his family which grew to four children, two girls and two boys. Their life centered around their kids and their God. Jeannie eventually held down various jobs to supplement the family income and even earned a college degree. They developed traditions of laughter and fun that cost little but enriched them all. Each summer they went to Garner State Park where they spent a week swimming in the river during the day and dancing under the Texas stars at night. They went to football games to watch their children perform with the band and raised livestock when their kids joined the FFA. They kept close and always operated as mutual partners.

Their children soon enough ventured out into the world to find their own adventures. Now Leonard and Jeannie’s family gatherings are thirty four souls strong and growing. When they get together the laughter and the unconditional love is palatable. They joke and tease and hug and tell stories. It feels good to be with them in a world that sees less and less of the kind of stability that they have maintained for six decades. I have watched them and I have learned.

I often have young people asking me to help them to understand what makes a strong marriage. It is a complicated question to answer because no two situations are ever alike but from observing those who have been successful like Leonard and Jeannie I have noticed a few characteristics that seem to form much of the glue that binds them. Perhaps the most important aspect is to begin with a mutual respect for one another.

We have all experienced that tingly feeling of being in love. While that is certainly part of the experience it is not the most important. What really matters is having a total acceptance of another person exactly as they are, not as we might wish to remake them. It is the ability to see that individual as our very best friend, the person with whom we may confidently share our deepest desires and secrets without worry of being judged. It is having a comfort level and a trust that nobody, not our parents, our children nor our friends will put asunder. Building this kind of relationship is not easy. It requires a concerted effort for all time. It means communicating and understanding and supporting and loving.

For Leonard and Jeannie life has unfolded together. They face problems as a team. They enjoy happy times hand in hand. They work hard and play hard. They share themselves with friends who enhance their marriage and avoid those who would break them apart. They talk to one another and decide together how to overcome the difficulties that are a part of existence. Their focus is on family but they also have a deep faith in God and turn to Him again and again. They have found solace and even fun at church. Mostly though they try to walk the walk of good and faithful servants in everything that they do. When they or their loved ones make a mess they know how to forgive and move ever forward rather than holding on to grievances.

It is comforting to be around Leonard and Jeannie. They are very human and yet they have somehow managed to overcome every single impediment that might have broken the ironclad ties that encircled them sixty years ago. They have grown old together and only strengthened in their love with the passing years. They truly only have eyes for each other and seeing them dance together or just hold hands is a beautiful thing.

Leonard and Jeannie would be the first to tell you that they didn’t get where they are today without a concerted effort. They made their marriage great because they both put their hearts and their minds and their very souls into keeping their love as alive from day to day, week to week, year to year as it was on that September morn of long ago. It was honesty, trust, compassion that made their union great. It was always remembering the commitment that they made in that simple ceremony and renewing it again and again. Now they share their glorious union with the thirty two individuals who sprang from the values that they shared and with the rest of us who so admire them.

Our world needs more people like Leonard and Jeannie, especially our children. We must be able to see the proof of what unyielding commitment to promises looks like. We live in a society where far too many throw away their relationships as easily as they put out their trash. Too many children are living in broken homes simply because one or both of their parents have been unwilling to go the extra mile to uphold a strong and faithful union. Too many are putting things and whims before the pledges to love, honor and cherish. Leonard and Jeannie show us how its done and that it can be done. Watch and learn from them.

The Walking Dead

Published on August 30, 2016August 29, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

I’m not exactly someone who might be called a trendsetter. I’ll be celebrating my sixty eighth birthday in November and attending my fiftieth high school reunion in October. Still I’m not a fuddy-duddy either. I eventually made it to Facebook albeit at about the time that many young people were losing interest in it. I even opened a Twitter account but still haven’t unlocked the secrets to participating in its fast paced chatter. I try to keep up with the happenings in the world and I have a somewhat modern tolerance for the outrageous. I even read the Fifty Shades of Grey books and disliked them not so much because of the storyline but because the writing was atrocious. I often get suggestions for staying with it from my younger friends and former students. They have guided me to some of my all time favorite movies and television shows.

I would never have seen Breaking Bad were it not for my younger consultants so when they also urged me to watch The Walking Dead I should have at least given the first episode a try. Instead through six seasons of one of the top rated series I held on to my smug belief that my intellect was far too superior to be drawn in by what appeared to be a silly plot about zombies. Even when my granddaughter insisted that I was misjudging the program I withheld my openness and mentally noted that she is only a middle school student who in spite of her intelligence still doesn’t fully understand the world and how it works. I reluctantly sat with her one evening to watch a selection from the sixth season and I was so hopelessly lost that my interest was not piqued in the least. It took a visit to Universal Studios and The Walking Dead house of horrors to plant a tiny bug of interest in my brain.

I became intrigued at the theme park as we walked through a recreation of the desolate atmosphere depicted in the popular series while the strains of The Walking Dead soundtrack created a realistic sensation of apocalypse and dread. I had to admit that I wanted to know more about this show after that experience so that I might understand why some of the most intellectual people that I know are huge fans, including my rocket scientist and totally rational brother. When a two week long rainy season kept me from venturing too far outside I found myself with some free time and a sudden desire to see what everyone was applauding. After viewing the first episode I was hooked and I have spent time here and there attempting to speed watch the series so that I might be ready when the seventh season airs in October.

Perhaps I am reading more into this program than is supposed to be there but my English major background has led me to think rather deeply about the story and its characters. It is a dark tale of a dystopian society that has broken down as badly as the island inhabited by the choir boys in Lord of the Flies. Those left to deal with the aftermath of a deadly disease that somehow both kills and brings people back to life have to embark on a complex heroes’ journey in which questions of right and wrong, good and evil are never easy to answer. The survivors are forced to revert to a hunter gatherer kind of existence where their lives are uncertain from one moment to the next. They have to reimagine the definition of life, political systems, the greater good. It is as though they are the first of our species who have been expelled from the Garden of Eden to fend for themselves, only this world is even more dangerous than the one that Adam and Eve had to face.

The Bible has a subtle but constant presence in the story. There are characters like Cain and Able, one time friends and brothers who differ on how to deal with the realities of the situation. We see a symbolic Moses who only reluctantly accepts the mantle of leadership and makes horrible mistakes in the process. We find both sin and redemption. It is as though the entirety of the human story is being replayed with challenges not unlike those that mankind has faced before, albeit without zombies.

We only get hints as to what may have caused the illness that so quickly overtook the world. In fact, since the story mostly plays out in a rather limited area where all communication has been lost we are never completely certain that the problems exist all over the world. A kind of hopefulness remains that somewhere, somehow the people fighting so hard to carry on will one day find the safety that seems so elusive.

I still have three more seasons to watch. I don’t want anyone to spoil the story for me and I don’t intend to give away anything to those who have not yet tuned in to this remarkable series. I have become emotionally attached to many of the characters but I keep thinking about something that one of my professors said when I was taking an education psychology class many moons ago. She remarked that it was not until the twentieth century that societies became so focused on issues of children. Sadly the mortality rate among the young had heretofore been so high that most parents understood that they might lose some of their kids before they became adults. My own grandmothers each lost two babies of whom they never spoke. They had steeled themselves against the realities of the way things were. We, on the other hand, more often have the luxury of modern medicine and conveniences to make death a less common part of our existence. We allow ourselves to become very attached to the people that we know and love believing that they will in all probability have long and fruitful lives. Those who die young have become the outliers. In The Walking Dead the possibility of death is as constant as the fight for life.

I suspect that we are drawn to stories of dark dystopian worlds because somewhere in the recesses of our minds we believe that in spite of all of our progress it would not take much for society as we know it to collapse. History has shown us that once cultured and advanced nations are capable of devolving into horror. Our hope lies in the fact that when pushed to the wall the better spirit of mankind somehow finds ways to defeat the darkness. We are an imperfect lot that has warred and enslaved and murdered but we keep trying to get things right. Our lives can at times be brutish and we can feel as though we ourselves are surrounded by walking dead, unfeeling, unthinking creatures who bear only passing resemblance to humanity. Our challenge is to keep the lights of our better selves burning and we know how difficult that may be. Still we soldier on mostly attempting to do the right thing. That is what differentiates us from the beasts.

The Best Gift Ever

Published on August 26, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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There are moments in life that are forever etched in memory, so vivid that even thirty years later they evoke powerful emotions. I have many such recollections. Among them is an evening on Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was late spring, a time when days grow warm and new life is sprouting here in my Houston home. My husband was attending a conference in Denver and he invited me to come along. The hotel room after all was already secured. I only needed to purchase a plane ticket, find someone to watch our daughters in our absence and take a couple of days off from work. It seemed an audaciously frivolous thing to do which made me reluctant. I not only had children who relied on me at home but also at the school where I worked. Additionally I was taking a class and it was nearing the end of the semester. Papers were due; tests were coming. Nonetheless some force inside my soul told me that the brief retreat might be fun.

While Mike was attending the seminars and functions associated with his work I stayed in my hotel room reading from my textbooks, writing essays and studying for an exam that was coming within days. The quiet atmosphere complete with room service was perfect for the work that I had to do. I seemed to accomplish five times as much as I would have at home but it still felt silly to have flown hundreds of miles just to hole up inside four walls. I had to wonder what I had been thinking when I agreed to Mike’s plan.

When Mike’s business day ended much earlier than he had anticipated he appeared in our room with a mischievous grin. He announced that we were going to take a drive to Estes Park to see the mountains up close. I quickly gathered my purse and put on my shoes and we were soon heading toward an adventure that would make my trip worthwhile. The mountains loomed ever larger in our view as we drove out of Denver and through Boulder. Soon we were on a highway cut through a national forest which was dotted with mountain streams and incredible vistas at each curve in the road. Before long we were navigating the streets of Estes Park with its quaint shops and restaurants on our quest to ride along Trail Ridge Road inside Rocky Mountain National Park.

The ranger who greeted us at the entrance of the park told us that we were fortunate because the road had only recently opened but he urged us to be careful because it was growing dark and the weather report indicated that it would be foggy on our trail. We were not dissuaded by his warnings. The mountains beckoned us with a primal urge and we preceded with a growing excitement.

The path was easy at first. We drove along the side of a mountain sheltered by groves of trees that obscured the view. It grew unseasonably cold and we had come dressed for Houston, not the wintry temperatures that surrounded us, so we turned on the heater in our rented car. Here and there were gaps in the pines that showed us that we were indeed going higher and higher. The valley below receded and the air grew thinner. Before long we were driving above the tree line observing ancient glaciers on the tundra. Just as the ranger had predicted a wall of fog and clouds darkened our view. There were no signs of life, just a white blanket of snow and ice on the majestic peaks.

We spoke very little. Somehow chatter seemed to defame the glorious sight that lay all around us. We were alone in God’s country, viewing His majestic architecture, the cathedrals born from His hand. When we reached a point that overlooked the massive peaks through which we were traveling Mike parked the car and we exited so that we might stand in silence observing the breathtaking scene before us. The wind was howling, the temperature was freezing and neither of us had thought to bring coats but we cared little at that moment. Somehow we felt immune to the punishing weather. We were sharing a timeless vision. It felt as though we were the only human beings on the planet, an Adam and Eve discovering the world for the very first time. I wondered at that moment how many intrepid individuals had trekked into the mountains before there were roads or trails only to reach such a place and gaze into infinity just as we were doing. Did they feel close to God and to the core of their souls as I did?

Our faces had grown red from the harshness of the wind. Our fingers were becoming numb from the cold. Shivering we saw our own grins reflected in each other’s expressions. We needed no words to share what we were experiencing. We hesitated to leave but our more rational natures told us that it would soon be dark and a light snow was beginning to fall. We had seen something so spiritual that it would forever bind us with a love for Rocky Mountain National Park and each other.

We would return to that spot many more times over the years. We would never tire of seeing the wonders of the mountains in different seasons. We would bring our daughters and they would become as spellbound as we were. We would travel to the park with my brothers and their families. We celebrated our fortieth anniversary in those very same mountains along with good friends. We came back with our grandchildren. The lure of Rocky Mountain National Park never seems to grow old and we plan to return once again in a few weeks.

A hundred years ago the idea of preserving our national wonders in a system of parks and monuments that might be shared by all Americans came to be. Today our National Park System cares for our nation’s treasures from north to south, the Atlantic to the Pacific. Over the years Mike and I have marveled at Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier, Zion, Mesa Verde, the Grand Canyon, Carlsbad Caverns, the Smokey Mountains, the Missions in San Antonio, Shilo, The Washington and Lincoln Memorials and so many others that it would take pages to list and describe them. We now have a senior pass that allows us to enter any of them without even paying a fee. It would be impossible to justly describe the joy that visiting these places has brought to us again and again.

Our national parks represent the best of our country and who we are as people. They belong to all of us. The idea of preserving them forever was inspired. It came at a time when the entire world was weary from a war that had ultimately seemed so useless. We had paid a heavy price for peace and little knew the horrors that still lay ahead. Our national parks would become havens for even the common man as we grappled with the uglier sides of humanity during the decades that followed.

Our nation’s problems seem to persist but we the people mostly agree the we got it right when we chose to protect our glorious heritage through the national parks. They are a gift to everyone of us and inside their borders we are reminded again and again of what really matters.

Happy Birthday to our National Park System! May the next hundred years be even more glorious.

Dun Da Da Dun

Published on August 25, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

“Dun da da dun” is the sound of trouble in the middle of the night. It is an alert warning me that something significant has happened while I am sleeping. It comes from my husband’s phone which he 160824110618-italy-earthquake-debris-large-169 charges on his bedside table each evening. It is tells me that the BBC has an important story. It usually signals bad news.

In the early hours of Central Time on August 24, I heard the familiar alarm and knew that somewhere something of import had taken place. The fact that it was still quite dark outside made it most likely that the occurrence was from another part of the world. When the sun finally peeked through my bedroom window it teased me from my slumbers. Remembering the sound that had roused me earlier I immediately checked my own phone to see what event had been so earth shattering that it merited a signal. As I stared at the headlines still blurred by my not quite awake eyes I learned of a horrible earthquake in the middle of Italy that had destroyed towns and taken far too many lives.

I sadly scanned the images and the details while clearing my head with my morning jolt of caffeine. I felt a great sadness wash over me as I read of the suddenness with which the rumbling earth had destroyed so many lives. One moment it was a beautiful day on which tourists and townspeople filled the streets, a time when the populace planned for weekend festivals. The next brought unimaginable horror as buildings that had withstood wars toppled to the ground burying the humans unfortunate enough to have been inside of them.

I next checked Facebook to see if any of my friends of Italian decent knew anyone who had been affected by the quake. Before I was even able to locate their posts I noticed a plaintiff cry for prayers from one of my cousins, a young woman with a beautiful family and an even more lovely soul. She revealed that she had been diagnosed with lymphoma and requested that we all ask God to help her. I felt as though I had been stabbed in the heart. I was shaken.

After gathering my wits I noticed a comment from a childhood friend whose family had immigrated from Italy long ago. She shared an image of the damage caused by the earthquake in the country of her ancestors and remarked that we should all live with the realization that everything that we take for granted can change in a heartbeat.

I was reminded for the millionth time just how fragile our lives really are. We assume that we will arise each morning and begin our routines. We make plans for the future never believing that anything will impede them. We have great intentions to do this or that but somehow become distracted with the mundane. We complain about small irritations that are generally easy to resolve. We act as though we have all the time in the world to do the things that are most important. We rush from appointment to appointment and often find ourselves apologizing for not having enough time to call a friend, check on a neighbor, visit someone who is lonely, send a card to someone who is sick.

We only have so many hours in a day and we have to prioritize, save our energy. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” we reply echoing the now famous words of Scarlet O’Hara. All too often tomorrow never comes. We pile up regrets. The regrets turn to sorrow. We don’t quite know how to slow down the pace of our lives just enough to engage in a concerted effort to enjoy our blessings.

Of course our immediate responsibilities must come first. We have jobs. Our family members require our care and attention. We must maintain our own health. The drive just to accomplish those things may begin before dawn and only end in the dark of night. Our energy is limited. We can’t and shouldn’t push ourselves into to an early grave by attempting to be all things to all people. We know that this is true and yet each of us have known individuals who managed to redirect their lives just enough to be able to reach out to someone every single day. They demonstrate that it requires only a bit of organization and practice to include acts of kindness in the fabric of our daily routines.

I know people who keep rolls of stamps and boxes of generic greeting cards at the ready to send their love and concern to those who may need a burst of sunshine. It takes only a few minutes to jot down a note of encouragement but that tiny slice of time has the power to change someone’s entire day. Our phone calls don’t have to be long or move beyond a few sweeps of the clock. Just a quick few words tell someone that they are important. It need take no more than the time to say, “I was thinking of you. How are you doing?” At work we can give someone a thumbs up, acknowledging effort and the importance of what they do. We shouldn’t wait for another day to express our sorrow or offer our contrition for mistakes or mend a broken relationship. A simple wave, a post on Facebook, a smile, a hug are gestures that take so little of our time and energy but have profound consequences. We should all strive to insert a few more of such endeavors into every one of our days. By doing so we are less likely to be filled with the regret of leaving our words unsaid, our actions undone.

The clock is slowly ticking. Each day is filled with uncertainty. It is a waste of time to dwell on the possibility of sudden tragedy but it is wise to realize that we only have so many opportunities to accomplish the most important tasks that center on the people about whom we care.

Last week I watched a biography of Jimmy Carter. It mentioned that President Carter loved and respected his father but sometimes felt that he was a bit too stern, unemotional and formal in his relationships. He didn’t think that his father’s business dealings merited much praise. He would have preferred to see his dad performing corporal works of mercy and charitable acts. Upon his death Jimmy learned how wrong he had been in estimating his father. The funeral brought an overflow crowd and even more praises for the many kindnesses that Carter’s father had extended quietly and humbly to virtually everyone that he had ever encountered. Story after story told of small gestures and sacrifices that had made enormous differences in people’s lives. President Carter at that moment began to realize that it is in those everyday encounters that we touch the most hearts.

I will most assuredly once again hear the “dun da da dun” from the BBC announcing the latest news. My phone may ring to tell me of births, accomplishments, joys, sorrows, death. The unrelenting rhythm of life will march forever forward. The clock will tick. Hopefully I will have set aside a tiny slice of my day to live my best life. I can’t afford to wait until tomorrow to think about the things that deserve to be done today.