August 16, 2017
If we know the truth of the following words and that they apply to each of us created in His image, AS WE ARE, why must the hate continue to defeat love? Where is peace?
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.[a]
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well. -Psalm 139:14
November 18, 2012
We are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves . . . from what I hear and see lately it seems we don’t really love ourselves all that much.
October 10, 2012
Love leads us into mystery where no one can say what comes next, or how, or why.
– Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg –
September 25, 2012
Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love – Mother Teresa –
Think about our lives on a typical day. We don’t change the world. We don’t solve the economic crisis or find a way to world peace, or to cure the common cold. Yet, some do small things with great love as the quote suggests. My late father was one of them. Daddy died a few years back on 9-26 and tomorrow marks the anniversary once more. Daddy never finished school, yet he learned more than most of us by caring to do small things well. He was my hero and not just mine but the hero of most whom he ever met.
Daddy called everyone “Pal” and truly felt everyone was his friend. If anyone was in trouble he’d offer a hand or a word of encouragement. I can recall his going outside and Mom wondering where he’d gone off to. Sometimes, he’d go into the woods and find something to transplant to make the yard look good when Mom looked out the window. Other times he’d hear someone working on a car and grab a few tools and go see if he could help get it started. He was good at that. Didn’t go to fancy schools to learn, but simply bought old cars and learned how they worked and with little money for fancy things or high-priced shops to fix things, he just learned how to do it. He shared what he learned.
He could fix a leaky roof or kitchen sink. He could put a doll’s leg back on when it broke off. He could make a cut on my knee better and dry my tears. He knew just when to pat my shoulder or give a sudden hug. He didn’t know fancy words. He didn’t need them. Not long before his final illness, he and Mom had a “big” anniversary and I made them tee shirts with pictures on them from their wedding day all those decades before. I took them out to dinner at a favorite local place. You know the sort, where everyone knows everyone else? He got up and walked all over the place even into the kitchen so he could show everyone “the shirt my daughter made me.” He pointed to the picture on the front, too. He had Parkinson’s and didn’t move about easily as a rule, but that night he managed. Everyone shared his joy.
At the end he was bed ridden and in the days before he passed, he couldn’t really talk. He couldn’t really do anything anymore. He could barely move at all, yet as Mom and I stood at his bedside, he saw us and did his best to make he weak facial muscles, stiff from the disease, form a smile. I saw Mom’s hand on the side of his bed and noticed him focus on her hand. I saw a look on his face and watched him with great effort slowly nudge that right hand a fraction of an inch at a time and it took quite some time for him to move his hand a few small inches to where her hand lay. He finally made it across the distance and clasped her hand. Twenty minutes to move 3 or 4 inches. ” . . . small things with great love.”
I love you Daddy!