Tell Them You Love Them

It’s an exploding issue: not enough time to do what you need/want to do. And, it’s only going to get worse as we complicate the world more and more. For right now—-this minute—-you might consider putting this one at the very top of your list:

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. ‘Really?’ she heard whispered. ‘I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!’ and, ‘I didn’t know others liked me so much,’ were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they
discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The
exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. ‘Were you Mark’s math teacher?’ he asked. She nodded: ‘yes.’ Then he said: ‘Mark talked about you a lot.’

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark’s mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

‘We want to show you something,’ his father said, taking a wallet out of his
pocket ‘They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might
recognize it.’

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him.

‘Thank you so much for doing that,’ Mark’s mother said. ‘As you can see, Mark
treasured it.’

All of Mark’s former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, ‘I still have my list. It’s in the top drawer of my desk at home.’

Chuck’s wife said, ‘Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.’

‘I have mine too,’ Marilyn said. ‘It’s in my diary’

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet, and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. ‘I carry this with me at all times,’ Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: ‘I think we all saved our lists’

That’s when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don’t know when that one day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for that they are special and
important. Tell them before it is too late.

And, one way To accomplish this is to share this message. If you don’t, you will have, once again, passed up the wonderful opportunity to do
something nice and beautiful.

If you’ve received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care.

If you’re ‘too busy’ to take those few minutes right now to share this message, would this be the VERY first time you didn’t do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships?

The more people that you share this with, the better you’ll be at reaching out to those you care about.

Remember, you reap what you sow… What you put into the lives of others comes back into your own.

Remember.

Somewhere around 20 years ago, the article that is this blog caught my eye in the editorial section of an upstate New York newspaper. To give credit where credit is due, the piece was written by a man named Tom Bulger, and it says a thing that has been on my mind for a very long time–most of my life, actually. So, I share it with you here, with absolutely no editorializing on my part.

“Carl Niemeyer died last month. In his life, he had been a literature professor of no small repute. The obituaries also noted his many cultural and social activities. His death was a genuine loss to the Capital Region, though the vast majority of this community never was aware of his existence. What Shakespeare’s Augustus said about the death of Marc Antony could also with justice apply to this death: ‘The breaking of so great a thing should make a greater crack.’

What obituaries never capture is the breadth and depth of individuals, who they were over and above what they did. Those who knew Carl Niemeyer were most impressed not by his achievements, but by his character: his generosity of mind and spirit, his caring, his gentleness, his humility, his courage. A friend of his, Janet Maclean, upon hearing of his death, said ‘He was the last gentleman.’ That’s arguably the best memorial any one man can ever have.

I never met Carl Niemeyer. My aquaintance with him was by reputation only. For that matter, I did not hear Janet Maclean’s euology; it was related to me by her husband, Hugh Maclean, a close colleague of Niemeyer. But the posthumous tribute caused me to reflect. Death is what John Donne calls ‘devotions upon emergent events.’

Out of these devotions, two salient thoughts emerged. The first is that the gentleman–the gentle man–is a vanishing breed. Chivalry is in the throes of a fatal hemorrhage. We live in a world where rudeness has won not only the battle, but also the war. For a variety of reasons (too numerous and too familiar to list here), our society has become singularly unreceptive to courtesy, a virtue central to any enlightened civilization. The operative code of survival at any cost in today’s world is little different from the naked aggresiveness of our primordial ancestors. Think about the messages our young receive from birth. Meekness is equated with weakness. Do unto others as they would do unto you–only do it first. The best defense is a good offense. Nice guys finish last and are subjected to scorn in the process. Children are not as a rule born to be wild; they become this way after years of drinking bitter milk.

This is why courtesy is so imperative to a society. The codes of the gentleman and the lady extend far beyond surface manners; embedded in these codes is a way of being that acknowledges, values, and venerates the worth of others. The Carl Niemeyers are stays against confusion, the wool that gives texture and integrity to our social warp.

My second thought emanates from the first. When I hear someone praise the dead, I wonder if those compliments have been rendered during life. Too often people are buried in their graves unadorned by the tributes they should have received in life. It is all too easy to take our loved and beloved for granted while they are still in our midst.

At the risk of appearing unmannerly, I must therefore disagree with Janet Maclean. Carl Niemeyer may have been one of the last gentle men, but the race is not extinct. I know of at least one other gentle man; Janet’s husband Hugh. The name will be familiar to some. Hugh being a distinguished professor emeritus of literature at the State University of Albany. But for most, the name will not conjure up the immediate recognition that occurs when they hear the names of local celebrities (politicians, socialites, media favorites).

For those who don’t know Hugh Maclean, it’s their significant loss. Generations upon generations of students flocked to his classes, not simply because of his academic reputation and knowledge, (which were and still are formidable), but because of his exemplary devotion to his students. He listened attentively to his students; he was always available to them; he did everything in his power to discover what John Milton calls the ‘secret excellence’ of each student. He treated them with the same respect and concern that he treats his family, friends, and colleagues. And while egotism is the rule rather than the exception for university professors, Hugh has ever remained self-effacing.

What is particularly impressive about Hugh Maclean’s gentleness is that it is hard-won. He has not had an easy life; he has had his share of difficulties. His is not a fugitive and cloistered virtue; he was a major in the Canadian Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders during World War II, a veteran of the European theater. Yet, throughout it all, he has preserved his civility. He is a real-life officer and gentleman.

Thanks to knights of courtesy like Carl Niemeyer and Hugh Maclean, the kindly flame of gentleness still burns. Death cannot quench this fire.”

Those trees could talk.  They had a voice.

It was a place deep in the shaded woods. Very few people knew about it.  Hundred year old pines towered side by side over the ground.  On that ground were shadows and outlines of every single living thing that ever tread there. The trees had seen it all.  They knew it all.  And when the breeze blew lightly, they talked.  Shared every great and little thing.  If there and free of outside world influences, you could actually hear the telling. It pierced your very soul and lingered there forever.  I heard the telling and will carry it with me to the end of my time.

Those trees could talk.  They had a voice.  Do you hear?

Veteran’s Day Prayer

Dear Lord,
Today we honor our veterans,
worthy men and women
who gave their best
when they were called upon
to serve and protect their country.
We pray that you will bless them, Lord,
for their unselfish service
in the continual struggle
to preserve our freedoms, our safety,
and our country’s heritage, for all of us.
Bless them abundantly
for the hardships they faced,
for the sacrifices they made
for their many different contributions
to America’s victories
over tyranny and oppression.
We respect them, we thank them,
we honor them, we are proud of them,
and we pray that you will watch over
these special people
and bless them with peace and happiness.
In Jesus’ name we pray; Amen.

By Joanna Fuchs

I first met Charlie, the owner and barkeep of that wonderful roadside tavern in the Adirondack mountains of New York State when he was in his fifties. I saw him for the last time in the Autumn when he was in his seventies, about to close the tavern up for the year for the last time ever.

I liked Charlie. By today’s standards, he would most likely be judged as coarse, because his voice was gravelly and a rather unmemorable mid-range, and because he used words like “sompin” or “anyways” or “mighta” or–well, you get the idea. Actually, that unassuming trait was one of the reasons I liked him. That, and the fact that what he said had meaning. You did not have frivolous conversations with Charlie. You had conversations that left you feeling substantial, relevant. You walked away from them feeling good.

I miss this man. I might be alone, but these days I am searching harder and harder to reestablish this kind of conversation.

How about you?

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but social media is neither. Just a bunch of electrons excited by fingers on plastic keys.

Oh, don’t get me wrong here. It’s truly amazing how many folks we can contact with it. It’s just that I’m old enough to have lived a great deal of time without it. It was a time when “social” was a handshake, the meeting of eyes, a voice. That touch, emotion, and audible expression of care should not be minimized, you know. As we collectively move deeper and deeper into the world of electronic communications, most of us hunger dearly for those things. Sigh.

So, what to do? Join a local group where people actually sit down with each other. Volunteer. Or, the next time you’re checking out your groceries somewhere, thank the cash register person. When you do this, look them in the eyes, and shake their hand. You’ll be surprised by the response. Who knows? Could be contagious. Could actually return a bit of civility and humanity to a place that needs it.

Let me know how it works out. Until then, here’s a handshake, a look in the eyes, and a voice for you.

Hal

His voice was the epitome of comfort. You could place him in the middle of a room full of angry, shouting people, start him talking in that smooth, relaxing voice, and within moments, the din would fade and disappear–all ears on that beautiful voice. It did not matter what he was saying–only that he was talking. The times he had provided reassurance and calm to people in desperate need of those things could not be counted. He spoke. And people heard that voice and believed that it was going to be alright. His voice was a window to the very soul.

Particularly sophisticated folks might call the voice “announcery.” Funny, though. They needed it just as badly as the rest of us.

Personally, I always thought that his voice was a reflection of his own soul—afraid like most of us, but calm and reassuring—-always.

Just before he died, I saw him for the first time in years. Saddened by personal losses and determined to return just once more to his beloved mountains, he was still—-that voice.

These days, more than ever, I need that voice to tell me that everything is O.K. That I need not despair. We all need it. And, although the voice has been silenced, it will never be taken away.

Loud, aren’t most of them? The voices, I mean. You know the ones: on the television, radio, coming from the cars as they race by. Loud. Anxious. Troublesome. Wrought with that numbing demand that we must have more. Do more. Be more.

Perhaps it’s time to fall back to those softer voices. The ones that reassure us, calm us, remind us that we can, that more is not necessarily better. That enough is enough. That God is in His heaven. That we can be at peace. Should be at peace. Should cast away that nagging tug that drives us to…what?

Here’s my wish for you: be calm. Ignore the noise. It’s much more O.K. than you imagine. Believing those things is a choice. Which one will you make?

There is a large, white Rose of Sharon bush out front–one of two that stand driveway sentinel. Last winter, unbeknownst to me, a heavy snow broke it in half below the ground level. Two weeks ago, I found half of it lying on the ground. As I was planning to cut it up, I noticed that it had flower buds. Amazingly, it seemed determined to flower again,if only for one last time. I carefully wired it upright to the remaining half of the bush. Completely separated from the rest of the plant, it swirled back and forth a bit, but remained proudly upright. Today, it is in dazzling bloom, consumed by beautiful white flowers, teetering some, but upright and proud.

This determined Rose of Sharon bush has absolutely no chance at survival. Yet, it is showering the universe with its breathtaking beauty one last time.

Somewhere in this, there is a lesson for all of us.

Hello all;

We humans can be funny, eh? We work all hours for years to make those goals happen; struggle, sweat, bleed…then attain them. Once there, though, something intrinsic often kicks in, and we soon forget that there are still so many still struggling to make their dreams come true. Time to stop in our climb. Turn around. Extend a hand. And help someone up.

How hard is that?

Hmmmmm….