The Caring Catalyst

Who Cares - What Matters

Foul Ball

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Forty-Five years is a long time. . .but sometimes, not long enough.

July 2, 1969.

45 years ago to the day.

The Kid was 13…he still had about a month to his 14th Birthday.

His grandparents rented a Summer camp and it was the holiday weekend. There were lots of families, guests, relatives, cookouts, snipe hunting, hide-and-seeking, fishing, swimming and softball.

The Big Softball game.

The Staff (the older folks)

VS

The Stuff (the kids and everybody else).

He bought the Kid his first ball and showed him how to use it

He bought the Kid his first glove and showed him how to use it.

He bought the Kid his first bat and showed him how to use it.

The Kid was up to bat and HE was pitching.

The first pitch was way to high.

The Kid laughed and taunted him.

The second pitch was outside.

The Kid laughed and taunted him.

The third pitch was perfect. It was like a huge Beach ball coming towards him. He saw every seam of THAT Softball. He saw every stitch–all 88 of them.

The Kid hit the ball harder than anything he’s ever hit.

It was solid and it rocketed off his bat–fast–straight up the middle and hit HIM in the side. . . .

Ruptured Spleen. . .Surgery. . .Cancer found. . .ICU. . .Coma. . .Unresponsive. . .Dead.

A siren was never heard the same way again.

The Kid always thought that every one, every single shrill siren he heard, was coming after him…for The Murder.

There was no Dr Phil back in 1969. No Adolescent Psychologists. No Bereavement Counselors. Thank God, No Judge Judy. There was no real talking about “Issues.”

IT. . .

just stayed there.

The Kid remembers just a few days before his 14th Birthday, one night after dinner, there was a knock on the aluminum door.

The Kid was petrified to answer it while everyone else was in the dining room. He hadn’t heard the siren, they must have turned it off to surprise him so he wouldn’t run away. That’s what the Kid thought as soon as he saw the figure of a man silhouetted in the doorway.

The Kid, for the first time in his nearly 14 years of age was actually glad it was the Minister of the Church his parents made him go to each week.

The Kid doesn’t remember what Rev. Dozier said that night.

The Kid was shocked that he drove over 30 miles, over the State line from Pennsylvania to West Virginia to come and BE…to come and BE…to Come and BE…TO Come and BE…TO COME AND BE. . .

. . .with a grieving family and a Scared, a very Scared Kid.

July 2, 1969.

Forty-five years is a long time ago. . .but sometimes not all that long ago.

A Foul…a very FOUL BALL was hit.

Something much more powerful was Caught…and in 45 years…it’s never been fumbled, jumbled, or dropped.

THAT’S made all the difference in the not-so-little KID and more. . .

The Kid’s been able to do the same for others–

S H O W I N G

UP

Will Do THAT. . .

again and again and again….

E. I. A. Member

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Hello. . .

My name is Chuck and I, I, I am…

I am…

Emotionally Incontinent.

W H E W. . .There I Wrote It. I put IT out there. I Claim it and now EXCLAIM IT.

I am Emotionally Incontinent.

I Cry…a lot…sometimes.

I’ve Ministered, Counseled, Coached, Companioned, Actively Listened, Advised, Sympathized, Empathized, Officiated, Conducted, Laughed, Facilitated, but rarely have cried when I’m “WORKING.”

But. . .However. . .nevertheless. . .nonetheless. . .regardless. . .even so. . .

still. . .yet. . .notwithstanding. . .all the same. . .

I am severely Emotionally Incontinent.

If I’m watching SIMON BIRCH, WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, THE MIGHTY, THE NATURAL, FIELD OF DREAMS, or even CASTAWAY when Tom Hanks is yelling out for WILSON his Float-away Soccer Ball or Johnny Depp explaining to a grief stricken son about how all he has to do is BELIEVE and IMAGINE to see his recently deceased Mum in NEVERLAND…and Please don’t even whisper, MY DOG SKIP or STEEL MAGNOLIA; don’t mention Frank Vali singing, MY EYES ADORED YOU to his daughter Francine before she fell asleep or, ohhhh, ohhhhhh,
FAULT IN OUR STARS. . . .

Maybe I’m not watching anything, but just merely listening to LES MISERABLES or MISS SAIGON or Beth Nielsen Chapman’s SAY GOODNIGHT or Ben Fold’s THE LUCKIEST or Melissa Manchester’s INCLINED and…

I AM SEVERELY EMOTIONALLY INCONTINENT!

Should I apologize?

“THE STUDIES” say that it’s natural…that it’s a healthy way to LET IT ALL OUT!

I say…try NOT being Emotionally Incontinent at just The Right Scene or the Perfect Song….

So. . .

My Name is Chuck

I am Emotionally Incontinent.

I am a member of Emotionally Incontinent Anonymous.

Are you a Member, too?

Do you want to be?

Become a little more human. . .

. . .a little more Compassionate. . .

Join me, er,

US!

(Tissues, Handkerchiefs, Sleeves, T-shirt tails, Napkins Optional)

Your Last Words

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I’m Sorry.

I was wrong.

Forgive me.

Give me another Chance.

Is there anything I can do to make it better?

I love you.

Not bad words at anytime, are they?

They may be classic LAST WORDS…but that’s the problem, isn’t it?

We really don’t know the actual Last Words you we might speak to Someone else.

WOULD IT REALLY CHANGE ANYTHING IF WE DID–If we actually knew that our words, any one we may even be thinking right now, might be the last ones we either spoke, or that another might hear?

Of course we say, “A B S O L U T E L Y,” but Hypothesizing or even Knowing, is not really
DOING, is it?

But…but does that mean we shouldn’t try?

I complimented a hostess at McDonald’s yesterday. I told her that she has a real gift in dealing with people and how much I appreciated her not just taking care of me, but being most excellent at what she does. I went on to tell her that her cheery outlook made my morning brighter and because of her enthusiasm I was absolutely going to make sure that I would do the same with the people I was going to meet today.

She smiled and thanked me for being so nice. And then proved it by giving me three coupons, one for what I had just ordered and two more for future orders!

No big deal, huh? But, but, what if it were the last thing she ever did? Wonder if it was the literal last thing that someone ever did for me?

What if the last word you spoke before reading this was YOUR LAST? Satisfied? Room for improvement?

I’m sorry.

I was wrong.

Forgive me.

Give me another chance.

Is there anything I can do to make it better?

I love you.

Bless the Beasts and. . . .

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Bless the Beasts and the Children…great song, an even better idea and an absolutely fantastic feeling.

It’s a simple question that has usually gotten me into a lot of trouble and sometimes much hurt:

CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET A LONG?

Seriously, it’s a question I ask with an immense amount of Compassion and apparently a lot more naivety.

I never could never understand as a child and now a past-middle-aged adult why we could just not get a long, why there were wars, fights, arguments? I guess I still can’t.

I have learned it many times as a Church Pastor, a Hospice Chaplain, a Team-Leader, a Speaker, an Author, a Husband, a Father, a Grandfather, a Friend, a Neighbor, a Person.

Listen, I’m not ripping the Pope. I have only heard what he said about Pets…but I still ask the same question as a dad and a pet owner of cats and dogs, and one time of lizards, geckos, a feeder rat, fish, hamsters, hermit crabs and yeah, even spiders.

I know, as studies have said, they’ve all made my blood pressure go lower and I believe, absolutely, higher at times.

I know I’ve told my dogs and cats things I’ve never told another human being.

I know I’ve cried when I have dug their graves in my back yard and laid them to rest.

I know. . . .

. . .and so do you!

So instead of some scathing attack of HOW DARE YOU’s or I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT’s or something(S) much worse and stronger…I’m going to emulate Molly, the dog I have laying beside me right now as I type this: I’m going to be loving, accepting, forgiving, cuddling, appreciative,

U N C O N D I T I O N A L L Y

I conducted a memorial service of a young hospice patient recently. She was a brilliant, caring, loving daughter, friend, lawyer, dog-owner. Shortly after she died, her dog died as well. Her vet said it was a broken heart. When the patient’s grieving mother asked me, hesitantly, embarrassingly, if I could hold a service for both of them this past weekend, I never paused when I said assuredly, “Absolutely.” Their ashes were mixed together in the urn, NEVER TO BE SEPARATED AGAIN….

I think when I grow up I want to be a little kid and/or his dog.

I want to believe, to accept, to love, to trust to love UNCONDITIONALLY just like THEM.

I want the Beast and the child in me to be Blessed…and I want to bless accordingly.

Uhhh, yeah. . .I have the naivety, the audacity, the compassion to think that could actually change the world…one pet, one child, one person at a time.

Join me!

Look Up

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Twenty-years ago.

A blink of the eye, huh?

Well, then again, the eye doesn’t blink quite the same way as it did some twenty-years ago. . . .

The eye rarely meets another eye, at least for any real significant moments or for any length of time.

It’s ALL Changed, hasn’t it?

Don’t believe me?

WHAT ARE YOU READING RIGHT NOW AT THIS VERY MOMENT?

ON WHAT DEVICE ARE YOU ACTUALLY READING?

Hmmmmm…Living Proof, huh?

Just like the video, of which you might not have even watched the entire clip, makes a powerful point:
WE ARE JUST TOO FOCUSED ON WHAT NEEDS NOT OUR ENTIRE FOCUS–Almost every waking moment.

Can you do it?

Can you go a morning? An afternoon? Can you go out and sit through an entire meal, desert, a whole cup of coffee without texting or emailing or checking Face Book, Tweeting?

Again, what are you doing right now at this very moment–R E A D I N G–from what, where, how?

Here’s the deal…this is an emptied can of Shaving Cream that’s never going to be put back into the can from which it’s been drained.

So? Is that it? Are we just to deal with it? What can change, alter, make the best of it?

C O M P A S S I O N

Compassionate listening. Compassionate presence makes you LOOK UP more quickly, more sincerely, most assuredly than your next Text.

C O M P A S S I O N

It’s the Universal, most full proof, least evasive, most effective, non-pharmaicutical, non-addictive, all inclusive way of COMMUNICATING still known…just not always or in ALL WAYS practiced and even more sadly EXPERIENCED; that’s the Bad News.

GOOD NEWS?

YOU. . .you have the power to Change THAT!

How?

LOOK UP!

Pssssst: Don’t be surprised if you meet the eyes of SOMEONE who’s done the exact same thing as you have at the exact same time.

REPEAT OFTEN!

Me-Oh, My-Oh, MAYA

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It’s amazing isn’t, it?

We are all going to live Forever…until we aren’t!

S L O W E R

We

Are

All

Going

To

Live

Forever. . .

Until

We

Aren’t!

Until “WE AREN’T,” came to Maya Angelou on Wednesday, May 28, 2014.

Was she surprised?

Would you be?

No seriously, right now, if your “WE AREN’T” moment came right now in mid-sentence, would you be surprised? Is it just the When, the How, the Where and not the THAT of Death which surprises you, too?

And yet…

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RE-MEMBER

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Happy Memorial Day.

How can you assure it?

One simple word: RE-MEMBERING–literally, by putting together the Pieces of your Life that have meaning and significance to you the Ones who make those Memories worth RE-Membering–Putting back together.

The World will debate and argue, but the greatest forces in and out of this World are our Memories and the Love that makes those memories significant.

It’s easy to JUST Limit these Memories to our Veterans or for those who have recently passed, but any day we truly RE-Member, that we actually put together those snipets of ‘Once-Upon-A-Time,’ and ‘Remember When’s’ that put all those glorious colors to the Tapestry of our Lives, becomes a true Memorial Day.

Like any Holiday, it really is celebrated most, not so much on it’s Noted, Dated Day, but when fully Recognized, Realized, Revitalized again and again and again with, yes, that one single, beautiful thing called Memory.

So, on this Memorial Day, RE-MEMBER: It’s not enough for us to just merely Remember, but for us to just simply Re-Member one thought, one memory past Eternity.

Five Words:

Happy Memorial Day. . .Thank You. . . .

Sand Art and Baseball

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Cancer and kids don’t mix; never should. In fact, cancer and people, no matter how old the KID, never mix.

She just turned nine. She has cancer. I got to meet her and her sister and mother today, the first and most likely for the last time.

It was a Supervisory I made with a colleague, who was superb. We read a story about the different colors we often feel and are. We put different colored sand in bottles, carefully layered. We drew pictures, laughed, talked and laughed some more and then left.

I felt Compassion. It was a light-baby-blue color that lapped over me like warm Caribbean waves.

Cancer and kids don’t mix; never should.

I left there and drove 45 minutes to a nursing home and visited a 79 year old kid. She has cancer, too. She was eating her lunch and watching her TV with the volume almost up to the max. We didn’t read stories, make sand art or draw…but we did laugh. She told me of how some hospice volunteers and staff took her to a Cleveland Indians game and how she didn’t have A hotdog or A beer, but TWO hotdogs and TWO beers. With a huge, mostly toothless smile, she gushed about how a ball boy reached over the railing and gave her a ball–which she had secretively hidden so that it ‘wouldn’t roll away into someone else’s keeping.’

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Saving the Spider, Saving Myself

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He surprised me at 6:30 in the morning, climbing out of the bowl of my bathroom sink.

He was having a hard time trying to escape so I thought I would help. I snapped into my Albert Schweitzer role and attempted to help him out by extending a piece of paper, a hand towel and finally a rolled up newspaper…the latter had him scurrying back down the dark, black drain.

It was obvious…no brushing of the teeth or turning on the water.

I jumped into the shower and scrubbed my teeth, shaved and showered all into one, hoping that the itsy, bitsy spider would climb out of the drain and the sink.

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The Compassionate Competitor’s Chord

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Well, does it?

Does Competition bring out the best in you?

Does it make your Compassionate Chord ring out its best?

Just how Competitive are you?

I can’t play golf or bowl. It’s not that I don’t know how or that I haven’t, it’s just that I WILL NOT golf or bowl, because it brings out all Beast and nil to nary Beauty.

I mean that in all of its viciousness.

My best time EVER for running a marathon was the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. 1983 on a cool 45 degree rainy day. I ran it in 2:50.26 seconds.

I finished 286 out of 9987 runners that day. I didn’t even get to the starting line because of that vast crowd almost until six minutes AFTER the race began. I should be proud. Honored. Bragging about it….

The qualifying time to go to the Boston Marathon that year was 2 hours and fifty minutes. I missed it by 26 seconds. That averages out to 6 minute 29 second mile for 26.2 miles and I still needed to be a second faster per mile. I MISSED IT!

I swear. I never felt winded that day. My legs never hurt. I never hit The Wall. But I failed.

I NEEDED TO BE JUST ONE SECOND PER MILE FASTER…and I wasn’t.

Yes, I could have contested the race saying I wasn’t able to even reach the start line for 6 minutes…but in my heart, even if granted the allowance, I WOULD KNOW I WAS NOT GOOD ENOUGH…and there’s been the dance of competition I’ve haggled with all of my life.

I compete with my self more fiercely than any one else. I don’t need a foe…I AM FOE to myself. I am constantly challenging myself to do more, be better, faster, more efficient, More, MOre, MORe, MORE,
M O R E!

And I never, ever settle. Never give in. Always looking for the next battle, challenge, competition, game.

What competitor’s song bounces within you? Does it’s notes haunt or taunt you? Are your striving to be better…even more than yesterday?

I have found that as destructive and sometimes as devastatingly disappointing this could be, it has taken me to new, higher levels when it comes to my Compassionate Ways.

Can I be more giving? Can I Care more? Can I listen more empathically? Can I be more accepting? Forgiving? Nurturing? Sharing? Loving?

When I compete with myself, DAILY, on these feats of the heart…can others gain, be better? Can I?

It’s then that these vicious musicians, duel madly within me, trying to OUT SOUND and gain Center Stage…but if the notes all work together for the good…this magnificent Symphony beautifully unfolds in a most magnificent way.

…hands get clapped, toes get tapped, faces wear smiles and the Music of the Soul bursts forth and OHHHH, how that pleases the Maestro…but NEVER ENOUGH! There’s more symphonies to be created and perfomred!

And on THAT NOTE…it’s time to begin again.

Buckle up!

Professional Speaker, Author, Assurance Man