Who Cares - What Matters
COINCIDENCE?
HAPPENSTANCE?
ACCIDENT?
FATE?
What do you call it when
IT
All seems to fit together in a way that you could never, even on your best day, construe or imagine?
T R U E
is usually NOT the Word that comes to mind?
Why?
Too much of a HALLMARK or LIFETIME moment?
We are coming quickly to V-DAY at the end of the week.
When we speak of things of L O V E
Buddy, can you spare a dime?
How about seven minutes?
GIFT
is a short film that has a profound, heart-touching message about the importance of GIVING, and the true value of wealth. It’s a beautiful deperiction of how we deeply touch others when we SELFLESSLY give our time, love and kindness.
GIFT
is about a boy who grew up not liking his father because he believed he was poor, unintelligent and unsuccessful, but his father had a secret. It was only until after his father’s death he discovers the true reach of his father’s generosity towards others and the joy and laughter he brought to others. He finally understands his father’s message to him as a boy, that
“BEING RICH IS NOT ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU HAVE, BUT HOW MUCH YOU GIVE”
I’ve watched the film several times and used it in a couple of presentations I’ve given, and plan to use it in some upcoming ones in March.
It doesn’t matter how many times I watch it.
I tear up
I gulp a little harder
I hear two words that just keep resounding louder and louder above the soft soundtrack. . .
I’M
A S H A M E D.
I’m filthy, stinking rich. . .
and aim to become just a little richer than any calculations could ever compute
. . .and even richer, still, tomorrow.
Here’s my invitation:
JOIN ME!
In the past two years, deaths from heroin overdoses doubled in the U.S. according to a new report from the Centers of Disease Control and Prevention.
“THEY” say one of the biggest reasons for the increase is because prescription pills like hydrocodone and oxycodone can go as much as $40 a pill whereas a small bag of heroin can sell for about $10.
I’m not all that surprised. I’ve done several CELEBRATION Services for those who are apart of that statistic.
Sad part?
T H E Y
ARE NOT A NUMBER. . .a STATISTIC.
T H E Y
are real people…real people of all ages…real people of all socio-ethinic groups…real people of all ages…real people of sexual orientations…real people of all socio-economic classes…
REAL PEOPLE.
Drew was two day short of being two years sober and drug free.
No one knows what happened. . .but an overdose was apparent without a Coroner’s Report.
‘GOD, GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS I CANNOT CHANGE
THE COURAGE TO CHANGE THE THINGS I CAN
AND THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.’
“The Serenity Prayer” by Reinhold Niebuhr was read in unison as we began the Celebration Service for Drew. It’s become one of the most widely known prayers in the world. It touches people’s hearts from all walks of life.
“. . .LIVING ONE MOMENT AT A TIME;
ACCEPTING HARDSHIPS AS THE PATHWAY TO PEACE;
TAKING, AS HE DID, THIS SINFUL WORLD
AS IT IS, NOT AS I WOULD HAVE IT;
TRUSTING THAT HE WILL MAKE ALL THINGS RIGHT
IF I SURRENDER TO HIS WILL;
THAT I MAY BE REASONABLY HAPPY IN THIS LIFE
AND SUPREMELY HAPPY WITH HIM
FOREVER IN THE NEXT.
AMEN.”
. . .is how the rest of Niebuhr’s prayer goes/concludes.
WE
read that in unison, too, to end the service before Tim McGraw’s song, “BETTER THAN I USE TO BE.”
W O R D S
…words on a page….
But a Heart shouts what a mouth can never whisper.
You can’t take a photograph of a mom and dad, a sister and two brothers sitting in the first row and prove the cliche:
A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND OF WORDS
. . .not even 1000 x 1,000,000,000
One by one, father, brother, friend after friend came forward and told a story, shared a brief
‘once-upon-a-time,’ a ‘Remember-when,’ a choked out, ‘I love you,’ a couple of words: “Good-Bye” and “Thank-You.”
More than a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a uncle, a friend, a counselor, a sponsor, a dog-lover, a alcoholic, a drug addict, an Overdose, a dead man. . .Drew was first and foremost:
L O V E D
“SOME SAY”
he never GOT IT. . .
…THAT he could have overdosed on L O V E
and WE. . .
it’s major DEALERS!
Maybe. . .maybe he was UNDERdosed…maybe WE all are….
IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT DANCED AROUND IN MY MIND
as Tim McGraw’s song ended The Celebration:
“YOU AIN’T GOTTA DIG TOO DEEP, IF YOU WANNA FIND SOME DIRT ON ME…BUT I’M LEARNING WHO YOU WERE AIN’T WHO YOU’VE GOT TO BE…I’VE PINNED A LOT OF DEMONS TO THE GROUND, I’VE GOT A FEW OLD HABITS LEFT, BUT THERE’S STILL ONE OR TWO I MIGHT NEED YOU TO HELP ME GET. STANDING IN THE RAIN SO LONG HAS LEFT ME WITH A LITTLE RUST…BUT PUT SOME FAITH IN ME AND SOMEDAY YOU’LL SEE THERE’S A DIAMOND UNDER ALL THIS DUST…I AIN’T NO ANGEL, I’VE STILL GOT A FEW MORE DANCES WITH THE DEVIL. I’M CLEANING UP MY ACT LITTLE BY LITTLE. I’M GETTING THERE, I CAN FINALLY STAND THE MAN IN THE MIRROR I SEE…I AIN’T AS GOOD AS I’M GONNA GET, BUT I’M BETTER THAN I USED TO ME…”
THEY SAY. . .it’s a Pandemic. . .
SOME SAY. . .it’s exactly what’s needed…person by person, one by one. . .
l o v e…
Love won’t cure any disease or distress. . .LOVE CURES NOTHING!
LOVER’S DO
Is there anything sadder than a little boy crying over a broken toy?
Do you remember?
Your favorite toy–BROKEN–and not by someone else. That would only make you mad, but broken by your own hand.
The ultimate O U C H.
He was devastated. His sisters and mother had already come into the restaurant, but he and his dad stayed out in the lobby.
He was just about unconsolable.
“Whhhhhhhhhy dad? Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhy,” he sobbed.
Dad was already kneeling down beside him so he could be at his level.
“I’m sorry buddy,” I heard his dad say in a soft, low voice.
“I didn’t mean to drop it, daddy. It just slipped out of my hand. It just slipped,” he continued to sob out as he picked up the broken pieces of his toy train car.
“I know, buddy, I know it was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose,” his dad said reassuringly.
“Maybe we can get another one,” the son asked trying to put NOW back the Pieces of his broken heart?
“Son, I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t think they sell these anymore. We might be able to buy something else but nothing just like this,” dad said, once again in a very comforting tone.
“Maybe, maybe we can just fix it, daddy?
“Buddy, I don’t think that’s going to happen either; the pieces that we might have been able to fix are broken up too. I’m sorry, Pal.”
The mantra started:
“It’s not fair. . .it’s not fair. . .it’s not fair. . .I want my train back. I want my train back. I just want my train back again, dad.”
And the refrain:
“I know, buddy, I know, I know, I know. . .”
“I JUST WANT MY TRAIN!”
L O U D E R CRYING.
“Sometimes things just can’t be fixed when they get broken. That’s why we have to be careful with the things that important to us,” dad tried saying as assuringly as he could.
More crying. . . .
“Come here, buddy,” dad said as he picked his son up and put him on his knee as he continued to kneel down beside him.
His son wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and cried a bit more until it just settled down into a few sobs and then just a couple of shudders.
All of this took place to the side of me as I was waiting to pay my bill and leave.
It wasn’t a very long few moments.
It was me, standing in line, waiting behind another patron to settle a debt, pay a bill. . .
And yet, it was a little boy with a smashed train and a broken heart with a caring dad that was more than enough filling my Account.
In the end, it wasn’t much of his words or reassurances that made the difference; it was that WORDLESS compassionate, loving hug.
Do you remember?
Something broken. . .
The devastation. . .
The hurt. . .
The R E L I E F
. . .of an unspoken word that was a hug. . .HELD BACK INTO WHOLENESS?
It was a powerful sight to see that between a son and his dad. . .
Even more powerful to know we possess, even NOW, that kind of healing power for another’s
B R O K E N N E S S.
The World becomes WHOLE, gets more healed, one compassionate hug at at time.
PAY UP
The World doesn’t need another speech. . .it needs a sincere, compassionate hug. . .
It won’t only pick up the pieces. . .it’ll hold them in place.
PAY UP
WOULDN’T IT BE GREAT?
All stupid laws, wiped from the Books. . .
We’ve all seen them before, haven’t we?
Books have been written; documentaries produced:
STUPID LAWS
In Wheeler, Missouri, young girls are never allowed to walk a tightrope–Unless it’s in Church.
You must believe in God to be elected into office in Tennessee.
In Leecreek, Arkansas, no one is allowed to attend Church in any red-colored garment.
It’s illegal to have a sleeping donkey in your bathtub after 7:00 p.m. in Oklahoma.
Turtle races are not permitted within one-hundred yards of a local church at any time in Slaughter, Louisiana.
In Oxford, Ohio, it’s unlawful for a woman to appear in public while unshaven. This includes legs and face.
Please. . .PLEASE, I beg of you, DO NOT even think of tickling a woman under her chin with a feather duster, in Church while in Blackwater, Kentucky unless you want to hear the Judge’s gavel come slamming down as he pronounces a $100 penalty and one full day in jail.
Ludicrous, huh?
I’ve just mentioned a few that GOOGLE could provide a GAGGLE more for you.
IF WRITING IT DOWN IN A LAW BOOK COULD MAKE IT–LAW–COULD WE LEGISLATE
love
compassion
empathy
kindness
sympathy
peace
fulfilled dreams
answered prayers
____________________________________. . . .
Questionable. . .
Doubtful there could ever be laws enacted that would benefit the world–us–in such a way we would dare not break for fear of imprisonment.
Hmmmmmm of the Day: WE ARE IMPRISONED–Legislated or not–when we are not observers/keepers of the LAW of
LOVE
Compassion
Empathy
Kindness
Sympathy
Peace
Fulfilled Dreams
Answered Prayers
Would we dare risk, penalty, imprisonment, death, NOT OBSERVING/KEEPING such Laws?
Until WE HAVE. . .
we won’t. . . .
Never has the slamming of the gavel been more alarmingly L O U D
. . .and we more guilty.
DUCK…
The Book is in mid-air; long been thrown; it’s aim exact and ohhhhh,
it’s going to leave a mark.
Wouldn’t it be great?
Legislating the Un-Legisltable?
We can’t be imprisoned for not observing such laws and yet, we can never fully be free until we live otherwise.
IT never fails…especially when I hear a group of kids sing IT. . .
LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH…AND LET IT BEGIN WITH ME!
Uhhh, yeah. . .I tear up. . .
A L W A Y S !
The song was written in 1955 by Jill Jackson Miller and Sy Miller. Jackson, who had been suicidal after the failure of a marriage, later said that she wrote the song after finding what she called the “LIFE SAVING JOY OF GOD’S PEACE AND UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.”
The story goes that on a Summer evening in 1955, a group of some 180 teenagers of all races and religions were meeting at a workshop high in the California mountains. Locking arms, they formed a circle and sang a song of Peace. They felt that singing the song, with its simple basic sentiment–LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH AND LET IT BEGIN WITH ME,” helped to create a climate for the World Peace and understanding.
When they came down from the mountain, these inspired young people brought the song with the and started sharing it. . .and IT began
It traveled the World in a very fast pace (AS GOOD THINGS REALLY HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO). Soon the song was being shared in all fifty states–at school graduations, PTA Meetings, at Christmas and Easter Gatherings and as a part of the celebration of Brotherhood Week. It became the Theme for Veteran’s Day, Human Rights Day and U.N. Day. American Legion, the B’nai B’rith, the Kiwanis Clubs and CORE.
IT traveled the World.
IT was being sung by big name artists.
IT was winning awards.
The simple thought, LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH AND LET IT BEGIN WITH ME, first born on a mountain top in the voices of youth, continues to travel HEART to HEART–gathering people everywhere who wish to become a note in a song of understanding and peace–for for ALL People Everywhere.
It matters not how you hear it. . .
It matters not how you sing it. . .
It matters not how you harmonize. . .
It matters. . .
HOW YOU SHARE IT. . .
How Your Peace becomes Another’s,
For a Moment and then another one until EACH Knows IT
EVERY SECOND. . .
OF EVERY LIFE!
BE the SPLASH that begins the endless Ripple of Peace. . .
LET IT BEGIN WITH YOU–
right where you dwell. . .
but never where you STAY!
Have you been Ebola-ized yet?
The World once again seems to be on guard for another epidemic awaiting to pounce.
A NYC Dr. has just been diagnosed with Ebola within the past hour.
We’re afraid. . .once again. . .
but it certainly IS NOT the first time.
I don’t remember his name. . .
but I’ll never forget his SELFLESS LOVE.
It was about 18 years ago and he had been with his partner for nearly 12 years.
He had AIDS.
He was dying.
His father was a Southern Baptist minister who actually believed that AIDS was God’s righteous punishment for homosexuality. He had said that his son was already dead to him and that he had no place in his house or his life unless he “REPENTED.”
What’s worse than a young man in his mid-thirty’s dying of AIDS?
A man in his mid-thirty’s who’s dying of AIDS and has to choose between staying with his partner UNTIL DEATH DO THEM PART or reuniting with his judgmental, YOU’RE-GOING-TO-GO-STRAIGHT-TO-HELL-UNLESS-YOU-ATONE-IMMEDIATELY-FOR-YOUR-DISCRECTION family.
True love never really has to choose. . .
It only needs to recognized that it has chosen YOU.
. . .Often it is not.
After much painful discussions and ultimately even more daring decisions, the AIDS-Infected Prodigal son returned to the home of his parents to be reunited with them.
He went home as his last gift FOR THEM.
He and his partner agreed, that there love didn’t need explained or proven, that in fact, it had COMPLETED THEM.
What they further agreed upon was that his parents needed to have their son return so that they could actually grieve his death in a much more acceptable way.
So home he went. . .
R E P E N T A N T
He died in the care of his parents.
LOVE as a VERB.
. . .A very SELF-LESS ONE.
We’ve had many epidemics hit the world–even in our current lifetimes.
What about Love?
The DIS-EASE OF LOVE?
The EPIDEMIC OF LOVE?
The highly contagious. . .
The Severely communicable. . .
The Intensively contractable. . .
The Unimaginable transmittable. . .
Dis-Ease. . .pandemic outbreak of pure, undefiable, unadulterated
L O V E ?
It’s never death that parts us. . .
It’s life without love–unconditional–that keeps us separated; segregated,
I N C O M P L E T E D.
Here’s to a HOPEFUL Love Epidemic. . .
Here’s that we each may be infested with the Dis-Ease of Love. . .
That we may intentionally, purposely INFECT others. . .
That we may make it airborne. . .
That we may leave no lung without it’s air. . .
That we may become terminal. . .
Now. . .
Then. . .
For an ever. . . .
Wouldn’t it be great if LAWS weren’t the only thing that could actually be legislated?
Wait. . .?
Are laws actually legislated?
Is Love?
Is Compassion?
Is Justice?
Is Hope?
Is Faith?
Is Caring?
Is Forgiveness?
Is Empathy?
Is Sympathy?
Is Belief?
Is Giving?
Is Joy?
Is Happiness?
Is Presence?
We can’t can we?
We can’t ever legislate what we need the most. . .
But, we can share it!
Get convicted doing the right thing–better still. . .
Become W A N T E D with a high price on your head. . .
A Fugitive on the run–
For being a REPEAT OFFENDER!
My Friend, Eric Butler is a Funeral Director, one of the finest I’ve ever had the privilege to work along side.
Eric has great compassion, superb skill and fantastic ways of companioning families through this early, painful grief work.
Eric has humongous humor.
In all of his years of service and expertise and mine as a funeral officiant, we’ve seen quite a lot of change in the actual Memorial Service. More and more are wanting to use it as a Celebration of Life with many people contributing stories, thoughts, memories, comments. Often I’m a Parentheses
(
Getting the Service started with a welcome and sometimes a short prayer. . .
)
And concluding it with appropriate thoughts after everyone has shared.
Eric has labeled these: KARAOKE FUNERALS.
Out of all the many Karaoke Funerals I’ve had, I certainly had a most unusual one lately.
The Funeral was for a 46 year old lady who died of a heroin overdose.
As just described, I opened the service by thanking everyone for coming out to celebrate and remember
“Mary’s” life and asked if anyone would like to share a thought, a memory, a story, a comment.
How good of a NOTICE-ER are you?
Do you believe in Coincidence or are you more of an Einstein believer of, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining Anonymous?”
I’ve always had a fairly sharp eye for what’s happening around me. I still think I MISS much more than I notice, but a willingness to SEE, HEAR, TASTE, TOUCH, SMELL more goes a very long way in actually seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, and smelling so much more than purposely not doing so.
Everyone wears NAME TAGS these day.
EVERYONE. . .EVERYWHERE.
I saw her’s at CVS as I was checking out. Her name was HOPE.
“I like your name, do you?” I asked her.
She smiled and said it was ok.
I asked her if anyone ever made fun of it and she told me more than she’d like, but was pretty much use to it.
I thanked her for taking care of me so nicely and said, “No pun intended, but I ‘HOPE’ your name serves you well and others more than you’ll ever understand or imagine.”
She smiled at back at me and already began checking out the good of the person behind me.
I NOTICED. . .
Later that day I was picking up some copied mps/cd’s from a camera shop and person who had called me on the phone to let me know that my order was ready, she identified herself as, Faith.
I had a little “Hmmmmmmmmmmm of the Day,” moment.
When I met her, I asked her about her name just like I had done with Hope. She told me that it was an aunt’s name who had died before she had been born.
I asked her if she liked her name and she smiled and shrugged her shoulders a little and giggled out a, “It’s alright, I guess.”
“Well, Faith,” I said, “I hope your name serves you and others well–just like it did me today.”
Her smile served as her only response.
I NOTICED. . .
It was my last visit of the day.
She was sitting with her back to me and her husband was lying in bed.
From the doorway, I could see he was half sleeping and half awake, moaning softly.
He blinked opened his eyes repeatedly, tried to clear his throat and then with a raspy whisper he said, “Hey Love, can you give me sip of water?”
“Ahhhh, thank you, Love, thank you,” he sighed as he was already back into a not so restless slumber.
“What a great name,” I said as I pulled up a chair beside her on the side of his bed.
She looked at me with moist, tired, red eyes.
“Oh that’s not my name, it’s Gloria, but he’s called me that since our second date 48 years ago.”
“It seems to fit,” I told her as we sat silently watching her husband breathe with a little rattle.
He mumbled, “Love. . .Love. . .Love. . . .”
She put her hand over top of his and laid her head down on the side of his bed.
It was peaceful. . .it was Love-FILLED.
I NOTICED. . .
Coincidence or
meeting three women in three so very different places, God’s way of remaining Anonymous?
Are you a good Notice’er?
You really don’t have to be Einstein to N O T I C E
Hope. . .
Faith. . .
Love. . .
The Greatest of these is not just in the NOTICING, but BEING in the moments that make Life more than mere Consequences…and then,
SHARING THEM. . . .