"Where Are We Going So Fast?" by James R. Warda

My Christmas Wish

2011-12-13T16:34:00.000-08:00

I wish I could see my Mom and Dad this Christmas.

My father died in 2000. My mother in 2004.

And I was just thinking how nice it would be to see them again.

To come into their house on Christmas Eve, out of the cold into the warm. With my wife and kids beside me.

My Mom would come up in her apron and jingle bell necklace, glasses pushed up on her head, and kiss me. Well, to be honest, she’d probably kiss the kids and my wife first. After all, when you get married, you automatically get second billing. Then, when you have kids, all bets are off. You may not get that hello kiss until it’s time to say goodbye.

Then my Mom would bring us into the family room, with the fire going and the Christmas tree bursting with presents. The whole house would be filled with color and conversation, and music and light.

As my Mom would go off to get us punch, my Dad would wake from his nap.

He’d rise slowly from the couch, and give me a quick, rough kiss on the cheek.

Yes, I might just get that first kiss from my Dad.

The whole family would be there, too. My sister and brothers and their husband and wives. And my parents’ grandchildren and great grandchildren. Also some good friends.

We would eat, laugh, sing, play games, and open presents, and probably eat some more. Until later, when we’d walk the sugared up, almost sleeping, kids to the vans.

But just before we left, I’d stop to kiss my Mom and Dad, and hug them, a little longer.

Yes, it would be nice to see them again.

Actually, I just did.

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Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

Christmas songs that make you go "Hmmm...."

2011-12-05T20:32:00.000-08:00

Four Christmas songs are stuck in my head.

Deep in my cerebral cortex, or whatever they call that squishy part in the middle.

Like “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”

What exactly is the deal here? This kid comes down the stairs and sees Mom making out with Santa?

Are they not then scarred for life? Thinking that not only is Mom cheating on Dad, but she’s doing it with the man who is supposed to be one of the kindest people on Earth?

Then, there’s “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

I know I need to let it go. BUT I CAN’T.

First they mock him. Then they kick him out of their games. Then when times are tough, they come looking for him and beg for his help.

With friends like that…

Or how about “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”? At one point, they’re sharing scary ghost stories. Ghost stories! That’s Halloween! Just about two months too late, guys.

And don’t even get me started on “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

A bunch of thugs invade my house on the premise of wishing me a happy holiday, then demand figgy pudding before they’ll go.

Well, first of all, I’ve never made figgy pudding. Wouldn’t even know where to start.

And, even if I did know how to make it, I wouldn’t. It sounds gross. Might as well call it lumpy pudding.

And, even if I did make it and did like it, why on Earth would I give it to you hooligans?

Now get out of my house before I throw a candy cane at you!

Quite a collection of songs, aren’t they? Infidelity, betrayal and blackmail.

Merry Christmas everyone!

I Believe

2011-11-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

I believe.

I believe in love because my wife taught me how.

I believe that a dance with fear leaves you winded, yet wiser.

I believe that having children has made me a better man.

I believe Speed Racer knew that Racer X was really his brother.

I believe that truth tastes like strawberries - the really big ones.

I believe in friends who stand by you, no matter the cost.

I believe you have to suffer for your passion.

I believe that the happiest people are those with the fewest masks.

I believe that too many people stay at jobs they hate to get more vacation days so that they can spend more time away from the jobs they hate.

I believe that we give life its meaning.

I believe that John really did believe in what he did with the Beatles.

I believe that liars run from the truth like vampires from the sun.

I believe that the Force is always with us.

I believe that Rudolph never really got over the fact that the other reindeers wouldn't let him play in their games.

I believe that courage works its way from the heart to the hands.

I believe that knowing yourself is one of the finest things you can do.

I believe in living passionately, leaving nothing inside, bringing it hard and fast like a steam train, and touching souls.

I believe in making yourself vulnerable to find your strength.

I believe in listening for the sound of your own voice.

I believe in you.

What do you believe in?

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Copyright 2011, James R. Warda. All rights reserved.

Taken from "Where Are We Going So Fast?" by James Warda (Rowman & Littlefield, 2001)

Happy Thankstaking Day!

2011-11-21T07:32:00.000-08:00

Happy Thankstaking Day!

Yes, I know, it’s usually “Thanksgiving.”

But, for today, let’s just focus on receiving thanks.

There’s an art to humbly doing so. But it can still be difficult.

I know that, for me, I tend to want to thank my thanker, which can lead to an endless loop.

“Thank you, Jim. You really helped me.”

“Oh, not a problem, Frank. Thank you for your kind words.”

“No, no, thank YOU, Jim. You went out of your way and I won’t forget it.”

“Well, I appreciate your saying that. Thanks again, Frank.”

And it goes on.

When, really, by not welcoming someone’s thanks, you are actually doing them a disservice.

Keeping them from fully expressing their gratitude and knowing it has been accepted.

So, today, I’m going to try something new.

If I help someone and they thank me for it, I’m going to simply say “You’re welcome.”

Not, “You’re welcome, and thanks.”

Or, “You’re welcome, and how ‘bout them Cubs?”

Instead, just “You’re welcome,”

Then, I’ll shut up.

Not for long. And not to be rude.

But to let the circle complete itself.

The one in which someone needed help.

And I gave it.

And, next, they needed to express their appreciation.

And I received it.

Which is a gift to them – and me.

As accepting someone’s thanks reminds us that we’re all in this together, that we can’t always get up that cliff without a hand reaching down.

So, this Thanksgiving, remember that for everyone who gives thanks, someone must take it.

With that, let’s eat.

And, oh, by the way, thank you for reading my words.

It means a lot to me.

It's Time

2011-11-14T16:32:00.000-08:00

It’s time

It's time to get a little crazy.

It's time to not play it safe.

It's time to love again, no matter what scars your heart holds.

It's time to believe, despite the fact that the last time you did, you ended up betrayed.

It's time to stand upon the feet you were given and find some peace in the rain.

It's time.

It's time to move.

It's time to risk again, to walk into fear with nothing but a pocketful of faith and your steely, steely eyes.

It's time to tell yourself that you belong, so what's all the fuss about.

It's time to fly though your wings are still wet.

It's time.

It's time to update your resume with a line about how great you do the thing you do that you were put here to do when you do it.

It's time to finally understand that everything is within your reach if you'd just stick out your hand.

It's time to show us how to make it better.

It's time.

It's really, truly, simply time.

So, if it is, and if we know exactly what we need to do to get started, what's stopping us?

Is it fear?

Or is it the tangy taste of anticipation?

No matter, because we have a responsibility, you and I.

To begin.

And there's no time like the present.

Because it's time.
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*Taken from "Where Are We Going So Fast?: Finding the Sacred in Everyday Moments" (2001, Rowman & Littlefield)

I Saw God in a Church Pew

2011-11-07T08:25:00.000-08:00

I saw God in a pew yesterday.

Yesterday, Gina and I were in church with my son and daughter.

As we stood, I looked over and saw a father arrive with his teenage son. His son appeared to have a more significant type of autism, but I’m only guessing by the little I know and what I saw.

At times, throughout the mass, the boy would rock back and forth, and fling his arms. Once, he also yelled.

And that is when I saw God.

As the boy whipsawed his arms, the father forcefully but gently grabbed him, and held him close. Then he leaned over and whispered into the boy’s ear. All the while smiling.

Soon the boy calmed down.

Then the mother and sister joined them.

The mother on one side of the boy. The father on the other. And the sister on the end. All of them alternately hugging and holding him, while smiling and talking quietly into his ear.

As I listened to the words of love shared by a man over two thousand years ago, I looked over and saw that love come to life.

And then I looked to my right. My wife and daughter, their profiles so perfect and so much the same. And my own teenage son, tall now, with a face stretching between boy and man.

Right there was the beauty that can sometimes bring me to tears.

That can often leave me unable to find the words to describe it.

Life filled with love and joy and a mess of flaws, pain and fear.

All moments that will never come again.

If you miss them the first time, you’ll miss them forever.

So stay awake.

Please.

Learning to Walk Again

2011-10-31T15:17:00.000-07:00

Learning to walk again.

Getting up from where you had fallen. Brushing the ashes off your pants. Combing the twigs out of your hair. Shaking your head three times to finally clear it.

Learning to try again.

Having been beaten down by some crushing defeat. Sitting dazed on the side of a secondary road, wondering how you would possibly rise. When every single star in the night sky seemed to have it out for you. When even the Sun that morning decided to turn away.

When every betting man and woman in Vegas laid odds that you would finally give up and go home, back to the job you have been complaining about for years. Back to the back of the classroom, to sit with the troublemakers and other forgotten fools.

Well, you’re not alone.

I’ve been there. And I’ve seen that place.

It’s long and brittle. But it can be overcome.

It will be.

And I'm betting my money on you.

That where they see mountains, you see molehills.

Where they see defeat, you simply see delayed delight.

And that, right here, in your perfect little moment of truth, you will find the will and the want to rise.

To raise your arms and your eyes to the very tips of the trees.

And yell in defiance.

And then you will walk again.

Yes, slowly at first. And you may stumble and fall.

But, soon, you'll gain your gait.

And your legs will stride.

Then, my good friend, I will watch, I will smile, and then I will cheer.

As, once again, you begin to run.

And We Will Know You By Your Candy

2011-10-24T08:21:00.001-07:00

Tell me what kind of candy you give out for Halloween, and I’ll tell you who you are.

I’m already anticipating our kids returning from trick or treating, worn down and sugared up. My wife will help them organize their candy into piles.

And we’ll know the people, as we know the candy.

Regular size candy bars – Snickers. Almond Joy. Those who hand these out are strong and confident.

King size candy bars – Yes, these people may be pretentious, but they will automatically be added to our Christmas card list.

Chocolate knockoffs – the candy equivalent of a fake Coach purse. As you get closer, you notice the difference. Snicklers. Two Musketeers. And once you bite down, you’ll know the person handing them out is just as fake as the candy.

Candy cigarettes – Anything that has my kids asking for mentholated can’t be good.

Hard candies – Either give out candy or don’t. But don’t mock us.

Wax bottles with colored liquid –These people should just give out candles. At least we can floss with the wick afterwards.

Circus peanuts – Never trust a food called something it isn’t. Or the person who gives it out.

Fruit – There is a special place reserved in my mind for these people. It’s dark, damp, and filled with spiders.

Pennies – If you’re going to give money, give singles. Otherwise, take your precious pennies and BUY SOME REAL CANDY!

Remember, what you give out this Halloween is a reflection of who you are. So, know that we’ll be out there. Waiting to ring your doorbell. To see if you’ll pass the most fundamental test of humanity.

Giving out good candy on Halloween.

Yes, we’ll be waiting.

And watching.

What if you had one day to live?

2011-10-16T19:21:00.000-07:00

What if you had one day to live?

We watched the “Source Code” with Jake Gyllenhaal over the weekend. It’s a powerful science fiction thriller that has a man living the same eight minutes repeatedly to solve a crime. I know the premise has been done before – but I’ve never seen it done this way.

In the movie, Jake asks his girlfriend what she would do if she knew she only had one minute left to live.

But, I’m willing to give you more time.

What if you had one day – and knew it?

What would you do?

Of course, that awareness would make things really clear, really fast.
It takes you right where you need to go.

Think about it. For just a moment, really think about it.

Someone tells you that you have one day left.

Your mind starts to whirl. Your throat closes up. The panic crushes in. Your loves, wants and failures flash through your mind. And then you realize that, if you just keep standing there thinking about it, you’ll be wasting time.

Precious, present time.

So you…

What?

And you…

Where?

What do you do? And where do you go? And what do you do when you get there?
Or do you stay exactly where you are?

Well, know this.

Whatever you do, wherever you go, whomever you talk to, and whatever you say, right there is your truth. What you want most of all. Or what you most need to make right.

Now, of course, it’s very unlikely that you only have one day left to live.

But what if you did?

What if you did?

A Curmudgeon Fights Back

2011-10-08T10:21:00.000-07:00

I slipped and fell into the generation gap.

I'm 47. Sometimes, I feel half that.

But, lately, double.

Because, whether it's my new reading glasses, or the fact that I actually injured my shoulder playing Wii baseball and my elbow by mowing the lawn, I've realized that I am getting older.

I know, I know. We all get older. But, for some reason, I thought I had a special dispensation, a "Get Out of Aging" card. And with getting older, I've also been feeling a growing want for things of the past.

Like taking pictures with cameras, where we had to actually take the film to be processed, and wait several days. That distinct anticipation as we opened the envelope.

Now, my pictures are sitting on my phone and computer, and I can't get fingerprints on them.

And newspapers and books. Yes, they’re still around, but I feel them going. I'm at a wake, commenting on how life-like they look in the coffin, while hearing Kindle's and iPad’s heavy footsteps behind me.

And younger people don't make phone calls anymore . Instead, they text, and tweet, and like. And, through it all, punctuation is going the way of the leisure suit. So is waiting – in this age of 24X7 everything.

I know I sound like a curmudgeon. But, today, this curmudgeon begins to fight back.

Today, I'm going to grab my newspaper, books, cassettes, VHS tapes, and classic black and white movies. And I’m going to hold them up high.

So that, what once was old, will become new again.

I will influence instead of being influenced.

For I have fallen.

But I can get up.

Lost Power, Found More

2011-07-16T14:36:00.000-07:00

We lost our electricity - but found something else along the way.

A storm slammed through northern Illinois recently. Like a concrete block to the chest, hurricane winds, rain and lightning pillaged the state.

Trees split in half to the ground. Others uprooted, thrown into houses and onto cars. Basketball hoops flung across driveways. Patio furniture whipped across yards.

Furious, frantic and fast – and over in less than half an hour.

And everywhere the lights went out.

Over 800,000 lost power. For days. Some for over a week. Right in the middle of a heat wave.

Now, in the past, when I would hear that people had lost power for several days, I’d shake my head and then quickly get back to whatever electrical-powered device I was using.

Then it happened to us.

And nothing makes it real like having it happen to you.

So, my wife, kids and I did what people have been doing since there were people.

We improvised.

We lived by flashlight. We slept in the basement where it was cooler. I left work early to take the kids to a movie. We read books. And we lit candles. Lots and lots of candles.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It was a hard three days.

But others had it worse. They’d lost more than power. In fact, we drove around several neighborhoods, shocked at the destruction, yet awed by the way people were helping each other. Neighbors carrying chainsaws and climbing ladders – while electrical utility trucks from other states crossed the county, called in to help out.

Yes, we learned again how much we rely on electricity.

But, we also learned that we rely on each other even more.

Panic in the Butter Aisle

2010-01-20T20:38:00.000-08:00

Panic in the butter aisle.

My wife, Gina, handed me a grocery list on my way out the door.

Which struck fear into the very core of my being.

Because I knew what awaited me. That is, though there might only have been three simple items on the list, once I got to the store, I would find that, for each of those three simple items, there would be multiple variations modified by multiple adjectives that, for me, a simple and common man, would be undecipherable, unfathomable and, most important, unable to allow me to go home until I figured it out.

Lincoln had the Civil War.

I faced “One pint of buttermilk.”

Scientists have striven for ages to pry Earth’s secrets from her clasped hands.

While I have striven for over ten minutes to decide which kind of cheese to buy.

So there I stood, with the words “Salted Butter” in front of me. And butter is the worst. Multiple variations and sizes. Everything from “Unsalted” to “Salted and Sweet.”

Which is when I almost gave in and called home.

Yes, my wife has learned that, when I go to the store, she has to keep her phone handy. That’s because I’ll likely be calling home for more details about items on the list.

But, instead, I defined myself.

Right there in the butter aisle, I made a stand – for myself and for all men. Like William Wallace in “Braveheart,” except I yelled “I will buy the salted and sweet butter!” instead of “Freedom!” A little longer, yes, but just as powerful.

And my decision will echo through the years.

But then came the cheese aisle.

Where’s my phone?

Uneventful Days

2010-01-18T14:27:00.000-08:00

"Give thanks for uneventful days."

My sister's saying comes from when my parents were alive, and were both in the same hospital at the same time, having had bypass surgeries within weeks of each other.

And, though they both just had major surgery and were several floors apart, they still found a way to bicker - usually through my sister and me, who ran back and forth between the two rooms.

It was a crazy time. And, after awhile, it took its toll. Because, unfortunately, caretakers don't often take care of themselves.

Then, after their surgeries, they were never the same, and were in and out of doctors for years.

Which led to my sister's saying.

She realized that, because so many days are stressful, because every day seems to bring a new anxiety, whether it's about a parent, or a child, or a bill that you just can't pay, sometimes the greatest blessing can simply be an uneventful day.

A day that stands out because it doesn't.

Of course, when we're young, we want excitement.

But, as we get older, the things that disrupt our lives and plans often become so much bigger and more frequent, that all we want is to take a breath.

So, now, when my sister and I talk, we try to recognize when we're having an uneventful day. When no one's sick. When our jobs are going well. When, for at least a day, the only thing we have to worry about is having nothing to worry about.

And, on those days, we take a moment to appreciate the quiet and routine. When nothing much happens.

And nothing never seemed sweeter.

Copyright 2010, James. R. Warda. All rights reserved.