By Kathy Banaszak
I love to write. I especially like tackling big hairy issues fraught with controversy. (Maybe that’s the Irish fight in me.) I also enjoy persuading people and tend to champion the underdog. I recently grappled with what to write about next: rising unemployment, skyrocketing foreclosures, the state budget fiasco or maybe fraudulent childcare scams. In the midst of pretty depressing news, I happened on a piece of genuine inspiration closer to home.
It seems the brand new Wisconsin Golf Association State Match Play champion is a local financial adviser who turns 50 this year. He started golfing competitively just six years ago. On his way to the state amateur title last week, Kevin Cahill of Waukesha was foil to a string of twenty-something “college hotshots” and “young guns” as the Journal Sentinel put it. In the service of disclosure, the new champ also happens to be my little brother.
As any golfer will attest, the sport is a treasure trove of life lessons. Lessons we need in times like these. Sportswriter Herbert Warren Wind got it right: “Man’s battle against himself is undoubtedly at the heart of golf’s abiding appeal.”
Golf is not simply about hitting a ball with a stick. It is primer on making decisions, adjusting to unforeseen circumstances, severe weather, shifting winds and the collective nuances of the course itself while maintaining one’s emotional and mental composure. In golf as in life, courage is required in the face of potentially paralyzing obstacles and crushing setbacks.
It’s been said that all great golfers are great putters. Putting is an art all its own requiring both superb “feel” and an uncanny intuition for “reading the lines” while seeing the big picture. Arnold Palmer once said: “Putting is like wisdom – partly a natural gift and partly the accumulation of experience.” In golf as in life, it’s generally not the long spectacular drive that matters most. Rather, it’s typically an artful put that saves the day.
Golf requires extraordinary focus and judgment. To succeed, it is paramount that you play your own game, not your opponent’s. When you try playing like somebody else, you end up never getting your own game. It’s all about knowing what you’re really good at and what you’re not so hot at; what author Max Lucado calls our “sweet spot”. Building on strengths and compensating for weakness is also how you build - or rebuild - a life.
Sooner or later, all golfers experience the nightmare of watching their game fall apart before their eyes. When this happens, great golfers focus on “getting back to basics”, while amateurs rush out to buy the latest video/gadget. (You know who you are!)
Most important, golf is a game of great moments that make for lifelong memories. Chi Chi Rodriguez once joked, “I remember big”. Recalling sweet successes and “remembering big” are keys to coping with truly difficult and challenging life circumstances. Like the kind we face right now. Just as golf is played one stroke at a time, life is best lived one day at a time while drawing on those great moments to keep pushing through.
So on behalf of aging Boomers everywhere – and anyone else who could use a little inspiration right now, here’s to you Kevin Cahill! Thanks for the lesson.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
BOYS WILL BE BOYS (AND OTHER MYSTERIES OF BROTHERLY BONDING)
By Kathy Banaszak
http://www.kathybanaszak.blogspot.com/
E-mail: kathybanaszak@wi.rr.com
Dan waits for just the right moment and quietly sneaks up from behind on Nick....POW!
That familiar psycho grin and crazed twinkle in Dan's eye lets Nick know it's time for the games to begin. Nick immediately obliges, returning some friendly fire. It's been six long months since these two have seen each other and that means one thing: "Fight Club"!
Welcome to the Banaszak family vacation. Nick and Dan have both made the trip to Virginia Beach to watch their sister, Becky, walk across the stage this weekend to receive her Master's degree in Journalism. (It also happily coincides with Mother's Day weekend). We've all been looking forward to this family vacation for months.
Our digs are great, with the Atlantic Ocean right outside our door. We're all raring to go make a splash (literally), as well as some memories to take back home.
All grown up and living on their own (Nick in Huntsville, AL and Dan in Chicago), these boyish rituals remain remarkably the same since both were just little tykes. The cordial rough and tumble is laced with some friendly "trash talk" as our boys (make that "young men") settle down for some serious Euchre competition. Ready to once again test their mettle and wits, they spend the next hour literally laughing out loud. Music to a mother's heart.
Finally it's time to get down to the beach. Time to test themselves and each other as they get ready to brave the ice cold choppy tide of the Atlantic Ocean. Brotherly bonding is in full force as they make their way down the beach in the seriously strong mid-afternoon winds.
Brandishing their "stuff" for the camera, Nick and Dan assume their respective Heismann poses with the brand new football (our first "tourista" purchase). Dan nails a pass to Dad as Nick goes for the interception. (Not happening). Before you know it, Bec jumps in the game and we now officially have "sides". Mom shoots photos from the sidelines while fortuitously catching a pass between her knees. (That's right...my knees!) Rog struts his stuff on the beach. (Still golden after all these years).
As the game escalates into a bona fide "free for all", we all drop on the sand to catch our breath, and some of those rays we've all been waiting for. (After 99 inches of Wisconsin snow, we've been waiting a while!)
Lying next to one another on the beach, we finally enlist the lifeguard to take our family photo for posterity's sake. (With very little to actually "guard", he seems grateful for something to actually do). We all take turns flipping through the digital "album" of the day's adventures. The best souvenir of all.
"Home is where the heart is" sounds so cliche. Yet basking together on the sands of Virginia Beach miles and miles from Alabama, Chicago and Wisconsin with those who know you best and love you the most is a delight and treasure all its own.
Home again at last.
"How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity". (Psalm 133:1)
http://www.kathybanaszak.blogspot.com/
E-mail: kathybanaszak@wi.rr.com
Dan waits for just the right moment and quietly sneaks up from behind on Nick....POW!
That familiar psycho grin and crazed twinkle in Dan's eye lets Nick know it's time for the games to begin. Nick immediately obliges, returning some friendly fire. It's been six long months since these two have seen each other and that means one thing: "Fight Club"!
Welcome to the Banaszak family vacation. Nick and Dan have both made the trip to Virginia Beach to watch their sister, Becky, walk across the stage this weekend to receive her Master's degree in Journalism. (It also happily coincides with Mother's Day weekend). We've all been looking forward to this family vacation for months.
Our digs are great, with the Atlantic Ocean right outside our door. We're all raring to go make a splash (literally), as well as some memories to take back home.
All grown up and living on their own (Nick in Huntsville, AL and Dan in Chicago), these boyish rituals remain remarkably the same since both were just little tykes. The cordial rough and tumble is laced with some friendly "trash talk" as our boys (make that "young men") settle down for some serious Euchre competition. Ready to once again test their mettle and wits, they spend the next hour literally laughing out loud. Music to a mother's heart.
Finally it's time to get down to the beach. Time to test themselves and each other as they get ready to brave the ice cold choppy tide of the Atlantic Ocean. Brotherly bonding is in full force as they make their way down the beach in the seriously strong mid-afternoon winds.
Brandishing their "stuff" for the camera, Nick and Dan assume their respective Heismann poses with the brand new football (our first "tourista" purchase). Dan nails a pass to Dad as Nick goes for the interception. (Not happening). Before you know it, Bec jumps in the game and we now officially have "sides". Mom shoots photos from the sidelines while fortuitously catching a pass between her knees. (That's right...my knees!) Rog struts his stuff on the beach. (Still golden after all these years).
As the game escalates into a bona fide "free for all", we all drop on the sand to catch our breath, and some of those rays we've all been waiting for. (After 99 inches of Wisconsin snow, we've been waiting a while!)
Lying next to one another on the beach, we finally enlist the lifeguard to take our family photo for posterity's sake. (With very little to actually "guard", he seems grateful for something to actually do). We all take turns flipping through the digital "album" of the day's adventures. The best souvenir of all.
"Home is where the heart is" sounds so cliche. Yet basking together on the sands of Virginia Beach miles and miles from Alabama, Chicago and Wisconsin with those who know you best and love you the most is a delight and treasure all its own.
Home again at last.
"How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity". (Psalm 133:1)
Monday, April 21, 2008
I CAME TO LIVE OUT LOUD! HAPPY BIRTHDAY BECKY BANASZAK!
By Kathy Banaszak
E-mail: kathybanaszak@wi.rr.com
http://www.kathybanaszak.blogspot.com/
Today is the big day! She turns 26.
I can hardly fathom that so much time has passed since that day we first met face to face in the birthing room of Bethesda Hospital in Cincinnati. She has grown up into this beautiful, radiant, engaging young woman in what literally seems like the twinkling of an eye.
I still vividly recall the minutes and hours that preceded her arrival. Not surprisingly, she was tardy right from the start (a whole week late!) It was the first really hot day of 1982, and I had just returned from a late afternoon visit to my doctor's office where the midwife checked things out. Within an hour of returning home, I was out the door again. Rog arrived home just in time for the drive to the hospital. It was a gorgeous, sunny Spring evening when we left for the hospital that April 15th, and still officially "Tax Day".
Older brother Nicholas would wait at home with his aunt and little cousin. Nicholas had already completed the sibling birth classes taught by the midwife, and had thoroughly enjoyed the camaraderie of his little peers. He was starting to really get that we would be bringing a "real" live new baby back home any day now, and was totally psyched to become a "Big Brother". (If you were to ask those in the know, they'd tell you that Nick has indeed been a terrific big brother, give or take a few skirmishes along the way.)
As midnight approached, Rog and I had already been in the hospital's Birthing Room for several hours. The labor had gone smoothly (as far as labors go!) Rog was getting quite proficient at coaching me through the increasingly stronger contractions and was already in scrubs when Dr. Brunsman arrived in the middle of a late night TV rerun of "McMillan and Wife". After a quick check, it was time for the final push (literally!)
It only took a few strong, healthy pushes and she was here.
The image of her tiny newborn face remains indelibly imprinted in my mind's eye: the thick shock of wavy, almost black hair, that bronzed complexion with those dark newborn eyes. At first blush, her very Latin look caught us totally off guard. (How could two blonde blue-eyed parents produce such an exotic look?) Her piercing eyes - "smiling eyes" right from the start - took our breath away. She captured my heart that very first minute.
We immediately bequeathed her name upon her: "Rebecca". It means "captivating". The name fit like a glove.
As newborns go, Baby Rebecca was exceptionally alert: no closed, squinty eyes, no slumbering off just now for this little girl. Rather, she locked her eyes onto my own like a magnet for those first several minutes of life, and would not look away. She made quiet little baby noises while she continued to gaze intently at my face. She seemed to be matching the now familiar voice to the face right in front of her. Rog took a Polaroid at one minute old that would document it all for posterity's sake. Not only is this the first picture in Becky's baby book, but also a prophetic snapshot of "who she be" (as her Uncle Mike likes to put it.)
My doctor attributed Rebecca's remarkable alertness to the unmedicated natural childbirth. For me, however, it was as if this tiny little gal was letting us know right out of the gate she would not be missing anything, this girl!
The small framed print that sits prominently on our now grownup girl's desk says it all: "I CAME TO LIVE OUT LOUD!"
Obviously, it's not about being loud and dramatic (though Bec will be the first to admit she is definitely capable of both!) Rather, Becky has come to understand something that so many people never "get", even after a lifetime on this planet: that she is here right now on purpose and for a purpose, and that this is not all about her, even (and especially) when she can't possibly figure it out. She understands this truth more deeply with each passing birthday.
In recent years, Becky has encountered how truly messy life can get. She sees that good people, totally committed to walking with God will still suffer, often be misunderstood, and will become not only discouraged and confused, but even despondent at times. She has also experienced how truly fragile life really is. She also understands that her life is really and truly not her own; that she was bought at a price. And so with each passing year, she has grown into more and more a "risk-taker, hope-peddler, seed-thrower and grace-giver". After all, it's "who she be".
After Becky returned from Costa Rica over two years ago, she was back in Cincinnati for two months before returning to Costa Rica and then later to Wisconsin. While still in Cincinnati, Becky spent time with her lifelong friend Sarah and her family. They all spent an evening together praying about God's purposes and plans for Becky's life. Sarah's Dad finally shared the strong impressions he received during that prayer time; Bill kept seeing a really big key. He then pointed to Becky's key ring, to the huge skeleton key already on her key ring. "Just like that one". Bill shared how that key represented the special gift God had given Becky: the key to help unlock people's hearts.
Becky has only recently begun to discern how God might help her to unlock people's hearts. She sees now that they are all around her; hurting people devastated by life, with broken and barricaded hearts. They're in Cincinnati, Wisconsin, Huntsville, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Darfur and all around the world.
Becky has been granted "eyes to see". That is, to see the things that most of us do not really want to see, things we avoid dwelling on: the havoc and destruction of unrestrained evil, the shattered innocence and mangled hearts - hearts that God wants to touch and redeem.
Becky is only starting to recognize the "talents" that God Himself has deposited in her spirit. She also now sees that these were never bestowed in order to bring glory to herself. Rather, they are given by the God of the Universe as part of His much larger redemptive love story.
In my Bible, I have a prayer written many years ago (I no longer recall who even said it): "May my heart be broken by those things that break the heart of God." On her 26th birthday, that is my prayer for Becky; that she remain faithful in helping unlock people's hearts for the love of Jesus, one heart at a time.
As for me, I am profoundly grateful and deeply blessed to have Becky as our daughter. She is truly a jewel! She's been such a precious sister to both Nick and Dan. I pray that she will walk closely with Jesus all the days of her life and cling tightly to Him no matter where His paths might take her; that her heart would be "sold out" and that she will live out God's own sacrificial love to the people He puts in her path. I pray too that her joy will run deep, rooted in truth: "The joy of the Lord is your strength." (Nehemiah 8:10)
I pray also today for a godly husband for our sweet Bec; for a true friend and life partner - a man of God's own choosing who will pursue her and romance her with "grand gestures", who will love her sacrificially and whose own heart will be one of radical love for the people Jesus died for.
God has already answered so many of my prayers for Becky's life. I am gratified to know that she is living a life of passion and purpose in the midst of life's responsibilities and challenges. The words of Irenaus come to mind: "The glory of God is a man (or woman) fully alive, and the life of man consists in beholding God."
So on the occasion of her 26th Birthday, I officially salute the "Birthday Queen"! And I commend and exhort her to continue to LIVE YOUR LIFE OUT LOUD!
And lest you forget: "I love you forever, I like you for always, As long as you're living, my girl you'll be!"
You Go Girl!
E-mail: kathybanaszak@wi.rr.com
http://www.kathybanaszak.blogspot.com/
Today is the big day! She turns 26.
I can hardly fathom that so much time has passed since that day we first met face to face in the birthing room of Bethesda Hospital in Cincinnati. She has grown up into this beautiful, radiant, engaging young woman in what literally seems like the twinkling of an eye.
I still vividly recall the minutes and hours that preceded her arrival. Not surprisingly, she was tardy right from the start (a whole week late!) It was the first really hot day of 1982, and I had just returned from a late afternoon visit to my doctor's office where the midwife checked things out. Within an hour of returning home, I was out the door again. Rog arrived home just in time for the drive to the hospital. It was a gorgeous, sunny Spring evening when we left for the hospital that April 15th, and still officially "Tax Day".
Older brother Nicholas would wait at home with his aunt and little cousin. Nicholas had already completed the sibling birth classes taught by the midwife, and had thoroughly enjoyed the camaraderie of his little peers. He was starting to really get that we would be bringing a "real" live new baby back home any day now, and was totally psyched to become a "Big Brother". (If you were to ask those in the know, they'd tell you that Nick has indeed been a terrific big brother, give or take a few skirmishes along the way.)
As midnight approached, Rog and I had already been in the hospital's Birthing Room for several hours. The labor had gone smoothly (as far as labors go!) Rog was getting quite proficient at coaching me through the increasingly stronger contractions and was already in scrubs when Dr. Brunsman arrived in the middle of a late night TV rerun of "McMillan and Wife". After a quick check, it was time for the final push (literally!)
It only took a few strong, healthy pushes and she was here.
The image of her tiny newborn face remains indelibly imprinted in my mind's eye: the thick shock of wavy, almost black hair, that bronzed complexion with those dark newborn eyes. At first blush, her very Latin look caught us totally off guard. (How could two blonde blue-eyed parents produce such an exotic look?) Her piercing eyes - "smiling eyes" right from the start - took our breath away. She captured my heart that very first minute.
We immediately bequeathed her name upon her: "Rebecca". It means "captivating". The name fit like a glove.
As newborns go, Baby Rebecca was exceptionally alert: no closed, squinty eyes, no slumbering off just now for this little girl. Rather, she locked her eyes onto my own like a magnet for those first several minutes of life, and would not look away. She made quiet little baby noises while she continued to gaze intently at my face. She seemed to be matching the now familiar voice to the face right in front of her. Rog took a Polaroid at one minute old that would document it all for posterity's sake. Not only is this the first picture in Becky's baby book, but also a prophetic snapshot of "who she be" (as her Uncle Mike likes to put it.)
My doctor attributed Rebecca's remarkable alertness to the unmedicated natural childbirth. For me, however, it was as if this tiny little gal was letting us know right out of the gate she would not be missing anything, this girl!
The small framed print that sits prominently on our now grownup girl's desk says it all: "I CAME TO LIVE OUT LOUD!"
Obviously, it's not about being loud and dramatic (though Bec will be the first to admit she is definitely capable of both!) Rather, Becky has come to understand something that so many people never "get", even after a lifetime on this planet: that she is here right now on purpose and for a purpose, and that this is not all about her, even (and especially) when she can't possibly figure it out. She understands this truth more deeply with each passing birthday.
In recent years, Becky has encountered how truly messy life can get. She sees that good people, totally committed to walking with God will still suffer, often be misunderstood, and will become not only discouraged and confused, but even despondent at times. She has also experienced how truly fragile life really is. She also understands that her life is really and truly not her own; that she was bought at a price. And so with each passing year, she has grown into more and more a "risk-taker, hope-peddler, seed-thrower and grace-giver". After all, it's "who she be".
After Becky returned from Costa Rica over two years ago, she was back in Cincinnati for two months before returning to Costa Rica and then later to Wisconsin. While still in Cincinnati, Becky spent time with her lifelong friend Sarah and her family. They all spent an evening together praying about God's purposes and plans for Becky's life. Sarah's Dad finally shared the strong impressions he received during that prayer time; Bill kept seeing a really big key. He then pointed to Becky's key ring, to the huge skeleton key already on her key ring. "Just like that one". Bill shared how that key represented the special gift God had given Becky: the key to help unlock people's hearts.
Becky has only recently begun to discern how God might help her to unlock people's hearts. She sees now that they are all around her; hurting people devastated by life, with broken and barricaded hearts. They're in Cincinnati, Wisconsin, Huntsville, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Darfur and all around the world.
Becky has been granted "eyes to see". That is, to see the things that most of us do not really want to see, things we avoid dwelling on: the havoc and destruction of unrestrained evil, the shattered innocence and mangled hearts - hearts that God wants to touch and redeem.
Becky is only starting to recognize the "talents" that God Himself has deposited in her spirit. She also now sees that these were never bestowed in order to bring glory to herself. Rather, they are given by the God of the Universe as part of His much larger redemptive love story.
In my Bible, I have a prayer written many years ago (I no longer recall who even said it): "May my heart be broken by those things that break the heart of God." On her 26th birthday, that is my prayer for Becky; that she remain faithful in helping unlock people's hearts for the love of Jesus, one heart at a time.
As for me, I am profoundly grateful and deeply blessed to have Becky as our daughter. She is truly a jewel! She's been such a precious sister to both Nick and Dan. I pray that she will walk closely with Jesus all the days of her life and cling tightly to Him no matter where His paths might take her; that her heart would be "sold out" and that she will live out God's own sacrificial love to the people He puts in her path. I pray too that her joy will run deep, rooted in truth: "The joy of the Lord is your strength." (Nehemiah 8:10)
I pray also today for a godly husband for our sweet Bec; for a true friend and life partner - a man of God's own choosing who will pursue her and romance her with "grand gestures", who will love her sacrificially and whose own heart will be one of radical love for the people Jesus died for.
God has already answered so many of my prayers for Becky's life. I am gratified to know that she is living a life of passion and purpose in the midst of life's responsibilities and challenges. The words of Irenaus come to mind: "The glory of God is a man (or woman) fully alive, and the life of man consists in beholding God."
So on the occasion of her 26th Birthday, I officially salute the "Birthday Queen"! And I commend and exhort her to continue to LIVE YOUR LIFE OUT LOUD!
And lest you forget: "I love you forever, I like you for always, As long as you're living, my girl you'll be!"
You Go Girl!
Monday, April 7, 2008
ELLIOT SPITZER: THE FURY AND FRENZY OF A FALL
By Kathy Banaszak
kathybanaszak@wi.rr.com
www.kathybanaszak.blogspot.com
(This article was originally posted 3/10/08 and has been edited for corrections)
For about the fiftieth time in the last ninety minutes, the same news clip parades across every single cable news network. With few exceptions, reporters and anchors express collective shock and outrage, while still others labor to mute their obvious glee. This is the red meat they live for.
No doubt about it, this is a big news day. New York Governor Elliott Spitzer caught on a wiretap in the thick of a high-stakes prostitution ring with ties to organized crime. As far as newsrooms go, it doesn't get much better than this."There is a place in hell reserved for these sorts of hyprocrites; hypocrite with a capital H", pontificates one pundit. "Wall Street is breaking out the champagne right now" smirks another.
The feeding frenzy has just begun folks.
The pictures tell the story better than all the talking heads: the mortified wife with grief-stricken eyes standing by her husband's side, numbed by the crushing brunt of raw pain. The culprit himself wears that strange grimace of someone caught with his pants down (literally in this case). Not exactly the look of a genuinely repentant man I think to myself. Remorse for sure, (he got nailed after all, who wouldn't be). But repentance? Not yet. Later one hopes. For now, he's still looking for that "Stay Out of Jail" card.
Amid expressions of moral outrage, I am reminded yet again that "there is nothing new under the sun." Solomon (no innocent himself) got this right. No matter how sophisticated, how intelligent, well-educated, cultured or evolved we see ourselves in the dawn of this 21st century, there is no escaping the obvious truth. We are trapped by the same moral dilemmas and wallow in the same cesspools that have plagued mankind since the beginning of recorded time. It's not just "the times in which we live" as one anchor suggested.
What's crystal clear is that the nature of man has not changed at all in the three thousand years since Solomon penned Ecclesiastes. Solomon embraced a spiritual truth rejected by many still today: We are the problem. What we need today (and have always needed) remains the same. We need an "inside job" - all of us - me, you, Elliott Spitzer, everybody.
Solomon offers a word of wisdom for Elliott Spitzer: "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall." Pride tops the list as the "chief of sins" and for good reason; there is nothing so sneaky, so dangerous, so completely hideous and so utterly blinding. In the days to come, I hope that Governor Spitzer will genuinely reflect on this unheeded wisdom.
But be wary all you outraged commentators. Take heed all you gleeful gloating cable news voyeurs. Listen up all you church-going folk. The apostle Paul has a word for you (and me) too: "Let him who thinks he stands, take heed lest he fall." (1 Cor. 10:12) Gotcha!
I'll be honest. It feels good (at first), so "natural" to let myself simply wallow in today's community gloat over Elliott Spitzer's stunning fall from grace. (There's that darned "nature" thing again!) How desperately I need the finger of God to prick my heart yet again to remind me of what I am supposed to already know: "Love does not rejoice in evil (or injustice, take your pick of translations), but rejoices in the truth." (1 Cor. 13)
No gloating folks.
I love how C. S. Lewis (Mere Christianity) puts it all in perspective: "All the worst pleasures are purely spiritual: the pleasure of putting other people in the wrong, of bossing and patronizing, and spoiling sport and back-biting, the pleasure of power, of hatred...That is why a cold self-righteous prig who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to hell than the prostitute."
Whew!
Listen closely to the words of another notable sinner, King David, no less. Caught in a similar trap of his own making, he went to even greater lengths (murder!) to hide his own moral transgression. Yet who can read Psalm 51 and not be moved by the God who specializes in "inside jobs":
"Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love, according to your great compassion, blot out my transgressions, wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin...Surely you desire truth in the innermost being, you teach me wisdom in the inmost place...Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me...The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."
So on this very hellish day, I pray for Governor Spitzer. I pray for truth in his innermost being, for a broken and contrite heart, a clean heart, a new and steadfast spirit. I especially pray for shelter and comfort for his wife and children in the midst of such shattered trust and public humiliation.
I pray that Governor Spitzer might genuinely seek the gift of repentance. It is the "gift of tears" for those who deserve none.
kathybanaszak@wi.rr.com
www.kathybanaszak.blogspot.com
(This article was originally posted 3/10/08 and has been edited for corrections)
For about the fiftieth time in the last ninety minutes, the same news clip parades across every single cable news network. With few exceptions, reporters and anchors express collective shock and outrage, while still others labor to mute their obvious glee. This is the red meat they live for.
No doubt about it, this is a big news day. New York Governor Elliott Spitzer caught on a wiretap in the thick of a high-stakes prostitution ring with ties to organized crime. As far as newsrooms go, it doesn't get much better than this."There is a place in hell reserved for these sorts of hyprocrites; hypocrite with a capital H", pontificates one pundit. "Wall Street is breaking out the champagne right now" smirks another.
The feeding frenzy has just begun folks.
The pictures tell the story better than all the talking heads: the mortified wife with grief-stricken eyes standing by her husband's side, numbed by the crushing brunt of raw pain. The culprit himself wears that strange grimace of someone caught with his pants down (literally in this case). Not exactly the look of a genuinely repentant man I think to myself. Remorse for sure, (he got nailed after all, who wouldn't be). But repentance? Not yet. Later one hopes. For now, he's still looking for that "Stay Out of Jail" card.
Amid expressions of moral outrage, I am reminded yet again that "there is nothing new under the sun." Solomon (no innocent himself) got this right. No matter how sophisticated, how intelligent, well-educated, cultured or evolved we see ourselves in the dawn of this 21st century, there is no escaping the obvious truth. We are trapped by the same moral dilemmas and wallow in the same cesspools that have plagued mankind since the beginning of recorded time. It's not just "the times in which we live" as one anchor suggested.
What's crystal clear is that the nature of man has not changed at all in the three thousand years since Solomon penned Ecclesiastes. Solomon embraced a spiritual truth rejected by many still today: We are the problem. What we need today (and have always needed) remains the same. We need an "inside job" - all of us - me, you, Elliott Spitzer, everybody.
Solomon offers a word of wisdom for Elliott Spitzer: "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall." Pride tops the list as the "chief of sins" and for good reason; there is nothing so sneaky, so dangerous, so completely hideous and so utterly blinding. In the days to come, I hope that Governor Spitzer will genuinely reflect on this unheeded wisdom.
But be wary all you outraged commentators. Take heed all you gleeful gloating cable news voyeurs. Listen up all you church-going folk. The apostle Paul has a word for you (and me) too: "Let him who thinks he stands, take heed lest he fall." (1 Cor. 10:12) Gotcha!
I'll be honest. It feels good (at first), so "natural" to let myself simply wallow in today's community gloat over Elliott Spitzer's stunning fall from grace. (There's that darned "nature" thing again!) How desperately I need the finger of God to prick my heart yet again to remind me of what I am supposed to already know: "Love does not rejoice in evil (or injustice, take your pick of translations), but rejoices in the truth." (1 Cor. 13)
No gloating folks.
I love how C. S. Lewis (Mere Christianity) puts it all in perspective: "All the worst pleasures are purely spiritual: the pleasure of putting other people in the wrong, of bossing and patronizing, and spoiling sport and back-biting, the pleasure of power, of hatred...That is why a cold self-righteous prig who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to hell than the prostitute."
Whew!
Listen closely to the words of another notable sinner, King David, no less. Caught in a similar trap of his own making, he went to even greater lengths (murder!) to hide his own moral transgression. Yet who can read Psalm 51 and not be moved by the God who specializes in "inside jobs":
"Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love, according to your great compassion, blot out my transgressions, wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin...Surely you desire truth in the innermost being, you teach me wisdom in the inmost place...Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me...The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."
So on this very hellish day, I pray for Governor Spitzer. I pray for truth in his innermost being, for a broken and contrite heart, a clean heart, a new and steadfast spirit. I especially pray for shelter and comfort for his wife and children in the midst of such shattered trust and public humiliation.
I pray that Governor Spitzer might genuinely seek the gift of repentance. It is the "gift of tears" for those who deserve none.
Monday, March 10, 2008
THOUGHTS FOR TODAY
""If you asked me what I came into the world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud." Emile Zola
"Do one thing every day that scares you." Eleanor Roosevelt
"The glory of God is a man fully alive, and
the life of man consists in beholding God." Irenaeus
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Bystanders are not Innocent
By Becky Banaszak
("For the Love of Truth" Blog)
Almost two minutes have passed since I wrote the headline. It’s not because I’m a terribly slow writer (although I am) but I just realized I’m guilty of apathy.
Two children per minute.
I’m counting the number of children that have been trafficked for sexual exploitation since I sat down. It’s been about five minutes. That’s ten kids. A few more minutes and I’ll be out of fingers and toes to count on.
In the time it takes to watch an episode of “Grey’s Anatomy,” 120 kids will have been forced into the most dehumanizing form of slavery. Annually, that’s about 1.2 million children.
I wonder which little lives will be stolen this minute. What do they look like? Where are they from? Who will help them?
According to the U.S. Department of Justice, 13 is the average age of victims when they’re first forced into prostitution.
When I think about human beings as sexual slaves, I picture a timid, petite, 13-year-old girl with messy braids. The young girl has one yellow bow in her hair. The other one has been ripped out. She’s being forced to perform sexual acts with a 45-year-old pedophile. He’s almost three times her size. A size that crushes her miniature frame.
Silent tears fall from her brown eyes as her innocence is robbed for the fifth time today and her mind tries to make sense of what’s happening to her. But she smiles because they tell her to. Smiling slaves are good for business. And business is looking good — real good.
According to The United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF), human trafficking generates $10 to $12 billion dollars a year for organized crime. Did you catch the “b” before “illion”? That’s at least $9 billion more than the $50 million our government spends to combat this crisis.
It’s been 24 minutes. We’re up to 48 kids.
If I continued to count kids more than the calories I consumed or the cell phone minutes I used, I wonder how affected I would be. I wonder if I could ever be more aware of what’s happening to those children than of my waistline or my phone bill or myself.
It shouldn’t be that hard. Everywhere I look, I see faces of children around the world who are suffering needlessly. They’re in my mailbox, on my television screen and in between the lines of most news stories.
They’re beaten, broken, tired, hungry, thirsty, lonely and crying out for someone, anyone, to just do something.
Distracted, I turn away unaffected and apathetic.
Distracted because I live in America, a place where it is easy to escape reality. I have a computer and a MySpace account — the ability to flee. I have a television that dictates reality in shows like, “The Real World.” I have a job and a cell phone. My social life is very demanding. I’m just too busy.
67 more children.
Unaffected because my life tends to revolve around things that have to do with me. If it doesn’t directly impact my personal well-being, it doesn’t exist in my world. I live in a bubble. And it has a steeple.
Apathetic because my heart doesn’t break at the thought of even one child being enslaved. I’d like to say it does, but I’ve felt the pain of a broken heart. I don’t want to feel brokenness because I’m afraid of what I might feel if I felt what those kids feel. I like not hurting.
80 and counting.
100.
I can’t get the words of Holocaust Historian Yehuda Bauer out of my head.
“Thou shall not be a victim. Thou shall not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shall not be a bystander.”
I’m no longer an innocent bystander. I’m a guilty one.
("For the Love of Truth" Blog)
Almost two minutes have passed since I wrote the headline. It’s not because I’m a terribly slow writer (although I am) but I just realized I’m guilty of apathy.
Two children per minute.
I’m counting the number of children that have been trafficked for sexual exploitation since I sat down. It’s been about five minutes. That’s ten kids. A few more minutes and I’ll be out of fingers and toes to count on.
In the time it takes to watch an episode of “Grey’s Anatomy,” 120 kids will have been forced into the most dehumanizing form of slavery. Annually, that’s about 1.2 million children.
I wonder which little lives will be stolen this minute. What do they look like? Where are they from? Who will help them?
According to the U.S. Department of Justice, 13 is the average age of victims when they’re first forced into prostitution.
When I think about human beings as sexual slaves, I picture a timid, petite, 13-year-old girl with messy braids. The young girl has one yellow bow in her hair. The other one has been ripped out. She’s being forced to perform sexual acts with a 45-year-old pedophile. He’s almost three times her size. A size that crushes her miniature frame.
Silent tears fall from her brown eyes as her innocence is robbed for the fifth time today and her mind tries to make sense of what’s happening to her. But she smiles because they tell her to. Smiling slaves are good for business. And business is looking good — real good.
According to The United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF), human trafficking generates $10 to $12 billion dollars a year for organized crime. Did you catch the “b” before “illion”? That’s at least $9 billion more than the $50 million our government spends to combat this crisis.
It’s been 24 minutes. We’re up to 48 kids.
If I continued to count kids more than the calories I consumed or the cell phone minutes I used, I wonder how affected I would be. I wonder if I could ever be more aware of what’s happening to those children than of my waistline or my phone bill or myself.
It shouldn’t be that hard. Everywhere I look, I see faces of children around the world who are suffering needlessly. They’re in my mailbox, on my television screen and in between the lines of most news stories.
They’re beaten, broken, tired, hungry, thirsty, lonely and crying out for someone, anyone, to just do something.
Distracted, I turn away unaffected and apathetic.
Distracted because I live in America, a place where it is easy to escape reality. I have a computer and a MySpace account — the ability to flee. I have a television that dictates reality in shows like, “The Real World.” I have a job and a cell phone. My social life is very demanding. I’m just too busy.
67 more children.
Unaffected because my life tends to revolve around things that have to do with me. If it doesn’t directly impact my personal well-being, it doesn’t exist in my world. I live in a bubble. And it has a steeple.
Apathetic because my heart doesn’t break at the thought of even one child being enslaved. I’d like to say it does, but I’ve felt the pain of a broken heart. I don’t want to feel brokenness because I’m afraid of what I might feel if I felt what those kids feel. I like not hurting.
80 and counting.
100.
I can’t get the words of Holocaust Historian Yehuda Bauer out of my head.
“Thou shall not be a victim. Thou shall not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shall not be a bystander.”
I’m no longer an innocent bystander. I’m a guilty one.
TREASURES OF THE HEART
By Kathy Banaszak
http://www.kathybanaszak.blogpost.com/
E-mail: kathybanaszak@wi.r.com
The vision is crisp and vivid. I see the sweet familiar reflection in those misty morning creek waters: Nicholas’ crinkled up little face, those intense blue eyes searching for what lies below, the furrowed brow, that messy blonde mop . The image of his five year old face has indelibly etched itself into the fabric of my young mother’s heart. A treasure all my own.
My five year old son has just invited me into the inner sanctum of his little boy world. We carefully approach the prized hideout. We’ve trekked all the way from our backyard through the farm fields that back up to our subdivision. The farmer has not yet harvested his fields and the ripe corn is way more than knee-high. The cornstalks tower above him as if he were a mere grasshopper, yet this little adventurer has never walked so tall.
As we approach the edge of the field and stand in the clearing, we can see the woods directly ahead. The early morning autumn sky is a radiant crystal blue and the hint of early frost is still in the air. The smell of toasted leaves from the subdivision behind fills our nostrils. The deep purple wildflowers and bunches of goldenrod line the muddied path before us.
“Look Mom, there it is, we’re here! This is it! This is the ‘Secret Creek’!”
We take our time this early October morning. Rebecca and Daniel will be over at Bethany Preschool’s morning session for another two hours. And so for now, it’s just the two of us.
We explore the rock bed, and Nicholas squeals with delight as he chases after the school of teeny minnows that race furiously in every direction with each step we take. He looks for a keepsake to mark his time here today. The leaves are turning with each new autumn day, and a few bright red maples are strewn on the path before us. No, not those…Lots of broken branches and twigs underfoot. Not those either….
“Wait! Look over there Mom!” Feathers stuck to the side of the rock. Perfect. They must be a dead bird’s feathers, he thinks. Maybe a fox got the bird, he wonders aloud. (I think not, but who would ever spoil such a moment?) Dad gets home from his trip tonight. Nicholas brims with excitement, “Dad will love this!” Treasures for a father’s heart.
In the distance I hear the faint buzz, almost like a drill, coming from somewhere beyond the other side of the woods. I tell myself it must be that road crew we saw yesterday afternoon over on Princeton Road, on our way home from preschool. (That old stretch of country road definitely needs the work!)
The buzz is not going away however and has grown increasingly annoying; it’s disturbing our delightful rendezvous. Abruptly the image recedes and is replaced by a starker one. I find myself in a darkened room. The bright red numbers slap me in the face like a bucket of cold water: “5:45 AM”.
I hit the snooze button, letting the precious images wash over me one last time. I remember again that the little boy adventurer is all grown up and moved out into the real world. I remind myself that he’s also probably still asleep in his bed way on the other end of the country. I whisper my gratitude to my God for the man he has become, for the blessing of his life, for letting me be his Mom. And I thank Him that the young man’s heart remains alive to adventure. Give him your adventures to pursue, Lord.
As I close my eyes again, I see Dan’s face and Becky’s.. I look over and see Rog still on his side. Sammy lets out a weary groan, snuggling in even closer. At the foot of the bed, Buster answers with his own sleepy moan.
As I waken this morning, I talk to Him as I do most every other morning. Please watch over Nick and Dan and Becky today, Father. Let them each feel your love and sense your presence all through their day. Please give them your strength and wisdom for the challenges that will come their way. And thank you so much for your promise to go ahead of them and prepare their way. Be their light on that path. Be their rear guard, protect them from all evil. Please keep them (all of us Father) close to your heart, in tune with your own. Help us all to be sensitive to the nudges of your Spirit as we move through this day. And thank you that you always know the beginning from the end, that You are our Beginning and our End.
A sliver of the new day’s sun slowly starts to peek up on the purplish pink horizon, ready to make its brilliant debut. I am reminded again how great is His lovingkindess, how sweet and tender his mercies - new every morning.
My heart overflows with love toward our children even as I release (for today) the memories of those sweet childhood years now past. In these waking moments of this early morning hour, I recall the sheer delight I feel (Rog too) when Dan or Becky or Nick calls out of the blue in the middle of the day, for no reason at all. They simply want to catch up about our lives or laugh about their latest foibles. Sometimes it’s a struggle to share, a burden to unload, a sorrow to release. Other times it’s just to bask in a moment of sweet success. Treasures for a mother and father’s heart.
For the most part, our kids have all now outgrown those college days when many (if not most) of their phone calls would be about needing money for this or that, help in an emergency, etc. Yet I am struck with just how often still I am like that college kid as I come to God with my urgent and needy pleas for His help with my latest emergency. Of course, He listens always. But I know now that He desires so much more for us than me just giving Him my “To Do” list.
I will never forget what my brother Terry shared at Dad’s funeral a few years back. He was remembering how Dad would simply say nothing at all during those final weeks when Terry would come to spend time with Dad over on the Alzheimer’s wing. Daddy would sometimes just look intently at Terry without speaking a word. One day Terry finally asked him, “Why are looking at me Dad?” Dad just smiled back and answered, “I just like to look at your face.” A reply at once profound and shatteringly sweet.
I will never forget that simple truth; a revelation of the Father heart of God. How much more does my Abba Father desire just to see my face turned toward Him? How much more is his love and desire towards me? How much more does He delight in simply my presence?
Mary of Bethany understood this in a way Martha did not. Jesus made it clear that Mary had chosen the better part. She chose simply to delight herself in Jesus, to bask in his presence. How could she not? He was, after all, her treasure. Listen closely: “Where your treasure is, there your heart and thoughts will also be.” (Jesus, Matthew 23)
“I like looking at your face”. Be always my sweetest delight, dear Jesus, the truest treasure of my heart.
http://www.kathybanaszak.blogpost.com/
E-mail: kathybanaszak@wi.r.com
The vision is crisp and vivid. I see the sweet familiar reflection in those misty morning creek waters: Nicholas’ crinkled up little face, those intense blue eyes searching for what lies below, the furrowed brow, that messy blonde mop . The image of his five year old face has indelibly etched itself into the fabric of my young mother’s heart. A treasure all my own.
My five year old son has just invited me into the inner sanctum of his little boy world. We carefully approach the prized hideout. We’ve trekked all the way from our backyard through the farm fields that back up to our subdivision. The farmer has not yet harvested his fields and the ripe corn is way more than knee-high. The cornstalks tower above him as if he were a mere grasshopper, yet this little adventurer has never walked so tall.
As we approach the edge of the field and stand in the clearing, we can see the woods directly ahead. The early morning autumn sky is a radiant crystal blue and the hint of early frost is still in the air. The smell of toasted leaves from the subdivision behind fills our nostrils. The deep purple wildflowers and bunches of goldenrod line the muddied path before us.
“Look Mom, there it is, we’re here! This is it! This is the ‘Secret Creek’!”
We take our time this early October morning. Rebecca and Daniel will be over at Bethany Preschool’s morning session for another two hours. And so for now, it’s just the two of us.
We explore the rock bed, and Nicholas squeals with delight as he chases after the school of teeny minnows that race furiously in every direction with each step we take. He looks for a keepsake to mark his time here today. The leaves are turning with each new autumn day, and a few bright red maples are strewn on the path before us. No, not those…Lots of broken branches and twigs underfoot. Not those either….
“Wait! Look over there Mom!” Feathers stuck to the side of the rock. Perfect. They must be a dead bird’s feathers, he thinks. Maybe a fox got the bird, he wonders aloud. (I think not, but who would ever spoil such a moment?) Dad gets home from his trip tonight. Nicholas brims with excitement, “Dad will love this!” Treasures for a father’s heart.
In the distance I hear the faint buzz, almost like a drill, coming from somewhere beyond the other side of the woods. I tell myself it must be that road crew we saw yesterday afternoon over on Princeton Road, on our way home from preschool. (That old stretch of country road definitely needs the work!)
The buzz is not going away however and has grown increasingly annoying; it’s disturbing our delightful rendezvous. Abruptly the image recedes and is replaced by a starker one. I find myself in a darkened room. The bright red numbers slap me in the face like a bucket of cold water: “5:45 AM”.
I hit the snooze button, letting the precious images wash over me one last time. I remember again that the little boy adventurer is all grown up and moved out into the real world. I remind myself that he’s also probably still asleep in his bed way on the other end of the country. I whisper my gratitude to my God for the man he has become, for the blessing of his life, for letting me be his Mom. And I thank Him that the young man’s heart remains alive to adventure. Give him your adventures to pursue, Lord.
As I close my eyes again, I see Dan’s face and Becky’s.. I look over and see Rog still on his side. Sammy lets out a weary groan, snuggling in even closer. At the foot of the bed, Buster answers with his own sleepy moan.
As I waken this morning, I talk to Him as I do most every other morning. Please watch over Nick and Dan and Becky today, Father. Let them each feel your love and sense your presence all through their day. Please give them your strength and wisdom for the challenges that will come their way. And thank you so much for your promise to go ahead of them and prepare their way. Be their light on that path. Be their rear guard, protect them from all evil. Please keep them (all of us Father) close to your heart, in tune with your own. Help us all to be sensitive to the nudges of your Spirit as we move through this day. And thank you that you always know the beginning from the end, that You are our Beginning and our End.
A sliver of the new day’s sun slowly starts to peek up on the purplish pink horizon, ready to make its brilliant debut. I am reminded again how great is His lovingkindess, how sweet and tender his mercies - new every morning.
My heart overflows with love toward our children even as I release (for today) the memories of those sweet childhood years now past. In these waking moments of this early morning hour, I recall the sheer delight I feel (Rog too) when Dan or Becky or Nick calls out of the blue in the middle of the day, for no reason at all. They simply want to catch up about our lives or laugh about their latest foibles. Sometimes it’s a struggle to share, a burden to unload, a sorrow to release. Other times it’s just to bask in a moment of sweet success. Treasures for a mother and father’s heart.
For the most part, our kids have all now outgrown those college days when many (if not most) of their phone calls would be about needing money for this or that, help in an emergency, etc. Yet I am struck with just how often still I am like that college kid as I come to God with my urgent and needy pleas for His help with my latest emergency. Of course, He listens always. But I know now that He desires so much more for us than me just giving Him my “To Do” list.
I will never forget what my brother Terry shared at Dad’s funeral a few years back. He was remembering how Dad would simply say nothing at all during those final weeks when Terry would come to spend time with Dad over on the Alzheimer’s wing. Daddy would sometimes just look intently at Terry without speaking a word. One day Terry finally asked him, “Why are looking at me Dad?” Dad just smiled back and answered, “I just like to look at your face.” A reply at once profound and shatteringly sweet.
I will never forget that simple truth; a revelation of the Father heart of God. How much more does my Abba Father desire just to see my face turned toward Him? How much more is his love and desire towards me? How much more does He delight in simply my presence?
Mary of Bethany understood this in a way Martha did not. Jesus made it clear that Mary had chosen the better part. She chose simply to delight herself in Jesus, to bask in his presence. How could she not? He was, after all, her treasure. Listen closely: “Where your treasure is, there your heart and thoughts will also be.” (Jesus, Matthew 23)
“I like looking at your face”. Be always my sweetest delight, dear Jesus, the truest treasure of my heart.
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