Ponder

If you look this way, don't look away.

If you come this way, stay.

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Bring with you your attention.

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Listen with your mind.

Respond with your body.

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Go with clarity.

Return with thought.

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Close nothing.

Learn everything.

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A door must be open.


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You are young, always.

You are young.

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Fight with intelligence.

Stand short.

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Before you speak, question.

Live to wonder, to learn and to do.

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If you hear a voice, don't turn away.

If you fear, fear not alone.

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Definition after endurance.

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Identity

An instant bond is formed when a father’s hobby is adopted by his one and only daughter. I am six years old with bandages on both knees, a curious recreational and spirited follower. My dad, a tall and genuine man, stands beside me to guide and protect. The day is ripe. We hold our fishing poles and smile at my mother. She captures a precious moment in time. It is summer in Stillwater, MN. At the ends of our lines, our lures are swiftly driven by the current flowing through the waters of the St. Croix River Valley. Dad hopes for a few big catches, as I wait for the excitement of a nibble and setting the hook. I’ve been “Daddy’s little fishin’ buddy” since the age of four. Growing up in Minnesota, the 10,000 lakes instantly became a big part of who I am. After all, it’s pretty hard to avoid them. My family is also a big part of who I am, although rather divisive at times unlike the impartiality of the lakes.
Lutheran Church service every Sunday, dinner prayers and bedtime stories opened my eyes to a wonder which would soon decline, much to my surprise. Eleven years old with quiet smarts and not a single fear, my world turns to questions. My mother, the youth and music director at our Church, and my father, the lead tenor in the choir, silently split. The house becomes an unfamiliar territory. The extended families seem to be at war. My young brother, known to us as “Autism Dreamer,” remains happy and content with his rich inner life. Passing questions and comments back and forth from parent to parent, I inevitably develop qualities of the all too famous “middle man.” Hoping to drown out the fuming noise, I began listening to the mathematical equations in my mind, pounding them out problem after problem. Still confusing in my mind is the idea that a family of faith can part, can somehow lose foundation.
The classroom became an escape to where I could excel. The reports were soon displayed on the refrigerator. Through the eyes of my proud father, I obtained perfection. Quite unexpectedly, I learned a new way to raise the bar again. Solo after solo, I sang with a voice I’d never heard before. A voice that filled a room like sunlight; a voice my dad loved. We began to write and record new creations together, inspired by his loyal faith in God and the love we shared with one another. A new bond had formed. The wonder, which I had thought was lost, was found.
The auditorium at my high school became a channel of performance through which my dad could seek and I could answer. Standing on stage before an audience, the influences were only pure. The people around me enjoyed themselves. My number one fan sat dead center, his full attention forward. There were no judgments made. We were a team of elements connecting the dots, one note at a time. I prayed for loyalty and devotion, and found it mostly in my Church choir. One memorable and noteworthy occasion was Christmas Eve of 2005. My dad and I teamed up with another father and daughter of the choir to sing a special, four-part rendition of “Do You Hear What I Hear” during the midnight candlelit service. The congregation received our music with open hearts and welcoming ears, just as a family of faith should relate.
As I prepared for further schooling, dad encouraged me to continue along the path I was on. Together we applied for vocal scholarships, sending sample CD’s to national competitions and traveling to auditions. Five hundred miles from my hometown, I was placed in the top ten of one nation-wide music festival. The University I chose to attend awarded me a scholarship for half my tuition. Dad rejoiced at my triumphs. Somehow, if he could find brightness, it was all worth it. And he did for a moment. Two months before my high school graduation, tragedy struck. An accident put my dad in the ER, with doctors all around him scratching their heads. The world around me leaped back into questions.
In and out of the hospital, I watched my strong father slowly collapse. His head pounding from the inside, he saw one last solo and one graduation. I persevered. My mom traveled her own path of perseverance as her mother slipped from the hands of doctors and medicine. Two funerals were held. My voice at both, echoed sounds of peace. Blue waters sparkled in Northern Minnesota as we scattered the ashes of my father over his favorite spot to fish. An invisible choir sang a triumphant song which only I could hear. The pontoon drifted away while I waved goodbye with my eyes.
Keeping so near to my heart the wishes and dreams dad had for me, I carried on with a music degree. But when I stood on stage, there was a void in the audience. The realization rushed into my face like a wave at sea. The time had come to move on. With this gust of knowledge came strength, but also fear. I dove into new and uncharted territory. My goals became much deeper. A career, a lifestyle and a sense of awareness grabbed my attention. A new environment held clarity and focus. The tides began to change.
Despite today’s death denying society, death is truly a part of who we are. Today, I stand a different person than before. My core is still very much the same: religious in belief and family oriented. My outer layer, however, has been redefined. I’ve learned some very valuable things. Life lessons that most people experience further down the road, I now have under my belt. It may have been a tough road to travel. In fact, it was more like a rollercoaster. But I have certainly gained a new set of filters. And though they are by no means complete, they’ve given me foresight into what I can achieve. The things that are of significance to me now are processed through those filters, leaving only the most precious within. I will always be my daddy’s little fishin’ buddy, but the original trip has been changed forever.
Thirteen years old trolling down the Rum River, the memory is clear as the day before last. The three of us sit with anxious fingers and hands, facing upstream. We suddenly find ourselves caught in a tree branch jutting out into the river. Dad is frantically steering the motor. My brother is surprisingly composed. And as I realize my line is tangled in the tree, the idea of losing my new, expensive fishing pole to the great depths becomes far too alarming that I tumble overboard. In a matter of seconds, dad has me back in the boat. I’m soaked and cold, but still grasping the pole with all my might. The beginning of that year’s fishing season was off to a roaring start. And so, for every following year, I continue clinging to whatever it is that’s most important to me. Following the footsteps of familiarities, I listen and I leap. My voice has yet to be heard across many waters, but that time shall come in due course.

Kind Thoughts

May God (or that which we pray to) watch over the world, and may all persons think with fair, intelligent minds.

For All

Heavenly Father,

Grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change,
the courage to change the things we can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

Amen


I did not write this prayer. It is simply here to share.

Who is he?

His eyes could see

His mouth could taste

His body could feel

Leaves in the trees

Blew gently

The wind offered freedom

Blue below

And around

Yellow warmth from the East

Perfect.

Morning hunger sang

A voice calm and silent

On the branch

Over the lake

Waiting.

Small ripples

Too small

Loud sounds ruin focus

Intruder interrupts

Waiting, again.

Pass the waves, and White

Patient stillness.

- - -

Loud sounds gone

Morning hunger calm

Curious current offered freedom

Blue around

And above

Yellow green Northeast

Pleasant.

Plump with energy

Instinct tells him to jump

Gracefully eager

Big ripples.

- - -

There.

Wings stretch six feet

Diving fast through crisp air

Swoop and snatch

Back to branch

Satisfaction.

Beautiful and bold

He calls this home

A wonder to the rest

A question

A sight

We wait for a glance

Seconds long

And dance

Around ideas and thoughts

Memories of light

Eagerly jumping

Many ripples.

The Tennis Lesson

So it begins, the father teaches. I am young, but quick to learn. The green ball bounces from one friend to the other with such rhythm, the rackets an extension of each player’s arm. I watch and listen. I’m in awe. Suddenly I see the green before me. I swing. Ouch. It’s caught by the net. Shoot. “Try again!” Dad starts the play. I feel my wrist throb. “It hurts my wrist!”

“A good hurt, keep it straight!” I catch a smile from my teacher. Okay, keep it straight. Green again, straight swing. Ouch. It clears the net. Old friend passes with a grin. And so it continued.

I must confess that’s the only time I’ve played thus far. Therefore, I am by no means an expert. But I did learn something quite unique that day. Inside that little green ball lies a lot of power - and not just because it leaves your wrist sore. The true power of the tennis ball is in the gift of sharing. Each time it bounces from your racket, it’s yours for the moment. Then you pass it along, and it becomes your friend’s. What a wonderful way to share wisdom.