DailyConnections.net

Your Greatest Power

The Serenity Prayer
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned as the years have gone by is the futility of being concerned about things over which I have no control. And if it is true that the best definition of wisdom is ‘knowledge rightly applied,’ I’ve gained wisdom in that I now concentrate only on things over which I have at least some modicum of control.
• I can’t stop the inconsiderate person who thoughtlessly throws a wadded up paper towel on the floor of the men’s room for someone else to pick up; but I can pick it up myself and toss it in the waste basket
• I can’t make young people use their turn signals or old people turn their turn signals off; but I can drive carefully and courteously myself
• I can’t stop the DOW Jones Industrial Average from dropping like a rock; but I can be careful about my spending habits and prepare an annual financial plan to make sure that we’re doing the best we can with the funds that we’ve worked so hard to accumulate
• I can’t run the government; but I can respect the President and elected officials currently in power at any given time whether I voted for them or not
• I can’t stop racism or sexism or any other type of ‘ism’; but I can appreciate all cultures and show respect for all people regardless of gender or skin color
• I can’t stop the aging process; but I can continue to learn and love and laugh and cry and work and play with great vigor and enthusiasm
• I can’t prevent people from losing their jobs and facing difficult times; but I can be a friend when it happens to someone by being an encourager
• I can’t be twenty-five again; but I can share (when asked) my experiences, both victories and defeats, in the hopes of making the road a little smoother for younger people who have years and miles ahead of them
• I can’t stop negative people from being negative; but I can choose to avoid them when possible and attempt to be a beacon of light during times of darkness
• I can’t slow down the changes in technology that come at us with warp speed; but I can accept, respect and learn how to use the tools that help us learn, allow us to communicate with the world and provide entertainment
• I can’t control the world (nor do I want to); but I can prevent the world from controlling me by taking responsibility for my actions and becoming a life-long learner
And you? Well, you can make you own list of what you can and cannot control. It’s a truly liberating experience!

Bill Sheridan    Sheridan Writes, LLC     www.sheridanwrites.com

Becoming the Dad I Didn’t Have

Note: This essay was first published in the Des Moines Sunday Register on Father’s Day 2007 (Bill Sheridan, Guest Author)

My viewpoint of Father’s Day began to change on April 1, 1966 when the first of our three sons, Ed, was born. We named him after my father who, for reasons we will never know, ended his own life several months before my eighth birthday.

I grew up the fifth of six children in a single-parent home in the small town of Lawler in northeast Iowa, secretly envying my friends who had a dad. I longed to have a father to play catch with, cheer me on a Little League games, teach me to fish or hunt and attend the myriad of father-son events that occur from first grade through high school graduation. Those were the hardest—I always had to have an uncle or family friend accompany me.

I never liked Father’s Day. The priest, year after year, gave the same sermon about how great dads are and how we should be grateful and honor them. To that end, I built up a personal mythology about how great my dad would have been, even though, in truth, I had very few memories of him. No real father could have lived up to the image of the one I had created in my childhood of fantasies.

When I became a dad as a twenty-one year old young man, things began to change. Three wonderful gifts were given to me in the years that followed, filling that empty hole in my life in the form of our three sons: Ed, Tom and Greg.

From the moment of their respective births to this very day, little by little, I have been able to put that sense of loss behind me and relish the joy of being the father that I didn’t have. In the process of loving each of them and watching them grow into terrific young men, I’ve found it in my heart to forgive Dad for abandoning my mom, my siblings and me by committing suicide.

Attending ball games, band concerts, weddings and various celebrations with my sons is a privilege that I’ve never taken for granted. I cheered as they achieved various academic and professional goals. I cried as each took the inevitable tumbles that life brings along. I made up my mind very early that they would always know that they are loved by their dad—not for what they did or did not do—but for just being.

It was not always easy to know exactly what to do as a father; I didn’t have a role model so undoubtedly made mistakes along the way. Instinctively, however, I somehow understood that the most important thing I could ever give them was my time, understanding, encouragement and moral support.

So Father’s Day now has a different and joyful meaning for me. I am living proof that healing and forgiveness can occur for those of who have lost a father through death, divorce or abandonment. That healing for me began the first time that I became the dad I didn’t have.

Bill Sheridan 
Sheridan Writes, LLC
www.sheridanwrites.com

The Silent Bells of Lawler, Iowa

I wish that I could blame my buddy, George Timlin, who had a knack for getting me into trouble when we were kids. A year older than me, he always created ideas or endeavors that were fun but all too often led to a bad ending.

Truth be told, however, this one was on me.

The custodian at Mt. Carmel Catholic Church of Lawler, Iowa in 1955 was Billy Cutsforth. George and I liked Billy because he would allow us to ring the church bells at noon if we were around. The small bell had a skinny rope and was to be pulled nine times for something called the ‘Angelus.’ This was immediately followed by the big bell which was to be rung twelve times and had a rope that was strong enough to lift an eleven-year-old up in the air a few feet. It was great fun to pull those ropes and announce to the little town of five hundred souls that lunch time had arrived. We didn’t understand that it was actually one bell tied to some type of clapper system. Had we known, the following disaster might have been averted.

On this particular day it was my turn to pull the small rope. As twelve-year-old George waited his turn for the big one, I began to wonder what would happen if we pulled them both at the same time but said nothing to him.

“…six…seven…eight…nine.” I was finished.

My friend began his portion of the gig by dutifully tugging on his rope when I began to say aloud, “I wonder what would happen if…”

But for some reason, I didn’t finish my sentence. Instead, in the middle of George’s sixth ring, I simultaneously pulled on the skinny rope.

Bad move on my part.

Suddenly there was silence. Sickly deadly silence. Deafening silence. Painful silence. Ear piecing silence.

I looked at George.

George looked at me.

We both looked to make sure that Billy Cutsforth was not around and did the most logical thing we could think of—run for home as fast as our little legs could carry us! I’m not sure what George did when he got to his house, but I hid under my bed and prayed for a miracle.

It has been fifty-two years since the unfortunate incident so I can’t recall all the sordid details of crime and punishment. I mostly remember that the Mt. Carmel Church bells in Lawler, Iowa did not ring for at least two weeks, my nick-name for the rest of the summer was “Dinger,” and we were never asked to perform that coveted chore again. Most importantly, I know that if I had not impulsively pulled that rope when I did, I would have missed out on a wonderful adventure to share with my grandsons.

What does that tale have to do with you?

Simply this: I’ve never gotten over being curious about people, new ways of doing things, technology, and just plain STUFF. And, frankly, I hope that you never do either.

You may break a church bell or two with your curiosity, but you will never be bored and may just come up with a way to do something better, more fun, for less money or easier.

The contributions you can make by being bold and adventuresome in your daily tasks will be well worth the risks. Pull on that rope. Take a chance and don’t be dissuaded by an occasional failure. You can always run home and hide under the bed.

In the meantime, I’ve gotta figure out a way to blame Timlin for those busted bells.

THE INVISIBLE PEOPLE

We see them but we don’t–the invisible people.

They serve our food. They clean public restrooms. They drive our taxis. They sell us popcorn at the theater. They ask if we want fries with our hamburger.

We see them but we don’t–the invisible people.

At one point in time we were all one of them because we were too young. We will all be one of them again when we are too old. We were one of them when we did menial tasks for low wages.

We see them but we don’t–the invisible people.

Some try to build up their own miserable self-image by being rude to them. 

But Jesus saw them. And heard them. And loved them. And taught them. And lived with them. And healed them. And brought them back from the dead. And died for them.

Thank you for that selfless act of love, Dear Jesus. Thank you for seeing and saving the invisible people. Thank you for teaching us that wonderful lesson. Forgive us for the times when we did not see them.

Bill Sheridan–SHERIDAN WRITES 

GOD SMILED AT MY SECOND CHANCE

It was late on a winter day about fifteen years ago. I saw him looking in the trash bin as I was leaving the Des Moines, Iowa YMCA and felt the urge to give him something but also was in a bit of a hurry to get home.

Wondering if I should offer him a few bucks–I reached into my pocket (I hate carrying a billfold) and found four crumpled up one-dollar bills.

That’s when it occurred to me that I had a dilemma. My buddies and I were meeting for Bible Study the next morning and I needed some cash to throw into the kitty for the breakfast rolls and orange juice.

It was obvious that Trash Bin Man needed the money more than me, but I was not going to have time to stop at an ATM. What to do?

I took the easy way out and walked toward my car when I heard the man squeal out in delight as he found some empty pop bottles to turn in for a refund, “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus!”

Mortified and embarrassed by my selfish act and already standing by my car, I opened the door and drove home in shame. My pride at not having cash to throw into the Bible Study pot was bigger than my opportunity to have done something that would have been pleasing to my Lord.

I never forgot that unpleasant experience and vowed that if the opportunity presented itself again, I would do the right thing and empty my pocket for the person in need.

Obviously, God was paying attention. Fast-forward a year or two and I was leaving church one Sunday morning. As I neared my automobile I noticed a man standing over and rooting around in a large trash container.

Feeling in my pocket I pulled out the only bill that I had in it. To my chagrin it turned out to be a twenty.

Although I knew what I had to do, it was a bit painful.

“Sir?”

“What?”

Defensive and agitated, he did not want to get an anticipated lecture from me and seemed uncomfortable that I had come upon him.

“I believe the Lord told me to give this to you.”

He looked at his gift and mumbled a ‘thank you’ saying that he could really use it.

This time when I got in my car I think I heard God whisper to me, “That cost you an extra sixteen bucks, my son. Have you learned your lesson.”

“Yes, Lord,” I said with a smile. I believe I have. Yes, indeed, I believe I have.”

Bill Sheridan–SHERIDAN WRITES