Remembering Grandpa

You know what I love about this picture?  I love how happy they all look.
This is Amy, Grandpa Bensch (Jeremy's father), and DJ.  Grandpa was a firefighter, and he brought home firefighting clothes for the kids to try on.  They were amazed at how heavy the clothes are. 
Grandpa Bensch died a few months ago.  He was way too young to die, and it was very unexpected.  I am grateful for my faith in an afterlife and in a loving God.  This is a letter I wrote to my kids just after he died, in hopes that they will also take comfort in faith.

Rembering Grandpa

            When Mikey was a baby, Grandpa Bensch tended him while Daddy and I went out sometimes.  Grandpa told me once that Mikey’s eyes looked older and wiser than baby eyes, like the eyes of someone who hadn’t forgotten living with Heavenly Father.  He also said he felt like he and Mikey had known each other for a long, long time, and I think he was right. I like to think Mikey and Grandpa have had time to talk now.  Perhaps Mikey came to meet Grandpa and show him the way home.

            After we die, our spirits go on to a post-mortal existence. Grandpa definitely was a good man who understood service, compassion, and genuine concern for his neighbors and family.            

         I have been blessed to know that Mikey was waiting for Grandpa.  I know they already know and love each other.  It makes me happy to think of these two men talking about their lives, their family, and you now that they can be together again. 

          I am glad your Grandpa was so cool.  I'm glad I knew him.  I'm glad I once (but only once) beat him at gin.

My kids are very lucky to have had such a Grandpa.  The world is poorer now than it was last year, but Heaven is richer.

New Adventures

After serious consideration, I am moving forward with becoming a living kidney donor.  Follow my adventures (if you care) at http://www.lesdonates.blogspot.com/
I'm excited for this opportunity to serve and to learn.  Wish me luck!

Harmony and Hope Trump Human Nature

            I have heard amazing things from the people around me, and not always in a good way.  There is so much sadness, bitterness, anger, and incivility in the world.  Encounters with other humans so often leads to betrayal and hurt and annoyance. 

            I know one woman who is convinced that if she lets anyone close to her heart, she will inevitably be betrayed.  She thinks it is human nature that people can’t help but be selfish and uncaring in their words and actions.  I don’t know what happened to break her heart, but it seems she has had more than one friendship turn sour in her life, leading her to block out everyone and isolate herself.

            One man said he often thinks of stoning other drivers on the highway.  He gets cut off, blocked, treated rudely every time he gets in his car.  I have never been in a car that he’s driving, but his wife says he snarls and complains at other drivers all the time, sometimes believing they can hear him. 

            I hear stories all the time about cranky people in the grocery store or the gas station who go out of their way to be rude, inconsiderate and boorish to everyone around them, customers and cashiers alike.  People push past others in the aisles, mutter snide remarks in passing, and take the last item someone else was just reaching for. 

            Is this really the world we live in?  Are we all destined for a lifetime of hurt and sadness?

            I don’t think I live in a world like that.  I have several genuine, true friendships with women who would never intentionally hurt my feelings.  I have always chatted with customers and cashiers at the grocery store—I even know the personal stories of some of the cashiers at stores I frequent.  I have never been cut off while driving (and yes, I do drive in Utah, and California, and sometimes Nevada, where everyone complains about everyone else on the road).  I don’t think I’m moving around in a giant, protective bubble that keeps out the crazies and the meanies.  I think I simply choose to see the good in people.

            Or I choose not to care.  Every once in a while, someone will approach me and say, “I hope I didn’t offend you,” and I will have no idea what they’re talking about.  Maybe I wasn’t listening when they said whatever-it-was.  Maybe I just don’t care enough about that person’s opinion to let it get to me.  I’m not an angel, and one of my faults is that I just don’t care much about what other people say or think about me.  I’m rarely offended, but I fail to be touched sometimes, too.

            I do have a couple cousins who love everyone and are loved by everyone.  For them, the world is full of friends and potential friends.  Bad people, anger, betrayal simply don’t exist in their worlds, because no one would ever dream of hurting them.  I wonder if they attract only good people, or if the way they choose to perceive their surroundings changes how they feel in their surroundings. 

            Life is not all about perception, I know.  There are instances of genuine betrayal.  The family “friend” who molests a child, the man who gets violent when angry, the person who spreads rumors and lies just to ruin a reputation—these people exist, unfortunately.  No amount of positive thinking and genuine human compassion will make these behaviors acceptable in any way.  Some people should be shunned by polite society.

            But some people are just trying to get through the day, like everybody else.  Sometimes choosing to perceive the world a little differently can make a huge difference.  Learning to let little things blow by without being affected by them can, perhaps, contribute to the harmony in the world.  And we could use all the harmony we can get.

Exploited Children and Powerful Children

My baby is sixteen, taller than I, with a deep bass voice.  His features are becoming more chiseled, his biceps are more defined, the adorable baby fat is gone entirely.  He is upstairs in his bedroom right now, probably watching a movie or talking on the phone.  He has been sheltered and protected all his life.  He has never known real hunger.  He went to school, played with friends, went to church and scouts, took trips with his family.  He is one of the lucky ones.

            Where is your baby?  How old is he?  Is he safe in your home?  Is he safe in your neighborhood, or in his local school?  Is he one of the lucky ones?

            Child sex slavery is a booming business in the United States.  Estimates say about 100,000 children are forced to work in the sex industry, which rakes in $32 billion a year.  These children, as young as 10 or even younger, have lived their short lives with abuse, molestation and fear.  Children run away from home to escape sexual abuse.  They have no sense of self and nowhere to go.  A pimp can swoop in, very charming, polite and attentive, flattering and fawning, making a child feel safe, liked, perhaps even loved.  Eleven-year-old girls, just beginning to look like the women they will become, are having sex for money, exploited by their pimps and their johns.

            This is not a horror story that happens only in third world countries.  It is not only in cultures so vastly different from ours we have little hope of understanding.  This happens here, in America, in our own backyards.  It happens in Utah, in Georgia, in Texas and New Jersey.  These children are arrested for prostitution while their pimps hide and the johns go free. 

            There is an organization, called Child Rescue, working to stop the child sex trade and human trafficking.  The founders of the organization pay all operating costs of the organization, so all donations go toward educating and supporting law enforcement agencies, providing support services to children escaping the sex trade, and increasing awareness of the tragedy.

            My baby and his high school choir learned about the scope and scale of child sex slavery, and got behind this organization.  This group of students, children themselves, organized fund raising efforts to donate to the cause.  Their theme song for the cause, the song they use to show the heartbreaking reality of exploited children, was written by Kurt Bestor. 

Prayer of the Children

Can you hear the prayer of the children on bended knee, in the shadow of an unknown room?

Empty eyes with no more tears to cry turning heavenward toward the light.

Crying," Jesus, help me to see the morning light of one more day,

but if I should die before I wake, I pray my soul to take."

Can you feel the hearts of the children aching for home, for something of their very own.

Reaching hands with nothing to hold onto but hope for a better day, a better day.

Crying," Jesus, help me to feel the love again in my own land,

but if unknown roads lead away from home, give me loving arms, away from harm."

Can you hear the voice of the children softly pleading for silence in their shattered world?

Angry guns preach a gospel full of hate, blood of the innocent on their hands.

Crying," Jesus, help me to feel the sun again upon my face?

For when darkness clears, I know you're near, bringing peace again."

Dali čujete sve dječje molitve? Can you hear the prayer of the children?

           

            The men’s choir sang this in four parts.  I watched my son’s young face, barely out of babyhood and still a child, singing about heartbreak and pain.  I cried to think of this child I carried under my heart bound to slavery by a heartless world.  If he had been less lucky, it could have been him.  I cried for the other children, once carried safely under their mothers’ hearts, who are not so lucky.  I cried for the thousands of children in our country and around the world who need to be rescued. 

            I am touched and awed by the power these students have.  They have the power to change the world.  They can band together for good, fighting for a cause they believe in.  They have strong hearts and willing hands to help anyone in need.  They can change the life of one child. 

            Your baby has the same power.  Your baby, no matter how young, can work with his peers to change hearts and lives, to improve the world, to save humanity.  Ask your baby to join the cause.  Donations can be made to childrescue.org or to the choir at my son’s high school.

            It is up to us, as adults, to help our babies realize their potential and their power.  Then it is our job to get out of their way while they save us all.

Angel Child

            My first son was born barely twelve months after his sister.  He was just shy of seven pounds, fair skinned and blue eyed, and cute as a button.  We knew we wanted to name him after his father and my father, Michael Jeremy, but that name seemed too big for him.  We called him Mikey, which suited him just fine.

He sat in his swing and observed the world contentedly as long as someone was in the room with him.  He loved to watch people move around, working or playing.  He happily cuddled when I held him, and grinned at me when I walked past him.  I clearly remember watching him look intently at a family friend, neither smiling nor scowling. But he showed a huge, toothless baby smile when I looked over our friend’s shoulder.  As tiny as he was, he clearly knew and loved Mom.

Mikey hated being left alone.  He screamed whenever we put him in his crib, so mostly he slept with us.  He lay on my abdomen until I was stiff from lying still enough not to wake him; then I poked my husband and he slept on Daddy’s chest for a while.  I was so tired, with a newborn and a one-year-old, that I didn’t care what parenting books advised and I did whatever it took to get some sleep. 

            My tiny boy had a habit of looking into eyes.  His grandfather commented that his eyes seemed much older and wiser, as if he knew more than he could tell us.  It seemed that he had not forgotten where he lived before he was born, and carried memories of God with him onto Earth. 

            Mikey died in his sleep when he was 3 ½ months old.  Officially, he died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, of SIDS.  I believe he died because he had work to do for his Heavenly Father that couldn’t wait.  He did remember more than most of us, because he knew he was going right back.  I am humbled and awed to have been his mother, and proud of my angel son.

Celebrating Death?

May 2, 2011   

The image of the plane hitting the second tower, and the tower crumbling, is replaying in my head.  I was at home the morning of September 11, 2001, getting ready for work, when my husband called and said, “Turn on the TV.  You need to see this.”  I watched in horrified fascination as thousands of people died.  I listened to the news of the Pentagon being hit, then the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania.  That day is burned into my memory and the memories of all Americans who saw the destruction.

            Since that day we have been at war in the Middle East, fighting against terrorism.  Osama Bin Laden approved the attack; his organization took credit for the disaster.  Al Qaeda claimed a victory against the United States and continued to spread terror and violence in what they called a Holy War. 

            Yesterday, a US military operation killed Bin Laden.  His house was ransacked, many of his associates and family died, and his body was taken into US custody.  I heard President Obama announce the success of the operation, and the image of those towers falling immediately came to the foreground of my mind.  This man led the group responsible for the massive loss of life.  As horrific as the attack on the United States was, I cannot rejoice in his death.

            Killing Bin Laden may have been justified.  Perhaps his death will lead to the eventual disbanding of Al Qaeda (but don’t hold your breath).  But his death will not restore the lives or the towers lost that day so long ago.  It will not restore the security and safety we felt as American citizens.  It will not end war or terrorism.

            No matter how justified, I cannot celebrate the loss of any human life.  Human life is precious and unique.  Respect for human life means respect for all life, even if the life in question is evil.  If I could celebrate and rejoice in death, I would be no better than the terrorists I profess to despise.  Bin Laden may have deserved to die, but his loss is felt by his children and his wives who loved him and looked to him for safety in a scary world. 

            Never-the-less, I feel a profound relief and hope for the world I live in.  I am relieved at the end of Bin Laden’s reign of terror.  I am hopeful that the world may become a little more peaceful, that American citizens can regain the sense of brotherhood we felt so keenly in 2001, that terrorism may decrease throughout the world.

            I am under no delusions that this operation is the end of all wars or the end of terrorism.  Our military will not be home tomorrow, or this week, or even this year.  Soldiers and civilians will continue to die in acts of war throughout the world.  Mankind’s capacity for inhumanity was not eradicated by this one death. 

            But maybe someone will see the error of terrorist thinking.   Maybe a few teenage boys will escape the clutches of Al Qaeda.  Maybe a father will go home to his family instead of continuing the war on humanity.  Maybe an American who lost a loved one in the World Trade Tower collapse will finally feel a sense of closure.  Maybe healing can begin for America, and for the world.

            So, I am hopeful for a better world, a brighter future, a more peaceful world community. 

Confessions

o   I doodle in class when I should be taking notes

o   Sometimes I’m really bored in lectures, and I need to stay awake

o   Doodling looks just like note-taking to a professor.

o   I’m addicted to caffeine

o   I need diet cola to function.

o   My cat is more spoiled than my children

o   My dog is more spoiled than my cat

o   I try to ignore the family dog whenever possible.

o   My house has no electronic noise

o   Everyone is required to use headphones for music, TV, etc.

o   But we all use our cell phones to call the person in the next room

o   I guess we’re just too lazy to walk across the house.

o   Remember that icky thing that happened on orchestra tour? I know what really happened.

o   It wasn’t what they accused us of.

o   No one was being malicious or vindictive

o   I will carry the secret to the grave.

o   I lie about my weight on my drivers’ license

o   It still says what I weighed when I first got it—117 pounds

o   I haven’t weighed that little since high school.

o   I sometimes think I want another baby

o   But then I remember that I like sleeping through the night

o   And I have grandchildren

o   Grandchildren are more fun.

o   I tried Friday confessions because some of my friends do it

o   Basically, I stole their idea

o   If you steal ideas from lots of people it’s called research, right?

Happy Friday, everyone!