As I sit and watch blood being drawn from the arms of people of various ages my mind wanders. This time I am only a spectator as I am there with my wife Jane who was making an autologous blood donation in preparation for her hip and knee replacement surgeries. I recall how now some 60 years ago I somewhat apprehensively donated my first pint. Then came the first gallon milestone. After that things got interesting because I was in Hong Kong with different protocols. Most of the Chinese colleagues were very poor, with barely adequate diets and quite understandably apprehensive about giving up any of their blood. Then our school accountant’s wife desperately needed blood. Of course, I donated. I was overwhelmed with the response. It almost took on some heroic proportion as the talk spread throughout the campus “Principal Kieschnick has donated blood. It went to a Chinese woman. And she is doing well!”
There was another surprise. Immediately after the blood was drawn the nurse asked me “”Now, do you want a shot of rum or or scotch?” I assume she was kidding me as I had always been told to avoid alcohol for 24 hours after donating. But she assured me it was okay, that it was the usual practice to make this offer to any foreigner who donated blood in Hong Kong. She went on: “We get most of our donations from British servicemen and the only way we get them to do it is to offer them a nice tot of rum after the donation!”
I no longer donate because the last time I did it took me an hour to fill that little plastic bag. But I do feel good about those several gallons I have given and wonder where (if anywhere) it still flows.
Later the same day I was relaxing at a bar with a delicious margarita. I observed a high school kid come in and fill out a summer work application form. He was all bright-eyed and ready to go to work. My guess is he would do almost anything offered him. I asked the bartender about the job prospect for a summer job. “Zilch!” he said. “We have a drawer full of apps from kids like him. Of course, we have no jobs but we hate to discourage young lads like that.” Today summer jobs for teens are almost nonexistent. That got me to reflecting on my summer jobs. One word said it all: SWEAT.
Most of my summer jobs were with construction companies and I was always at the very lowest end of worker competence. The tools most often given me were pick and shovel. I dug and trimmed and deepened foundation trenches. In San Antonio Texas! In the summer! In temperatures often above 100ยบ! My memories of my summer work are of being drenched in sweat. But I did work and I saved the money and I made it through college and I can still feel and smell the SWEAT.
BLOOD, SWEAT but NO TEARS. I had thought about tears because I had just paid more money for a complete set of tires than I had ever paid in my life and I was in the dumps over that. Then that margarita helped put things into perspective. I calculated that the 45,000-mile warranty on those tires will take me to age 87 so I had just bought my last set of tires and that is no reason for tears!
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Little Drops of Water
I reflect with amazement. Today a little ditty I leaned in my first years of Lutheran elementary school back in he 1930’s kept running through my mind. I wondered how his little tune got to Teacher Bleeke who taught us first graders, especially since almost any song we would have been taught would have been hymns – in German.
I first turned to a source never dreamed of even in science fiction back in those days: Google. I found a version of the poem attributed to one Mrs. J.A. Carney, written in 1845. Then my wife Jane, also a graduate of a Lutheran elementary school found in a book entitled “Select Songs for School and Home” published in 1922. The Preface of the book tells us that the songs in the book were written at the express command of the Lutheran Church to come up with an English song book to supplement the German “Liederperlen”. Then in the late 1930’s (I think) a new all English songbook called “The Music Reader” became a standard songbook for Lutheran schools and it, too, (if memory serves me correctly) included this little gem.
Interestingly, the words change from text to text reflecting what I believe to have been concern for doctrinal and theological orthodoxy. And on this sunny day of 2011 it all came back to me in a version clearly etched in my brain. I will go with what I think is the original:
Little drops of water
Little gains of sand
Make the mighty ocean
And the beauteous land.
Little deeds of kindness
Little words of love
Make our earth an Eden
Like the heavens above.
And the little moments
Humble though they be
Make the mighty ages
Of eternity.
And why are those words and the accompanying tune ringing in my ears all day today? Because today I was nourished by those little drops of water and was sustained by those little grains of sand. My wife has been ill. Email brought the little drops of water in the form of get well cards; Then the mail arrived: more drops. This afternoon I was at the drugstore when I noticed a man looking closely at me. When I looked back he said, “Wow! I just want to tell you I really like that shirt you are wearing.” I went to pick up our dinner and the hostess said, “ Mr. Kieschnick, that shirt really looks good on you.” Then another drop: A friend contacted to say that she will visit Jane while I am not home next Tuesday. Little drops of water. Son David stopped by saying, “I brought these chocolate covered strawberries. I thought you might enjoy them.”
So I resolved to swim in those little drops that make the mighty ocean, to savor the little moments, to drop a little water myself. And to share a grain of sand. In this moment I will revel in the mighty ages of eternity.
I first turned to a source never dreamed of even in science fiction back in those days: Google. I found a version of the poem attributed to one Mrs. J.A. Carney, written in 1845. Then my wife Jane, also a graduate of a Lutheran elementary school found in a book entitled “Select Songs for School and Home” published in 1922. The Preface of the book tells us that the songs in the book were written at the express command of the Lutheran Church to come up with an English song book to supplement the German “Liederperlen”. Then in the late 1930’s (I think) a new all English songbook called “The Music Reader” became a standard songbook for Lutheran schools and it, too, (if memory serves me correctly) included this little gem.
Interestingly, the words change from text to text reflecting what I believe to have been concern for doctrinal and theological orthodoxy. And on this sunny day of 2011 it all came back to me in a version clearly etched in my brain. I will go with what I think is the original:
Little drops of water
Little gains of sand
Make the mighty ocean
And the beauteous land.
Little deeds of kindness
Little words of love
Make our earth an Eden
Like the heavens above.
And the little moments
Humble though they be
Make the mighty ages
Of eternity.
And why are those words and the accompanying tune ringing in my ears all day today? Because today I was nourished by those little drops of water and was sustained by those little grains of sand. My wife has been ill. Email brought the little drops of water in the form of get well cards; Then the mail arrived: more drops. This afternoon I was at the drugstore when I noticed a man looking closely at me. When I looked back he said, “Wow! I just want to tell you I really like that shirt you are wearing.” I went to pick up our dinner and the hostess said, “ Mr. Kieschnick, that shirt really looks good on you.” Then another drop: A friend contacted to say that she will visit Jane while I am not home next Tuesday. Little drops of water. Son David stopped by saying, “I brought these chocolate covered strawberries. I thought you might enjoy them.”
So I resolved to swim in those little drops that make the mighty ocean, to savor the little moments, to drop a little water myself. And to share a grain of sand. In this moment I will revel in the mighty ages of eternity.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Mother’s Day 2011 Mental Images
Tomorrow is Mother’s Day 2011. Time for me to recall more images of my mother.
Mother as Writer: It seems very strange to write the phrase: “Mother as writer”. It was my Father who was the writer. It is I who was supposed to be the writer in our family. But this Mother’s Day I recall Mother as the writer: writer of letters. Mother never went beyond the 6th grade at that small Zion Lutheran School in Walburg Texas. Yet she learned to write as evidenced by the many letters she wrote me. They were always in a very clear handwriting. Even more impressive: I do not recall her ever making either a spelling or grammar mistake. They were simple, direct, descriptive, of few words but strong emotion. They not only brought news of the family but also messages of concern, affirmation and hope.. I was a missionary in Hong Kong at a time when church ruled allowed us to return home only after 5 years of uninterrupted service abroad. It was Mother who kept those images of home, of faith, or affirmation or connectiveness alive for me. She did it through her great skill a writer.
My father was called Teacher Kieschnick all his life. His three sons all went into the “teaching ministry”. Yet, one of my strong images of Mother is that of Mother as Teacher. I am not now thinking of her as a teacher of her own children but as teacher of other children-in the church Sunday School. She had plenty of reason not to be a Sunday School teacher. She had her own 9 children to care for. She herself never attended a single day of Sunday School in her life because as she grew up her congregation had no such institution. Yet, today, I recall her, in her sixties - with her classroom Sunday School pamphlets, materials for a flannel graph presentation and star- filled attendance charts on her way to teach Sunday School. She always said, almost differentially, “Well I can only teach the very little ones”. The very little ones were the ones to whom my Mother brought messages of love, forgiveness, faith and hope. She was indeed a ”teacher sent from God.”
Mother as Spouse. I doubt if Mother could relate to today’s appropriate emphasis upon each person having an identity other than “spouse of”. In her lifetime that is simply the primary l way i n which she perceived herself. She was in her own eyes always “the wife of Teacher Kieschnick”. That meant that her husband was considered Minister of the Church and more. He was the congregation school principal, organist, choir director, spiritual leader, consultant on all matters of faith and Christian life - and Mother was "his wife “.
Mother would never even think that someone might seek her advice. If someone asked her opinion on matter of faith or church life, or raising children or proper etiquette, or societal affairs I am sure she would have referred the questioner to her husband. When she selected clothes for her children, when she was approving or distressed over the behavior of her kids, when she heard others make comments `on her children it seems to me that she immediately placed herself into a role Teacher’s Wife. In retrospect I regret that. She had great personal strength of character. She was an incredibly strong woman of purpose ,of pain tolerance, of insight into relationships. She did not need to “find her self esteem” in relation to her role in society - yet I do believe that that is what she did. In the process she humbly accepted: her place ”. It was a role she humbly accepted –and I wish to this day that she could have moved beyond that, to have seen herself as one with a strong self image, a vital role player in the life of others, a teacher and a leader. For truly that is who she was.
So on this Mother’s Day I recall and honor my mother; a writer, a teacher, a leader.
Mother as Writer: It seems very strange to write the phrase: “Mother as writer”. It was my Father who was the writer. It is I who was supposed to be the writer in our family. But this Mother’s Day I recall Mother as the writer: writer of letters. Mother never went beyond the 6th grade at that small Zion Lutheran School in Walburg Texas. Yet she learned to write as evidenced by the many letters she wrote me. They were always in a very clear handwriting. Even more impressive: I do not recall her ever making either a spelling or grammar mistake. They were simple, direct, descriptive, of few words but strong emotion. They not only brought news of the family but also messages of concern, affirmation and hope.. I was a missionary in Hong Kong at a time when church ruled allowed us to return home only after 5 years of uninterrupted service abroad. It was Mother who kept those images of home, of faith, or affirmation or connectiveness alive for me. She did it through her great skill a writer.
My father was called Teacher Kieschnick all his life. His three sons all went into the “teaching ministry”. Yet, one of my strong images of Mother is that of Mother as Teacher. I am not now thinking of her as a teacher of her own children but as teacher of other children-in the church Sunday School. She had plenty of reason not to be a Sunday School teacher. She had her own 9 children to care for. She herself never attended a single day of Sunday School in her life because as she grew up her congregation had no such institution. Yet, today, I recall her, in her sixties - with her classroom Sunday School pamphlets, materials for a flannel graph presentation and star- filled attendance charts on her way to teach Sunday School. She always said, almost differentially, “Well I can only teach the very little ones”. The very little ones were the ones to whom my Mother brought messages of love, forgiveness, faith and hope. She was indeed a ”teacher sent from God.”
Mother as Spouse. I doubt if Mother could relate to today’s appropriate emphasis upon each person having an identity other than “spouse of”. In her lifetime that is simply the primary l way i n which she perceived herself. She was in her own eyes always “the wife of Teacher Kieschnick”. That meant that her husband was considered Minister of the Church and more. He was the congregation school principal, organist, choir director, spiritual leader, consultant on all matters of faith and Christian life - and Mother was "his wife “.
Mother would never even think that someone might seek her advice. If someone asked her opinion on matter of faith or church life, or raising children or proper etiquette, or societal affairs I am sure she would have referred the questioner to her husband. When she selected clothes for her children, when she was approving or distressed over the behavior of her kids, when she heard others make comments `on her children it seems to me that she immediately placed herself into a role Teacher’s Wife. In retrospect I regret that. She had great personal strength of character. She was an incredibly strong woman of purpose ,of pain tolerance, of insight into relationships. She did not need to “find her self esteem” in relation to her role in society - yet I do believe that that is what she did. In the process she humbly accepted: her place ”. It was a role she humbly accepted –and I wish to this day that she could have moved beyond that, to have seen herself as one with a strong self image, a vital role player in the life of others, a teacher and a leader. For truly that is who she was.
So on this Mother’s Day I recall and honor my mother; a writer, a teacher, a leader.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Anger
My pastor took a well-deserved week of vacation the week after Easter and asked me to fill in for him while he was gone. As soon as I arrived at the church office on Monday morning a gentleman was waiting for me. He wanted my help. His brother had just called that he was being denied help at the local Vets Hospital. The gentlemen wanted my assistance for his deeply in need brother.
The story: This Afghanistan War vet was having terrible headaches. He could not keep food down. He was disorientated. He could not get assistance at the Vet Hospital. “Go to the local emergency room!” he was told by the admissions staff. There was very little that I could do for him, but the good news is that the vet was finally admitted.
After those processes were completed and his record pulled up more of the story emerged. He had indeed needed treatment for a brain injury. A doctor had made a previous recommendation for treatment, but then “the system somehow lost the diagnosis and he had never been treated.”
I get angry when I continue to hear stories about our vets who do not get appropriate treatment, especially for post traumatic stress syndrome. The soldier in this case was next to his best friend when that friend took a bullet and was killed. He filed a report and was immediately sent back on duty. No one ever offered him any counseling. Now he is finding it very difficult to cope and even more difficult to get assistance for his own wounds, physical and psychological.
This afternoon I called on the eldest member of our congregation, one of the most gentle of men that I have ever met. But he was agitated. He had just learned of one of his friends (also an Afghanistan vet) who had given up on getting medical treatment due him as a vet. He’d had to finally secure his own private health insurance in an effort to get the assistance he needs and deserves.
That’s why I am angry. We ask our young military people to make incredible sacrifices for us and then, when they need our assistance to get back to some kind of a normal life, we fail them.
This brings me to Wheat Ridge Ministries, which provides resources particularly to churches who want to support returning service personnel. Especially helpful are the recommendations in the book “Welcome Them Home Help Them Heal”. If more individuals and organizations will follow the great processes outlined in this booklet it will do much more than reduce my anger. It will give those who need and deserve our support both assistance and healing.
The story: This Afghanistan War vet was having terrible headaches. He could not keep food down. He was disorientated. He could not get assistance at the Vet Hospital. “Go to the local emergency room!” he was told by the admissions staff. There was very little that I could do for him, but the good news is that the vet was finally admitted.
After those processes were completed and his record pulled up more of the story emerged. He had indeed needed treatment for a brain injury. A doctor had made a previous recommendation for treatment, but then “the system somehow lost the diagnosis and he had never been treated.”
I get angry when I continue to hear stories about our vets who do not get appropriate treatment, especially for post traumatic stress syndrome. The soldier in this case was next to his best friend when that friend took a bullet and was killed. He filed a report and was immediately sent back on duty. No one ever offered him any counseling. Now he is finding it very difficult to cope and even more difficult to get assistance for his own wounds, physical and psychological.
This afternoon I called on the eldest member of our congregation, one of the most gentle of men that I have ever met. But he was agitated. He had just learned of one of his friends (also an Afghanistan vet) who had given up on getting medical treatment due him as a vet. He’d had to finally secure his own private health insurance in an effort to get the assistance he needs and deserves.
That’s why I am angry. We ask our young military people to make incredible sacrifices for us and then, when they need our assistance to get back to some kind of a normal life, we fail them.
This brings me to Wheat Ridge Ministries, which provides resources particularly to churches who want to support returning service personnel. Especially helpful are the recommendations in the book “Welcome Them Home Help Them Heal”. If more individuals and organizations will follow the great processes outlined in this booklet it will do much more than reduce my anger. It will give those who need and deserve our support both assistance and healing.
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