The Word of God
A Panda Bear Thanksgiving in 2020
If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Two years ago, there were multiple births of children that curtailed travel and the usual Thanksgiving dinner at Grandpa’s. Last year, kids had the flu and this year, well, this year it’s COVID-19 that’s preventing this family from all parts to gather in Phoenix and share the turkey (and all the fixings) with the virtual patriarch of the family. Of course, there will be Zoom-ing, Skype-ing, and FaceTime-ing, but they all knew that it would simply not be the same. Well, at least to be a tad optimistic, Grandpa will not be alone because his youngest daughter and her family will join him and although it’ll be considerably smaller than most years of happy memory, it will be a Thanksgiving nonetheless giving God all the gratitude they could muster.
Grandpa was happy enough and if he was disappointed with just his daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter, whom he adored, as the only attendees, you couldn’t tell. Once the little family entered his home, they were greeted with a comforting gush of aromas that catapulted them all into another existence. The house smelled so good and comforting that signaled that this would be memorable Thanksgiving for more reasons than they were prepared to experience.
Perhaps the emotional worries that have accompanied many American families this year, with the virus and everything associated with it, may have slowly and silently built tension and worry. Remembering that our children see and hear everything we say and do, the little granddaughter seemed just a little out of sorts and perhaps a little needy and rambunctious, to a surprising degree, even to her parents, but not to this wise grandfather who had lived several generations than most and who knew anxiety in children when he saw it. He had already set part of the table with the items that he was best able to provide: mashed potatoes, delicious brown gravy, and of course, dinner rolls, that although he had not prepared from scratch, the fact that he bought them and presented them, made the bread that more delicious and nourishing. And this is when it happened. As her parents brought in the turkey, well packed and bountiful, their daughter immediately bypassed the traditional greeting and hug for Grandpa, went straight to the table, grabbed a roll and proceeded to plunge it into the gravy like Shamu at SeaWorld, and slam it into her mouth. Her parents were understandably horrified, and the yelling soon began but before any further knee-jerk dressing-down reaction could further be employed, Grandpa lovingly intervened. After directing the rest of the meal to be put on hold, he called everyone to the living room and with the portrait of his late wife and their loving grandmother smiling in the background, he started.
“Look,” he began. “I want to tell you all a story before we eat. We’re all we have in this world and I cannot let this moment turn into a family disaster that separates us more than we already are.”
Then he began with his little granddaughter on his lap:
“A Tibetan legend of the panda states that many, many years ago, when these bears lived in the Himalayas, they were completely white in color. They must have resembled polar bears more than any other creature at that time and they were very playful. They lived, as it were, in a type of wintery-Eden of seemingly pure innocence and peace. They were also friends with a certain shepherdess who would watch over the flocks and fields and seemed to be a type of protective yet, maternal figure for the cubs. And just like in the Garden of Eden, there was present in this snowy playground, mortal danger always lurking nearby. It was the angry leopard, ravenous and envious of the sweet laughter and love of these child-like and guiltless souls.”
“Late one afternoon, as the sun began to drop behind the majestic snow-capped mountains, the shepherdess began to herd all the bears home after a long day when she spotted a cub playing near the brush covering the base of the mountain. Suddenly, without warning, the leopard seized upon his wicked moment, leapt out in front of his young prey with only one deadly intention. The shepherdess ran with all her might toward them both and threw herself in front of the cub and, after a mighty struggle, remained lifeless and silent upon the earth which stood hard as iron. She was simply no match for the vicious claws and fangs of the evil predator and its barbarous intentions and died protecting innocence upon the frozen ground. The horrific sounds of the battle mixed with the cries of the panda cub echoed throughout the valley and brought the remaining den of bears quickly to the scene. They arrived utterly stunned in disbelief at the sight of such carnage and butchery, the pristine snow-covered ground now drenched in layers of bright red casualty.”
“The next day they gathered for the funeral of the brave girl who risked everything to save one of their own. With broken hearts and tear-soaked faces they approached the place of burial where, as was their custom, they would gather and throw black ashes upon the neatly shrouded body as it was made ready for its final resting ground. But it was too much for them. One after the other, they could not contain their cries of pain and anguish. With ashes still in their paws, they wiped their eyes, held each other tightly, arm upon arm, and then held their ears shut so as to block the sounds of their grieving pain while they sat miserably in the remaining heaps of the dark, cold cinders. The once ivory-white fur of these pandas was now blackened like the night as their guardian and friend was laid to rest.”
And then Grandpa concluded, “To this day, it is said, that those markings have remained to remind all of nature and all of humanity of that certain bravery and love until death, and to say, ‘Thank You.’”
After a healthy paused laced with a few cleansing, cathartic tears, this relieved microcosm of the universe returned to the table. One by one, with the magnificent Phoenix sunset as an almost literary backdrop, each detailed the people and things in this world for which they were most grateful. Little Granddaughter was last: “And I want to thank God for Grandpa!”
Grandpa acknowledged the youthful tribute with, “And I love you, too, Light of my Life!” After the prayerful grace and without instruction, the little girl lifted the breadbasket and offered a nice roll to everyone at the table, serving herself last. Crisis averted. Family intact and no worse for the wear.
Many who lived enough years have remarked in recent memory that by now we should have learned the obvious lesson that Thanksgiving should not be just a day, but truly a way of life. If there is anything to be learned by the strain placed upon our lives this year, especially by COVID-19, it is to be thankful each and every day for our existence. Why should we have to wait for just one day a year to tell those we love and treasure how much they mean to us?
What are you waiting for?
Always direct your thoughts to those truths that will give you confidence, hope, joy, love, thanksgiving, and turn away your mind from those that inspire you with fear, sadness, depression. Caro Vanni
But see, in our open clearings, how golden the melons lie; Enrich them with sweets and spices, and give us the pumpkin pie! Margaret Junkin Preston
Leave a comment (14 comments)“I come from a family where gravy is considered a beverage.” Erma Bombeck
We’re Not in Kansas Anymore
“One man scorned and covered with scars still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the unreachable stars; and the world will be better for this.” Miguel de Cervantes
The U.S. Midwest may be the only place on the planet where you can get a sunburn and frostbite all in the same week. In a place like that, remarkably strong and resilient people often surface and give new meaning to the depth of character one can reach. These moments occur daily and all around us, but we may be living such a fast-paced and frenetic life that we miss them. And this is to our detriment. This is why we must, from time to time, move about in our thoughts, and open the doors to the limitless possibilities of the wide spectrum of being human and maybe, just maybe, begin to make soft and tender changes in our daily demeanors.
Take for instance what happened during a powerful snowstorm outside of Wichita, Kansas around the first week of December in 2007. After an unusually fierce and protracted freezing rainfall, some parts of the surrounding areas were coated with two to four inches of ice. In addition to extensive damage to trees, power lines, and poles, travel was understandably treacherous and nearly came to a complete standstill, save for emergency vehicles. Massive power outages affected more than 250,000 people, most of whom were without power for up to two weeks. The long-term damage to the electrical infrastructure alone was later estimated at $136M, making this the costliest ice storm in all of Kansas. As amazing and simultaneously miraculous as this may sound, there were no fatalities, but there was an astounding event that happened late one night in the very thick of the storm and likely during the darkest of all nights.
We start with a small, regional hospital located about twenty miles west of the city. Emergency power generators were in full force keeping all the life-saving equipment up and running, especially for those most critically in need of medical care. A small staff of medical professionals was on duty with some of them being allowed to place their families into some of the vacant hospital rooms in order to avoid what could be literally a killer cold. The most seriously ill patients were situated in the Intensive Care Unit where nurses kept struggling to keep everything working in order and medications administered in a timely fashion. While most patients, their families, and the courageous medical staff were outstandingly kind and cooperative, in the west end of the ICU, there were serious problems emerging with frayed nerves and listless depraved people at their wits’ end.
The man in Bed 8 was totally incorrigible, which was more than problematic, because, in addition to being horribly rude and disgusting with the nurses, he was literally at death’s door. He was not even expected to survive another twenty-four hours, but it seemed that the closer he got to Judgment Day, the more abhorrent he became. Close to one o’clock in the morning, the nurses huddled in the nearby breakroom, totally exasperated. All their options of action seemed to be either out of reach or just not feasible. Perhaps the most tested of all the staff there came forward with an amazing solution.
“I believe I know who could help us right now. He may be our only hope,” she said calmly but seriously.
“But who in the world is going to come out here in the middle of the night during this mini Ice Age?” came the immediate reaction from one of the younger nurses.
“It’s my parish priest and I know if we call him, he will come,” came the wondrous retort. “I will contact him now,” said the head nurse, and with that, she went for the phone.
Father Terry was indeed a truly profound man with a comforting and peaceful spirit about him. His words always settled the restless heart, and his Masses were both uplifting and healing. If anyone could help them in this difficult situation, it would be him. His response to the nurse on the phone was both predictable and quick:
“I’ll be right there. Just give me some time to brave through this storm,” came the words of this respected and deeply loved cleric.
The storm was fierce but no match for the determination of this priest who slowly started his car carefully pulled out of the rectory and made his way at a snail’s pace toward the medical facility. Once there, he was met warmly and even offered something hot to drink to warm his shivering body. However, he wanted to go straight to the bedside of this apparently lost, hateful, suffering man and do what he was put on the earth to do, to hopefully save a soul.
Their first and last encounter was immediately brutal. As soon as the priest walked into the ICU stall, the angry patient hurled a bedpan at him. The priest, perhaps in his mid-thirties who also used to run marathons, was agile enough to dodge the incoming metal container and very calmly stand his ground.
“I am not leaving until you talk to me. Besides, there’s nowhere else to go. Talk to me. What is wrong with you? Let me help you!” said Father Terry.
“I am beyond help!” yelled the man in bed now obviously losing strength and color, “just leave me alone and let me die!”
The priest continued, “No one is beyond saving. Every soul is precious in God’s eyes. Talk to me. Offer me your confession and die in peace.”
It was at this moment when most likely the presence of the Holy Spirit filled not only that ICU area, but maybe even the entire hospital and beyond. This is where the tide was about to turn. And this was when that extremely sick and dying man may have delivered the most important speech of his life, which was coming quickly to a tragic and atrocious end.
“Look at me! Do you know who I am, Father? he started.
The priest remained silent, still, and focused on the words of this tormented shell of a man.
“Over twenty-five years ago, Father, I worked on the railroad there at the station downtown. You know the place.”
The priest nodded.
“Well, I was the one who was supposed to throw and redirect the tracks as different trains came in and out. It was my job to make sure that the right trains were on the right tracks. I was also a drunk, Father, and one night, I came to the station completely wasted. But there I was, pretending I knew what I was doing, and that is when it happened. I steered one very full and fast train into the wrong lane, and my mistake killed a father, mother, baby girl, and injured a young boy who only survived because he was thrown from the car upon impact. After that, I lost everything. I lost my job, my family, my home and most importantly, I lost complete respect for myself. I have been trying to die for nearly three decades now. Get out and let me die. Keep your sympathy and your sacraments and your caring eyes for someone else!”
Father Terry just remained as calm and as quiet as the falling snow outside. He took a long, deep-cleansing breath and then answered this phenomenal life story with this:
“Look at me! Do you know who I am? Look carefully. Those people you killed that night were my parents and my baby sister. I lost them all in one night. And if I can forgive you, you can certainly forgive yourself! Offer me your confession, while there is still time.”
And he did. And he died.
Never, ever underestimate the power of God’s love and forgiveness. In the end, it will be all we have and if we have lived a life that has fully embraced and welcomed such a wondrous love, it will change the way we look at life, death, friendship, and eternity.
What are you waiting for? Give the Lord your heart right now, wherever you are, forgiving all the ones you need to forgive. Please, do this now, while there is still time.
Leave a comment (24 comments)“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” 2 Corinthians 5:17
