How Fire Ignites Our Lives
Jim Gallagher graduates with honors with an MBA from Marquette. Pictured here with the Dean of the Graduate School of Management
Founded in 1871 as a steel-making center, Birmingham exploded almost overnight, quickly growing into Alabama’s largest city and earning the nickname “The Magic City.” When I got the call that my brother was injured in a serious motorcycle accident there, mostly I saw the medical center not the burgeoning culture. Jim is a motorcycle aficionado with more bikes than I imagined — Harley, Ducati and who knows what other brands — who did track days and raced at speeds that made me nervous. That he wiped out on the Birmingham track didn’t completely surprise me but scared me. At the emergency room, they cut his leathers off to tend to his broken elbow, ankle and assorted other injuries. It must have been an ugly scene because his wife called me that day to tell me she needed my help. It was a Monday night and I was watching a Packer-Bear game. I booked my ticked to Alabama at half-time.
When I reached the medical center in Birmingham, Jim was hooked up to a variety of tubes, his elbow and ankle immobilized. He was angry I was there, which didn’t make it easier. ”I didn’t ask for you to come,” he hissed. ”Go away.” Within a couple of days of my arrival, his boss called and fired him.
I talked to the doctors and nurses about his situation. As a diabetic, Jim was experiencing swelling that prevented some of the surgeries he needed. They advised me that the best course of action was to get him back to his home in Milwaukee and conduct the surgeries there. Medical transport to Milwaukee was crazy expensive. So I did what any sister would do. I called my other brother Michael. ”Get down here. I need you,” I begged. Mike and I rented a mini-van and retrofitted it to carry our patient home. The drive was about 18 hours and we traded time at the wheel to drive straight-through.
Injured. Unemployed. In a precarious marriage. Jim’s life had been unceremoniously stripped from him.
And then, little by little I stood by him as he reclaimed it. He applied for his dream job at Harley Davidson. He got it. He bade his bad marriage goodbye and I served as counsel to him and his divorce attorney. He recovered from his injuries, slowly. I went to his house and helped him clean it out. He applied to Marquette University‘s Graduate School of Business for an MBA, accepted on academic probation. He went to school on nights and weekends, while working a full-time job and traveling the world for work.
When he asked me to help him write a speech as the prospective graduation speaker, I did. ”Graduating from Marquette was my dream as a boy but it took my becoming a man to realize it,” he wrote. He made it to the top three finalists. Another guy was selected as the graduation speaker but when I heard him, I knew Jim’s speech was better. But of course I was biased.
He wrote:
“I was not a good student growing up. You might have called me complacent because I didn’t apply myself academically. There were number of other challenges in my life – being diagnosed with diabetes in my late teens, addressing my father’s long and debilitating illness and ultimately his death when I was in my 20s, followed by my mother’s untimely death, and the challenge of handling my strong drive for success but not knowing how to execute it. You might say I had my hands full. But it was the critical time when I realized how much I needed guiding principles in my life. I just couldn’t find them then. You see, when I graduated with my undergraduate degree from the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee more than 20 years ago, I thought that was enough for me. Of course it wasn’t and I began to understand that the quest for knowledge lives hand-in-hand with the desire for excellence. We are all given gifts, but sometimes we can’t see them clearly even when we need them most and so we explore different paths until we finally understand what these gifts are and how we can use them to our advantage.”
There we were. At Jim’s MBA graduation on Sunday. Tears flowed down my face. I felt like I was watching a miracle. I was watching a miracle. I saw a man’s transformation and I was part of it.
Our Aunt Mary — my deceased mother’s only sister — hosted a private lunch following graduation. Jim had written of her in his speech, “Over the years, I learned to have faith in myself. More importantly, I realized that to truly succeed, I needed to embrace the faith others had in me. My fellow alum Aunt Mary provided this foundation for me and I feel partially responsible for her recent knee replacement procedure – Aunt Mary – I know you have worn out your rosary beads and bruised your knees praying for me through St. Jude. Thank you for your unwavering belief in me, and your love and guidance. Through your example, you have been one of many people who taught me the meaning of faith, service and leadership. Not just once but over many years of always believing in me. You embody the excellence of Marquette every day. At 85 years old, I know that is no small feat.“
It was a good day. I write about fire and how it shapes our lives. I had just watched the fire develop in my own brother. It was a good day. It is there for all of us.
I Believe: When What You Believe Matters!
Today I am taking part in a ‘blog tour’ – an event where bloggers post a book review of a particular author on a particular day, sort-of-a virtual book tour.
Today that author is Eldon Taylor and he has just released the paperback version of his book, I Believe: When What You Believe Matters. Now, admittedly some days I just don’t feel like believing but I wanted to give Eldon the benefit of the doubt. If you click on this link, you’ll find information about the book and can register for some bonus gifts. The book is a compilation of stories and statistics about the mind’s powerful influence in living a successful life. If you don’t believe in the power of your thoughts, this book can help you understand why you should – and if you do believe, then you’ll find it a sweet refresher.
“All that we are is the result of what we have thought.
If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him.
. . . If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness
follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him.”
— B u d d h a
One of my favorite parts of the book is the Story of the Seeds, a little something uplifting and inspiration that highlights the importance of integrity. It will give you a flavor for Eldon’s book and hopefully make you want to read more. It’s a little long but worth the read:
The Story o f the Seeds
Author Unknown
A successful businessman was growing old and knew it was time to choose a successor to take over the business. But instead of choosing one of his directors or his children, he decided to do something different. He called together all the young executives in his company. He said, “It’s time for me to step down and choose the next CEO. I’ve decided to choose one of you.”
The young executives were shocked, but the boss continued. “I’m going to give each one of you a seed today— one very special seed. I want you to plant the seed, water it, and come back here one year from today with what you’ve grown from the seed I’ve just given you. I will then judge the plants that you bring, and the one I choose will be the next CEO.”
A man named Jim was there that day; and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his wife the story. She helped him get a pot, soil, and compost; and he planted the seed. Everyday, he watered it and watched to see if it had grown.
After about three weeks, some of the other executives began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to sprout. Jim kept checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three weeks, four weeks, then five weeks went by, but still nothing grew. By now, others were talking about their plants, but Jim still didn’t have anything, and he felt like a failure.
Six months went by—still there was nothing in Jim’s pot. He just knew he’d killed his seed. Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing. Jim didn’t say anything to his colleagues, however. He just kept watering and fertilizing the soil. He so wanted the seed to grow.
A year finally had passed, and all the young executives of the company took their plants to the CEO for inspection. Jim told his wife that he wasn’t going to take an empty pot, but she asked him to be honest about what happened. Jim felt sick to his stomach. It was going to be the most embarrassing moment of his life, but he knew his wife was right. He took his empty pot to the boardroom.
When Jim arrived, he was amazed by the variety of plants grown by the other executives. They were beautiful, in all shapes and sizes. Jim put his empty pot on the floor, and many of his colleagues laughed, although a few felt sorry for him. When the CEO arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted his young executives, while Jim just tried to hide in the back.
“My, what great plants, trees, and flowers you’ve grown,” said the CEO. “Today one of you will be appointed the next CEO!” All of a sudden, the boss spotted Jim at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered the financial director to bring Jim to the front. Jim was terrified. He thought, The CEO knows I’m a failure! Maybe he’ll have me fired!
When Jim got to the front, the boss asked what had happened to his seed, so Jim told him the story. The CEO then asked everyone to sit down except Jim. He looked at the young man and then announced to the other executives, “Behold your next chief executive officer. His name is Jim!”
Jim couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t even grow a seed. “How could he be the one?” the others asked. Then the CEO said, “One year ago today, I gave everyone in this room a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds—they were dead. It wasn’t possible
for them to grow. All of you, except Jim, have brought me trees and plants and flowers. When you found that the seeds wouldn’t grow, you substituted new ones. Jim was the only person with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he’s the one who will be the new CEO ”
If you plant honesty, you’ll reap trust.
If you plant goodness, you’ll reap friends.
If you plant humility, you’ll reap greatness.
If you plant perseverance, you’ll reap contentment.
If you plant consideration, you’ll reap perspective.
If you plant hard work, you’ll reap success.
If you plant forgiveness, you’ll reap reconciliation.
So, be careful what you plant now—it will determine what you’ll reap later.
Eldon Taylor has spent over 25 years researching the power of the mind and developing scientifically proven methods to use this power to enhance the quality of your life. I Believe is a book that will not only inspire you, but will highlight the kinds of beliefs you hold that may be causing you to fail. In the process, it will provide you with the opportunity to choose the beliefs for your life.
St. John’s Church Welcomes the Boys Choir on April 14, 2013 for a Mass of Celebration
When it came time for the final goodbye party for the Green Bay Boys Choir on Sunday, April 14th, I and all of my siblings — Kathleen, Susan, Jim and Michael — found their way to Green Bay to take part in it. Our dad had been gone for nearly 20 years and it was hard not to feel grateful that a group of “boys” thought enough of him (and my mother) to invite us to participate. There is a power that endures when good men stand together.
While it is true that None of Us Live the Life That He Had Imagined, there are times when an actual event surpasses all of your expectations. The Compass, the official newspaper of the Green Bay Catholic Diocese, asked our family for an article about the event. Here is a summary of that article:
The Original Green Bay Boys Choir: 40 Years of Song, Friendship and Fellowship
By Anne Gallagher
While the storm clouds gather far across the sea, Let us swear allegiance to a land that’s free,
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair, As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer.
God Bless America,
Land that I love.
Stand beside her, and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above.
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam
God bless America, My home sweet home.
In the beginning, they came together to sing. In the end, they created a legacy of enduring friendship and fellowship.
It was 1972 and Green Bay stockbroker Bob Gallagher organized about 50 middle-aged men under the name, “The St. John’s Boys Choir” to sing at the 5:00 p.m. mass at St. John the Evangelist Church, located in downtown Green Bay and the oldest continuous parish in Wisconsin. Accompanied by organ or piano, they often punctuated songs like “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,”, “Oh Lord I am not Worthy,” and “God Bless America,” with the big sounds of cymbals and drums, which added both interest and drama to their singing.
“We’re a group of good guys who came together to sing, but mostly it was about the fellowship. The choir became the way to cement our friendships,” said Ron DeLain, for 19 years the Choir’s final director with and formerly Green Bay City Clerk. “We were really something special for our generation.”
Ron DeLain Leads the Boys Choir in their final song, “Let Their Be Peace on Earth” (Photo by Jim Gallagher)
After 40 years of singing together, the “boys” – now mostly in their 70s and 80s – formally retired in 2012. Originally singing only at St. John’s, the Choir’s popularity grew and took the group to no less than 10 surrounding counties for performances at masses, weddings, funerals, anniversaries and Christmas programs. To reflect their new-found growth, they changed their name to “The Original Green Bay Boys Choir.” They sang at veteran’s homes, nursing homes and Our Lady of Good Help Chapel. As they tell the story, in the early days Bob Gallagher would rent a school bus for their out-of-town transportation and contract with the prisoners at the Green Bay Correctional Institute to create bus signage and banners. With the blessing of the warden, Bob paid them in cigarettes, as was the custom in those days.
By the time they retired, 112 “boys” had filled the various choir lofts, garnering the attention of Green Bay’s Bishop, David L. Ricken. “I am deeply humbled that so many of you participated in this choir over the forty-year period. How wonderful that so many senior members of the Catholic Church continued to sing at the Masses throughout the years. The sounds of hymns coming from the choir certainly brought much joy to each Mass,” wrote Bishop Ricken in a tribute letter to the Choir, as they prepared to celebrate one last Mass together on April 14th, 2012 at St. John’s.
———————————————————————————————————————————————
“We offer our music to our God, our family and all who hear us.”
From the invitation to the Boys Choir Celebration Mass on April 14, 2013
_______________________________________________________________________
Forty or so men arrived that day at St. John’s, each dressed in a blue blazer with a red rose in his lapel. They sat together at the front rows of church, sang the last hymn “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” and presided over the dedication of a framed commemorative plaque telling their story of service. The plaque will hang in the parish hall. With friends and family, they gathered after mass at the Rite Place at Bellevue Street and Allouez Avenue for lunch and friendship.
“You know, I had an affinity for choirs when I joined the group in 1993 or 1994. I met my wife one day when I was singing in the Cathedral choir so I thought it might be fun to join this group,” said Norb Kalinoski, who served as Choir Director for about a year and was a high school principal during much of his working career. He heard of the choir when it formed in 1972 but had just accepted a job in Shiocton. When he returned to Green Bay years later, one of his first orders of business was joining up with the Choir. “The driving force of the group was social. We were not the world’s greatest singers by the way, but we got by. When you sing, you are happy.”
Liturgical and classical musician Lester Bleser Jr. joined the Choir as its accompanist (organ and piano) about 20 years ago. “The choir did the music I enjoyed and at the time there was an opening for an accompanist,” he recalls. The group’s only female member – an organist – was moving to another parish. Les joined in a heartbeat. “I enjoyed the camaraderie. We got together once or twice a month to socialize and I liked the all-male environment. Plus we were a unique group – there are very few all-male choirs. We were really one of a kind for our time.”
Boys Choir members sing from the front rows under Ron DeLain’s direction. Traditionally, they sang from the choir loft at the back of church. (Photo by Judy Lepak)
Choir members came from all walks of life. There were educators and social workers, doctors and lawyers and judges, public officials and business owners. At one time, the local sheriff – Norb Froelich – served as the Choir organist. “It didn’t matter what you did. We came together for a common purpose and shared a love of God, Church and family,” said Dr. Jim Falk, the Choir’s final president and a member for 40 years.
“Oh, they came together to give praise and glory to God with their voices and wasn’t that a good enough reason to be together!” added Gwen Falk, Jim’s wife of many years and the mother of their 15 children. “Plus, the truth is that Bob Gallagher made it fun to be a Catholic.”
If there was one story about Bob Gallagher at the Choir’s luncheon, there were 100. Bob, the original Choir director, died after a lengthy illness in 1993. “If you ask me my favorite memory of the Choir, it is Bob Gallagher. My life changed dramatically because of that man. He had the ability to join us together and make us do things we never would have done otherwise,” said Jack Smith, now retired but for many years a parole and probation officer at the local Green Bay prison. “You know, I’m not even a Catholic and when I joined this Choir I wasn’t the only non-Catholic. Bob brought us all together as friends.”
He told the story of Bob Gallagher’s run for an officer position at Green Bay’s Junior Chamber of Commerce, or JC’s. With a hand-lettered sign, “Vote Gallagher – Don’t be a Chicken,” Bob gave an election speech, and then released about a dozen live chickens into the crowd. “Well, people were howling with laughter. Bob just had a way with people and a way of creating fun. I owe that man so much,” Jack Smith said, explaining that he wasn’t really a singer but with Bob’s urging, regularly sang before as many as 400 people.
As Bob’s illness progressed in the late 1980s, Jack said Bob developed a great difficulty with speech. “It was hard to understand him at times, you really had to work at it,” he said. “But you know, we would take Bob up to the choir loft in his wheelchair and when he sang, every word came out clear as a bell.”
As Choir members and their families finished their meals, Ron DeLain rose to say a formal goodbye. “It was so great to be part of this group because of what we represented and who we are. I hate to say goodbye. I don’t want to say that we are finished. So until we meet again, we’ll see you all again soon,” he said.
Jim Falk stood beside him and said, “God always loves a singer. If we have an encore, that’s going to be up to the Holy Spirit.”
Some of the remaining members of the Boys Choir pose for a photo at St. John’s Church on April 14, 2013 (Photo by Jim Gallagher)
ORIGINAL GREEN BAY BOYS CHOIR MEMBERSHIP 1972-2012
FOUNDER
Bob Gallagher
DIRECTORS
Ron DeLain
Bob Gallagher
Norb Kalinoski
Rollie Macco
Bernie Schlafke
ORGANISTS
Lester Blaser, Jr.
Norb Froelich
Ms. Val Niraz
Mert Mueller
David Seering
MEMBERS
Jim Baenen
Don Bailey
Arnie Beimborn
Dick Bender
Ron Benzschaewl
Ray Berker
Milt Besanson
Dan Boettge
Jim Brawner
Carl Burkel
Keith Campbell
Jerry Chapman
Tom Coe
Harry Cygan
Larry De Groot
Jim De France
Bob Delacensarie
Bernie Delwiche
Steve Deneys
Gary Des Jardins
John Dolan
Dan Drossart
Steve Everson
Jim Falk
John Finco
Bob Flatley
Tony Frederichs
Bill Galvin
Ray Gantenbein
Larry Goeben
John Harrington
Dick Heardon
Leon Herlache
Cal Hirn
Gil Hoffman
Brian Holloway
Bud Huebner
Ralph Jenquin
Chuck Jones
Ray Josephs
Bob Juley
John Kafka
Dick Kalishek
Ed Kaufman
Tom Kiedinger
Peter Kiefer
Jeff Klarkowski
Rick Knaus
Larry Kust
Jerry Lemere
Carl Lewis
Chet Lewicki
Ron Liebergen
John Loritz
Tom Lukas
Joe Mader
John Mancheski
Ardo Mariucci
Ken Martin
Ken Mathys
Don Melberg
Bill Mielke
Tom Mielke
Francis Moes
Mark Monfort
Dean Mraz
Roland Murphy
Roger Navarre
Jim Neuser
Leo Nikowitz
Ivan Nowak
Ken Payette
Fred Pergande
Bill Phillips
John Prosser
Bud Pytlak
Pat Reed
Bill Ricker
Maury Robinson
Bob Rockstroh
Pat Sands
Jim Schiebel
Greg Schmitt
Ken Schuldes
Urban Schumacher
Bob Seering
Al Siudzinski
Del Skelton
Jack Smith
John Smits
Ron Spielbauer
John Thornton
Bernie Van Camp
John Van Rens
Jim Vande Walle
Don Van Straten
Earl Verheyden
Paul Wagner
Len Walczyk
Tom Washienko
Mike Wichowski
Larry Younk
Secrets, secrets are no fun
Unless they’re shared by everyone
- Author Unknown
We all know about secrets — having them, keeping them and having them kept from us. In my case, I felt a lot of people knew secrets about my accident and I set out a couple of years ago to unearth them. Granted, what-I-believed-to-be the so-called “secrets” were often straightforward things like someone’s stories, a medical record or a hazy recollection. Yet to me, these were secrets of a grand proportion for the simple reason that no one had ever told me about these things before.
Just why did I need to know these things and why did I need to know why? In fact, why does anyone need to know why?
It seems science answers this for us, which comes as a great relief to me since these are the things I would otherwise have thought too much about. “Why is what drives not only everything we do, but also our emotional reactions to everything that happens to us,” says the Buddhist doctor Alex Lickerman, author of the blog, Happiness in This World, Reflections of a Buddhist Physician. “The negative impact of being left in the dark about why things are done the way they are can be so extreme for some people that explaining our thinking to others actually represents an opportunity to contribute to their well-being. Research has suggested that taking the time to explain yourself will help your children develop a moral conscience, your students achieve mastery, your employees stay happy, and your personal relationships flourish.”
Ahhh, it feels so good to hear stuff like this. It confirms how important it is to understand the context of our lives. It is (in my opinion) the essence of Kierkegard‘s quote, “Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards.”
If there is an easier way, please let me know.
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“But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather.” – I Dreamed a Dream, Les Miserables
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Mack had a rough night of basketball, not finishing the last game until nearly 11 p.m. and so I thought I’d let him sleep in at the hotel a bit. I watched him sleep and surfed the news on my laptop and listened to the rain pound on the window, learning that a winter storm was brewing on our route to Chicago from Southern Illinois. Rain didn’t seem so ominous for a winter storm nor enough to take away our lazy morning. We started back to Chicago about 10:30 a.m. That timing proved pivotal.
Rain turned to snow quickly and before we knew it the three lanes of I-55 North compressed into one, whipped by high winds and fast-accumulating snow. Before we knew it, we were driving on chunky patches of ice. Having grown up in Wisconsin, I knew the dangers of black ice — treacherous and unseen zones — and began to feel fear build up inside me. One wrong movement with the wheel and the car could spin-out. It had happened to me years ago, driving from Green Bay to Chicago in a frigid Wisconsin January and the car landed in the ditch. My hands clenched the wheel.
“Mom, why don’t we just get off the road at one of these exits,” Mack suggested. He had seemed nonplussed thus far. While I appreciated the thought, I also knew that the off-ramps weren’t plowed or salted yet and would be as dangerous if not more than the road we were on. With cars in front of us and behind us, it seemed best to drive on slowly and see if the storm would break.
Then without warning, white-out. No visibility.
I turned the radio off to concentrate on the road and whispered to Mack, “Let’s pray.” Intuitively I began to pray the rosary, aloud. My mother used to make us kids pray the rosary when we drove from Green Bay to visit her parents in Milwaukee. I did it grudgingly and with a lot of eye rolling. But now, it was like a meditation, keeping negative thoughts and perhaps weather conditions at bay.
Given those conditions, I mentally gave us about a 10% chance of survival. Before the white-out, we had passed maybe 25 cars in ditches along I-55,even including a tow truck, which presented an ominous example. We had about a quarter tank of gas left, enough I hoped to get us past the eye of the storm. Though I wasn’t sure I could maneuver the car well enough to stay on the road that long, particularly without being able to see a car in front or behind us as a guide.
In between the Hail Mary’s, I seriously began to wonder if we would make it. When your number is up, your number is up but I looked at the 15-year old boy beside me and thought, “That’s not fair, he has a whole life in front of him so focus yourself and drive him out of this.” My stomach clenched and I slowed the car’s speed to about 20 miles per hour.
If it all ended today, would I have done all the things I wanted to do?
Certainly that was a question old people considered but was hardly ripe for my demographic. And yet, I thought it and thought about it. I felt anxious. Would anyone get a perfect score on that report card?
The whiteness lifted and I could see the car in front of me again. I breathed a deep breath and looked at Mack.
“It was never as bad as you thought,” he said, then smiled. We both knew it was as bad as we had thought.
When we pulled over for gas in Springfield, a thick piece of ice covered the entire front of the car. We hacked it off, then went for coffee and food. What should have been a five-hour drive home took eight hours. It wasn’t the ride we anticipated; simply the ride we were meant to have.
The mysticism of Biblical days seems often dismissed or forgotten. You know, transfigurations, prophecy, angel appearances, holy directives in dreams and of course, direct appearances from saints, the Virgin Mary and others. It simply never made sense to me that these events would occur only in one period of time and then forever stop. So, when stories of supernatural spiritual phenomena occur, I like exploring them, which lead me to The Boy Who Met Jesus.
Author Immaculee Ilibagiza is perhaps best known for her book, Left to Tell, the story of her survival from the Rwandan holocaust. But in The Boy Who Met Jesus – Segatashya of Kibeho, she writes about her lifelong spiritual quest to meet an illiterate peasant boy from a remote region of Rwanda who purportedly met Jesus Christ under a shade tree in 1982. The story combines not only the facts of the phenomena but the equally interesting journey of pursuing a personal an in this case, spiritual, quest.
As a young girl in Rwanda, Immaculee heard the story of Segatashya and his visits from both Jesus and Mary, and their various messages to prepare ourselves for the end of days. She longed to go see the boy and hear him talk publicly about his experiences, but her father told her she was too young and would not take her. As time passed, her fascination with Segatashya persisted.
Then, years later in 1992, as a college student at the National University of Rwanda, she learned by chance that Segatashya worked on campus at the university chapel and library as a handyman. No longer the shepard boy, Segatashya was a man, humble in every respect, who talked with Immaculee about his experiences, and fulfilled her quest.
Sadly, less than two years later Rwanda was in ruins and Segatashya was killed in the violence.
Author and Rwandan Genocide survivor Immaculeé Ilibagiza
Her story is both sweet and strong, punctuated by deep faith and a decade of longing to see a man touched by God for herself. It also includes fascinating outtakes of questions Segatashya posed to both Jesus and Mary, and their responses. A sample:
Q: Why will the religions fight when they’re all working for you?
Jesus’ Answer: It is because in all religions, there are too many who claim to believe in God’s love but do not truly believe. War will come because too many say they love, but they have no love in their hearts for God or man.
Her story is both sweet and strong, punctuated by deep faith and a longing to see a man touched by God for herself.
The book is available for purchase at www.hayhouse.com, www.immaculee.biz, www.barnesandnoble.com and www.amazon.com. More information on Immaculee Ilibagiza n is available on her website at www.immaculee.com.
This is another book review in my partnership with Hay House. I was not financially compensated for this post. I received the book from Hay House for review purposes. The opinions are completely my own based on my experience.
In general, high school athletic banquets are about sweet and well-deserved awards for the student athletes rather than doses of inspiration. At least that was my state of mind while driving to the Italian banquet hall on Chicago’s Central Avenue this week for my freshman basketball player son. In between the salad and the pasta along the banquet line, a funny thing happened. Yes, the awards were awarded, letters distributed, the boys commended for their hard work and dedication, and the season dissected for freshman teams, junior varsity and varsity.
But then Coach LoGalbo ended the evening by talking about the importance of being a man, of character and how raising the bar made each athlete a better person. He read from a text, As a Man Thinketh, by James Allen.
“Men do not attract that which they want, but that which they are. Man is manacled only by himself. Thought and action are the jailers of Fate – they imprison, being base. They are also the angels of Freedom – they liberate, being noble. Not what he wishes and prays for does a man get, but what he justly earns. His wishes and prayers are only gratified and answered when they harmonize with his thoughts and actions.”
Some other gems
*“Men are anxious to improve their circumstances, but are unwilling to improve themselves, they therefore remain bound.”
*“Circumstance does not make the man, it reveals him to himself.”
Written as a literary essay in 1904, Allen essentially says everything happening in your life (circumstances, achievements, all actions) is because of the thoughts we are thinking all day. Everything – job, relationships, happiness, pain, winning, losing – all is because of our thoughts. He implores us to become aware of our thoughts. If we only knew, he says, then we would realize that our life sucks because we are thinking – ‘my life sucks, my life sucks’ all day. And so do not assume that you know your thoughts, he says. Observe them. And then if you change them gradually – you will automatically create any circumstance you want by changing them.
I do believe that.
Thoughts being things is hardly a new concept but it created a hush at the athletic banquet, especially when Coach explained that he uses lessons from the text as part of every basketball practice.
After we got home, I went to the Internet and found the text, about 17 pages in all.
How and why do some people let their life events inspire them forward while others fall backward? Is it only a question of thoughts?
As a child, how was I not destroyed by my accident? I was too young to control my thoughts in a positive way so how were they shaped?
Doctors, nurses, parents of course of course played a part in shaping my young mind, right?
I’m not sure.
More than purely positive thought processes, I happen to think it was just my moment to have a second chance. While I think positive thinking is uniquely important, I don’t think it is life’s single magic elixir. Bad things sometimes happen, no matter how well you may think. Life is cruel to the kindest among us. Thinking good thoughts won’t spare us from life’s challenges.
As much as we have the power within us, maybe we don’t credit the power outside us enough. The God spark might give us more chances than we realize, pick us up more times than we know. Yes, think positive thoughts and train our children to understand their power. And also accept– that some things happen for reasons we’ll never know and simply shape who we are.
Cover via Amazon
So you liked The Power of Myth… (Photo credit: jay mann)
Reading from one of my favorite writers, mythologists and lecturers, Joseph Campbell, I remember:
“[Life] seems to have had an order, to have been composed by someone, and those events that were merely accidental when they happened turn out to be the main elements in a consistent plot. Who composed this plot? Just as your dreams are composed, so your whole life has been composed by the will within you. Just as the people who you met by chance became effective agents in the structuring of your life, so you have been the agent in the structuring of other lives. And the whole thing gears together like one big symphony, everything influencing and structuring everything else. It’s as though our lives were the dream of a single dreamer in which all of the dream characters are dreaming too. And so everything links to everything else moved out of the will in nature…It is as though there were an intention behind it yet it is all by chance. None of us lives the life that he had intended.”
Reading the Campbell quote seemed to connect to my thoughts this week when my siblings and I received a final draft of a tribute to my father Bob Gallagher. Of his many talents, Bob loved to bring out his baritone voice and sing. Nowhere did he enjoy doing so as when he started the “Boy’s Choir” in 1972 at St. John the Evangelist Church. Every Saturday night at the 5:15 p.m. mass, the “Boys” – adult men who enjoyed singing – walked up the stairs into the choir loft with cymbals, drums and their sheet music to add their own version of musical prayer to the mass. As Bob became ill, then wheelchair-bound, the choir carried on, electing a new director after he died nearly 20 years ago on Christmas Eve, 1993. Last year — 40 some years after the choir began, Ron DeLain, one of the original ”Boys”, reached out to my sister Susie and I. It seemed the choir had reached its end and Ron wanted to create a memory of its existence. He asked for our help to remember the details, and edit the copy, of a tribute he put together to commemorate all those years of song.
It was also a tribute to Dad. Twenty some years after his death, they still remembered him and his earthly contributions. If only we could all be so lucky. But I wonder: was it the life Dad intended? Filled with family, business success, more than a few pranks and a great deal of laughter as well as the very real challenges of a debilitating illness that lead to his death at 65. So somber and sad. And still, someone from that inter-connected circle of his life remembered and found a way to keep his memory alive. Maybe it is as Joseph Campbell says, “one big symphony, everything influencing and structuring everything else.”
Thank you Ron DeLain.
DeLain Ronald-Original GB Boys Choir-035316-035317-(160627)
Little Men
“Little men,” Kathleen said.
“Little what?” I asked. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
As part of my research to learn what happened when I burned my leg at age two, I was asking friends, relatives, siblings – anyone really – what they remembered about the accident. My sister Kathleen, four years older than me, was a solid bet. She would have been six years old at the time and in kindergarten. Where I always questioned my memories from the time as a two and then three-year old in the hospital, all the research on memory told me that she would have a far more accurate fact set from the time.
But when I asked her to provide her memories, she quickly and curtly responded. “Little men. That’s what I remember.”
I asked again, “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about little men.”
She tossed back her head in what looked like a gesture filled half with amusement and half with frustration. “You got all these presents and you got these little men. I think Judy Schumacher gave them to you. Don’t you remember? They came in individual boxes and were all connected on a long blue ribbon. We opened them in mom’s closet when you were home from the hospital.”
Like a Polaroid picture, the little men developed right in front of me. Of course I remembered. It was a full set of miniature Disney characters – everyone from Snow White to Captain Hook.
“My favorite was Captain Hook,” she said as if she could see them as clearly as they were appearing one-by-one in my mind’s eye. I loved those little men and remembered playing with them. They were a child’s delight and I had forgotten about them for many years.
I had even forgotten about the conversation with Kathleen until last weekend. We were at winter “Gallagher weekend,” our semi-annual family get-together with siblings and kids. Kathleen and Susan, my other sister, met with me on Saturday night after most of the kids had gone to bed to give me some gifts for my December birthday.
It was there that Susan handed me that small white box. I opened the lid and drew back the paper to reveal eight little men. At first, I did not know what they were. They seemed so small. I pulled them out one by one. “Are these the little men?” I asked in disbelief.
“They couldn’t be,” Kathleen said.
“Yes, they are,” Susan said.
“Where did you get them?” I couldn’t help but ask. More than 40 years had passed.
“I found them in a box at my house,” Susan said as if it was the most normal thing possible.
Found them in a box at my house? How does anyone find anything 40 plus years later? How do you find something you weren’t looking for? The questions flooded through faster than I could process them.
I picked up Alice in Wonderland, with her white tights, flowing blond hair and bright blue dress. She was real. They all were real.
“What happened to the other ones?” Kathleen asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Susan said. “I remember we played with them a lot Annie. Maybe we divided them up at some point and I took these. Maybe you lost the other ones.”
I didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.
What mattered right now was that another piece of the puzzle had fallen in place. Another memory I had in my mind, one that I wasn’t sure if I created or if it was real, had revealed itself in eight tiny little men.
I imagine that for more people it’s okay if their childhood memories are bit fuzzy. For me, I look at my burned leg many days and am not sure if I remember being there when it happened. I am not sure if I made up my memories or if what I remember is real. I am sure there is a psychological theory to explain why it’s so important to me to know if I actually remember the pictures left in my head or if I merely created them based on stories I heard over the years.
I so want the pictures to be real because whatever the storyline, the burns are real. Was the accident so real that I had to manufacture a story and pictures to protect myself? Or, did it happen as I remember – everything in slow motion and me watching my story unfold, not feeling any pain. I was not in my body as it happened but watching from above the kitchen stove, wondering if my mother would come in time to rescue me, if I would drop back in my body or just keep floating upward.
Seeing the little men – Alice in Wonderland, Jiminy Cricket, Captain Hook, Gepetto and four of the seven dwarfs – was an unexpected confirmation. That simple confirmation created a healing connection for me.
I did remember. It was okay. The images in my mind were right, they made sense. I didn’t have to worry about them anymore.
Taken by Apollo 8 crew member Bill Anders on December 24, 1968, showing the Earth seemingly rising above the lunar surface. Note that this phenomenon is only visible from someone in orbit around the Moon. Because of the Moon’s synchronous rotation about the Earth (i.e., the same side of the Moon is always facing the Earth), no Earthrise can be observed by a stationary observer on the surface of the Moon. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“Has anyone here had an unusually chaotic August?” Marilee the Shaman asked those of us assembled for the Friday night class. Almost every hand went up. “Well, that would be normal during a blue moon, especially this one,” she said with a chortle. Friday marked the first blue moon since 2009, something I reflected on in my August post, What Happens Once in a Blue Moon?With two funerals and assorted other chaos this month, the blue moon worried me. Everything seemed askew, even up-for-grabs. When I saw the flyer at the European Market in Chesterton for the Shamanic Drumming Circle at East Wind Studios, well, I just had to sign up. I don’t know about you but I had never been to a Shamanic Drumming Session. But like so many “out-there” things in the universe, I quickly learned that shamanic drumming had a following all its own. In fact, there are fascinating explanations of how the drumming affects our brain waves and creates an ideal state for spiritual expression.
Yet, the week before the drumming, another set-back presented itself. My parents and my dear friend Urban Schumacher died. Not only were Urb and his wife Judy our long-time neighbors, we Gallagher children had a Schumacher in almost all of our class years. And, as the local funeral director in Green Bay, Urb helped bury my mother, father and an assortment of dear relatives. After my parents’ deaths, I grew close with Judy and Urb, visiting them often when I returned to Green Bay. Even though he was 81 at his death, Urb’s death was difficult to handle.
It wasn’t a question of whether I would attend, but how early I should leave Chicago to make the 11 a.m. funeral mass in Green Bay on August 30th. If there were going to be two funerals in August, this was something that simply happened ‘once in a blue moon,’ however sad it was.
By 6 am, I was on the road with my son Mack. Mack didn’t start school until the next week and had grudgingly agreed to accompany me on the funeral road trip, the promise of a pre-season Green Bay Packers game that evening as his reward. We arrived early to the funeral mass. “It’s all old people,” Mack whispered as we entered our pew. He was right, there was an older crowd already seated. As the 11 am hour neared, the church filled to standing room only. Ten priests, including the Bishop, brought the casket down the aisle. There was no question of Urb’s place in the community or in heaven — he was a man of great kindness and compassion, remembered and cherished by all. We remembered his wit and great humor at the luncheon following the mass, reminiscing with his wife, six children and many close friends and family members.
When Mack and I left Green Bay the next day, we were ready to take the trek back home. As we neared the Chicago border, I couldn’t help but think of the Toronto funeral I’d attended earlier in the month and the many signs we say on the way.
“Mom, look,” Mack pointed at a long black car pulling up next to ours on the Expressway. It was of course a hearse and I shook my head in amazement. As we pulled closer to it, we both saw the sign in its back window. “Rest in peace,” it read. Unlike the signs in Canada — of overt death, some fear and a glimpse to eternity — this one seemed to signal some much-needed closure. “Quick, take a picture,” I said, handing Mack the camera. He bobbled it a bit and we got only one shot.
Just then, I heard the Shaman’s voice, bringing us back from our drumming trance. “There is a gret deal going on in the universe right now, the energy is very tense as we integrate new levels of consciousness into our world,” she said. “It should all be integrated by the winter solstice in December. Until then, buckle your seatbelts.”
We had drummed and meditated for nearly an hour and half that night. It was August 31st and the blue moon rose high in the sky. In the end, the blue moon had brought me back home to Green Bay for a funeral and reconnected me to many good friends from the past. It made me thing about who I had been and who I had become through the years. Not only had I crossed an international border that month, I realized that the connections through time never really changed, that you could pick up with someone as if the years hadn’t intervened, that as much as we all changed, we all were growing into current selves all the time.
Mack wasn’t sure what to make of the drumming and meditations, which would be only normal for a boy of 14. I’m not sure I knew what to make of them either. The drumming was soothing and the burning sage in the air — meant to cleanse and purify — smelled good. Things seemed calmer as Mack and I got in the car to drive home. The blue moon would not be back for a long time, and that was alright too.
