Peter Pan

“We have created a nation filled with too many perpetual children—
Peter and Patty Pans—who were brought up getting trophies for participating in sports,
instead of winning, protected from the supposed horrors of being ranked
by grades and scores and sold corrosive message by the likes of Barack Obama
and Hilary Clinton that everyone deserves every kind of support,
regardless of the level of education they have or the work they put forward.”
Dr Keith Ablow

“Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough.
You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.”
― J.M. Barrie

After yesterday’s post regarding the whole concept of disrespect effecting a
large swarth of our younger generations,
a story I had read last year came flooding back to mind.
It was a story written by a psychiatrist about the troubling phenomenon that we are
currently witnessing within our more youthful generations.

It is known as the Peter Pan effect…
as in, a generation preferring never having to grow up.

As in why should they….
life is pretty darn cozy remaining irresponsible,
being taken care of,
forever youthful,
beautiful,
always being reminded you are special…
ad infinitum….

But we mustn’t blame merely these young people who we’ve recently watched on
various college campuses protesting, marching, demonstrating,
refusing to attend class, walking out of class,
throwing benches through plate glass windows of campus buildings
as an all out temper tantrum has taken hold across this nation….

No, it is not really their fault.

The truth be told, those of us of the older generations shouldn’t be staring at our
television sets…those sets carrying the news stories of the troubling images
of the young gone amuck…
all with our eyes popping out of our heads as we are alarmingly heard to shout
“What in the heck is wrong with these kids??????….

For the truth be told it seems to be the fault of none other but us older generations—
Those parents and grandparents out there who bought into the notion,
hook, line and sinker
that molly coddling was kinder than tough love.
That “yes” was better for the self esteem than “no”
That television,
gaming stations,
video games,
video which became DVDs,
to iPods,
to iPhones,
to computers,
to tablets…
were all better than our personal undivided, undistracted and undistorted attention…

Just throw another trophy or award at them and let everyone win,
and it’s all good we thought.

While we were busy being “us” and finding ourselves,
spreading our own wings and doing our own things…
our kids, who were being raised at arms length by a group of people who decided
to become hovering helicopters in order to make up for our absences during
the more crucial moments…
well we just may have had a hand in these current shenanigans…

Maybe when we decided God wasn’t real, traditional families were passé,
patriotism was old fashioned and morality no longer current…
maybe, just maybe that was the beginning of our troubles…..

http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2016/05/26/nation-peter-pans-have-created-country-filled-with-perpetual-children.html?intcmp=hpff

But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of,
because you know those from whom you learned it,
and how from infancy you have known the Holy Scriptures,
which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.
All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking,
correcting and training in righteousness,
so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.
2 Timothy 3:14-17

Heeeellllloooo

No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.
Robin Williams

The world now seems deeply less funny with the recent tragic death of Robin Williams.

Firstly, as you probably know, I am not one to ogle and fane over the likes of Hollywood. I do not care for the rag tag magazines which so love to follow the infamous lives of those members of tinseltown, or the music industry, around like hungry dogs, nor do I care to watch such television programs, which provide the windows of voyeurism into the often twisted lives of those in the field of entertainment, as there is just too much in this world which needs doing besides “following” those society pathetically deems “famous” or infamous, the distinction is yours to decide. . .

Secondly, I do not care for comedians, particular standup comedians as their base of humor, to me, is simply not funny.
I am not a fan of the supposed humor which is steeped in raunchy and vile language–I don’t need to hear the “F” word over and over again as a form of humor. I do not enjoy watching these onstage individuals vie for the laughter of others as he or she proceeds to make sarcastic fun of everyone and everything. . .And as tragic and as sad as life seems to be today, it appears as if there is nothing which remains sacred or reserved, or hands off to these comic individuals–which I find to be the terrible making of our lives into that which is “less than.”

To me, none of that is humor.
The use of the vile and crude, while taking cheap shots at the lives of others, to me again is a poor excuse for funny.

I did however enjoy Robin Williams as he could make me laugh until I cried.

And yes, I am aware he had his crude, crass and vile takes on comedy– and no, I did not care to watch those particular standup moments of his—but I did, however, watch what he did so well— and that was to bring smiles to the faces of the young and old as only Robin Williams could do. He knew he could forego the crass, the vile and the cheap and still bring smiles to the faces of those who desperately needed to smile–and perhaps it was his own depth of inner turmoil which was his impetus to that intuition.

Watching him interact with children was a joy. He could immediately forget being the “grown up” and engage with a child on their own tiny level making that child feel magically important and special. The work he did for St Jude’s Children Hospital was tremendously heartwarming as he would light up the eyes of a child who’s face was ashen and deathly pale, who’s hair had long since fallen out and who’s sunken eyes gave the perception of immanent death–yet Robin Williams would work his magic and suddenly there was a twinkle in that sunken eye as life suddenly reappeared, where just moments before, there was none.

His concern for our military, especially those soldiers who came home broken of both body and spirit was tireless. He recognized the sacrifices made for our freedom as he paid homage to such. He respected the men and woman who, suddenly missing limbs, sight and mind, felt as if there was now nothing remaining worthy of respect–Robin Williams worked selflessly to remind them that many do care and that these broken individuals do matter and that their respect remains intact even if their bodies do not.

Movies such as Hook in which Robin played the grown up, stressed out, workaholic and jaded Peter Banning reminded all of us of the importance of maintaing the one on one relationships with our children—of touching base, finding and embracing our deeply buried imaginations and of seeking the hidden places where our own sense of fun and joy still remained.

Yet it was probably his role as Mrs. Doubtfire, the doughty British widow alter ego of a divorced dad, down on his luck, who simply wanted to be with his kids which brought me great delight, laughter and touching joy.

Yes Robin Williams could make us laugh, but he could also make us think. He could disturb us and he could remind us of the importance of life and of what in life was truly important.

However it is now in the wake of his tragically sad suicide that I find myself troubled. I worry that Robin’s choice to end his own life may be seen by those who suffer addictions and battle the life altering heaviness of depression as a sign that sadly things do not get better, that it is all just hopeless and the only way out is death.

Those individuals must know that that is not the case at all.
Hope always remains, as long as we breathe, there is Hope.
But I know how shallow that can sound to one in the midst of the misery.
I know.

I have written on the topic of suicide and the effects it wrecks on a family back in March of 2013 when I addressed the issue of my own brother’s suicide in the post Forgiveness, one step at a time
(https://cookiecrumbstoliveby.wordpress.com/2013/03/11/forgiveness-one-step-at-a-time/)
I don’t wish to rehash a previous post but I do think it important to note that the finality of suicide is a sadly permanent and non retraceable choice which has sweeping and lasting repercussions to those we are left to pick up the pieces. But I get it, I understand that the depressed are not concerned with any of that as they merely want the torment and the suffering to stop.

I also know what it is like to live with years of bitterness over what seemed to me to be a selfish choice as I watched my father spend a lifetime of invisible regret and endless sorrow.

I do not want the life Robin Williams lived, of the joys he brought to others, the gifts he delivered when playing a particular role, the relationships he had with family and friends to be overshadowed by the finality of a single sad choice.

I do not want those who suffer the insidious heavy veil of depression to feel as if all is for naught for if someone like Robin Williams, who was actually proactive with the disease and treatment of mental illness, could not get out from under the crushing weight, then who can. . .his choice must not be seen as the only choice available for those who suffer and hurt.

It is my hope that in the wake of this latest loss and sadness that dialogue may begin as we all look to ways and means to help and support those who suffer mental anguish and addiction. It is our responsibility, as the extended family of humanity, to offer hope to the hopeless, joy to the joyless, freedom to the imprisoned—not to sit by and watch others feel forgotten and alone.

As I stated earlier, there is much in life to be done besides sitting around reading and watching rag tag magazines and shows, rather we all have a responsibility to reach out to all of those around us who are hurting and who suffer the debilitating struggles of mental illness which cause the brokeness of spirit and soul. Yes it is easier to treat the obvious exterior brokeness of bone and body, but it is the internal brokeness of spirit and soul which remains so frustratingly hidden, that we must address head on as real and yet capable indeed of help and of healing.

May we work to heal broken spirits just as hard as we work to heal broken bodies. . .

He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:3

If a door could talk

“The door’, replied Maimie, ‘will always, always be open, and mother will always be waiting at it for me.”
― J.M. Barrie

This photo is of the backdoor at my dad’s house in Atlanta. The backdoor to the home in which I grew up. The house was built in 1959 and we moved-in in 1962. The door you see today is not, however, the original door. The original door was a typical early 60’s glass louvered number. I was so glad when they replaced that door with the current door. I was probably 10 when they made the big switch.

I always hated the louvered door. Even as a young child, it was as if I was somewhat ashamed of that original door–the nicer houses had what I thought to be “real” doors. Not only was it rather unsightly, it was never very secure as you could easily pry open and lift up the louvres. Which was good if you locked yourself out, but we must remember that this was the early 60’s, no one locked their doors!

Of course there was a screen over the louvers as this was the pre air-condition era—allowing a supposed breeze to waft through the kitchen…but who were they kidding—this was Georgia—there are no breezes in August and very few in June and July! The door was just ugly and a pain to clean. I really felt as if mom and dad had finally entered into the 20th century with the change in doors. Perhaps even at the age of 10 I understood about taste.

That door has been slammed more times than I care to recall. And there was the time one of the panes broke. I can’t exactly recall how that happened but I remember mother having to get a glass-man to come out to the house in order to chip out the broken bits and add a replacement pane. I was so afraid they were going to have to buy an entire new door…I had no idea how someone would be able to replace one of the panes. Ode to the logic of a child.

Mother always knew when my friends had walked over to the house wanting me to come out to play because she would see the top of a small head just standing, obviously outside in front of the door, simply waiting to be let in the house. Somehow Mother always knew when they were there waiting. Once we all got a little older, my freinds would just open the door, letting themselves in. Suddenly, unbeknownst to anyone, there would be 3 more kids in the house wandering around looking for me.

How many times had a date walked me to the back door to either say good night, or hope for an invitation inside? I vividly remember one particularly cool December evening. The night sky bright and magical as the stars twinkled overhead with a few slowly moving clouds. It was a wonderful late Christmas Eve, or more accurately, the wee hours of Christmas morning. My boyfriend and I were coming home from Midnight Mass. It was indeed a magical night. He walked me to the back door as I looked up at the night sky wondering where that wonderfully bright star was that had once guided those three wise men to that tiny stable. And then there was a brief kiss……

I had long since graduated from having dates walk me to the front door. As I started college, the back door seemed a more mature choice of doors. I would always peer through the door with the angle being such, peering through the kitchen, directly into the den where I could just see mother who was usually perched on the far right side of the couch. If I didn’t see her, the coast was clear.

If I did see Mom, that most likely meant she was asleep—I’d have to go in, wake her up, tell her to go to bed and then ask my date in. So embarrassing! And God forbid my date would wander in aimlessly behind me as I attempted rousing Mother, who was like the walking dead, saying the dumbest things as she basically was sleep walking and not remembering any of it the following morning…so embarrassing!

How many times did I walk out that door wishing I never had to walk back in? Those years of my brother and his growing troubles–the mental illness consuming our family. My cousins, who were truly more like brothers to me, coming to my rescue taking me out for the night—just getting away. Returning hours later, slowly, quietly opening the door, praying everyone was in bed–often Mother, on the couch, having fallen asleep, crying.

Twenty-seven years ago Mother had walked out of that door, sickly, for a trip to the doctor, who in turn sent her to the hospital. She never walked back trough the door. The night Mother died, my husband and I walked in the door. It was very late that night–it was hours after the sadness, of our having left the hospital for the last time since her illness–in order to sit vigil with Dad. The day following Mother’s death, I can’t even begin to remember how many friends poured through that door–too many to recall.

How many little hands have opened that door? First there was me and then my brother and all of our little friends. Then it was my young son coming to visit his “Pops.” And how many old hands have turned that knob? My grandmother Mimi who always opened the door with her oh so familiar “Yoo-hoo.” Or my other grandmother, Nany, trying to push the door when she needed to be pulling the door.

Today the door is locked tighter then the proverbial dick’s hat band. I have to knock and tap on the panes to get Dad or Gloria to the door. You may have noticed the doorbell having been painted over–that was years ago. I don’t even know if that thing still works. Today it was Dad who came to the door. Wow! Dad never comes to the door! I can’t tell you the last time Dad came to the door to let me in.

Today was truly a good day! “Do you think you can take Nany’s desk home today? What about the chairs to the dinning room table?” This is what greets me. They are having the hallway painted and a closet outfitted to accommodate a stackable washer / dryer so no one has to traipse up and down the perilous stairs to the basement.

And so went the afternoon. I brought up chair after chair from the depths of the basement, traversing through the back door, out to my poor unsuspecting car. Then with Dad and Gloria on one end and me on the other end, we gently maneuvered Nany’s desk out the back door, all keeping a watchful eye out for Sheba, Dad’s cat, so she wouldn’t try a quick escape.

I had an antique secretary desk, two of its drawers, four dinning room chairs and a banjo clock in my poor car. Each week I go visit Dad, I move more and more of my young world, or the worlds of both my grandmothers, out the back door– precariously transporting it all on the nerve-racking interstate drive back home, only to enter my current world through my current back door.

And so it goes—out the back of one door, into the back of another door.

Faith of the birds

“The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.”
J.M. BARRIE

I love my “flicker” which comes to visit the feeder–constantly. He, and no doubt offspring, are always 3 season residents to my yard. He’s big and a bit loud. Officially he’s known as a Yellow bellied sap sucker–a woodpecker of sorts. He also tends to be a bit shy so it’s a little difficult getting him to pose. My other birds don’t seem to mind or pay me any attention when I’m in the yard. The flicker however will either fly off or up into the tree until I become very still. Camera shy.

The quote today is by J. M. Barrie, the Scottish born author of Peter Pan. You know the story of Peter, Wendy, Capt. Hook, Tinker Bell, the Lost boys….my favorite adaptation being the movie Hook, starting two of my all time favorite actors, Robin William as Peter and Dustin Hoffman as Hook. The quintessential story of the jaded grown up man trying to recapture that innocence of youth.

Birds fly because they can. I suppose they believe that they can, so they do. It’s a pure acceptance of fact. As humans we don’t always possess that pure acceptance–our logic, reasoning and rational all seem to get in the way.

Children always seem to have such vivid imaginations because they haven’t lived long enough yet to have developed our adult jaded sense of reason and logic. I can remember thinking I could don a towel around my neck, my cape, and use it as a parachute as I jumped off of the top of the sliding board. I believed it would gently float me to the ground. Jump after jump, thud after thud, hard landing each and every time–my rational was that my towel was too heavy and perhaps a pillow case would do a better job as I just knew I could glide……

The whole story of Peter Pan, the boy who refused to grow up….because once he grew up, he’d lose his imagination, he’d forget how to play, he’d be unable to imagine, he’d forget how to fly….

Remember Jesus’s admonition to his disciples when he tells the men to allow the children to enter his presence–this after the men were trying to shoo the children away thinking they were just going to get in the way and bother Jesus…we tend to think children just get in the way of adult life….
Jesus goes on to say “I tell you the truth unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18: 2-4)

“humbles himself”—Humble: Adjective –Having or showing a modest or low estimate of one’s own importance.
Verb—Lower (someone) in dignity or importance

in essence—lacking ego, the know it all persona—it’s hard to have faith when one has more ego–

Children believe. Children tend to be humble. Children tend to have less ego than adults. Theirs is a simple uncomplicated belief system. Our’s, not so much.
Our faith, which is so often tried and tested from the trials and fires of life, takes a tremendous beating. We grow weak and weary. Then our ego steps in…..

We are reminded that “…faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1) and that “nothing will be impossible with God” (Luke 1:37)
and one of my favorite reminders….”You believe that God is one; you do well. Even demons believe–and shudder!” ( James 2:19) Yes, even that which is truly bad and awful knows the truth—and yet we proceed to doubt and deny anyway…..

I’m not telling you to believe that you can fly….the law of physics steps in that one….but what I am saying is that to believe in God is to have the ability of believing in the impossible. And for us to believe in the impossible is not an easy feat.

Today, I want to examine my faith–my ability to trust in and believe in that which I do not see. I believe in an omnipotent God that I do not see—but yet I do see—I see Him all around me—my flicker, my garden, my family, the sun that rises each morning and sets each evening….
Do bad things happen to me to rock that belief system? YES. Over the course of my life I have been known to get quite angry at my unseen God, scream and yell, walk away for a while—things here are wrong, not fair, tragic and sad–WHY???!!!

I don’t have the answers for all of that, and yet I know I can’t go on living without my Faith. I know that there is more to this life than just me and what happens in my world—things are all bigger than I am–things tend to be intertwined and woven together…beyond my comprehension….because I must surrender the ego of self and arrogance and remember simply as a child, that I am less and He is more—that I am created and He is Creator—I have to have Faith in that and in Him—or all of this is for naught and that is just terribly sad…I prefer to focus on the Faith of it all….

Here is to a faith filled Friday