Contemplation of the Incarnation

At the beginning of what's known as the Second Week of the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, I entered into the Contemplation of the Incarnation. It has found a home in my heart and head and given me new ways of looking at others and moving in the world.

In this meditation, St. Ignatius invites us to imagine the Trinity looking down upon the earth and seeing it filled with human beings. We are invited to use our imaginations to ponder what the Trinity sees and notices in gazing upon all the people. Ignatius adds a few thoughts on what we might see: some healthy, others sick, some weeping, and others laughing. He invites us to notice the blindness and aimlessness and to hear how people are talking to each other. Finally, he invites us to hear the Trinity say, “Let us work the redemption of the human race,” as God plans to send the angel to Mary and then watches as the Incarnation is set into motion.

As I began this contemplation, I envisioned the Trinity looking down at the world and all they survey. They are first struck by the beauty of it all. This creation is still absolutely stunning to witness. The zoomed out lens which they are viewing is that familiar sight that today we recognize as The Blue Marble, the picture taken by the Apollo 17 crew of Earth from space. As their focus narrows, they take in the forests, mountains and oceans still teaming with the flora and fauna that came into being so long ago. Their view continues to come into focus and they take in the glory of the abundant colors - the colors of people - fair-skinned and dark-skinned, the colors of their clothing, brightly hued. As they rest in this moment these human beings create an amazing tapestry beyond description. As their vision comes closer and closer, the sounds of these beautiful people become audible. There is the joyful laughter of children playing and the gentle hum of people working together for the greater good. But soon, those harmonious sounds are overpowered by loud and coercive voices. These are the sounds of adults yelling at one another, calling each other names. The Divine soon realize that what appeared to be diversity has now revealed itself to be division. People are not listening to each other and so many are being led by greed and power. The new god of worship is domination over rather than loving with.

As the gaze of the Trinity takes it all in, they realize that this is something that is not going to fix itself. Somehow, they are going to have to intervene. They need a plan and the time is now. They are Divine Love and they soon realize that they must start again and create the rebirth of love in this, Their beloved people. What better way could love be reborn than in the incarnation of God in the Baby Jesus? They agree that Jesus will be sent with the Holy Spirit to guide Him in his human form. In this way, God's people can once again know Him, love Him and come to serve Him through their love for one another.

While They are deeply distraught at all They have seen, They are also reassured that love will win in the end. Each person on Earth has been born with the spark of God's being. It is always there and can never be extinguished. As each of us loves into existence all that we can be, so will each person with whom we come in contact. This is hope in its truest sense. You and I and everyone living has the power of one. As I encounter God's presence within me and I become my best self, my love and service emanates into the world and it ripples outward to my friends, family, and strangers with whom I interact.

So, as the Trinity take in the beauty and brokenness of the world They are confident that Their love will overpower greed and division. Jesus will be born in the lowest possible form and will save the world.  

What Will You Feed Them?

As Thanksgiving approaches, our minds all turn toward dinner and family gatherings.  This year I want to feed my family more than the turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie that traditionally have been the centers of attraction.  As we gather for the first time in two years, I have so much more with which I want  to nourish them.  

Feed them love.  As I rush to envelop each of them in my arms, I want them to feel and know that their mother and grandmother loves them with a love that is unconditional and knows no bounds.  I want them to feel that hug long after we have disentangled ourselves from each other.

Feed them hospitality.  As Dave flings open wide the doors of his home, we enter knowing that what is his is now ours for the time we share together.  We each bring our part to the feast - food, beverages, and helping hands. We know that  we will cook together, eat together and clean together. And in the end,  all that really matters is that we are gathering at the table together in love.    

Feed them gratitude.  As we go around the table and voice what we are thankful for, my response is simply each of them.  In this time of living so far apart, when I think about what I am most grateful for, it is these five humans.  They top every gratitude list that I have ever made.  

Feed them acceptance.  As our conversations grow and wind around life and love and beliefs, let them know that anything that they may worry about will not be judged, evaluated, or criticized.  We are all welcome at this table; we come with our gifts as well as our flaws.  This is what it is to be family.  

Feed them joy.  The Gianninis have always been a family of laughter.  It may be sarcastic, but we know how to laugh.  There is always abundant  joy in our time together.  This year as we welcome Tessa into the fold, I know there will be stories and there is not one of our family stories that doesn’t finish with joy at the end.  

Feed them compassion.  The last two years have been a difficult journey for all of us.  We have been apart and trying to keep our individual ships afloat until we could be together again. As we reconnect, we  rest assured that despite the trials,  we all come with nothing but love and understanding for each other..  

Feed them patience.  Work schedules and travel plans and cooking family dinners all take patience.  We come together knowing that the turkey may take longer than we thought, the gravy may be lumpy, and the wine may go quicker than anticipated.  We approach it all with understanding and flexibility knowing that the only goal is to be together.

When Thanksgiving Thursday turns into Friday and Saturday and next year and beyond, I want to look back on 2021 as the year we fed each other all the best of what we had to give.  Let us feed our joy and compassion, patience and acceptance, hospitality and gratitude, and most of all love. 

Morning Offering

Dear God, thank you for the gift of this new day.  I pray that whatever waits for me will serve as a blessing to you.  Lord, I offer everything that I will think, do , or say and dedicate it to your service.  Please protect me and keep me close to your side.  Help me keep your commandments and seek divine goodness.  Guide me in sharing all that I have with those who may be in need in order that I might see your face in everyone that I encounter.  At the end of the day, may I return to you in gratitude with open hands and a loving heart so that all I have been given is returned to you. 

Amen

The First Principle and Foundation

As is every other human being, I am the incarnate image of God and as such, am God’s beloved.  My greatest desire is to live in that love forever.  In an effort to return that infinite love, I promise to praise, honor, and serve God.  

Everything I have is created by God and has been gifted for my use and protection.  God has given me access to anything that might be of assistance in honoring my creator.  I yearn to know God more fully and to continually return that great love with the  help of the gifts that have been bestowed upon me.  

Hence as a steward of creation, I promise to protect the earth and everything in it so these gifts can be used to glorify God.  However, no part of creation can ever take the place of God nor impede me from returning God’s love.  Everything must work toward the single goal of praising God.  

It is important that I keep all of creation in balance so that I can seek and return God’s love.  Everything in creation has value only to the extent that it can be used by all of humanity to serve God.  There is no preference for health or sickness, wealth or poverty, success or failure, life or death as each of these can be conducive to searching out God’s love and calling forth our loving response.  The only choice that needs to be made is the determination of what will deepen God’s love in me.  

Neither can I be the obstacle that  stands in the way of responding to God’s love.  I cannot hide behind my ego and self-will or the walls of protection that I have built to make myself believe that I am serving God when in actuality I have replaced God’s will with my own.  

God is alive in me and together we will work to co-create the earthly journey of my human existence so that I might be the voice and hands of God at work in the world.  As God’s love is revealed to me, my response will be to live out the love of God that surrounds and protects me.  

My Spiritual Autobiography

I have no memory of when I was introduced to God by my family.  I was baptized at Grace Presbyterian Church as an infant, the third of four children,  but I don't recall ever going  back there again after my younger brother's baptism.  God seemed to be more of an assumption or an idea in our house than an actual being to which I could be introduced.  I remember being told to thank God, to say my prayers, and that God could answer my prayers. God seemed to be more present at my grandparents' house.  He was in the conversation there like God was an additional person in the house.  There was a cross on the wall, a picture of Jesus in the bedroom, and a devotional on the end table by Grandma's chair that fascinated me.  It was called "The Upper Room."   I had no idea of the meaning of the title until many years later.

So God just was.  It seemed that I was left to my own devises to determine the role he was to play in my life.  My prayer life was limited as a child.  I learned the "Our Father" but I don't remember how.  And it seemed that when you really wanted something and there was no other way to get it, you could ask God for it.  And maybe it would happen.  I remember have a warm feeling when I thought about God.  It was reassuring to know that I wasn't alone in life. 

Then an unimaginable event occurred that thrust our entire family into church and the consoling arms of God.  A tragic accident happened.  My younger brother drowned in a creek.  Suddenly God was everywhere and surrounded everyone.  I heard his name coming from everyone I met.  People talked about God having taken Davey, and that God needed him more than we did.  So now I was more confused than ever.  I began to live in fear.  If God had taken my younger brother, then I must be next. 

Just before this event, we had joined a wonderful country church where everybody knew everybody.  It is a mystery as to how Hardin Presbyterian Church entered our lives.  I've asked my parents and my aunt and uncle and no one can seem to recall how we started attending services there.  But it was closely aligned with Davey's death.  In my child's mind these two things are connected.  Church and God came into my life with the most awful grief a child can imagine.  This was juxtaposed with the infinite consolation of friends and family and became the only thing that allowed me to continue growing in my relationship with God.  So here was the beginning of my spiritual education.  We attended church and Sunday School every Sunday.  I learned to read , memorize, and interpret the Bible, I went to summer camp.  However, I still wasn't spiritually connected to God; I definitely held a grudge about losing my brother and somehow He was to blame.  There was a picture of Jesus in the church that held my attention every week.  He was sitting on a tree stump surrounded by a wooded area and he had the most loving eyes.  Jesus became my friend and confidant; my favorite song was "Jesus Loves Me" and my favorite Christmas carol was "Away in a Manger."  Jesus made sense to me.  I knew that God was his father so for many years, God was the old bearded man in a long robe that lived in heaven.  According to my calculations heaven was located just above the clouds.  I didn't really have a place for the Holy Spirit.  I knew its first earthly appearance was at the first Pentecost and Paul wrote a lot about it but in my mind it would just come around when needed. 

My beliefs as taught by the Presbyterian church stayed very concrete for many years.  As I aged into my teen years I struggled with the idea of predestination but I also did not completely understand it.  Confirmand me wondered, what was the use?  If my life was preordained by God, what was the purpose of me simply following the plan?  This would be a conundrum for my entire life.  How do I know what is God's plan and what is my plan? This was the beginning of my curiosity about faith and organized religion and the difficulty of finding its intersection.  It was also about this time that  a junior high English teacher saw something in me that no one else had.  He started recommending books to me and meeting with me to discuss them afterwards.  Move fast forward to a conversation that we found ourselves in about evolution/creationism.  This was my first introduction to a different translation of the Bible.  I don't blame the Presbyterian belief system but my own concretism for this missing piece.  I began looking at authors of the books of the Bible in a completely different light.  And it changed everything.  Now it all became a slurry of who was writing, who was the audience, what was the intention?  This was added to my interpretation of a story written 2 thousand years ago and how it might be helpful to a teenager in the 1960s. 

Although my faith often confused me, it was something that I never wanted to be without.  There was never a time that I rebelled against it or felt the urge to set it aside.  I went to church weekly with my family until high school graduation and continued the practice when I went off to college.  While I didn't become an active member of a church community at that time, I enjoyed dipping my toe into other religions and coming back home to the local Presbyterian church.  The Bible also continued to be a close companion.  I loved returning to the old memorized passages from my childhood.  It brought comfort during difficult times. 

After marriage, my commitment to my identification of being a Protestant was deeply challenged by marrying a devout Catholic.  We were married in the Catholic church which included a promise on my part to raise any children in the Catholic faith.  We talked for hours about this topic.  We both agreed that we had the advantage of being able to expose our children to both faiths and they would be so much the better for it.  But that never happened.  I attempted to find a Presbyterian home in Santa Clara but to no avail.  We started attending the Mission in Santa Clara and I was swallowed up, hook, line, and sinker.  The more I learned about Catholicism, the more I realized the differences were few.  I began taking classes from Fr. Phelan and he had the skill of making those differences disappear.  We worked our way through The Confessions of St. Augustine and before I knew it, I was being confirmed and was a born again Catholic.  I could not have been more content in my spiritual life.  We were a family in the most real sense of the word; praying together, everyone on the same page with the spiritual development of our children as our focus.  I was finding time to learn more about the saints, and icons and rites and rituals of the Catholic church.  I loved them all.  Before you knew it, I was finding peace and grace in daily mass.  It was just me and the old people but I was at peace with my God,  my brother Jesus, and Mother Mary. 

As time went on, I went back to school to get my credential and I had my first face to face introduction to the Jesuits at Santa Clara University.  I didn't know it at the time but this was another fork in my spiritual development road.  I learned to see God in all things and began to contemplate in action.  I got my credential and went to work in the Diocese.  Now I was truly living and breathing my faith in the every day world.  My faith grew through everyone I was associated with; principals, teachers, parents, religion coordinators, Directors of Religious Education.  I was in constant communication with my God throughout the day.  This became a prayer structure that would stay with me the rest of my life.  God, help this child, Oh God, look at that beautiful flower, God help me understand.  School became my church home 5 days a week and then as a family we worshipped at the actual church on Sundays.  Life would take me away from Diocesan education for a while but I was destined to return bigger and better than ever.  As the kids got older, we struggled to keep everyone content at the diocesan church and returned once again to The Mission.  It was there that we would all come to understand how everyone fits under the umbrella of love and acceptance of christianity.  It wasn't every week but when I was there, it was very good.  This is the church that would forever be home to me.  Later, when I would move away and was searching for a church home, this was the thing for which I was yearning - the rites and rituals along with a broader way of thinking of what it means to be Catholic, to be human. Even after my divorce when I grappled with the church's teaching on divorce I hung onto the icons and symbols of Catholicism. But that didn't keep me from doubting; was I still welcome?  During those darker days, I sat in the back of the Mission Church, clearly ashamed of being a divorced Catholic,  but still I was there, waiting to be fed and loved and accepted.  Gradually, the loving took hold and I came to understand that I would always be a child of God and that whether the teaching of the church accepted me or not, God did.  And God wanted me right there.

Eventually, I found my way back to Jesuit education.  But this time I was the educator and later the administrator.  Now, once again, I was living my faith in the everyday, the every minute of the day.  I discovered El Retiro Retreat Center and the joy of meeting God face to face in silent retreats and bringing that feeling of peace, love, and grace back with me to the real world.  Forever, I will remember God coming to me in the silence of prayer in my cell and calling me his beloved.  I was filled with a deep warmth from my head to my toes and could feel his love consume me.  I was his beloved.  From that day forward, I would carry God with me in a new and deeper way.

The next fork in the road was my retirement and moving away from The Santa Clara Mission.  After my move to Vancouver, Washington, I searched and searched for something close to that but my arbitrary rules got in the way.   As I look back there actually were a couple Jesuit churches that I had toyed around with but I wasn't willing to commit to the weekly drive to find what I needed.  In my search, I found my way back to the church of my birth.  I once again became a member of the Presbyterian church and was worshiping with my sister.  That brought many other gifts of which I am deeply aware but I always felt a tad out of sync.  One of those gifts was connecting with a spiritual director and her leading me to the writings of Richard Rohr.  This was a missing piece, quiet contemplation to spend time with my God.  I took on this habit with joy.  This also led me to another spiritual practice (in my mind) of the Morning Pages.  I wrote every morning and it was prayer being spewed out on the page.  I felt glorious.  But so often my practices begin glorious and then suddenly life gets in the way and the habit is lost, restarted and lost again.  I still miss finding the time for the Morning Pages.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to stay in Vancouver as this was followed by a move to Florida to support my parents.  I am now three years into life in the south and there is nothing close to Jesuit spirituality here.  I tried out the Presbyterian church again, I have also tried the local Catholic church.  But what has filled me on this leg of my journey is reading and podcasts- Richard Rohr and others from the  Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, Barbara Brown Taylor - she gave me permission to leave church and find God in the woods, and others who can fill my head, heart and spirit with a new way of thinking about God, about Jesus, and finally about the Holy Spirit.  I finally understand that the Holy Spirit is in me.  It is God's core that resides in my core.  It is my soul.

I live 100 miles away from my mother and my recently departed father as they requested, and know only a few people in the neighborhood.  I am becoming more and more protective of my quiet time.  I am alone most of the time and have ample opportunity for my running monologue with God that continues to ground me while lifting me up.  Look God, what a beautiful cardinal, Please, God, help my mom stay strong, God, what is next?  I am finding my place volunteering at the food pantry and seeing Jesus at every turn.  My contemplative prayer is back strong, I am praying the examen, and am now looking forward to once again discovering God as my beloved in the Ignatian Exercises Adventure.  I can't wait to begin. I can't wait to feel God's loving embrace.  

A Journey Inward

 I am preparing to take off on a new journey inside.  For several years I had yearned to do the Spiritual Exercises, a 30 day Ignatian retreat at El Retiro in Los Altos, California.  But while teaching, preparing to teach, and learning what to teach, it never fit into my summer schedule.  Now that I was retired there was time, but I could no longer get to El Retiro for 30 days.  Then it fell into my lap.  My friend, Nancy told me about an at-home retreat that was sponsored by Santa Clara University.  It is an hour of prayer a day for  9 months along with weekly spiritual direction.  So I am taking off on an inward journey.  I know it will be enlightening, joyful, painful, and difficult.  I also know that I will be a fuller, more complete person when May comes.  Pray for me.

Memory of Dad

I am one of the Allen kids.  I was the lucky one who got to be a part of both Don Allen's living and his dying.  I saw it all - the good and the bad.  A few months ago during one of my errand missions to the office when Dad could no longer walk that far, I came upon a photo that I had never seen before.  A young Don Allen was holding my  baby brother, Davey and sitting beside them was 2-year old me looking lovingly into my father's eyes.  A lot of what I did for the rest of my life was living out that look.  As anyone who knew Don Allen would attest, his expectations were always high, he freely admitted that they were higher still for his children.  Perfection was the expectation.  We were Allens and we knew from an early age what that entailed.  Be honest - tell the truth even when you know you're in trouble because it will be far worse if you lie about it.   That statement comes from personal knowledge.   Be true to your word, that is all you will ever need to stand on.  Work hard, just keep at it until you have mastered the task, no matter if you have the skills or training, if you have the desire you can do it.  He may have eventually come to understand that this was not always true of me.  But he never stopped pushing. Do the right thing. The right thing was drilled into the Allen kids from an early age.  It is a mixture of honesty, hard work, and authenticity.  There was no other version of our dad.  He never smoothed his edges for the company he was keeping.  If you knew him professionally or personally, he was the same.  That is a dying breed.  With his passing also goes his Popeye view of the world, "I am what I am" that would later become What you see is what you get.  So as we all remember Don Allen today, may it be with his famous smile and a chuckle or two of our own.  He was a man who lived his life as he ordained it to be and we all became better because of his presence in the world.

Dad's Obituary

December 30, 1930-February 15, 2021

Donald Allen Jr. passed away peacefully on February 15, 2021 at the age of 90. He lived in Council Bluffs, Iowa for more than 40 years before moving to the Sarasota/Bradenton, Florida area in 1973.  He is preceded in death by his son, David Allen, mother, Adelaide Price Allen, and father, Donald Allen.  He leaves behind his loving wife, Nadine Allen; his brother Paul Allen (Arma Jo Allen), his children Patricia Oneil, Michael Allen (Vickie Allen), and Teresa Allen, his grandchildren, Jenna Beaty, James Oneil, Maria Carter-Giannini, David Giannini, Christopher Allen, Timothy Allen, twelve great-grandchildren, and many nieces and nephews.

Don was born and raised in Council Bluffs Iowa.  He attended Dodge and Bloomer Schools and Abraham Lincoln high school where he met his lifelong sweetheart, Nadine.  He began his career in construction as an apprentice carpenter and learned every aspect of the construction trade.  Over the next 50 years he would be part owner of two companies; the first with his brother Paul Allen,  Allen Brothers Construction in Council Bluffs, Iowa, and the second with Billy Pullman, Associated Interior Systems, Inc. in Sarasota, Florida.  His only hobby was helping his friends and neighbors with construction projects. 

Don grew up during the Great Depression and its imprint would alway be a guiding force on his work ethic and financial decisions.  He believed strongly in honesty, hard work, and responsibility and passed those virtues onto his children and grandchildren.  He had a deep love for God, his country, and his family.  He fell in love with and married, Nadine Weatherill, his high school sweetheart, in 1950. They celebrated 70 years of that union this past July. Their life together was never dull.  They moved to Texas for a short time in 1951 where Patricia was  born.  There was a second move to Arkansas in 1960 and by that time Michael, Teresa, and David had joined the family.  Donald was proud of his children and the adults they became.  Although there would be many bumps in the road, he always believed the most difficult had been losing his son David, in childhood. 

Don created many lasting relationships in his work life.  He was well known for his constant strive for perfection.  Anyone in business with Don knew that you would be called on to give your personal best; nothing else would be accepted.  He will be greatly missed by his partners and peers who became friends.  Don was a mentor to many. 

After his retirement in 1995, he and Nadine enjoyed many years together.  They traveled the United States as well as England, Australia, and a cruise to the Baltic countries.  They shared a great love of southwest design and created a showplace in Parrish, Florida.  Their home, planned and constructed by Don (with a little help from his friends and family) is a southwest design, filled with memorabilia and artifacts from New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado,

The family would like to thank the great outpouring of support they received through Don's  illness and passing. A Celebration of Life will take place at Groover Funeral Home at Mansion Memorial Park in Ellenton, Florida at a later date. 

In lieu of flowers, please send donations to Tidewell Hospice, 5955 Rand Blvd., Sarasota, FL 34238 (941-552-7546).

https://tidewellfoundation.org/giving-opportunities/memorial-tribute-gifts/

Saying Goodbye to 2020

Saying good-bye to 2020 seems like an easy thing to do.  So much has been lost.  But as I pause to reflect there has also been many gifts.

While I have missed my family of children and grandchildren to the point of physical pain, I have also learned how deeply important each of them is to me.  They are my life.  I look forward to the day when not only we can be together again - something I took for granted - but for the day that I will live in their midst again.  No one can say what that will look like today but I know that it will happen again.  A year ago, I might have thought that I would stay in Florida until my kids had to move me out but now my heart begs to be with them again in the everyday of life.  I miss being a part of the ordinary - the walks to schools, the "let's get coffee,"  the stop by to visit that is simply impossible now.  I miss being with, being together, being part of a bigger thing. 

The gift of being with my parents in 2020 has been like nothing I could have imagined.  I learned to protect myself for their sake.  I gave up what I knew to be my life in order to be assured that I had kept them safe from the Corona virus.  The sacrifice of me as their child has not been unlike the sacrifices I made for my own children.  The child has now become the caretaker. 

I have missed church and being in community with other believers.  I joined the church in January and the last service I attended was in March.  Here it is 9 months later.  Church has become a spectator sport on a video screen.  This is a dichotomy for me because I have certainly learned to lived without it and go on.  There are so many options on-line that have kept my spiritual live growing deeper and deeper.  I'm not sure what this means going forward.  Maybe it's not church but the gathering.

Gathering has been the word for this year.  It is what I have missed the most.  Gathering for holidays and celebrations, gathering for meetings, gathering for church.  The inability to come together has been the missing piece, the piece I don't want to go on without.  I am not a people person but I am a person person.  I want to be together with my someone, look him/her in the eye and talk and share.  It is what grounds me, what makes me remember the important stuff, the stuff that I am about.

So as I look toward 2021, I look forward to being together again.  Eye contact.  Touching.  Holding.  Hugging.  I will be patient.  I will wait.  And when it is safe, I will drive, I will fly, I will gather.  

Memories of Thanksgiving: A Note to My Children

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday and by always, I mean my entire lifetime. I don’t remember a year when I didn’t look forward to the fourth Thursday of November. Now as I look back through the Thanksgivings of my life, they unroll like a beautiful scroll before me. Beginning in Iowa, the child that was me is wide eyed and mesmerized by the sights and smells of my Grandma’s little kitchen. I am surrounded by the embodiment of love and family and all that is good. Growing up, Thanksgiving took on more and more importance; I looked forward to it more than Christmas or my birthday. It was a holiday that filled all of my senses and never ever disappointed me. Once I was married, I kept trying to recreate that bigger than life event for the two of you but never quite fulfilled the goal.  But today, as I look back, and think about the happiness that surrounds this day, the vision that lingers for me is in my kitchen on College Ave. the year I insisted that we were not going to the Ryans; we would stay home for Thanksgiving.  This was a meal that I couldn’t wait to cook for my family.  It was two days of preparations - tart cranberry sauce the way Dave like it, Grandma’s sage stuffing, and pumpkin pie on Wednesday and all the rest on Thursday morning - turkey in the oven by 6 AM, vegetable sides - yams, green beans, and mashed potatoes - finishing up with gravy in that giant black polkadot roasting pan.  But this memory is not so much about the food as it is what’s going on in the background.  My two kids running around the house playing and laughing and reminding me of what is important.  It is deep abiding love.  It is family.  It is being together.  

Through the years, Thanksgiving has become less about the food and more about the thanks.  I have come to understand and appreciate the importance of taking a day for a  long pause to reflect on all that has been given and to be deeply grateful.  Today as I take that pause for gratitude, there is no doubt that my greatest gift has been the two of you.  Because of you, I have learned a love that leaves one searching and lacking the words to say all that is in your heart.  Because of you I understand the true meaning of giving and receiving love.  Because of you I know the value of time well spent in the presence of those we cherish.  This, above all, is something that I will never take for granted.  This year, my heart aches to touch and hold and hug you; those long and deep hugs that go on and on because you just can’t let go. In your place, I can only replay the Thanksgivings that we  have shared together through the years; the Thanksgivings with Grandma and Grandpa Ryan, the Thanksgivings that became Maria’s birthday parties, and even the Thanksgiving that we shared on the floor of the duplex on Highland Ave with food from The Good Earth. You see, no matter where we have been, it’s always been about the gathering, the bringing together of people who love each other. And there is no one I love and cherish more than the two of you.  

Love,

Mom

Giving Thanks

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday and by always, I mean my entire lifetime.  I don’t remember a year when I didn’t look forward to the fourth Thursday of November.  To me, it was what it meant to be an Allen, a Christian, a good person.  It was one day set aside to say thank you, to pause and just recognize all that we have been given.  This year, as I take that pause, my mind is on you, my parents, and this gift that we have been given, this gift of being together.

We have been given the gift of time.  Time to be able to enjoy one another’s company; time to get to know each other, once and for all; time to laugh and cry together.

We have been given the gift of support.  You have helped me financially, physically, and academically.  With your assistance I have bought 2 houses, I have removed citrus trees, and built a sunset patio.  There isn’t a time when I see you that I don’t learn something new.  It might be a new recipe, a Florida plant, or the many purposes of a good set of pliers.  

We have been given the gift of understanding.  Conversations around the table have led me to a deeper level of comprehending your life together - your life as a young couple, as parents, and through the years to your 71st year as husband and wife.    Through many of these conversations I have learned that our views of the world are not that different.  We all believe in the importance of doing what’s right, working hard, and helping one another.

Each of these gift is priceless.  But the greatest gift of this year, greater than all of these, has been the opportunity of giving back.  An adult child’s greatest reward is being given the opportunity to help his or her parents.  And that is exactly where I have found myself this year.  The gift of life that you gave to me 66 years ago, complete with food, diapers, loving lectures, and wings to fly cannot be repaid.  But a few months ago, I was presented with the chance to put a couple dings in that debt.  There are no words that can explain how honored I have been to give back to you all that was freely given to me.  It may have been driving to Publix or the doctor, pulling weeds or mulching, making the bed or helping with the dishes; but it all mattered.  It was all the embodiment of love, it was and is saying thank you Mom and Dad; thank you for all that you gave to me.  May these few gifts of repayment say to you everything my words cannot.  Thank you.  I love you.  

My Dad

Don Allen was my dad.  No one could look at the two of us together and not see the

resemblance.  I have his nose and probably his stubborn streak as well.  But he was

also one of my most important mentors. I looked up to him from my earliest days

and never stopped.  Now, as I remember his life, I am deeply aware of the indelible

gifts that he has left with me.  

First and above all else, he taught me to take pride in everything you do.  I tried

hard to make him proud.  Anyone who knew him, knows what a difficult goal that was. 

He pushed me to be the best I could be in all aspects of my life and was never afraid

to let me know when I had missed the mark.  So as the third child when my turn came

to leave the nest, I knew that somehow I had to get my college degree.  There would be

no plausible explanation for failing.  HIs happiness at my graduation made it worth all of

the work and time. He was never one for many words of pride in his children but as he got older, they came more freely. So on round two, when I returned to school to get my master’s degree, he was once again sitting in the audience as my biggest cheerleader.

One of the simplest things he taught me was, be responsible.  When you got in trouble with Dad, it was never a good idea to try to cover it up or lie about it.  If he caught you in a lie, the punishment just went from 0 to 60.  This I know from years of experience.  He taught me that an Allen’s word was your bond so if you said something, you had better be ready to stand behind it.  It was a lesson that has guided my life in innumerable ways. 

Dad also left me with the gift or curse of perfectionism and an eye for symmetry.  No one ever enjoyed being a part of any of his projects that involved placement or centering.  He may need a measuring tape and level but you can be darn sure that when he was done, it would be perfectly positioned.  He had the incredible knack of being able to look at a task and know immediately how to go about completing it.  Had he been born at another time, he would surely have been an engineer.  
Patience however, was not his forte, so when working as his assistant you had to pick up on things quickly.  His expectations were high so I learned fast that I had better figure out how to anticipate what was coming next.  If not, you can be sure that his volume would be going up and the criticism would be harsh.  One of my favorite memories of my dad was when we had planned on putting in a deck at my house and I finally had the courage to tell him that I could only help him if he promised not to call me names. He agreed to my conditions and remained good to his word.

   
My dad also had many strengths of which I never acquired.  He had a great memory and as a result was a good storyteller.  Even if you had just met him, he had a story to tell you.  Work was his purpose in life.  He never enjoyed puzzles or games but if something needed to get done, he was your guy.  His goals were always clear.  If he set out to do something, you can be sure that it was going to happen one way or the other.  There was no obstacle big enough to keep him from achieving it.  He lived life on his own terms.  As a contractor in Iowa, he worked through frigid cold winters and horribly hot summers.  So the move to Florida in 1973 made it possible to work and earn a living in much more pleasant conditions.  With the help of a few contacts and simply his inner drive to succeed, he was able to make the transition from owning a construction company with his brother to a much bigger field of play.  

I was the lucky kid who got to share time with him at the end of his life journey. 

In this past year, I have witnessed so much.  I have seen the deep love he had

for my mom, the woman who for 70 plus years he called his girlfriend.  I have

seen how a man of strength comes to terms with his own humanity as gracefully

as possible. I have also seen the spiritual side of my father take precedence over

anything here on earth.  We have had some great conversations about some very

deep subjects and I will be forever grateful for our time together.  As his child, I never

stopped learning from him and I will miss him terribly.  I will miss his stories, his

loving arms, his strong opinions about politics, and his advice for my DIY projects.  

Thanks, Dad.  Your work is done here.  Now it’s time to rest.  I love you.  

Don's Declaration of Love

Don’s Declaration of Love to his Wife, Nadine

 

I was not quite 18 years of age on December 20, 1948, when I started on this lifelong trip

of love with my girlfriend/wife.  After spending the evening together and holding her body

close to mine followed by a goodnight kiss, I knew that I wanted more of that good

warm feeling I was experiencing.  And here we are 70 plus years later and the feeling

is still there.  I did and do love that girl.

 

This wonderful young girl, my life partner, bore the burden of all the logistics, management,

and labor of running a household, bearing and rearing children and even providing extra

income when possible.  Those tasks have too many components to mention each item. 

In addition, there were all the ancillary jobs of health care, nursing, sewing, chauffeuring,

making things, gardening, and yard care to mention a few - as well as being an attentive wife.

 

Our life together had its challenges and disappointments large and small like ever other

marriage.  When things got too heavy, we would stop, hold each other close, talk, and pray. 

Somehow, we made it work.  I am so grateful. Our deep honest love has conquered all.

 

If I had do-overs, I would arrange my priorities to always make her first.  I would work very

hard at giving her more of my time and attention, understanding her needs and wants,

acknowledging her efforts, council with her, and let her know that I truly do appreciate

all she does.

 

Nadine, you were truly God’s blessing to me.  I ask your forgiveness for my shortcomings

and the times I disappointed you.  I love you, my beautiful soulmate.

 

With Love, Don.

Father's Day From One Year to the Next

Father's Day 2019

I had only been living in Florida for 2 weeks.  I couldn't wait to spend the day with my dad.  This is something that I hadn't done for more than 40 years.  My dad thought it was kind of silly but he put up with my picture taking and noting the importance of this day.  As I look at that picture now I see a still vital albeit aging man.  His eyes are shining back at me, his laugh is visible almost audible.  As father and daughter there appears to be so much ahead for us -  so many home projects, so many dinners and stories together, so many memories to share.  

Father's Day 2020

He is tired.  He is worn down from surgeries, attempts at pain management, and an impending hernia surgery.  He is on oxygen voluntarily with no one suggesting it.  He once again puts up with my enthusiasm at spending the day together but this one is very different.  In the air hovers the feeling that this will most likely be one of our last.  There is no photo this time.  This is a look I would rather not memorialize.  We enjoy dinner together and I do what I can to ease the burdens of their daily life, always trying to look forward but knowing that the road into the future is a short one.  

Take aways from Austin Channing Brown's conversation with Brene Brown

I am a "good" person but I can be a better one.

I'm here to get it right, not be right.

The work of antiracism is becoming a better human to other humans.

We all mess up.  We all get shit wrong.  But have you built the capacity to care more about others than you care about your own ego?

Proximity to a Black person (relational argument) puts the burden of teaching on Black people.  It makes the person of color responsible to change your heart and mind.  

Grown White people are adults who can think critically on their own... and look at the world and say something's not right here, let me...  change the way I vote, give to an organization that is trying to change this, let me go do.

Marching beside Black people is still for the self.  What are you giving?

Every White friend that I have, perceives racial justice, would still be doing the work if I was no longer there.  Being friends with me is not the work.    

White people like rules, not to do the work the right way, but so we can protect ourselves.  The rules are the fence around the ego.  

The American Dream

When the other side pushes back you know that you have hit a nerve.  The airways are currently full of rich black men blaming the individual and contending that there is no racism in America.  Yes, you the actors, and rappers, and a few lawyers and politicians made it.  But, did you take anyone else up with you?  This new voice now says, if you didn't have the opportunity, it's your fault for not going out to get it.  The blame is back on the family and the individual. Where are their parents, where is his drive to succeed?  The American slogan of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps just doesn't apply when you are raised in the projects surrounded by poverty which walks hand in hand with violence and drugs.  We emulate what we see and what we know.  If this is all we see and know, this becomes our reality.  The only way a poor child can reach for opportunity or dig down deep to succeed is if she knows there's something different out there.  

As a middle class white teen, I knew because I was told over and over again that I would go to college.  I had that voice in my head.  I had no idea why or what would be accomplished in doing so but I knew that it was going to happen.  Fast forward 20 years and I became that voice in my students' heads.  One thing that we now know as educators is that first generation college graduates only need one adult that becomes that voice, one adult that intervenes in a student's current reality and says, you can do this.  You can go to college, you can have a career, you can move out of poverty.  

Social media has succeeded in showing poor children and adults what the rest of society has but not how to get there themselves.  It is up to us to now create that.  Defunding/abolishing police and prisons will leave a giant gap.  In my view, we cannot jump from a militarized police department to nothing.  As we have said many times in the coronavirus pandemic, "Hope is not a plan."  So let's make a plan.  Let's plan for a social structure that will take the place of police.  Let's look at protection in terms of guardians instead of warriors.  Let's look at domestic disputes being handled by counselors.  Let's look at slashing the public safety budget and starting with its unions.  Let's look at gun control, seriously look at gun control.  

This is no longer a travesty.  It is an opportunity.  This is a once in a million chance of remaking American society into being the dream that we have all wished for.  Langston Hughes said it better than I can.  

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above

(America never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real and life is free

Equality is in the air we breathe.  

Let's Begin the Work

I am watching and participating in marches that claim Black Lives Matter and call for peace and for justice.  As lovely as it is to see, I'm sorry to say, America, this is not even the starting block.  You see, we have been here before on this very road.  We have marched arm in arm, we have sung the songs that called for peace and justice and thought that would do it.  That was a head change not one of the heart.  We thought everyone agreed with the simple truth that all are equal.  But the culture of hatred and the tight grasp of White power remained in place.  It took on a new look but if you were Black in America, you didn't notice a thing.  Until we can acknowledge that we have been complicit in systemic racism, nothing will change.  Until we can say mea culpa, I'm sorry, and mean it, nothing will change.  Until we can look in the mirror at our own power, advantages, and privileges and willingly give them away to those upon we have trodden, nothing will change.  March.  Sing.  Hold hands.  Continue to post videos of police harming instead of helping until everyone understands what we really mean when we say Black Lives Matter.  Then apologize.  Be political.  Open your heart and head to the idea of shared power and what that might look like in our hospital maternity wards, preschools, educational institutions, residential communities, and work places. 

Finding the Right Question to Ask

Living in the upheaval of today means finding the right question to ask that will bring us to a different outcome.  We, as a nation, have been in this time and place before.  As we look back, we reflect on when and where are the times and places that each of us has turned away and became complicit in the mistreatment and death of others?  Did we refuse to look or was it just more comfortable not seeing?  That can no longer be.  Now, we again come face to face with the rage and protest of racism followed by White America's admission that there is an advantage to being born white.  This time, let the next step be different.  Words feel inadequate.  What new is there to say?  We enter in with a sense of helplessness in uttering once again the words "Black Lives Matter."  Of course they matter; they are essential, and of deep value to us as a people.  And so we come with silence.  We set our minds on bold visioning and this time are determined to discover who we are going to be together.  How do we become the us that has not yet been and finally give birth to a united America?  In the words of Langston Hughes: "Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-"  It is time for the hard work to begin.  

Taking the Life of the Other

At the age of 65, I saw the "race riots" of the 60s and now am seeing them lived out again in the 2020 version.  This version is much more difficult to watch.  The look of anger on the faces is familiar like  old friends that I haven't seen in a while but they still look exactly the same.  The police continue to fight to retain white power at any cost and the blacks just want the world for an instant to acknowledge that systematic racism exists.  They are worlds apart - still.  In the 50 year interval I have seen the killing of black men and women with a variety of  methods.  I have always been stunned by the horrific violence of it.  Black men were snatched by the KKK in the dead of night, their faces illuminated by burning torches and strung from trees to be "Strange Fruit."  Then the police moved to clubs and on to guns.  The violent beating of Rodney King in 1991 is still a visceral scene in my mind's eye.  The men and women that I have seen killed with guns or choke holds on the eventing news by our public servants is too many to list.  And the result has always been the same.  Death by racism and the white officers walk away unscathed.  Few go to trial and those that do are never convicted.  And so it continues unabated.  But this killing of George Floyd is something new.  No violence.  No gun, or club, or rope.  No look of anger or distain.  Hands in pockets, completely relaxed, with only one knee as the weapon of choice.  But the question remains the same, how is it that you are able to snuff out a life so easily?  You took away this human's existence like I would step on a bug.  There was no thought of his being a man, a son, a brother, a father.  

White America turned blacks into the other many generations ago.  No law or politician or even a black president has been able to change the status quo.  Slaves were lazy.  Freed African descendants were illiterate and unable to be taught.  Arrests and criminal behavior was proof that we should be protected from them.  Government housing and poverty during a time of affirmative action was the "See, I told you so." nail in the coffin.  Any blacks that were able to lift themselves out of poverty were seen as the exceptions to the rule.  And I have witnessed all of these manifestations of prejudice in one solitary lifetime.  So we have remained in this place hovering between the academic belief that all are created equal but living the palpable fear of releasing, even for a moment, our hold on white power.  We have been here in this very spot that we were in 50 years ago, 100 years ago, 400 years ago.  Nothing has changed beyond the mode and extreme ease of murder.

Taking a Knee

It is time for us all to take a knee.  Some background:  I am a 49er fan and agreed wholeheartedly with Colin Kaepernick's 2016 silent protest of our racist criminal justice system.  It was simple, direct and repetitive to serve as a weekly reminder to us that a change was needed.  But maybe it was just too early.  America wasn't ready.  I also was a practicing Catholic for 40 years of my life.  I have no qualms with getting on my knees.  Now in 2020, we have seen how our police choose to get on their knees.  George Floyd died at the knee of Derek Chauvin and other videos have appeared with police officers restraining black men with a knee on their neck.  But we have also seen a myriad of people bowing down to racism, including some police officers.  While that is heartening, the road is long and we have a 400 year history to address.  I'm not sure where we go from here but we can start with Colin's kneel.  We take a knee to remind ourselves that, like Derek Chauvin, we have power over the vulnerable and helpless. Even when it is not intentional, we cause pain and suffering. We take a knee to remind ourselves that we live in a system where some of us are holding others down by the simple place of our birth into our privileged positions.  We continue racism through our ignorance and refusal to change what has always been.   We take a knee in an act of repentance. We apologize for the part we played in this systemic sin. Yes, it is time for us all to get down on our knees, to hold a mirror up to our lives and our society, and confess that we are participants in a structural racism that is as deadly as any virus we could ever encounter.