Children Deserve Better

The Elephant and the Dog

I was talking with a friend of mine last night. He is a Chaplin attached to the San Hospital at Wahoonga. We were discussing dealing with the loss of our loved ones. How events like this test our faith and the struggles many of us face in getting our faith back. One of my current struggles. 

He sent me the following this morning. I thought I would share it. It's a lovely story and the message equally so. 

An elephant and a dog became pregnant at the same time. Three months down the line the dog gave birth to six puppies. Six months later the dog was pregnant again, and nine months later it gave birth to another half dozen puppies. The pattern continued. 

On the eighteenth month the dog approached the elephant questioning. “Are you sure you are pregnant.” We became pregnant on the same date. I have given birth three times to half a dozen puppies and they are now grown to become big dogs. “What’s going on?”

The elephant replied. 

“There is something I want you to understand. What I am carrying is not a puppy but an elephant. I only give birth to one in two years. When my baby hits the ground, the earth feels it. When my baby crosses the road, human beings stop and watch in admiration. What I carry draws attention. So what I am carrying is mighty and great.”

The message? 

Don’t lose faith when you see others receive answers to their prayers. (Or when others laugh at you for starting you OWN business. Or, when others think you’re crazy for following the voice of God.)

Don’t be envious of others testimony. If you haven’t received your own blessings, don’t despair. Say to yourself “My time is coming, and when it hits the surface of the earth, people shall yield in admiration.”  

It's all too easy to be hard on ourselves. We all (at times) have unrealistic expectations of ourselves. That is definitely so for people who like me, are used to being in control of their lives. We need to be kind to ourselves. Take time. 

God bless.

In Memory of Ann Kenna

Ann Kenna left this world May 3rd, 2016 

I first meet Ann when she joined Wolters Kluwer Asia Pacific as Regional HR Director in 2006. 

Ann and, I enjoyed a ‘colourful’ working relationship as fellow executive team members, colleagues and business partners. Her group providing HR support to my groups in Sydney and Malaysia. 

I will remember Ann as a supportive colleague who always gave freely of her time, advice and expertise. She never shied away from telling you what she thought you needed to hear. Ann had a generous soul and was always willing to share new ideas. She was passionate about principled leadership, a passion we shared. 

I hope David Lampert doesn’t mind me borrowing his words when he said. “Ann always brought a high degree of both professionalism, science, and passion to everything she did in Asia Pac.  And while her passion occasionally led to conflict, the organization, and the people, were always the better for her conviction.” 

When passionate, driven people work together conflict is to be expected. Time, allows us to see things with greater clarity and to understand the value of past-experiences. It’s in those special moments of reflection when we can say to ourselves, yes, I learnt something from those experiences and I am a better person for it. That is important, and part of Ann’s legacy for which I am  grateful. 

Ann played an important role in up-skilling our leaders from the executive team to team leaders. Ann did a sterling job in helping me to mould a young group of leaders in my offshore facility in Malaysia into a team of young professionals. We shared a bond and a sense of achievement in working with and watching these young people blossom. We also had lots of fun doing it. 

Ann and I shared many lovely moments during our travels. She was an absolute hoot to watch bargaining her way through the night markets in KL.  Ann had a wicked sense of humour. She needed one given some of the purchases we made. This became obvious with the customary ‘show and tell’ with the staff in the Lobby Bar at the Shangri-La. This ritual could be relied on to generate the customary exclamations of “what on earth made me to buy that”, followed by peals of laughter. 

Ann was forthright and courageous. This was never more obvious than when she faced her toughest challenge. 

I read through her messages today and this one spoke volumes. “This new Folfox chemo is brutal. I must have been a real dragon in my last life. But how are you?” Whilst Ann faced the battle of all battles she still had time to think of and care for others. I will always be grateful to her for her kindness as I deal with my loss of a loved one.

Ann faced her uncertain future with a courage that was inspirational. When her time came to leave her daughter wrote “She was eager to see what was next. Always looking, planning ahead. She had bigger plans for the next life, filled with more dreams, ambitions, and goals. She dreamt big.”

That she did. 

If I were asked to sum Ann up in a few words, it would go something like this. Ann was an elegant, professional and caring friend. Ann made a difference, and she leaves this world a better place for having been here. 

Ann’s legacy will live on in the many people she mentored and coached to become better leaders, better role models and better people. I for one am a better person for knowing her. 

Thank you, Ann. Rest in peace. 

The Search for Meaning

I've just finished reading "Man's Search For Meaning" by Dr Viktor E. Frankl. Dr Frankl was a holocaust survivor. His story is remarkable on so many levels. 

There are a couple of points he makes in his book that resonate with me. He describes how he felt when he entered Auschwitz. He was stripped of everything even the hair from his body. Naked, vulnerable and exposed. 

I understand that feeling not from a physical perspective but mentally. It's how I feel in trying to cope with grief and the resultant emotions not experienced before. 

But Dr Frankl goes on the describe how he coped. 

In one of his darkest moments the thoughts and mental images of his wife sustained him and he wrote. "I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way—an honorable way—in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, “The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.” 

Isn't that beautiful. Sadly his wife was one of the ones who were so cruelly taken. She died in the gas chamber. He wasn't aware of that at the time but he commented later even if he was he still would have found fulfilment remembering her love.  

What he saw and what he suffered is beyond my real understanding. He talked of how people in the camps became completely desensitised to suffering. He worked in labour camps and also medical awards. He talks of what people did. Terrible things but he didn't judge them. Instead he said, "No man should judge unless he asks himself in absolute honesty whether in a similar situation he might not have done the same." 

I try to do that. I don't always succeed but I try. 

There is one piece in his book which is very relevant to me. It's the reason why a friend suggested I read the book. 

Frankel tells the story of an old man who comes to him seeking solace, completely distraught over the loss of his beloved wife, to whom he was married for many years.  Frankel asks him how his wife would have coped had he been the first to go.  The old man replies that she would have been completely devastated and likely unable to go on.  “Then you have done her a great service.” Frankel tells the man, “By outliving 

her, you have spared her the unbearable pain of losing you.”

Family and friends have expressed similar in reflecting on the passing my husband. I suspect I'm not the only one who feels guilt for living when a loved one has gone before us. Perhaps the answer is in Dr Frankl's inspiring words. Whilst we suffer perhaps we have spared our loved ones. Something to think about. 

Ulimate Meaning

What Fruit Are You?

Have you ever considered what your shopping cart says about you? 

I was in the supermarket yesterday and struck up a conversation with the lady who was on the register. We got around to politics and discovered we were both LNP supporters. During this political exchange she picked up my bag of apples and was trying to identify them. I said, "they are Pink Ladies" to which she replied, "I wouldn't have expected anything else." 

Now you could take the comment several ways. Perhaps she thought what a dill I was, buying Pinks when I could have purchased others as they were much, much cheaper. But Pinks are my favourites. She might have thought I was a snob. You know one those who wouldn't be caught dead buying a good old Iceberg lettuce or an ordinary tomato. As it happens I don't like Icebergs and I am fussy about my toms. Perhaps she was thinking she has a certain je ne sais quoi LMHO. Or, maybe she was just being nice.

I haven’t had a lot to laugh about recently and the exchange did bring a smile to my face. Funny how little things can that. It it reminded me of an executive off-site a few years ago. The discussion got around to the fascinating question,, “If you were a fruit, what would you be?” I suggested I was a pomegranate; complex and sunny with lots of different bits to my toolkit. Various suggestions were made in response. Then my boss suggested I was a pineapple. He described me as spiky but firm (on the outside) and sweet and sunny (in the inside). I rather liked that. I won’t repeat what some suggested about the top, other than to say a few have walked from my office with their knees clenched. 

Back to my Pink Lady definition. I posted the story of my exchange on FB and my quick witted 

nephew came back with , “Lucky you didn’t pick up Granny Smiths.” He wins. 

A Race To The End

I’ve always searched for lovely images, quotes and lyrics, but since Richard passed away I find myself searching for more. Perhaps it's a quest to find meaning. That I don’t really know, I’m just guessing. But, I have always found that things present themselves just when you need them most. So it is with this.

I have always loved the soundtrack from the Chariots of Fire. Whilst searching for this I stumbled across Russell Watson singing the lyrics to the most famous piece from the movie score. It's called “Race To The End”. Given the circumstances surrounding Richards passing the words seemed fitting. So here they are along with the YouTube link to Russell Watson singing it. I think it's beautiful. Like some many inspiring pieces it touches my soul. The rest I’ll leave to your imagination. I hope you enjoy it.

Race To The End

There is but one freedom
Man running along
Each step that he's taking
A step to his soul
The passion and courage
It takes to be there
The spirit of freedom
Alive in the air
Whenever the running man awakes
To challenge to glory
He knows he can turn the key once more
To unlock the soul

The way becomes clearer
The way is complete
The need, that of winning
Admit no defeat
The circles together
Hold hands to the sky
The freedom of running
The freedom to fly

Whenever the running man awakes
To challenge to glory
He knows he can turn the key once more
To unlock the soul

Let no man surround himself with pain
But use it to free him
The game is to learn to live again
To try to the end
A race to the end
A race to the end
A race to the end

The Ladybird and the Daisy

I have always believed that when our loved ones depart this earth, they find a way to send us a sign. In essence, to bring us comfort when we need it, to let us know they are OK and to let us know we are not alone. We just have to be receptive to receive those messages. I have many personal examples of signs, including one that involved my darling cat Winston. 

So to the story of the Ladybird and the Daisy

Whenever I gave Richard a pressie I would stick a little wooden Ladybird on the card envelope. I love Ladybirds and they go so well with the free form flower I always draw to go with it. A few days before Richard passed away, I found one the Ladybirds inside a kitchen cupboard. I stuck it on a cupboard door. A couple of days after Richard died I noticed the Ladybird was on the bench top below. I stuck it back onto the door, it stayed there all day, but next morning it was on the bench top again. This scenario went on for some days. I would stick the Ladybird back onto the door and I’d check it was still there before I went to bed. In the morning there it would be, on the bench top. 

The light goes on, put it inside the cupboard to test. Strike me down next morning it was on the bench top. I gave up and it's lived on the bench top since. I shared this story with people who know Richard and their comments have all been, that is so typical of Richard. It is indeed. 

This past week has been an exceptionally trying week for me. As I understand more about the seven stages of grief, I understand I have moved into the depression, reflection, loneliness stage. One of the downsides of living in my head is, I have to analyse everything to death and to find meaning. For someone who is always so in control of their life and usually their emotions many of the emotions and the inability to control them that this stage brings is a challenge. The endless ‘but why’ questions drive me insane and the feeling of foreboding that the black clouds will never lift are just horrible. But the universe has a habit of bringing help when you least expect it. 

I had visitors for morning tea yesterday. I don’t mind admitting I was feeling anxious. Not because of who was coming, because they all mean a great deal to me and I was so looking forward to catching up. It was because of me. The mere mention of Richard’s name this past week would render me into uncontrollable weeping. There is nothing worse than a soggy cupcake. 

This is where the Ladybird and the daisy connection comes in again. I heard my visitors coming down my driveway and went out to meet them. I am greeted by a dear little poppet holding out a this lovely bunch of flowers. 

They couldn’t have been more perfect; so very Kate colours; soft pastels. Stuck to one of the flowers - a little wooden Ladybird. Even more delightful was the fact that it was stuck to a daisy which is my favourite flower. I felt my dark clouds lifting. I had the most enjoyable couple hours and not a soggy cupcake or Macaron in sight. 

I am usually very open to receiving messages, but the past couple of weeks there has been nothing and I think that is what has led to me hitting the wall. It wasn’t until this morning that the penny dropped that there has been a sign there all along. A single daisy flower in my front garden. It never registered with me until I started to pen this piece this morning. Just to prove I’m not completely bonkers here is a pic. It's on its last legs now, but it has been there for about two weeks. Just one flower. 

I can hear Richard’s laugh as he whispers  “For heaven's sake open your eyes you ‘daft apeth’.” In case you are wondering what a ‘daft apeth’ is, it’s a northern England equivalent of the term Muppet. It's often used by the Brits as a term of endearment when a loved does something wrong or is slow on the uptake. Richard always used it and I in turn would call him a twit.

My beautiful flowers will eventually wither and die, but the little Ladybird will stay as a reminder that regardless of how bleak the world looks, if we ask for help, or for a sign and if we have enough faith we will receive it. Mind you, the messenger will not always be as cute as yesterday, but there will be one. I just have to keep my eyes open.