A Blast From the Past

 To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere, without moving anything but your heart. - Phyllis Grissim-Theroux
 

I never met my father-in-law. My husband, Ed, who is named after his father, met him, but he doesn’t remember him. Edmund Palko Sr. died at the age of 27 when my husband was only 11 even month’s old and his older sister was not even three.
 

We knew some things about his father. He was tall at 6’2” and a good athlete, playing football for Derry High School and appearing in the high school all-star game. He served in the Korean War and met my late mother-in-law at a skating rink after the war, and they married. Also, after the war he was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, which at that time they attributed to a “nervous stomach” from the war. He got seriously sick in April of 1956 and was hospitalized. Peritonitis set in and eventually killed him over the Easter holiday.
 

We have his letterman jacket, the Bible he carried into war, and the flag that draped his coffin. We know from my husband’s cousin, Rosemarie, who was born on his birthday, that he promised that when she turned 21, he would buy Rosemarie her first drink—something he never lived to fulfill.
 

We know about my father-in-law, but we don’t know him. That is until recently.
 

At the annual Palko family reunion this summer, another of my husband’s cousins was cleaning out some of his late mother’s effects and came across some things from my father-in-law that his mom, my husband’s Aunt Emma, had kept. She was one of my father-in-law’s seven older siblings.
 

Among the things was his first-grade report card, and we discovered that he was quite chatty and got unsatisfactory marks for comportment. But the real treasure was the one letter that was given to us dated February 5, 1951, written while he was in basic training in Fort Knox, Kentucky, and considering becoming a paratrooper.
 

Hi Em,
 

I thought I’d say something about the paratroopers. In the first place whoever gave you the idea that it’s dangerous or anything like that? . . . About mom and pop worrying. I don’t see why. I can take care of myself very well and they know it. So, you can tell mom to stop worrying.
 

Your Brother, Edmund
 

We have a few photos of him, but this was before the proliferation of home movies and iPhone videos, so we don’t know how he moved, what his mannerisms were, or how his voice sounded. But this one letter gave us a welcomed glimpse into his personality revealed by his own words, and it was given to us 73 years after he wrote it.
 

And it made me think about how sad it is that no one writes letters anymore. A lot of the things we know from previous wars came to us through letters. Although we have numerous photos and videos today with iPhones, those photos and videos seem to evaporate quickly and exist outside of the material world. A letter is something concrete. It can be kept in a drawer or scrapbook and be taken out and read over and over. You can see the personality in the penmanship and hear the words on the page in your mind and heart, and if it wasn’t for this one missive, my father-in-law would have remained a flat character to us.
But now with this gift of this letter, we have a small glimmer of his personality, what he was thinking, his sarcasm, and how he expressed himself. And as the saying goes - priceless.

This originally appeared in the November issue of Northern Connection magazine.

In the Moment

 

When I was in high school, I was on both the yearbook and newspaper staff, and in addition to writing for them, I was also a photographer for both publications. This meant that it was my job to capture the goings on at all school events I was tasked with covering, everything from school assemblies to field day to candid shots.

Fast forward nearly 45 years later, and I now serve as a publicity chair for a women’s prayer breakfast organization. In addition to sending out notices and publicizing the meetings, it is my duty to take photos of the events and submit them to the organization’s historian.

 

At the last breakfast as I was sneaking around the room trying to capture the speaker in action, the women eating breakfast and socializing, and the band performing, I had a flashback to my high school years, specifically, how as soon as you pick up a camera and begin viewing events through a lens you immediately go from being a participant to an observer. 

 

How many times have you been advised or seen postings advising you to “live in the present moment?” Unfortunately, I’ve learned that when you’re taking photos, you’re not in the present moment; you are one step removed from reality.

I love collecting photographs as much as the next person and the 18 photo albums I have on my bookshelf and the scads of photos on my phone attest to that, but I’m trying to be more judicious when it comes to taking photos.

In fact, a study by psychologist Maryanne Garry of the Victoria University of Wellington in New Zealand, says that taking too many photos distorts how memories are made in our brains and that it undermines the way people form memories. Her findings show that because we are taking so many photos, we don’t interact with them. When we take fewer photos, we reinforce that image by looking at the photo more often and imprinting it in our brain. 

 

Whatever the reason, it’s way more important to be present and make memories than it is to get that snapshot. So maybe that old, retort kids used to say, “Take a picture, it lasts longer” is not only snarky, but false. It’s only when we take a picture and cherish it that it has lasting value and grounds us in our life.

 

This article originally appeared in the April issue of Northern Connection magazine.  Read it here!

Peace on Earth – I Wish

 

A little over a year ago, I was in the Holy Land touring its historic and religious sites. After returning home, many were curious about the trip and asked me lots of questions.

I repeatedly emphasized to anyone who inquired that if they ever get the chance to go to Israel, do so. You will be forever changed.

Historically, you can almost trace humanity’s existence over the millennia there.

For those who are Christians, it roots your faith in a tangible setting. Geographically, everything was right where the Bible said it was. Americans tend to believe that we are at the center of the universe, but to see believers from every corner of the world, of various races and ethnicities in all types of garb, all there for the same reason, put into perspective the universality of Christ’s message and God’s presence in the world.

After having been on the tour, I now know what the flowers look like on Mt. Tabor, how rocky the terrain is, how brightly the sun shines there. I can still feel the silky dried salt on my skin from the Dead Sea and the heat of the dessert on my neck at Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. I not only looked back to the past there, but I also looked toward the future, as we gazed out over the beautiful Jezreel Valley, where the battle of Armageddon is prophesied to take place at the end of the age.

Gazing out over the Jezreel Valley.

Ed at Qumran.

I told someone that to me Jerusalem is the earth’s belly button. It seems as if the umbilical cord from heaven terminates there on earth and connects us to that which is not of this world.

One of the other questions I was frequently asked was, How safe were you there? And I repeatedly told people that never once did I feel unsafe. In fact, as I was getting on the elevator on our last night in Jerusalem, another group of Americans got on with me, and one of them asked me if I’d been to the Western Wall that day. When I said yes, he replied, “You know they shot and killed someone there this morning?” Surprised, I told them we were there in the afternoon. Apparently, some man had come to the Wall and was acting strangely. When security questioned him, he attacked the soldiers patrolling the area with a knife and he was shot. “Wow,” I said. “You never know what’s going to happen.” 

“Well,” another American said, “Last night was Halloween back home, and in Chicago 14 people were shot. No one pays attention to that.”

Well, since the October 7 attacks on Israel by Hamas, everyone is paying attention now and no one feels safe. After having been to Israel, I feel extremely sad about the violence happening there and wonder how our Catholic tour guide is faring, and all the Israelis we met, as well as the little Palestinian kids who waved to us on our tour bus as they stripped olives from the trees in their back yards. The violence all seems so unreal and unnecessary.

                                 

   The "Glory to God in the Highest" arch entering Shepherd's Field.

One of the first places we visited on the tour was Bethlehem. And next to the Shepherds’ Field is a church called the Chapel of the Angels. Like many churches there, it was designed by architect Antonio Barluzzi, and it is situated near the remains of a 4th-century church that was originally on the site where the heavenly host brought their “good tidings of great joy” to the shepherds minding their flocks.

                                           

 Chapel of the Angels designed by Antonio Barluzzi.

Inside the church, that was designed to look like a field tent much like the shepherds would use, are murals depicting the scenes of the angels coming to the shepherds to announce the birth of the Savior. Around the dome is the inscription: Gloria Excelsis Deo, et in Terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. 

 

                                               

 The inscription on the dome inside the chapel.

 

These were the words of the angelic host and translates from the Latin to say: Gloria to God in the Highest and in Earth peace to men of Good Will.

There are some who say that it should be translated as Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.

There is a difference between the two translations. In the first, the peace extended to Earth is only experienced by those with good will in their hearts and the latter extends peace to all.

No matter how you translate it, Israel and the rest of us on earth could really use some peace this Christmas season. 

This article originally appeared in the December issue of Northern Connection magazine.