trish hermanson - Home

Mr. Rogers, Make Believe & My Family

11/18/2019

It seems like only yesterday that our girls lived in Mr. Rogers’ land of make believe, and now Tom Hanks is portraying the TV icon in a movie. Mr. Rogers was a hero in our household. I remember when our youngest was just two and her emotions exploded. She stomped upstairs, stood on the landing, and announced, “I hate everybody! I even hate Mr. Rogers!” She marched into her bedroom and slammed the door.
      She quickly emerged with shame on her face and a whisper in her voice. “I didn’t mean what I said about Mr. Rogers.” She couldn’t hate the man who embodied good. Then she retreated to her bedroom to sort out what to do with all the mad she felt toward the rest of us.
     My daughters have blossomed into strong women. I like them just the way they are as they face life’s realities while keeping their rich imaginations. Mr. Rogers has left his land of make believe, passing into the perfect realm he always envisioned. He was disillusioned near the end of his life. Even with his powerful message of kindness, the world had grown worse. I think that’s because we need something more than good attitudes and good intentions. We need new hearts, what the historic Jesus described as being “born again.”
  That’s because beautiful as it is, make believe isn’t enough.

Learning to Put Down the Ducky

11/14/2019

My grandson Joel showed me his collection of rubber duckies, and I confess: as an adult I once bought a rubber ducky when life was overwhelming and I needed a squeaky little friend for security.
     Which is why I smiled when I heard that “Sesame Street” is celebrating its fiftieth birthday. This PBS gem gave my girls and me songs for all occasions when they were little. Like singing “C Is for Cookie” while pulling steaming morsels out of the oven. Or belting out Oscar the Grouch’s “I Love Trash” as we collected ours.
     Recently I’ve been thinking about Ernie, who realized he had to “Put Down the Ducky” in order to learn to play the saxophone. I wonder if I have any duckies I’m clinging to that keep me from taking on new opportunities. Am I holding onto old securities? Or activities I might need to drop to make room for fresh possibilities?
     Clinical psychologist Dr. Henry Cloud calls this making “necessary endings.” When I’m willing to put down those duckies, I’m free to move into sunny days sweeping the clouds away - that's how we get to “Sesame Street.”
How about you? Holding onto any rubber duckies?

How Did God Become a Swear Word?

11/7/2019

Why did we start to say “Oh my God” as an exclamation of shock or surprise, rather than invoking something like “Oh my Gordon” or “Oh my Gladys”? Is it because we don’t believe in him, so what does it matter? But if God doesn’t exist, why use his name as the most powerful word there is to express shock or surprise? And why say “MY God,” claiming God is yours if he doesn’t exist?
     Here’s another oddity. We say “God damn” to express anger. Are we asking God to condemn someone to eternal punishment in hell? Even if we don’t believe in God or hell, that’s a strong image. Do we really want to channel our rage to that depth?
     I wonder if we use God’s name flippantly because there’s no sense of awe left in us. No reverence because nothing is sacred. We no longer view ourselves as souls, just minds and bodies.
     That’s a tragedy because deep inside us, we know we are so much more. We’re not simply atoms and energy that eventually wear out. We are hopes and hurts, dreams and desires. We thirst for love. And here’s the incredible news - the God who created the universe is so enamored with us he stepped onto Earth as Jesus and still rings our doorbells and asks, “Wanna do lunch?
     That’s a God whose name is worth being awestruck about.

Our Excuse to Go Cuckoo

10/31/2019

Twice each year we have the perfect excuse to go cuckoo.
     To crash our cars. Or injure ourselves on the job. Or cyberloaf at work. Or develop a debilitating headache that lasts for weeks.    All these incidents increase when we go on or off Daylight Saving Time. That’s because when we reset our digital clocks, our internal clocks go haywire. Adjusting can take weeks because our circadian rhythm - the natural process that regulates the sleeping-waking cycle - doesn’t like to be messed with.
     Daylight Saving Time was adopted during World War I and II to conserve energy. Perhaps we should consider dumping it now to conserve OUR energy. But until we do, I’m trying to trick my circadian clock and avoid falling apart by heeding the advice of experts to:
     * Turn off all electronic screens an hour before I go to bed because they emit blue light, which suppresses melatonin and makes me think it’s still day.
     * Avoid caffeine after lunchtime because it may cause me to lose a full hour of sleep.
     Ease into the time change by adjusting my bedtime by fifteen minutes over several nights.
     Stick with a set sleep schedule once I've eased into the time change.
     *Nap if I need to, but avoid sleeping in the mornings and near bedtime, and never longer than thirty minutes.
  If I do these and I still go cuckoo, well, I guess then it’s my own dumb fault.

Pat Showed Me How to Live and How to Die

10/28/2019

My friend Pat showed me how to live and how to die. I met her in a women’s study group, where Pat impressed me that she was committed to BE INVOLVED all her life. She dressed smartly, completed her assignments, and was always the first to answer questions.
     Then the cancers she’d fought for fifteen years caught up with her. When doctors told her she had three months to live, Pat kept her PRIORITIES. A friend asked her how her life would change. “Why should it? I’m still listening to God and loving people.”
     She kept her PERSPECTIVE. A pharmacist asked Pat how she was doing, and she answered, “Great. I have three months.” The pharmacist gasped and said, “I’m sorry.” Pat replied, “Don’t be. I’m going home.”
     Pat kept her HUMOR. She called the OxyContin she took “oxymoron,” and on an ambulance run, she asked the two good looking paramedics, “Do you have to be handsome to get your job?”
     When Pat was released to be home, we moved our study group to her living room where she mentioned she wanted the song “I’ll Fly Away” sung at her memorial service. After our study finished, we wheeled her to her bedroom and tucked her in.
      The next day Pat suffered a stroke. No more smile dancing on her face. No more quick quips. Paralyzed on one side. But Pat remembered her DESTINY. At her bedside I read the scripture that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Her eyes fluttered open, and she lifted her right arm heavenward and flapped it, ready to fly away home. Four days later she flew away.
     There’s an art to living and dying. Pat taught me both.
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The song "I'll Fly Away" is here.