One Inch Obit

Jarod, a young African American from Birmingham, Alabama, passed away earlier this week. He was thirty four years old. I didn’t know Jarod personally and, after reading his obituary, I can’t say that I know much more about him other than his name, age, race, place of birth and the funeral home handling his burial. I don’t even know the cause of his death. I only know he died. His obituary was painfully sparse.  Apparently, no one preceded him in death.  He left no survivors. No parents. No brothers and sisters. No aunts, uncles, nephews or nieces. For all practical purposes, he came into this world as he left it: alone. 

Like so many obituaries, he is nothing more than a passing thought. I’m not sure how much obits costs. I assume the cost is word based. Thus, for those with little, little is included in their final announcements

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There were other meager one paragraph obituaries in today’s newspaper.  Like Jarod’s, a reader learns very little about the deceased other than their names and dates of death. It’s sad that so many people leave this world as naked as they entered. They are simply corpses to be handled and buried as quickly and as efficiently as possible. In Jarod’s case, his is a young corpse, much too young to die. But life doesn’t come with guarantees or warranties. There is no limit on the span of life. Some leave moments after they arrive. Others are blessed with decades upon decades.

The contrast between obituaries of many who lived full lives compared to the Jarod’s of the world is stark. The former include much relevant information such as the names of parents, siblings and survivors, branch of military service, the company worked for, etc.  In some cases, a lot of irrelevant information is cited. Who cares if Abel was the most avid Alabama fan? How can anyone arrive at such inane superlatives?  Who is to say there isn’t a more avid Alabama fan somehere in this state or in this nation? I’m sure the many cemeteries throughout the state have buried the most avid of Tide fans.  

Despite the lack of information I have to believe someone, somewhere is mourning Jarod’s death. Someone, a family member or friend, loved him or at least knew him. It’s a shame that that information could not have been included if for no other reason than to appease those like me who wonder about such things.

I’ve never given much thought before to those whose lives and deaths are captured in a one inch obit. Surely they were important to someone.  I don’t know much about Jarod. But, I believe he deserved more than one inch of space. Everyone does.

© July 2015

William Charles

Wisdom Beyond Her Years

I couldn't believe my ears.   How could anyone thank God for their brain tumor?  A brain tumor is the last thing I would offer thanks for. Yet, here was Cindy, our incredibly beautiful and unique daughter-in-law, admitting that she thanks God every day for the astrocytoma tumor that lies at the base of her brain, a tumor so situated that doctors cannot risk removing it.  The tumor is benign and hopefully it will remain so.  Still, I cannot fathom anyone, much less someone I love, being appreciative of its existence.

What makes Cindy so grateful for such a dreadful condition?  We were eating breakfast at Shoney's a few days after Christmas.  My wife and I would soon leave for home in Birmingham and we were enjoying a meal with our son Jeffrey and his wife.  The four of us discussed Christmas, family and other subjects.

Our banter turned a bit more serious as Jeffrey talked about things that irritate or upset him.  He's not unlike most people.  Let’s admit it, most of us become aggravated with things or situations, some of which are beyond our control. Whether it's our jobs, an inconsiderate motorist who cuts us off in traffic or simply the weather, at times we allow ourselves to become irritated.  It’s been part of the human condition since the beginning of time.

                "What irritates you?" I asked Cindy.

                "Nothing, Mr. Bill, absolutely nothing."   I knew she was being genuine.

                "I thank God every day for my brain tumor," she added matter-of-factly.

                I was surprised by her last remark.  "What do you mean you are thankful for your tumor?"

                "I thank God every day for the tumor," she repeated.  "Because I know what's important in life and I try to enjoy each day as a blessing."

                "So, nothing irritates you?"

                "I used to get worked up about material things.  Things like owning a house or if the apartment were messy.  Not anymore.  Those things aren't important at all."

I was nearly speechless. My young daughter-in-law was sharing a slice of wisdom with me.  I had never seen Cindy as a person attached to material things, yet apparently she had been, at least to some degree.  Now, after being struck with an inoperable brain tumor, she had discovered a truth that isn't easily grasped by most people.   It's not the things we accumulate in life that give us real comfort but the love we are able to share each and every day.  It’s the blessings we receive when we avail ourselves to them.   She had learned the wisdom offered by Jesus in Mathew 6: don't worry about tomorrow; today's worries are sufficient.  Yet, Cindy had taken God's message a step further.  She doesn't worry at all.

 It's not easy living each day as if it's our last on earth.  It takes a simple approach to life to do so.  Modern life is so complicated and complex.  Too many gadgets and demands control our lives.  Yet, Cindy offers us another way to view the blessings we are afforded each day.  Live life. Love life.  Love all.

© December 2002

William Charles

A Life Not Yet Lived

Too many people find themselves caught up in countless “coulda, woulda, shoulda’s.” They lament what they might have been rather than celebrate who they are. Their lives might be a series of regrets over personal choices or decisions. They wallow in a deep quagmire of self pity, remorse and sorrow over what they perceive they lost or what they never pursued in the first place. I sympathize for such people. They are stuck in a past that never was, yet they fantasize about what might have been if only they “woulda” chased their elusive dreams or made better choices.


We all have dreams. Some are sleep induced. Others are conscious. The difference between the two is that the former is mere fantasy; the latter offers hope and promise provided one acts on his dreams.

How many times have we heard athletes who achieved greatness and stardom say that since they were children they have dreamed of throwing the winning touchdown pass in the Super Bowl or that they dreamed of hitting a 3 – 2 pitch for the game winning home run in the bottom of the ninth inning of the World Series? Their dreams were conscious dreams and played a role in shaping who and what these athletes became. Dreams led to goals and goals required plans and plans demanded commitment. What distinguishes those who accomplish from those who don’t is not necessarily the lack of dreams by those who don’t achieve but rather the lack of plans and commitments. I can dream all I want about running a marathon but if I don’t establish a training plan and commit to it then I will likely end up on the couch watching television as someone else achieves my dream. Such dreams are no less fantasy than the dreams one experiences during sleep. They may entertain and amuse but they will likely remain in the realm of make believe.

A life not yet lived does not necessarily have to be delusional. Regardless of one’s age or status in life, he can pursue the life not yet lived provided he is willing to plan, commit and sacrifice. Make no mistake, most dreams and pursuits in life require personal sacrifice. Sacrifice can be as simple as setting aside a specific amount of time each day or week to read and learn. Or, it can be as physically challenging as training daily for a marathon. Golfers like me marvel at the short game skills of professionals. The pro golfer is adept at pitching, chipping and putting. Most pros can chip to within inches of the hole leaving nothing more challenging than a tap in putt. But golfers like me fail to take into consideration the pro’s dedication to the short game. Professionals practice and practice and practice still more to achieve the success they seek in their short game. Practice demands commitment and vice versa.

If one truly commits to living a life not yet lived then he will do those things that will draw him closer to his goals. Even if he should fall short of his actual goal at least he will know that he gave it his all or, as so many athletes claim, “they left it all – meaning their efforts – on the field.” If that were to be the case then there is no shame in failing. There is only shame in the failure to plan and commit.

Dreams without plans and commitment are nothing more than pipe dreams.







©December 2011

W. J. Charles

Mirror, Mirror ....

Mirrors lie. They only reflect what we desire them to. My reflected image isn’t bad at all. After shaving and grooming my hair, I believe I look pretty good. In fact, I might even argue that I’m handsome. I know. That sounds vain and narcissistic, but, my body looks pretty good too as it stares back at me. My waist certainly doesn’t appear to be 36”, which means, that the tape measure probably lies also. My biceps and triceps are huge, at least, according to my bathroom mirror. The love handles that border my waist are hardly noticeable. At least, no one has mentioned them to me. So, I certainly won’t take notice either. Nor will I mention them. The bottom line is I like the guy who looks back at me from the mirror.


Photographs are another matter. Somehow, photos capture what the mirror doesn’t. I can’t figure out why my hair and my mustache appear so gray in photos? They don’t look gray in the mirror. Why does the sixty-four year old skin below my chin and on my neck sag so much in pictures? Where in the hell did those wrinkles come from and how did they suddenly emerge? My skin is near perfect in my mirror reflection. And, this is a pet peeve: my face is not nearly as thin in photographs as it is in the mirror.

After viewing digital reproductions from our 40th wedding anniversary surprise dinner, I’m perplexed. Which device tells the truth? Is it the mirror or the camera? I’d like to believe the mirror is honest. But, after considerable thought and reflection, I have come to the conclusion that I am, after all, sixty-four years old. In fact, I have aged since I began writing this article and will continue to age with each heartbeat. My hair isn’t as brown as it once was. My skin isn’t as taut as that of a 30 year old. Although I exercise regularly, my body is showing the unmistakable signs of aging. I may be getting better with age but I’m not sure what I’m getting better at.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I must slow down the aging process. Normally, that’s not easily accomplished without substances such as Human Growth Hormones. However, I choose not to use HGH or similar substances. Instead, I will choose a simpler approach. Effective immediately, I will permit no photographs of myself. At least in that way, my physical age will be frozen in time at the age of sixty-four.


© March 2008

William Charles

No Gimmes

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There are no "gimmes" in real life. There are no concessions for those who seek success. Just as the successful golfer doesn't pick up his ball before putting out, so too a person striving for success doesn't seek any concessions regardless of the challenge. No matter if one is pursuing physical, mental, spiritual or financial goals, the road to success is void of gratuitous gimmes.

Someone who is serious about losing weight or becoming better conditioned, will not find success in a pill or a bottle or an exercise that doesn't stress the body. The overweight and out-of-conditioned person must face the fact that pain is the result of sacrifice and sacrifice leads to success. It isn't easy to change one's diet from the typical American fare to a diet, lower in calories and fat. Cheeseburgers taste better than soy burgers, malts better than no-fat milk. But, the woman whose goal is to shed ten, twenty or thirty pounds, needs to realize that sacrifice will be necessary.

Few athletes expect to reach the pinnacle of success by sitting in front of a television most of the day. To become the best they can be, the runner must train, the golfer must practice and the football lineman must increase his strength. In all cases, they must sacrifice. What goal would be worth reaching if just anyone could attain it? Even the social runner trains, if not for speed or endurance, at least for health. As one who has trained for and completed three marathons, I know from experience the sacrifice required to complete a marathon in the less-than-world class time of four hours. Yet, I also know that the typical couch potato can not do what I and many others have done, unless of course, they arise from the couch and run.

Running is not without discomfort. Discomfort can be caused by weather - too hot, too cold - or it can be caused by pain and soreness, especially in the lower legs. People run through their discomfort just as a golfer accepts the discomfort of hitting thousands of golf balls on the practice range. No pain, no gain. How true it is. Had I not been able to run through the pain of fifteen and twenty mile training runs, I would never had been able to complete a twenty-six mile race. My success would not have been worth it had I not experienced the pain of training.

People who succeed in business or in other financial matters usually do so after giving of themselves to their jobs or careers. The higher one rises in a company is normally a reflection of the sacrifice he endures.

Sacrifice is required in nearly every endeavor worth the effort. There are few spiritual goals that result from an epiphany. St. Paul experienced an epiphany that caused him to quit persecuting Christians. In blinding light, he was thrown from his horse and was temporarily blinded. But, Paul also endured the trials and sacrifices required of him to become the apostle he became. In the end, he suffered the ultimate sacrifice - dying for his beliefs. Although there are still believers today who die for their faith, most of us won't be called upon to suffer in such a manner. Yet, if we are honest with ourselves, the fruits of our faith, the fruits of our beliefs, are the result of personal sacrifices we endure in our quest to grow in our knowledge of Christ. There are no gimmes. We do not grow much at all through osmosis. Our growth in Christ is proportionate to our efforts to know him through our religions and through scripture. There are no free passes.

If I am to lose weight, I will have to sacrifice. If I am to become better conditioned, I will have to sacrifice. I will have to push away from the table when I become sated. I will have to jog or run or walk even when I'd rather lie on the couch or engage in some other inert activity. I will not lose weight or become better conditioned by continuing to do what I am doing now. I will not receive any "gimmes" in my goal to improve my health.

I must develop a new attitude towards life. As I grow older, my natural inclination is to seek the easier life. If I look back over my life and if I am honest with myself I will acknowledge that the successes I've enjoyed, regardless if physical, spiritual or mental in nature or regardless if they involve my career, they have usually been the result of my personal sacrifices. Anyone who has enjoyed some degree of success in life will admit the same thing: success without sacrifice is worthless. Therefore, I must realize that age, alone, will not mean I will not have to sacrifice. I certainly will. Perhaps the difference is in the goals I seek compared to the goals I sought when I was younger. My goals are not as lofty as they once were but, considering that I do not have the physical skills I once had, my goals are still challenging and worthy.

I do not expect gimmes. If I desire a goal bad enough, I must be willing to sacrifice. I must be willing to sink the putt before I pick up.

© March 2001

William Charles

Christmas of Poverty

The birth of Jesus provides an insight into God’s ways. His only son was born into this world in poverty, to a laborer and a young virgin. Though Jesus was the “king of kings”, neither his birth nor his life bore any semblance of an earthly king. His kingship can best be realized in the Sermon on the Mount. “Blessed are the poor in spirit …”

The annual celebration of his birth does not resemble in any way the sparse nature of his birth. Christmas has evolved into a frenetic, consumer driven shopping season, especially in the western world. While developed countries in Europe and in North America continue a secular effort to remove the spiritual meaning from Christmas, the insatiable drive for more and more consumption soars. Skilled companies create a buying frenzy by introducing the latest, greatest device or toy. They announce the availability of the new device, providing the date and often the time it will be sold in stores. Crowds gather outside Wal Mart, Target, etc., hours before the stores open, in an effort to be among the first in line to buy the gift for their children. There have been instances of fights breaking out among the crowds because someone tried to sneak into line. What’s happened to Christmas?

Christmas has been hi-jacked by large corporations who rely upon the season to shore up the bottom lines. Christmas is a money making event. Often, Christmas season sales can make or break a company for a given year.

I don’t deny anyone the pleasure of buying gifts for their loved ones or friends. However, it bothers me that for so many, the focus is on buying rather than praising. Somewhere between the many-colored decorations and the buying frenzy, we seem to have forgotten him whom we should be honoring. I believe it is time we make Christmas the solemn, yet joyful event it should be. We should celebrate Christmas by honoring Jesus. The path to such reality is in the spirit of poverty. Those who are fortunate to have should be among those who give and share the most with those in need. If we were to do so, then our examples would reflect our faith. Our children would benefit by being shown what it really means to consider oneself a Christian.

© December 2006

William Charles

My Brother The Eagle

We buried an eagle yesterday. He had no pinions with which to loft his body and soar above the earth. He had no talons with which to pluck a meal from a clear, sparkling lake or river below. His beak was toothless. How many great birds wear dentures? This eagle wasn't feathered and had no wings. He walked on legs and feet and used his hands to guide food into his mouth. He couldn't even fly until a few days ago when his spirit was released from his frail and worn body.

The eagle was my brother.

It's funny but I never thought of Jim as an eagle until recently. My younger sister told me only last week that Jim had an affinity for eagles. Perhaps his love of country and his 20 year career in the United States Navy nurtured his affection for the eagle. This magnificent and proud bird was his favorite symbol. Eagles adorn the living room of his warm and humble home in northern Wisconsin. Some of the porcelain and metal figures are small, almost unnoticeable. Others are much more obvious. His funeral announcement featured an eagle soaring with a vague, opaque image of the American flag in the background. It was a fitting touch for such a sad event.

Make no mistake. Jim was a mere mortal in body. But, he was undeniably an eagle in spirit. The bald eagle has been the national bird since the inception of our nation. This magnificent bird symbolizes the fierce pride of our free republic. But, the eagle is more than just a national symbol and source of patriotic pride. The eagle is also a symbol found throughout the bible.

The Old Testament features the eagle in several books, most notably Psalms and Proverbs. It is a symbol of strength, courage and a nurturing parent.

In the past year my brother was the epitome of strength, courage and nurturing in his battle against a formidable foe: cancer.

After the shock of his illness wore off, he dug his talons into the edge of the cliff of fate, courageously thrust out his breast and faced a superior enemy head on. He was strong in the face of adversity and pain. He was courageous enough to hope against all odds. And, despite the pain and discomfort of radiation and chemotherapy, he tended his nest and his flock like a protective eagle.

Despite the debilitating effects of this insidious illness, he maintained his wonderful and childlike sense of humor till the end. No doubt to comfort his loved ones. No doubt, also, because that is the nature of an eagle. He was defeated but he never gave in. He refused to surrender.

When I was just ten years old, Jim left home. He was seventeen. He enlisted in the navy and began a career that would take him to Italy, Spain, Africa and other ports of call and military bases. He married a woman from Wisconsin and returned home to New Orleans only a handful of times.

I learned more about this man in two days than I learned about him in a lifetime. He was loving. He was generous, as generous as a man of his modest means could possibly be. His family, friends, and co-workers loved him. So did I. I simply didn't know him very well.

I've known only a few eagles in my life: a friend who died bravely and with dignity in his late twenties, a mother who suffered silently with excruciating pain before dying in the home of her sole remaining sibling. And now, a brother, who fought valiantly until the end. All died eagles, proud and courageous, struck down by an illness named cancer. (August 1996)

© August 1996

William Charles