This morning a Dr. Phil video popped up in my Inbox. It was short--not even two minutes long--but it asked the question, What are things that you do right? He offered this question to the audience, encouraging responses, and several people responded: I spend an hour with my son twice a week just talking; I have time each morning for journaling; I work on my marriage and it's paying off.
And so, of course, this got me thinking: what do I do right? We are often focused on exactly the opposite. Our lives are often filled--or at least mine is--with thoughts of Why did I do that? What was I thinking when I said that? I should ___ more... and the list continues. And so this question? It creates a shift in my mind and to be perfectly honest, it's difficult for me to answer this.
Before we moved to North Carolina, I could have created a list of things I did right with no problem. I was so busy and productive with my job that it forced me to stay organized with my personal life. I was the main English teacher there in Missouri and we also lived in the boys' dorm. And so between grading and teaching and mentoring boys, my life was filled with activity. But of course, I wanted to preserve my family and so I worked to have a hot breakfast each morning and family dinner on the table every evening. I was a big believer in the value of our little family sitting around the table and sharing a meal together. I cherish those memories.
But then, when we moved here, Savana went to college and our schedules changed and I wasn't working at a school any longer and...well, everything kind of fell apart. And it still hasn't pulled back together. I do cook breakfast for Jace each morning but it tends to be one of three meals that I rotate rather than a two week list of rotations. Roy and I try to refrain from supper due to an ever-expanding waistline and so...that too has cut into family meal time. Now it's more reserved for Friday evenings and after church on Saturdays. Every other day seems to be a bit of a hodge-podge.
And so, the things that I used to pride myself on for doing right are no longer part of my life equation quite so much. I feel like I'm lost in an abyss somewhat--not really involved anywhere as I'd like to be. I yearn for productivity and meaning--for making a difference. And this question? It brought that home. It is a reminder that I'm spinning my wheels.
Of course, there are things I do right. I am absolutely a communicator with my kids. I spend hours talking to the girls each week--either by phone or by skype or, if they are home, face to face. We talk about everything under the sun and I am so thankful for their open hearts and undying loyalty. Jace and I too spend plenty of time talking. He isn't quite as open as they are, I suppose. He likes to let me know that he has secrets that are only for his friends, not me. But that's okay. He spends plenty of time sharing his most intimate feelings.
And I know that my marriage works.
Getting up in the morning before anyone else and having some quiet time is something that I've done for years. It works for me and I always look forward to this hour spent away from the world--just me and my thoughts and time for reflection and renewal.
But...
A few months ago, I spent some time talking to a friend of mine. She has always homeschooled her kids but now they are growing up and ready to branch out a bit. She has found herself hitting 40 and baffled as to how she should spend the rest of her life. She has always been a mom. Now what?
I have always been a teacher. I love teaching actually--love the relationships that are formed as I spend time each day with these kids, helping them hone skills or just helping them think for a moment outside of themselves. But since we've moved here, I have only taught part-time. This year I have two sections of Freshman English and that's the most I've taught in four years. Furthermore, my girls are off to college and that has totally catapulted our family life in an entirely different direction. It has left me with a lot of time to say...Now what?
And honestly, I don't have the answer to that question. I don't know what to do with my future. I don't know what path to pursue. I still feel young at heart; I feel as though there's still so much to give. I just don't know where to give it.
And I've felt this way for going on four years now.
So this question...what do I do right? It makes me realize that I need purpose again. I need productivity. I need goals and a personal mission and meaning.
And yet...that isn't to say that I am not happy. I do enjoy my life; I have abundant blessings and I am so thankful for so many things. I am simply transitioning, I suppose--and just ready to take that next step...whatever it may be.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Shining
This morning my friend Jacque emailed me a link to youtube that showed her amazing son Josh playing a violin solo with his orchestra. It was inspiring, breathtaking--everything fabulous. I just sat there in awe as I watched it.
Yesterday we attended Foster church as Savana was singing and my friend Erin Miller spoke. She is so articulate and has such a welcoming stage presence up there behind the pulpit. She talked about spiritual gifts and I was so proud to be able to say Aw...I know her! She did an amazing job.
My friend Tammy has this way about her where she makes everybody feel like they are the only person in the world when she is talking to them. She says just the right things and has a listening ear so that it is perfectly natural to spill out every irritation and problem when you're in her presence. But beyond that, she lives in a comfortable home that she is always willing to open up and share with anyone who would like to stop by. She absolutely has the gift of hospitality.
Laurie, my friend who lives up the hill, has this creative gene where she can make anything. She can knit and crochet and cook and bake -- all on a professional level that makes anything I make in comparison look like child's play. I hate her.
Tina, Savana's boyfriend's mom, is kind of ridiculous. She can upholster and sew and create anything simply by looking at a picture and then...making it. Who does that??
People are amazing. Everyone has gifts that send them over the edge of normalcy--gifts that give them a little slice of brilliance. When I worked through this Emotional Brain Training program that I did a couple of years ago, one of the things it teaches is that everyone has a light side and everyone has a dark side. And of course...we like to focus on people's dark sides. They annoy us and give us something to talk about.
But...
We need to learn to look for the light in everyone. We need to let them blossom instead of seeing only wilting stems.
At church yesterday before Erin's sermon, there was a skit where a guy was trying to discover his own spiritual gifts and he was failing miserably. He said the wrong things; kicked people with broken legs; created nothing but chaos and annoyance. He was stuck in no-man's-land and didn't know how to get out.
Unfortunately, I think so many people feel that way. This morning on Facebook one of my friends from high school bemoaned her lot in life. She is a nurse and despises her job but doesn't know how to get out of it. She lives on anti-depressants and yet she can't find a hint of sunlight in her day.
She lives in no-man's-land.
I wish I had the answer for my friend. She is one of so many who only sees darkness in a never-ending tunnel. And yet...I know she has gifts. I well-remember how, when she sang during our high school years, her voice quieted the room so that you could hear a pin drop. She brought me to another place; she was mesmerizing. And yet now she sits in a house with her only son, absolutely miserable.
Last night I sat with Jace at the piano as he has decided he is ready to learn to play. I imagine Jace has some musical ability hidden down deep as both of the girls are quite musical. Music was a big part of my life growing up and the girls could say the same. But Jace? Not so much. I tried...really tried...but he simply wasn't interested. When he was part of a children's choir, he would stand and sigh, swaying from side to side, staring up at the ceiling...I would berate him: Jace! You have a good voice! SING!!...to no avail. But he has a friend who plays the piano and so now he is inspired. And he actually enjoys it! He picks it up quickly and as long as he doesn't go deaf in his right ear from my yelling when he refuses to think...well, I think we'll be okay. Who knows. Maybe he'll be the next great pianist comin' round the bend.
Last night I dreamed that a bunch of people were coming over to my house for dinner. I was trying to figure out what to cook for them: stroganoff? spaghetti? mashed potatoes and cottage cheese loaf? They were slated to arrive--all of these people--in a few minutes and I had nothing prepared. In fact, I didn't even have the ingredients in my cupboards to make this meal. And so, I was frantic--talking on the phone bemoaning my fate to someone while hustling Roy out the door to the grocery store.
Hospitality that involves laying a big spread on the table for hosts of people is simply not my forte'. Clearly.
But sometimes I see other people's gifts and wish they were mine. I dream at times (even now in my mid 40's) of being an inspiring singer up there on the stage, microphone in hand, the crowd mesmerized. But the truth is, I am more likely to stand back and listen during praise service at church than I am to join in these days. My voice just isn't what it used to be ... and that certainly isn't saying much.
I think it's easy to look around and wish for something else--I wish I could sing; I wish I could draw; I wish I could cook like that; I wish I could....I wish I could....I wish I could... instead of simply being content with our own corner of brilliance--while giving ourselves room to grow. It's easy to focus on our own dark side rather than seeing the light.
Life is filled with opportunity. We live in a big world and a free country that provides a myriad of doors. We can take a variety of classes, both creative or knowledge-based; we can learn a new trade; we can travel; we can dance.
Just the other day someone was talking about a person who is 54 years old and starting a new job. I thought, Wow. They are getting up there in age to be doing that. And then? I realized that I am almost there. I am 47 years old ... and yet I still feel like there is so much life ahead of me. I still have dreams and mountains to conquer. And so...kudos to this person who hasn't forgottten to dream. Kudos to them that they are still willing to forge new paths.
No matter our age or social status or financial situation, we can shine.
We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won't need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don't fire cannons to call attention to their shining--they just shine. Dwight L. Moody
Yesterday we attended Foster church as Savana was singing and my friend Erin Miller spoke. She is so articulate and has such a welcoming stage presence up there behind the pulpit. She talked about spiritual gifts and I was so proud to be able to say Aw...I know her! She did an amazing job.
My friend Tammy has this way about her where she makes everybody feel like they are the only person in the world when she is talking to them. She says just the right things and has a listening ear so that it is perfectly natural to spill out every irritation and problem when you're in her presence. But beyond that, she lives in a comfortable home that she is always willing to open up and share with anyone who would like to stop by. She absolutely has the gift of hospitality.
Laurie, my friend who lives up the hill, has this creative gene where she can make anything. She can knit and crochet and cook and bake -- all on a professional level that makes anything I make in comparison look like child's play. I hate her.
Tina, Savana's boyfriend's mom, is kind of ridiculous. She can upholster and sew and create anything simply by looking at a picture and then...making it. Who does that??
People are amazing. Everyone has gifts that send them over the edge of normalcy--gifts that give them a little slice of brilliance. When I worked through this Emotional Brain Training program that I did a couple of years ago, one of the things it teaches is that everyone has a light side and everyone has a dark side. And of course...we like to focus on people's dark sides. They annoy us and give us something to talk about.
But...
We need to learn to look for the light in everyone. We need to let them blossom instead of seeing only wilting stems.
At church yesterday before Erin's sermon, there was a skit where a guy was trying to discover his own spiritual gifts and he was failing miserably. He said the wrong things; kicked people with broken legs; created nothing but chaos and annoyance. He was stuck in no-man's-land and didn't know how to get out.
Unfortunately, I think so many people feel that way. This morning on Facebook one of my friends from high school bemoaned her lot in life. She is a nurse and despises her job but doesn't know how to get out of it. She lives on anti-depressants and yet she can't find a hint of sunlight in her day.
She lives in no-man's-land.
I wish I had the answer for my friend. She is one of so many who only sees darkness in a never-ending tunnel. And yet...I know she has gifts. I well-remember how, when she sang during our high school years, her voice quieted the room so that you could hear a pin drop. She brought me to another place; she was mesmerizing. And yet now she sits in a house with her only son, absolutely miserable.
Last night I sat with Jace at the piano as he has decided he is ready to learn to play. I imagine Jace has some musical ability hidden down deep as both of the girls are quite musical. Music was a big part of my life growing up and the girls could say the same. But Jace? Not so much. I tried...really tried...but he simply wasn't interested. When he was part of a children's choir, he would stand and sigh, swaying from side to side, staring up at the ceiling...I would berate him: Jace! You have a good voice! SING!!...to no avail. But he has a friend who plays the piano and so now he is inspired. And he actually enjoys it! He picks it up quickly and as long as he doesn't go deaf in his right ear from my yelling when he refuses to think...well, I think we'll be okay. Who knows. Maybe he'll be the next great pianist comin' round the bend.
Last night I dreamed that a bunch of people were coming over to my house for dinner. I was trying to figure out what to cook for them: stroganoff? spaghetti? mashed potatoes and cottage cheese loaf? They were slated to arrive--all of these people--in a few minutes and I had nothing prepared. In fact, I didn't even have the ingredients in my cupboards to make this meal. And so, I was frantic--talking on the phone bemoaning my fate to someone while hustling Roy out the door to the grocery store.
Hospitality that involves laying a big spread on the table for hosts of people is simply not my forte'. Clearly.
But sometimes I see other people's gifts and wish they were mine. I dream at times (even now in my mid 40's) of being an inspiring singer up there on the stage, microphone in hand, the crowd mesmerized. But the truth is, I am more likely to stand back and listen during praise service at church than I am to join in these days. My voice just isn't what it used to be ... and that certainly isn't saying much.
I think it's easy to look around and wish for something else--I wish I could sing; I wish I could draw; I wish I could cook like that; I wish I could....I wish I could....I wish I could... instead of simply being content with our own corner of brilliance--while giving ourselves room to grow. It's easy to focus on our own dark side rather than seeing the light.
Life is filled with opportunity. We live in a big world and a free country that provides a myriad of doors. We can take a variety of classes, both creative or knowledge-based; we can learn a new trade; we can travel; we can dance.
Just the other day someone was talking about a person who is 54 years old and starting a new job. I thought, Wow. They are getting up there in age to be doing that. And then? I realized that I am almost there. I am 47 years old ... and yet I still feel like there is so much life ahead of me. I still have dreams and mountains to conquer. And so...kudos to this person who hasn't forgottten to dream. Kudos to them that they are still willing to forge new paths.
No matter our age or social status or financial situation, we can shine.
We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won't need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don't fire cannons to call attention to their shining--they just shine. Dwight L. Moody
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Going for a Ride
It's beautiful out this morning. The sun is shining and it appears to be one of those days where being outside bringss a lift to one's spirit. And so, I think we shall go for a motorcycle ride this afternoon.
I really miss riding. Once the weather turned cold, of course, riding became a distant memory. And every time I see the bike sitting in the garage, chrome shining like a mirror as Roy is always buffing it, I feel a little ache in my chest. Who knew I would love riding so much? But there is nothing like riding on the back of the motorcycle, holding tightly to the husband as everything whizzes by. It spells freedom. All thoughts melt away out there on the bike with just the pavement and the trees and the wind.
We bought the bike about a year ago. One day the previous fall, I made a flippant comment that it would be a lot of fun to ride on a motorcycle. It was one of those whimsical statements that had absolutely no teeth; I don't even know what sparked it. But when we would be driving down the road and get passed by a couple on a motorcycle, I always thought, ˆThat looks like so much fun!" Of course, I never dared to dream that we would own one. So maybe that is what spurred the commet; or maybe I saw a picture on facebook or the news...who knows.
But anyway, when I made this comment, Roy was in the throes of selling out of his business. The big ticket item that he sold was a customized trailer that he'd spent hours building and getting it just so. It had roll out shelves and a built-fan; it had customized straps for anchoring planes. It was a cadillac-version of an airplane trailer. He lost a little piece of his heart the day it was pulled away as, when he built it, he assumed it would be for a lifetime. But when we moved to North Carolina, he quickly realized that his remote-control airplane hobby was a thing of the past. People just don't fly out here like they do in Missouri. He tried futily to make connections in the community for well over two years; all to no avail. And so, after the trailer sat unused that second year, he determined that it was just a money pit.
Roy is one of those people that needs a hobby. He doesn't do well living the average life of work and family and... the end. He likes to piddle, create, envision. And so, when I made my comment on the tailwind of the departing trailer, Roy's interest was piqued. Without saying a word, he began a systematic search for a motorcycle. I don't think I even realized how serious he was. I mean, evenings were spent purusing different sites he found online; he bookmarked them and read descriptions of various motorcycles, his glasses perched on his nose, feet kicked up in his chair. But I figured he was just passing the time. He isn't really serious.
Sometimes I am just not the brightest bull on the block.
And then, after several months of diligently searching every night, Roy happened upon the perfect bike. It was priced just right; it had all the bells and whistles; it was his dream bike. And so, we loaded up, just the two of us, and headed to Myrtle Beach to look at it. As soon as the guy opeed the door to his garage that housed the bike, my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't even believe it--never seen something quite like it.
It was a beauty.
And so, we brought it home, got it registered and insured, and then after a few months of practicing and taking a class in Asheville, Roy got his license. We were official.
We rode all summer: up into the mountains, over to Cherokee, back roads around Asheville...And as each ride came to a close, I eagerly anticipated the next one.
I recognize that riding is dangerous. It only takes a second and life can be altered in profound ways. So for that reason, I don't know that we will do this for years to come. But Roy is so careful and attentive to his environment. We avoid highways and busy roads.
But out there just the two of us? Talking a mile a minute through our speaker system that's mounted in our helmets? Well, it's just a beautiful thing.
And so...today? We'e going for a ride: the telltale signs of winter whizzing by; cars so close I can reach out and touch them; the pavement beneath me; clinging to this guy in front of me whom I happen to adore; all thoughts blown away as we ride up into the moutains...just the two of us.
I really miss riding. Once the weather turned cold, of course, riding became a distant memory. And every time I see the bike sitting in the garage, chrome shining like a mirror as Roy is always buffing it, I feel a little ache in my chest. Who knew I would love riding so much? But there is nothing like riding on the back of the motorcycle, holding tightly to the husband as everything whizzes by. It spells freedom. All thoughts melt away out there on the bike with just the pavement and the trees and the wind.
We bought the bike about a year ago. One day the previous fall, I made a flippant comment that it would be a lot of fun to ride on a motorcycle. It was one of those whimsical statements that had absolutely no teeth; I don't even know what sparked it. But when we would be driving down the road and get passed by a couple on a motorcycle, I always thought, ˆThat looks like so much fun!" Of course, I never dared to dream that we would own one. So maybe that is what spurred the commet; or maybe I saw a picture on facebook or the news...who knows.
But anyway, when I made this comment, Roy was in the throes of selling out of his business. The big ticket item that he sold was a customized trailer that he'd spent hours building and getting it just so. It had roll out shelves and a built-fan; it had customized straps for anchoring planes. It was a cadillac-version of an airplane trailer. He lost a little piece of his heart the day it was pulled away as, when he built it, he assumed it would be for a lifetime. But when we moved to North Carolina, he quickly realized that his remote-control airplane hobby was a thing of the past. People just don't fly out here like they do in Missouri. He tried futily to make connections in the community for well over two years; all to no avail. And so, after the trailer sat unused that second year, he determined that it was just a money pit.
Roy is one of those people that needs a hobby. He doesn't do well living the average life of work and family and... the end. He likes to piddle, create, envision. And so, when I made my comment on the tailwind of the departing trailer, Roy's interest was piqued. Without saying a word, he began a systematic search for a motorcycle. I don't think I even realized how serious he was. I mean, evenings were spent purusing different sites he found online; he bookmarked them and read descriptions of various motorcycles, his glasses perched on his nose, feet kicked up in his chair. But I figured he was just passing the time. He isn't really serious.
Sometimes I am just not the brightest bull on the block.
And then, after several months of diligently searching every night, Roy happened upon the perfect bike. It was priced just right; it had all the bells and whistles; it was his dream bike. And so, we loaded up, just the two of us, and headed to Myrtle Beach to look at it. As soon as the guy opeed the door to his garage that housed the bike, my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't even believe it--never seen something quite like it.
It was a beauty.
And so, we brought it home, got it registered and insured, and then after a few months of practicing and taking a class in Asheville, Roy got his license. We were official.
We rode all summer: up into the mountains, over to Cherokee, back roads around Asheville...And as each ride came to a close, I eagerly anticipated the next one.
I recognize that riding is dangerous. It only takes a second and life can be altered in profound ways. So for that reason, I don't know that we will do this for years to come. But Roy is so careful and attentive to his environment. We avoid highways and busy roads.
But out there just the two of us? Talking a mile a minute through our speaker system that's mounted in our helmets? Well, it's just a beautiful thing.
And so...today? We'e going for a ride: the telltale signs of winter whizzing by; cars so close I can reach out and touch them; the pavement beneath me; clinging to this guy in front of me whom I happen to adore; all thoughts blown away as we ride up into the moutains...just the two of us.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
No More C's
Yesterday as I was walking home from class, I looked up and there, coming down the hill towards me, was Jace--his blue minion hat on, the tails swinging. He loves that hat--wears it almost constantly. He grasped a white envelope in his hand, and as soon as he saw me he raised it in the air. "Mom! I got my grades! I haven't opened them yet! You can look first!"
And so we came inside together, sat down, and I opened the envelope while he hovered over me, anxiety in his eyes. And there before us was a sheet of paper proclaiming so much academic success: all A's and B's. Good job, buddy! I'm so proud of you! He chattered a mile a minute, so happy with himself. He has worked so hard, desperate to stay out of the C zone. And he did it.
Regardless of our age, goals are so important. They keep us looking up and moving forward. Landon came into my office yesterday afternoon and we had the best conversation. I just love Landon. He has been my lifesaver for two years now. He graduates in May and I just don't know what I will do without him. But anyway, we talked about so many different things, but one of our topics was about that very thing: moving forward in life. Sometime we get mired down in bad relationships or depression or difficult circumstances--or even poor decisions. But whatever the case may be, God is always moving us forward, moving us towards a better future.
I need to focus on personal goals. I need an end in sight. Sometimes the day to day to grind becomes all-consuming and I forget to move forward on a personal level. I was thinking yesterday how I settle for the mediocre far too much in life. I admire perfectionistic people. I admire those who...everything they touch turns to gold.
And so...I am going to create a list today--a list that reflects personal accomplishment. I am going to try harder to get A's and B's...no more C's for me.
And so we came inside together, sat down, and I opened the envelope while he hovered over me, anxiety in his eyes. And there before us was a sheet of paper proclaiming so much academic success: all A's and B's. Good job, buddy! I'm so proud of you! He chattered a mile a minute, so happy with himself. He has worked so hard, desperate to stay out of the C zone. And he did it.
Regardless of our age, goals are so important. They keep us looking up and moving forward. Landon came into my office yesterday afternoon and we had the best conversation. I just love Landon. He has been my lifesaver for two years now. He graduates in May and I just don't know what I will do without him. But anyway, we talked about so many different things, but one of our topics was about that very thing: moving forward in life. Sometime we get mired down in bad relationships or depression or difficult circumstances--or even poor decisions. But whatever the case may be, God is always moving us forward, moving us towards a better future.
I need to focus on personal goals. I need an end in sight. Sometimes the day to day to grind becomes all-consuming and I forget to move forward on a personal level. I was thinking yesterday how I settle for the mediocre far too much in life. I admire perfectionistic people. I admire those who...everything they touch turns to gold.
And so...I am going to create a list today--a list that reflects personal accomplishment. I am going to try harder to get A's and B's...no more C's for me.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Snapchat
Recently I downloaded an app called "Snapchat." It's something that Darian does a lot. It's where you take a picture or a short video and send it to someone who can view it for up to five seconds and then...poof...it's gone forever. It's fun and silly...and I joined this bit of craziness just to see what it's all about. And so, I've been sending "snapchats" to Darian: Good morning! Off to work! ... or ... Here we are on our way to Taco Bell! ...or ... Sexy Jace! (He seems to have this obsession with calling himself sexy.) It's just all fun and games and creates a few seconds of laughter sprinkled throughout the day. It keeps things light.
Last night I woke up to rolling thunder. And now as I write this the rain is tapping on my window; it's pitch black outside. Ahh, the sounds of spring and the promise that it is just around the bend.
I have had the most wonderful several days. My keyboard broke so blogging became a major complication--that was the only dark cloud in the long weekend brought on by the snowstorm that ravaged the East. But beyond that, our whole little family was safe inside our walls until Sunday night when they headed back to Southern. And even the next couple of weeks hold promise of fabulous. As of tomorrow, we are on a school-wide mission trip (though Roy and I are staying here with the students who chose "Asheville" as their mission base) which means no teaching or planning or grading. And then starting next Thursday, we're on spring break! Oh my...two point five weeks of sheer delicious.
Mmmmm....
I love it when life is easy and comin' up roses. But last night before I went to bed, I checked Facebook--one of those mindless things I do when I am stalling for time--and noticed that a friend of mine posted an Amber alert. A little ten year old girl was abducted in Springfield, MO, by a stranger who drove by in an old pickup and snatched her up. I can't imagine the terror that family must be experiencing every waking second.
Meanwhile another friend on facebook died two days ago after a vicious battle with cancer. She was younnger than me, leaving a son who is still in academy.
Those are only two stories of millions. Life can be gut wrenching. It leaves me dumbfounded at times, feeling like I don't have the right to feel so content when so many feel ravaged inside. My life, though a far cry from perfect, is certainly easy compared to so many.
And yet...it hasn't always been. I too have had my share of valleys. And I know that valleys are coming; they are just around the corner--as that is how life plays out. I remember when I was in high school feeling blissfully happy and then having that moment of terror, knowing that something was soon to happen, bursting my reverie. That is a rather woe is me mentality, I suppose; but I just remember recognizing around that time of my life how life is made up of valleys and mountaintops...and then a whole lot of in-betweens.
But thankfully, I have learned to appreciate the mountaintops much more now, to enjoy the quiet days without bated breath. I have gotten better at pushing worries aside, knowing that things will work out in due course. And though valleys come in my life, I have discovered tools for muddling through those times with a degree of acceptance, knowing that difficult days don't last forever.
One of our mission activities for those who are hanging around Asheville this coming week is to help four people who are in the final throes of cancer. One lady needs some furniture moved and papers shredded--common activities that she can no longer handle. Others need simple tasks accomplished as well--yardwork and housecleaning and odds and ends jobs. And so we are loading up a few kids who are good at being compassionate to shed a little sunlight in the midst of a whole lot of heartache.
Life is a lot like "Snapchat." We have pain and sickness death and terror and struggles in our midst. And yet...we have these moments sprinkled throughout that make us feel light inside. These moments bring sunshine and laughter, if just for a few brief moments. But these moments? They give us hope. They bring the promise of something better, of mountaintops--if just for a momentary interlude in the midst of the darkness.
Last night I woke up to rolling thunder. And now as I write this the rain is tapping on my window; it's pitch black outside. Ahh, the sounds of spring and the promise that it is just around the bend.
I have had the most wonderful several days. My keyboard broke so blogging became a major complication--that was the only dark cloud in the long weekend brought on by the snowstorm that ravaged the East. But beyond that, our whole little family was safe inside our walls until Sunday night when they headed back to Southern. And even the next couple of weeks hold promise of fabulous. As of tomorrow, we are on a school-wide mission trip (though Roy and I are staying here with the students who chose "Asheville" as their mission base) which means no teaching or planning or grading. And then starting next Thursday, we're on spring break! Oh my...two point five weeks of sheer delicious.
Mmmmm....
I love it when life is easy and comin' up roses. But last night before I went to bed, I checked Facebook--one of those mindless things I do when I am stalling for time--and noticed that a friend of mine posted an Amber alert. A little ten year old girl was abducted in Springfield, MO, by a stranger who drove by in an old pickup and snatched her up. I can't imagine the terror that family must be experiencing every waking second.
Meanwhile another friend on facebook died two days ago after a vicious battle with cancer. She was younnger than me, leaving a son who is still in academy.
Those are only two stories of millions. Life can be gut wrenching. It leaves me dumbfounded at times, feeling like I don't have the right to feel so content when so many feel ravaged inside. My life, though a far cry from perfect, is certainly easy compared to so many.
And yet...it hasn't always been. I too have had my share of valleys. And I know that valleys are coming; they are just around the corner--as that is how life plays out. I remember when I was in high school feeling blissfully happy and then having that moment of terror, knowing that something was soon to happen, bursting my reverie. That is a rather woe is me mentality, I suppose; but I just remember recognizing around that time of my life how life is made up of valleys and mountaintops...and then a whole lot of in-betweens.
But thankfully, I have learned to appreciate the mountaintops much more now, to enjoy the quiet days without bated breath. I have gotten better at pushing worries aside, knowing that things will work out in due course. And though valleys come in my life, I have discovered tools for muddling through those times with a degree of acceptance, knowing that difficult days don't last forever.
One of our mission activities for those who are hanging around Asheville this coming week is to help four people who are in the final throes of cancer. One lady needs some furniture moved and papers shredded--common activities that she can no longer handle. Others need simple tasks accomplished as well--yardwork and housecleaning and odds and ends jobs. And so we are loading up a few kids who are good at being compassionate to shed a little sunlight in the midst of a whole lot of heartache.
Life is a lot like "Snapchat." We have pain and sickness death and terror and struggles in our midst. And yet...we have these moments sprinkled throughout that make us feel light inside. These moments bring sunshine and laughter, if just for a few brief moments. But these moments? They give us hope. They bring the promise of something better, of mountaintops--if just for a momentary interlude in the midst of the darkness.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Winter Bliss
So today? We are completely snowed in. White everywhere. Drifts on the roof of our car and pristine snow as far as the eye can see. Even the road is covered in undisturbed splendor. And the best part? I can't make it out of my driveway to go to work! So today will be spent inside with this great book that I am reading and my little family minus Savana who has decided to brave skiing with her boy and company, and all kinds of goodness.
Yesterday morning at 8:30 Savana called from Southern and said, Hey, Mom? School has been cancelled. Darian and I are coming home. My first thought was to say, Absolutely NOT! Stay put! It's bad here! But then... I decided, why not. The storm wasn't slated to hit with a vengeance until 1:00, leaving the girls just enough time to arrive home before its fury. And so, with a bit of anxiety, we admonished the girls to pack a blanket and water bottles and enough snacks to get them through the day in case they got stranded and come on home. Darian kept me posted at regular intervals...No snow yet, Mom! ... Just hit snow but the roads are clear! ... Still good ... Savana just did a donut in the road but no worries! We're fine!... Almost home! ...And finally they were here, the little red pickup parked at the bottom of the hill as our driveway was simply impossible. My heart did a little dance of thankfulness that they were home, safe and sound. They piled in, hauling laundry baskets and suitcases and backpacks and laptops and laughter and five days of blissful fun.
This mom is one happy girl.
Roy and I ventured to the grocery store earlier yesterday morning to stock up before the storm hit. We slipped and slid right past the Food Lion entrance, forcing us to pull into a side parking lot and turn around. Food Lion was bursting with people who had the same thing in mind as us. Everybody was laughing and in good spirits, the cashier proclaiming Be safe going home! to every one she checked out. And so I made Rotel spaghetti for lunch, Darian's favorite--she has lots of favorites, as I had to zip out for class about the time the girls arrived. And then later in the afternoon, Guerin and Drew came over, tracking in snow and proclaiming Let's go sledding! And so everyone bundled up in the craziest gear. Savana wore Roy's waterproof motorcycle pants and my ski jacket. She looked obese, her tiny frame swallowed by her parents' clothing. Darian wore ski pants that were about twenty sizes too big and Roy's snowboots that came off with every step. Jace wore his onesie pajamas and then layered it with sweatpants and a coat and gloves for a regular size person as we couldn't find his. But despite their silly appearances, they were warm and filled with laughter and giddiness, ready for a day in the snow.
And so they headed out, leaving Roy and I at home to hold down the fort while they trekked two miles in the snow to Guerin's house to go sledding and snowboarding. When they finally arrived back home several hours later, Jace proclaimed that he stayed totally warm. Wearing my onesie pajamas was my best idea ever, Mom! He was so excited and filled with stories from his fun day in the snow.
Last night Darian and I planned to watch a movie. But instead we stayed in the living room talking and talking and talking until 10:30 when we both decided it was time for bed.
A couple of days ago I bemoaned winter and all of its effects. But today? I am so thankful for its bounty. Winter brought me the girls two days earlier than I'd anticipated. Winter brought me a whole day of family in a warm home where beauty bursts just outside the window. Winter brought two whole days of snowballs and laughter and sledding and piles of boots and coats on the entryway floor--telltale signs of hours of fun outside in wintertime bliss.
Yesterday morning at 8:30 Savana called from Southern and said, Hey, Mom? School has been cancelled. Darian and I are coming home. My first thought was to say, Absolutely NOT! Stay put! It's bad here! But then... I decided, why not. The storm wasn't slated to hit with a vengeance until 1:00, leaving the girls just enough time to arrive home before its fury. And so, with a bit of anxiety, we admonished the girls to pack a blanket and water bottles and enough snacks to get them through the day in case they got stranded and come on home. Darian kept me posted at regular intervals...No snow yet, Mom! ... Just hit snow but the roads are clear! ... Still good ... Savana just did a donut in the road but no worries! We're fine!... Almost home! ...And finally they were here, the little red pickup parked at the bottom of the hill as our driveway was simply impossible. My heart did a little dance of thankfulness that they were home, safe and sound. They piled in, hauling laundry baskets and suitcases and backpacks and laptops and laughter and five days of blissful fun.
This mom is one happy girl.
Roy and I ventured to the grocery store earlier yesterday morning to stock up before the storm hit. We slipped and slid right past the Food Lion entrance, forcing us to pull into a side parking lot and turn around. Food Lion was bursting with people who had the same thing in mind as us. Everybody was laughing and in good spirits, the cashier proclaiming Be safe going home! to every one she checked out. And so I made Rotel spaghetti for lunch, Darian's favorite--she has lots of favorites, as I had to zip out for class about the time the girls arrived. And then later in the afternoon, Guerin and Drew came over, tracking in snow and proclaiming Let's go sledding! And so everyone bundled up in the craziest gear. Savana wore Roy's waterproof motorcycle pants and my ski jacket. She looked obese, her tiny frame swallowed by her parents' clothing. Darian wore ski pants that were about twenty sizes too big and Roy's snowboots that came off with every step. Jace wore his onesie pajamas and then layered it with sweatpants and a coat and gloves for a regular size person as we couldn't find his. But despite their silly appearances, they were warm and filled with laughter and giddiness, ready for a day in the snow.
And so they headed out, leaving Roy and I at home to hold down the fort while they trekked two miles in the snow to Guerin's house to go sledding and snowboarding. When they finally arrived back home several hours later, Jace proclaimed that he stayed totally warm. Wearing my onesie pajamas was my best idea ever, Mom! He was so excited and filled with stories from his fun day in the snow.
Last night Darian and I planned to watch a movie. But instead we stayed in the living room talking and talking and talking until 10:30 when we both decided it was time for bed.
A couple of days ago I bemoaned winter and all of its effects. But today? I am so thankful for its bounty. Winter brought me the girls two days earlier than I'd anticipated. Winter brought me a whole day of family in a warm home where beauty bursts just outside the window. Winter brought two whole days of snowballs and laughter and sledding and piles of boots and coats on the entryway floor--telltale signs of hours of fun outside in wintertime bliss.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Celebration of a Life
Our world is covered in white. Yesterday as I was teaching, fluffy white flakes fell lazily to the ground outside my window. By the time I left for my car, kids were outside pummeling snowballs at each other, and of course, they threw a few my way as well. I screamed like a little girl and ran for the safety of my car. Supposedly more snow is on its way. Tomorrow we are predicted to get several inches. Maybe after this storm, winter will be headed out the door so that springtime can fill its shoes. Though it's beautiful outside, everything covered in crystal white, I am ready for emerald green.
Yesterday I skyped with Darian for quite some time. She filled me in on her life. That God for skype or else I would never know anything about this girl of mine. She refuses to talk on the phone, preferring to see my reactions in person. Thankfully she and Savana are coming home Thursday evening as their Grandma Madeline is flying in. Madeline has been diagnosed with terminal cancer of both the liver and the pancreas, so she is doing her "Farewell Grandma Tour." She plans to spend three weeks on this side of the USA visiting grandkids and kids and her sister. It feels like she is just coming to visit. I can't really wrap my thoughts around the reality that this is very likely the last time I will see her healthy and well.
When I first met Madeline, she was a spry 52 year old--younger than Roy is now. She is only five foot tall but she is a go-getter. She has always been so careful to not get overly-involved in our lives, yet she has always been supportive and kind. She has always visited us once a year no matter where we've lived, bringing her generosity and love for food with her. As soon as she gets off the plane, she says, "What do you want to eat?" and then off we go to our restaurant of choice. She makes the best homemade tortillas and spaghetti sauce, true to her Italian heritage. She is straight from Italy--literally. Her mom came over on a boat, pregnant with Madeline.
Over the years she has cooked hundreds of tortillas, filling a plate with stacks of them each morning. They are to die for. In fact, when Savana was barely a year old, Madeline visited and Savana would say, "Tia, ma-maw; tia!" For several years, she kept track of how many she made over the course of a visit and one time, if my memory serves me correctly, it got into the 200's. How ridiculous is that? We're pigs, the five of us. But if you had one of her homemade tortillas, you would understand.
She has slowed down in recent years with the tortilla-making. The last time she visited, she only made a single batch. But of course, these days they land on my hips so I didn't complain. She has taught me multiple times how to make them. I know the recipe by heart. But...they never taste quite as good as hers. She has the touch. It's the same for all of her recipes. I've learned not to ask how she makes something because it's always just a little of this, and maybe a pinch of that...She just tastes and adds, then adds some more. But by the time she is finished, her sauces are sublime...and completely unique. I am never able to copy them perfectly...so I no longer try.
So her visiting? It's just weird. How do you wrap your thoughts around this is the last time. How do you manage to laugh and smile and make everything a celebration when your thoughts are reeling with I may never see her again. I don't really know how you deal with the knowledge that your life is coming to a close. I'm not sure what's better: the opportunity to say your last goodbyes or simply ... you just go quietly in the night with no warning.
But truly I am glad for three days with her. We will spend plenty of time talking and eating. My girls will tease her and love on her and she will giggle, as she always does. She will boss Darian around and Darian will quietly do her bidding, a smile on her face. And we will all try to keep things light and carefree, letting her lead the way with whatever she chooses to talk about. And before we know it, those three days will come to a close and she will get in the car with the girls, waving goodbye with a smile on her face as they drive her to Fred's on their way back to Southern.
There are so many wonderful things about hitting your 40's. I have so much more confidence than I've ever had in my life. I know what I want now and I'm eager to accomplish some goals that I've put on hold all these years as I've raised my family. I have a good marriage and kids I adore. I have a comfortable home and many blessings to call my own. But one thing I definitely don't appreciate at this stage of life is the cycle of life. Because, of course, as we hit our 40's and 50's, our parents hit their 80's. And life becomes fragile. It's new territory for me and, frankly, I don't appreciate it much.
Everybody has stories that are so uniquely their own and yet we all experience them. It's like when you have a baby and it takes its first steps. It's so exciting and wonderful and it's as if your baby is the only baby in the world who has ever taken steps before. We celebrate and clap and are so excited for the accomplishment. But it's that way throughout our lives--these milestones that we all experience and yet...it's as though we are the only ones when we go through it: the first date, the first kiss, our wedding, our first baby, our first home...
But then there are those milestones that we all experience that aren't exactly joyful..and yet we all have them in common. Losing a parent is right up there on that list. It's tragic and heartrending. And yet...it is a celebration in its own rite. It's a celebration of a life well-lived. It's a celebration of honoring a person who is your greatest fan because, truly, who else loves you like a mom. No matter what, when you have a mom around, you're always okay. Mom has your back. Mom thinks you're a winner even when you aren't.
And so, we will keep looking forward, keep moving ahead day by day. We will pick Madeline up from the airport on Thursday and we will spend our time letting her know how very much we love her; how very much we appreciate her sacrifices and generosity. We will make her three days with us meaningful and joyful and we will do our best to surround her with love and kindness and acceptance.
We will spend three days celebrating a life well-lived.
Yesterday I skyped with Darian for quite some time. She filled me in on her life. That God for skype or else I would never know anything about this girl of mine. She refuses to talk on the phone, preferring to see my reactions in person. Thankfully she and Savana are coming home Thursday evening as their Grandma Madeline is flying in. Madeline has been diagnosed with terminal cancer of both the liver and the pancreas, so she is doing her "Farewell Grandma Tour." She plans to spend three weeks on this side of the USA visiting grandkids and kids and her sister. It feels like she is just coming to visit. I can't really wrap my thoughts around the reality that this is very likely the last time I will see her healthy and well.
When I first met Madeline, she was a spry 52 year old--younger than Roy is now. She is only five foot tall but she is a go-getter. She has always been so careful to not get overly-involved in our lives, yet she has always been supportive and kind. She has always visited us once a year no matter where we've lived, bringing her generosity and love for food with her. As soon as she gets off the plane, she says, "What do you want to eat?" and then off we go to our restaurant of choice. She makes the best homemade tortillas and spaghetti sauce, true to her Italian heritage. She is straight from Italy--literally. Her mom came over on a boat, pregnant with Madeline.
Over the years she has cooked hundreds of tortillas, filling a plate with stacks of them each morning. They are to die for. In fact, when Savana was barely a year old, Madeline visited and Savana would say, "Tia, ma-maw; tia!" For several years, she kept track of how many she made over the course of a visit and one time, if my memory serves me correctly, it got into the 200's. How ridiculous is that? We're pigs, the five of us. But if you had one of her homemade tortillas, you would understand.
She has slowed down in recent years with the tortilla-making. The last time she visited, she only made a single batch. But of course, these days they land on my hips so I didn't complain. She has taught me multiple times how to make them. I know the recipe by heart. But...they never taste quite as good as hers. She has the touch. It's the same for all of her recipes. I've learned not to ask how she makes something because it's always just a little of this, and maybe a pinch of that...She just tastes and adds, then adds some more. But by the time she is finished, her sauces are sublime...and completely unique. I am never able to copy them perfectly...so I no longer try.
So her visiting? It's just weird. How do you wrap your thoughts around this is the last time. How do you manage to laugh and smile and make everything a celebration when your thoughts are reeling with I may never see her again. I don't really know how you deal with the knowledge that your life is coming to a close. I'm not sure what's better: the opportunity to say your last goodbyes or simply ... you just go quietly in the night with no warning.
But truly I am glad for three days with her. We will spend plenty of time talking and eating. My girls will tease her and love on her and she will giggle, as she always does. She will boss Darian around and Darian will quietly do her bidding, a smile on her face. And we will all try to keep things light and carefree, letting her lead the way with whatever she chooses to talk about. And before we know it, those three days will come to a close and she will get in the car with the girls, waving goodbye with a smile on her face as they drive her to Fred's on their way back to Southern.
There are so many wonderful things about hitting your 40's. I have so much more confidence than I've ever had in my life. I know what I want now and I'm eager to accomplish some goals that I've put on hold all these years as I've raised my family. I have a good marriage and kids I adore. I have a comfortable home and many blessings to call my own. But one thing I definitely don't appreciate at this stage of life is the cycle of life. Because, of course, as we hit our 40's and 50's, our parents hit their 80's. And life becomes fragile. It's new territory for me and, frankly, I don't appreciate it much.
Everybody has stories that are so uniquely their own and yet we all experience them. It's like when you have a baby and it takes its first steps. It's so exciting and wonderful and it's as if your baby is the only baby in the world who has ever taken steps before. We celebrate and clap and are so excited for the accomplishment. But it's that way throughout our lives--these milestones that we all experience and yet...it's as though we are the only ones when we go through it: the first date, the first kiss, our wedding, our first baby, our first home...
But then there are those milestones that we all experience that aren't exactly joyful..and yet we all have them in common. Losing a parent is right up there on that list. It's tragic and heartrending. And yet...it is a celebration in its own rite. It's a celebration of a life well-lived. It's a celebration of honoring a person who is your greatest fan because, truly, who else loves you like a mom. No matter what, when you have a mom around, you're always okay. Mom has your back. Mom thinks you're a winner even when you aren't.
And so, we will keep looking forward, keep moving ahead day by day. We will pick Madeline up from the airport on Thursday and we will spend our time letting her know how very much we love her; how very much we appreciate her sacrifices and generosity. We will make her three days with us meaningful and joyful and we will do our best to surround her with love and kindness and acceptance.
We will spend three days celebrating a life well-lived.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Letting in the Sun
Supposedly a winter storm is brewing and heading our direction. Again. What's with this ridiculous weather? I am itching for sunshine and long walks outdoors, burgers on the grill and rocking on the porch. I used to think winter was my favorite season. But I'm recognizing that I don't hold that to be true any longer. I like winter...in the beginning. I appreciate warm sweaters and hot drinks at any time of day. I love sitting by a good fire and listening to the blustery wind outside. But I appreciate these things for a short time and then? It's time to move on.
It's time to move on.
That actually reminds me of something I listened to yesterday. I heard a talk by this man named Dr. Dyer who is an author and speaker and professor and all sorts of other things who has experienced so much success in his life. He is so inspiring. And yet he was raised in an orphanage until in his early teens when he was finally reunited with his mother. He had so much anger in his heart that he struggled with alcohol and depression until he was 34 years old. At that time he was terribly overweight and miserable. He harbored much anger towards his father whom he blamed for his childhood. He managed to learn where his father was buried and so he visited the gravesite, fully intent on peeing on the grave. When he got there, he said some choice words to his dead father, buried there underneath the hard dirt, and then he walked away, got in his car and drove off. But that's where his story changed. He heard a voice telling him, Go back. And so he did. He walked back to the grave, sat down by the headstone, and had a conversation with his dad. He told him that he would choose forgiveness. He told him that he knew that most likely his dad lived with a lot of pain in his heart and that if he, Dr. Dyer, could know his dad's story, he would understand without judgment. He told his dad that he, from that day forward, would choose to love him.
And he walked away a free man.
Dr. Dyer talked about how bitterness and anger can rule our lives and create so much pain and anxiety for years if choose to stay there. He asked us, the audience, to choose something we are holding on to--even if it's just a small grudge--and then he gave us tools for letting it all go.
I was inspired.
And so today I am going to live with freedom. When I feel those feelings of criticism rearing, I am going to breathe...and let them go. I am going to laugh today and throw frustrations to the wind. I am going to embrace the positive and focus on dreams.
Today I will embrace the good things life has to offer, opening doors so sunshine can spill in.
It's time to move on.
That actually reminds me of something I listened to yesterday. I heard a talk by this man named Dr. Dyer who is an author and speaker and professor and all sorts of other things who has experienced so much success in his life. He is so inspiring. And yet he was raised in an orphanage until in his early teens when he was finally reunited with his mother. He had so much anger in his heart that he struggled with alcohol and depression until he was 34 years old. At that time he was terribly overweight and miserable. He harbored much anger towards his father whom he blamed for his childhood. He managed to learn where his father was buried and so he visited the gravesite, fully intent on peeing on the grave. When he got there, he said some choice words to his dead father, buried there underneath the hard dirt, and then he walked away, got in his car and drove off. But that's where his story changed. He heard a voice telling him, Go back. And so he did. He walked back to the grave, sat down by the headstone, and had a conversation with his dad. He told him that he would choose forgiveness. He told him that he knew that most likely his dad lived with a lot of pain in his heart and that if he, Dr. Dyer, could know his dad's story, he would understand without judgment. He told his dad that he, from that day forward, would choose to love him.
And he walked away a free man.
Dr. Dyer talked about how bitterness and anger can rule our lives and create so much pain and anxiety for years if choose to stay there. He asked us, the audience, to choose something we are holding on to--even if it's just a small grudge--and then he gave us tools for letting it all go.
I was inspired.
And so today I am going to live with freedom. When I feel those feelings of criticism rearing, I am going to breathe...and let them go. I am going to laugh today and throw frustrations to the wind. I am going to embrace the positive and focus on dreams.
Today I will embrace the good things life has to offer, opening doors so sunshine can spill in.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Bound Together
I am so happy that it's Sunday all day today. And of course that statement reminds me of my Grandpa Nick who used to holler up the stairs when we stayed the night at their house: Are you up for all day if you don't fall down? I need to hear those feet hit the floor!" And then if someone would say, "What day is it today?" He'd say, "It's Sunday all day long."
When we would go downstairs, there would be Grandma, standing over a hot stove making fried eggs and bacon. "Do you want your eggs over easy?" she'd say. And I would always nodd my head yes; my sister Tami would say no--she didn't like that runny yolk. Grandma made the best everything. She cooked her eggs in bacon grease and could make a mean pie. We all loved going to grandma's because everything she cooked was simply divine. And, of course, they had bottles of coke on the porch and Snickers in the freezer. We happily helped ourselves.
Yesterday Jace wrapped himself in a quilt that my Grandma Crowder (my mom's mom) made for me when I got married. It's a beautiful quilt--one of her finest. I have always treasured it because it makes me think of her. She was a good lady. And so when Jace sat down by me on the couch, all bundled in this blanket that is bumping up on thirty years old, I said, "My grandma made that quilt for me and gave it to me at my wedding shower."
"Cool." That's all he said.
Clearly he doesn't share my sentiments about the quilt.
I have another quilt that my grandma gave me--one that isn't quite as beautiful and looks like a grandma made it. But I love it so much. It has served me well over the years. It has mismatched squares of material sewn together on one side, and the other side is all the same material: white splashed with hot pink flowers on green vines wound together. I honestly don't remember the occasion that Gradma gave it to me...a birthday? Christmas? I'm pretty sure she gave it to me before I got married but I could be wrong. But that quilt is my go-to blanket. It goes with us to the park, on picnics; I use it for guests when I have to make an extra bed. It is the foundation for a pallet on the floor. And yet...it is still in great shape. It is durable and thick and, well, perfect.
When Roy and I first got married, I took classes at the University of Northern Colorado in order to finish up my degree. One of my classes was a poetry class with a woman who had personally had books of poetry published. She was amazing. One day, she assigned writing a poem about an object. I had recently used this same blanket--my go-to blanket--and while I was covering myself up, I was pricked by a pin that Grandma had inadvertently left in the quilt, and it drew blood. I found that fascinating at the time, considering the possibility that this same pin had pricked Grandma's finger and now mine, our blood mingling together on the end of this pin, linking us together through a quilt that she made for me. And so I wrote my poem about that pin.
I thought it was clever, but...I only got a B.
Recently Darian and I were talking about geneology and how, if we could go back far enough and meet everyone in our family, we would find someone who is just like us. I find that fascinating--to know that somewhere in my history was a girl who had many of my character traits, and maybe she even looked similar to me. If we could go back far enough, well...someone lived who had feelings and desires and thoughts and all of those experiences we all share communally. And if we could meet, we would most likely stand in awe at how we are just so alike.
I don't know much about our geneology really. I wish I did--I think that it's interesting how families come to be, how grandparents and great-grandparents met, how they worked the land and struggled together to create a life, a future. I don't know too much about my mom's side other than the fact my grandpa left home at 12 or 13 to strike out on his own. I can't even imagine that. Jace is bumping up on twelve years old now and he can't even make his own sandwich! And I have heard stories about how my dad's side of the family traveled to Oklahoma in a covered wagon when my great-grandma was just a little girl. And now here we are, all of these lives gone before us, and now...they're all gone, like a fire snuffed out. Poof.
Just yesterday I was reading this blog that said 50 Things You Won't Say on your Deathbed. It was humorous actually--several things made me chuckle a bit as they hit home. We all spend our lives getting frustrated about things that don't really matter or waste time on frivolous, meaningless activities. We stress and gossip and spin our wheels. But in the end, we will look back and wish we'd spent less time on such things. In the end, those aren't the things that will matter.
Awhile back I started a Bucket List of things I want to accomplish in my life. It's so easy to live day to day and forget that we only have this one life. That's all we've got to hang our hat on. And so, it's important to make our days count, to create memories and relationships that stand the test of time. Bucket Lists create purpose and help us stay focused on doing things we want to accomplish, even if those things are simply singing in the rain and stomping through puddles. I need to revisit my bucket list; I need to keep adding and crossing off. In fact, I think I'll pull it out today.
I wish my grandparents were still alive today. I wish I could sit down with each one of them as my 47 year old self and talk to them, really listen to them. I wish I could ask them about their childhoods and their dreams; I wish I could get to know them as people rather than grandparents. Somehow I think I would see a different side--I would see youth and vitality and hopes and fears. I would see people who are just like me; just like all of us.
But of course...I can't. They are only alive in my memory, but I can see them clearly in my mind's eye. I can see the twinkle in their eyes, their smiles that light up their faces. I can still hear their laughter and I can picture their hands that cooked for me and sewed for me. A little piece of each of them is in me...and in my kids...and will be in my kids' kids someday. So even though they're not here physically, we honor them through our lives. We pass down their traits, their sayings, their recipes, their blankets. It's what makes us family.
It's what binds us together--all of us--through the strands of time.
When we would go downstairs, there would be Grandma, standing over a hot stove making fried eggs and bacon. "Do you want your eggs over easy?" she'd say. And I would always nodd my head yes; my sister Tami would say no--she didn't like that runny yolk. Grandma made the best everything. She cooked her eggs in bacon grease and could make a mean pie. We all loved going to grandma's because everything she cooked was simply divine. And, of course, they had bottles of coke on the porch and Snickers in the freezer. We happily helped ourselves.
Yesterday Jace wrapped himself in a quilt that my Grandma Crowder (my mom's mom) made for me when I got married. It's a beautiful quilt--one of her finest. I have always treasured it because it makes me think of her. She was a good lady. And so when Jace sat down by me on the couch, all bundled in this blanket that is bumping up on thirty years old, I said, "My grandma made that quilt for me and gave it to me at my wedding shower."
"Cool." That's all he said.
Clearly he doesn't share my sentiments about the quilt.
I have another quilt that my grandma gave me--one that isn't quite as beautiful and looks like a grandma made it. But I love it so much. It has served me well over the years. It has mismatched squares of material sewn together on one side, and the other side is all the same material: white splashed with hot pink flowers on green vines wound together. I honestly don't remember the occasion that Gradma gave it to me...a birthday? Christmas? I'm pretty sure she gave it to me before I got married but I could be wrong. But that quilt is my go-to blanket. It goes with us to the park, on picnics; I use it for guests when I have to make an extra bed. It is the foundation for a pallet on the floor. And yet...it is still in great shape. It is durable and thick and, well, perfect.
When Roy and I first got married, I took classes at the University of Northern Colorado in order to finish up my degree. One of my classes was a poetry class with a woman who had personally had books of poetry published. She was amazing. One day, she assigned writing a poem about an object. I had recently used this same blanket--my go-to blanket--and while I was covering myself up, I was pricked by a pin that Grandma had inadvertently left in the quilt, and it drew blood. I found that fascinating at the time, considering the possibility that this same pin had pricked Grandma's finger and now mine, our blood mingling together on the end of this pin, linking us together through a quilt that she made for me. And so I wrote my poem about that pin.
I thought it was clever, but...I only got a B.
Recently Darian and I were talking about geneology and how, if we could go back far enough and meet everyone in our family, we would find someone who is just like us. I find that fascinating--to know that somewhere in my history was a girl who had many of my character traits, and maybe she even looked similar to me. If we could go back far enough, well...someone lived who had feelings and desires and thoughts and all of those experiences we all share communally. And if we could meet, we would most likely stand in awe at how we are just so alike.
I don't know much about our geneology really. I wish I did--I think that it's interesting how families come to be, how grandparents and great-grandparents met, how they worked the land and struggled together to create a life, a future. I don't know too much about my mom's side other than the fact my grandpa left home at 12 or 13 to strike out on his own. I can't even imagine that. Jace is bumping up on twelve years old now and he can't even make his own sandwich! And I have heard stories about how my dad's side of the family traveled to Oklahoma in a covered wagon when my great-grandma was just a little girl. And now here we are, all of these lives gone before us, and now...they're all gone, like a fire snuffed out. Poof.
Just yesterday I was reading this blog that said 50 Things You Won't Say on your Deathbed. It was humorous actually--several things made me chuckle a bit as they hit home. We all spend our lives getting frustrated about things that don't really matter or waste time on frivolous, meaningless activities. We stress and gossip and spin our wheels. But in the end, we will look back and wish we'd spent less time on such things. In the end, those aren't the things that will matter.
Awhile back I started a Bucket List of things I want to accomplish in my life. It's so easy to live day to day and forget that we only have this one life. That's all we've got to hang our hat on. And so, it's important to make our days count, to create memories and relationships that stand the test of time. Bucket Lists create purpose and help us stay focused on doing things we want to accomplish, even if those things are simply singing in the rain and stomping through puddles. I need to revisit my bucket list; I need to keep adding and crossing off. In fact, I think I'll pull it out today.
I wish my grandparents were still alive today. I wish I could sit down with each one of them as my 47 year old self and talk to them, really listen to them. I wish I could ask them about their childhoods and their dreams; I wish I could get to know them as people rather than grandparents. Somehow I think I would see a different side--I would see youth and vitality and hopes and fears. I would see people who are just like me; just like all of us.
But of course...I can't. They are only alive in my memory, but I can see them clearly in my mind's eye. I can see the twinkle in their eyes, their smiles that light up their faces. I can still hear their laughter and I can picture their hands that cooked for me and sewed for me. A little piece of each of them is in me...and in my kids...and will be in my kids' kids someday. So even though they're not here physically, we honor them through our lives. We pass down their traits, their sayings, their recipes, their blankets. It's what makes us family.
It's what binds us together--all of us--through the strands of time.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Old Love
Lately I've just felt out of sorts. I hate it when this happens--when you just feel annoyed but you can't really put your finger on the problem. I'm not sure if it's because I'm coming off of the flu and still don't feel 100%...or if it's because my life has become so busy as I am juggling three part-time jobs...or if it's because I'm stuck inside with this frigid weather that leaves us staring out the window, longing for sunshine and bursting flowers and long afternoons outdoors.
But whatever it is, I'm tired of myself. Roy is ever patient, keeping his mouth shut and going about his business even though I'm a bit of a wretch to live with. Poor guy.
But thankfully today is Friday. Thankfully as soon as I am done teaching this afternoon at 3:30, I will have over 48 hours that is blissfully mine to do with as I please. I am eager for the weekend and all of its comforts.
But despite my smoldering mood, yesterday was actually a good day. I got some things accomplished at my Hope Chest for Women job. And in the middle of the morning, as I was sitting at my desk shuffling through papers, my cell phone rang. It was Roy. I'm in the parking lot!
I love those kinds of surprises. It's a little weird, I know. I mean, seriously--Roy and I have been together for over 28 years now and we both work and live together. For 23 of our 26 years we've worked at the same school which translates into spending far more time together than the average couple. But whether I am sitting at my desk in my office at school, or whether I'm teaching an actual class, when Roy bops in to tell me something quickly, I'm always... Aw. There he is! He's so cute. It still makes my heart skip a beat. I just really like him. He makes me laugh. He's a rather controversial figure which means a lot of people don't share my sentiments. But that's okay. They just don't get him--too bad for them.
And so, when he said he was in the parking lot, I said, Come inside and meet Sherri! And so he did, walking in the office looking a bit out of place and cracking stupid jokes about how finally he gets some peace at home now that I'm working off campus. And of course that makes total sense considering he dropped by to say hi.
When Roy and I were dating, my family didn't approve. I don't blame them. Roy was such a character and over seven years my senior. So here I was, an 18 year old fresh out of high school who had little dating experience and wore naiveté on my shoulder like a badge. And I brought home Roy. Roy was 26 years old and a player. He had multiple girlfriends to his name, sometimes more than one at a time. And so when I proudly proclaimed him as my guy, my family balked and fought and scratched and moaned and did everything in the book to make me see the light.
From their perspective I was probably hard as a rock, refusing to listen to their reasoning. I refused to budge. But on the inside? Not so much. I wrestled with myself, wondering if I was making a mistake dating Roy. It was a constant mental battle.
But then one day I got sick. I had the flu and it left me reeling, laying in bed unable to get up and go to work or classes or the cafeteria. My roommate took good care of me, bringing me take-out trays (though I probably hardly ate) and making sure I wasn't dying. But I lay downstairs in my dorm room for at least two days if not three. And of course...this was in the day before cell phones that allow constant communication between people. And so, I spent these days without seeing or hearing from Roy.
But one day, when I was finally able to stand up and walk around a bit, shower and such, my roommate came down the stairs and said, You should come out in the hallway. And so I did...and there was Roy, wearing this tight black jacket that he always wore and looking so good and fresh and healthy and alive.
And seeing him there, standing in the hallway? I just wanted to cry. He was such a sight for sore eyes...and in that moment, I knew.
He was my guy.
And I never turned back.
I've been talking a lot about love to my freshmen lately. We're reading Romeo & Juliet and so it gives lots of room for conversations about Do you believe in love at first sight? and Is 13 years old too young to fall in love? They make me laugh, these silly fourteen year olds, with their confident answers as they think they know so much more than they do. They are all so eager to find the loves of their lives. Some of them proclaim they've already been in love and had their hearts broken. Some are already dating and it's easy to see stars in their eyes when they look at their beloved who is sitting next to them in class. They don't listen to me much, preferring their own wisdom and arguing with mine. So I tend to just ask questions and let them battle it out as they talk amongst themselves while I sit back and laugh to myself at the idealism and confidence of youth.
No doubt about it -- young love is beautiful. It's exciting and fun and we spend a lot of time in our society idealizing it. But really, when you think about it, old love is where it's at. Old love is genuine and longsuffering; it's dependable like a worn blanket that just makes the evening so much better when it's wrapped around your shoulders. Old love brings stability and comfort and companionship. Old love means that, even when you're crabby, even when you just don't feel like being nice...
...well, he's still there, rinsing dishes and quietly going about his day, waiting patiently for you to come around...and feel like your old self again.
But whatever it is, I'm tired of myself. Roy is ever patient, keeping his mouth shut and going about his business even though I'm a bit of a wretch to live with. Poor guy.
But thankfully today is Friday. Thankfully as soon as I am done teaching this afternoon at 3:30, I will have over 48 hours that is blissfully mine to do with as I please. I am eager for the weekend and all of its comforts.
But despite my smoldering mood, yesterday was actually a good day. I got some things accomplished at my Hope Chest for Women job. And in the middle of the morning, as I was sitting at my desk shuffling through papers, my cell phone rang. It was Roy. I'm in the parking lot!
I love those kinds of surprises. It's a little weird, I know. I mean, seriously--Roy and I have been together for over 28 years now and we both work and live together. For 23 of our 26 years we've worked at the same school which translates into spending far more time together than the average couple. But whether I am sitting at my desk in my office at school, or whether I'm teaching an actual class, when Roy bops in to tell me something quickly, I'm always... Aw. There he is! He's so cute. It still makes my heart skip a beat. I just really like him. He makes me laugh. He's a rather controversial figure which means a lot of people don't share my sentiments. But that's okay. They just don't get him--too bad for them.
And so, when he said he was in the parking lot, I said, Come inside and meet Sherri! And so he did, walking in the office looking a bit out of place and cracking stupid jokes about how finally he gets some peace at home now that I'm working off campus. And of course that makes total sense considering he dropped by to say hi.
When Roy and I were dating, my family didn't approve. I don't blame them. Roy was such a character and over seven years my senior. So here I was, an 18 year old fresh out of high school who had little dating experience and wore naiveté on my shoulder like a badge. And I brought home Roy. Roy was 26 years old and a player. He had multiple girlfriends to his name, sometimes more than one at a time. And so when I proudly proclaimed him as my guy, my family balked and fought and scratched and moaned and did everything in the book to make me see the light.
From their perspective I was probably hard as a rock, refusing to listen to their reasoning. I refused to budge. But on the inside? Not so much. I wrestled with myself, wondering if I was making a mistake dating Roy. It was a constant mental battle.
But then one day I got sick. I had the flu and it left me reeling, laying in bed unable to get up and go to work or classes or the cafeteria. My roommate took good care of me, bringing me take-out trays (though I probably hardly ate) and making sure I wasn't dying. But I lay downstairs in my dorm room for at least two days if not three. And of course...this was in the day before cell phones that allow constant communication between people. And so, I spent these days without seeing or hearing from Roy.
But one day, when I was finally able to stand up and walk around a bit, shower and such, my roommate came down the stairs and said, You should come out in the hallway. And so I did...and there was Roy, wearing this tight black jacket that he always wore and looking so good and fresh and healthy and alive.
And seeing him there, standing in the hallway? I just wanted to cry. He was such a sight for sore eyes...and in that moment, I knew.
He was my guy.
And I never turned back.
I've been talking a lot about love to my freshmen lately. We're reading Romeo & Juliet and so it gives lots of room for conversations about Do you believe in love at first sight? and Is 13 years old too young to fall in love? They make me laugh, these silly fourteen year olds, with their confident answers as they think they know so much more than they do. They are all so eager to find the loves of their lives. Some of them proclaim they've already been in love and had their hearts broken. Some are already dating and it's easy to see stars in their eyes when they look at their beloved who is sitting next to them in class. They don't listen to me much, preferring their own wisdom and arguing with mine. So I tend to just ask questions and let them battle it out as they talk amongst themselves while I sit back and laugh to myself at the idealism and confidence of youth.
No doubt about it -- young love is beautiful. It's exciting and fun and we spend a lot of time in our society idealizing it. But really, when you think about it, old love is where it's at. Old love is genuine and longsuffering; it's dependable like a worn blanket that just makes the evening so much better when it's wrapped around your shoulders. Old love brings stability and comfort and companionship. Old love means that, even when you're crabby, even when you just don't feel like being nice...
...well, he's still there, rinsing dishes and quietly going about his day, waiting patiently for you to come around...and feel like your old self again.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Free at Last
I do believe that today will be the first day since last Thursday that my house will be flu-free. Jace's fever broke last night and he said he actually wants to go to school. He has had enough of long days on the couch snuggled up with a pillow and a nose that can't breathe. He is tired of You need to drink more water, Jace and You have to eat Something!! And so, if all goes as planned, I will wake him up at 7:30 and he will shuffle downstairs, rubbing his eyes, and manage to get dressed and do his chores while I frantically make breakfast and pack his lunch and, thirty minutes later, hustle him out the door.
Normalcy reigns again.
Yesterday was a productive day. I worked from the time I got up until right before I went to bed. It's what I get for being sick. I was behind on everything. Meanwhile, Jace had homework to do and so in the midst of my own to-do list, I shot directions his way: Where's your math book, Jace?...I think you need to sharpen that pencil...Jace! Stop singing and get back to work!...Jace!!
Maybe his desire to get back to school has more to do with escaping his mother than escaping the couch.
I am not one of those moms that believes every kid needs a weekly sick day. There are lots of those kinds of mothers in this world evidently. Here at MPA we have lots of kids that go on sick list if they have a hangnail...or even if they don't! It's kind of like...let's see. It's Monday. That means Jenni will be on sick list today with her best friend Lucy. And sure enough. I don't understand that. When I was a kid? We never even considered going on sick list. If we stayed home, we were sick.
Can't get out of bed sick.
And all of my kids are the same. I don't think my girls missed more than five days combined between the two of them all four years of high school. Maybe it's a genetic thing. Maybe there's a gene that some of us are born with that propels us to go to school or work or whatever our responsibility is. But if you aren't born with that gene, well...sick list is your best friend.
I'm not sure what makes the difference really. All I know is? This family is finally well. We have conquered at last. And so, almost a full week later, we are rolling up our sleeves and heading out the door...
...free at last.
Normalcy reigns again.
Yesterday was a productive day. I worked from the time I got up until right before I went to bed. It's what I get for being sick. I was behind on everything. Meanwhile, Jace had homework to do and so in the midst of my own to-do list, I shot directions his way: Where's your math book, Jace?...I think you need to sharpen that pencil...Jace! Stop singing and get back to work!...Jace!!
Maybe his desire to get back to school has more to do with escaping his mother than escaping the couch.
I am not one of those moms that believes every kid needs a weekly sick day. There are lots of those kinds of mothers in this world evidently. Here at MPA we have lots of kids that go on sick list if they have a hangnail...or even if they don't! It's kind of like...let's see. It's Monday. That means Jenni will be on sick list today with her best friend Lucy. And sure enough. I don't understand that. When I was a kid? We never even considered going on sick list. If we stayed home, we were sick.
Can't get out of bed sick.
And all of my kids are the same. I don't think my girls missed more than five days combined between the two of them all four years of high school. Maybe it's a genetic thing. Maybe there's a gene that some of us are born with that propels us to go to school or work or whatever our responsibility is. But if you aren't born with that gene, well...sick list is your best friend.
I'm not sure what makes the difference really. All I know is? This family is finally well. We have conquered at last. And so, almost a full week later, we are rolling up our sleeves and heading out the door...
...free at last.
Monday, February 3, 2014
The Two Edged Sword
I am sitting alone in the man cave, listening to the ticking of a clock and Roy's snoring in the bedroom.
It's 7:15 am.
It's still dark outside, rain pouring down, and Savana has been gone an entire hour. She left this morning looking sleepy-eyed, laden down with bags, hustling out the door as I called for her to be careful on the mountain. But this time, I can't call her to make sure that she's okay. I can't check my phone a million times to see if she by chance sent a quick text, because...
...she dropped her phone in the toilet. And it no longer works.
So, it will be an interesting month.
In a month she will be eligible for an upgrade so that she can purchase a new phone and things can be back to normal. My goodness--how quickly we adjust to instant contact, constant knowledge of where our loved ones are at all times. And when we are stripped from that privilege? It feels so foreign, so...insecure.
Smart phones are relatively new inventions actually and yet we have quickly adjusted to them as though they are "old hat." Need directions? Need a recipe? Google it. Need to pass the time? Whip out a game or pull up Facebook. Walk into any room in America and check out our obsession with smart phones.
It's annoying, frankly.
And yet...
When you find yourself without one, or find one of your loved ones without one (in my case), well...that changes everything.
So as I am sitting here looking out the window into the darkness, I noticed my feet. And I can't help but think, What happened to my feet? They look so old, crinkly. They look like the feet of a middle-aged woman. And even though I paint my toenails and massage them regularly with lotion to keep them soft, well...age has set in. Time has left its mark. That same time that has given us new inventions of technology and brought gifts of wonder which we must learn to manage appropriately has also worked its magic on my body.
It's a two-edged sword.
So on the one hand, I love the gifts time bestows upon us: enjoying the inventions of those who understand how to create all these modern marvels. But on the other hand? I want it to slow down, stop robbing me of my youth.
And in the meantime, I am rooting for March 6 when Savana owns her new iPhone 5 and life as we know it can resume.
It's 7:15 am.
It's still dark outside, rain pouring down, and Savana has been gone an entire hour. She left this morning looking sleepy-eyed, laden down with bags, hustling out the door as I called for her to be careful on the mountain. But this time, I can't call her to make sure that she's okay. I can't check my phone a million times to see if she by chance sent a quick text, because...
...she dropped her phone in the toilet. And it no longer works.
So, it will be an interesting month.
In a month she will be eligible for an upgrade so that she can purchase a new phone and things can be back to normal. My goodness--how quickly we adjust to instant contact, constant knowledge of where our loved ones are at all times. And when we are stripped from that privilege? It feels so foreign, so...insecure.
Smart phones are relatively new inventions actually and yet we have quickly adjusted to them as though they are "old hat." Need directions? Need a recipe? Google it. Need to pass the time? Whip out a game or pull up Facebook. Walk into any room in America and check out our obsession with smart phones.
It's annoying, frankly.
And yet...
When you find yourself without one, or find one of your loved ones without one (in my case), well...that changes everything.
So as I am sitting here looking out the window into the darkness, I noticed my feet. And I can't help but think, What happened to my feet? They look so old, crinkly. They look like the feet of a middle-aged woman. And even though I paint my toenails and massage them regularly with lotion to keep them soft, well...age has set in. Time has left its mark. That same time that has given us new inventions of technology and brought gifts of wonder which we must learn to manage appropriately has also worked its magic on my body.
It's a two-edged sword.
So on the one hand, I love the gifts time bestows upon us: enjoying the inventions of those who understand how to create all these modern marvels. But on the other hand? I want it to slow down, stop robbing me of my youth.
And in the meantime, I am rooting for March 6 when Savana owns her new iPhone 5 and life as we know it can resume.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
A Mantra to Live By
As I was leaving work on Thursday afternoon, my coworker Sherri said, "I sure hope you don't get sick!"
"No worries," I said. "I rarely get sick!"
Sherri ran a temperature all week, bringing her cough and tylenol and kleenex to work with her each day. She is so conscientious, spraying everything with 409 that she touches and diligently keeping her distance when I am in the office. And so, I figured I would be just fine.
But as I pulled into my driveway Thursday evening, home at last, it slammed into me like a wall of bricks: I'm sick. And then as I walked up the stairs to the mancave, I couldn't lie down fast enough.
Sure enough: I had the flu.
And then Saturday morning as I lay on the couch with a 102 degree fever, Jace came in and said, "Mom, I'm exhausted. All I want to do is sleep."
Jace's verdict? A 103 degree fever.
And so over the past three days, I have had a lot of time to lay on the couch and watch tv some and read some and knit some...though I couldn't manage to sit up too long...and sleep a whole lot of somes. Jace pulled the blowup mattress in and lay beside me in his sleeping bag while the two of us called orders to Roy: I'm thirsty! Where's the tylenol? Could I have some grape juice? Dad, I really want some Cheez-its. Would you go to the store?
We kept him hopping and he never complained. Not once. He makes the best nurse in the world--I've always said that. When I am not feeling well? He is thoughtful and attentive and goes out of his way to pamper me. Do you need a pillow? Would you like for me to get you something? Want me to rub your feet?
Sometimes, frankly, I just want to say I'm sick so that I can enjoy all of the special treatment.
But anyway, somewhere in the midst of laying on the couch and reading a host of emails and blogs and vlogs and Facebook posts that people "shared", I came across something regarding Mantras--and how we all have them. In other words, we all have these statements that play through our heads that dictate how we feel about others, how we feel about life, how we feel about ourselves. These mantras affect everything.
I never have enough money.
I am never good enough.
I am always a victim.
I am not pretty enough.
I am not "cool".
People always hate me...
...to name a few. And these mantras? They are powerful. They are everything. They are the lens through which we see the world. Some of them are passed on to us by our parents; some we learn through life experiences. But regardless of how we adopt these mantras, they are the undercurrents through which we live. And so, it is important to be sure that we are living by healthy mantras, positive mantras.
I have everything I need.
I am good enough.
I am powerful.
I am beautiful.
I am cool.
People love me.
And when we catch ourselves throwing our hands up in despair, angry, littering our mental world with all colors of harsh, that is when we need to stop; take a deep breath, and give ourselves a different message, a better one:
...a message that brings kindness and love in its wake.
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