It's that time of the year again. Out with the old, and in with the new. It is the natural ending to one calendar and a logical beginning to another. Many people use this time of year to start afresh. All the mistakes and unfulfilled hopes of the previous 12 months can miraculously be wiped away when the clock strikes midnight. Whoosh. A new year. A new opportunity. A new you.
Spoiler Alert. The stark reality is that it is just another day in the continuum.
But alas, the beginning of a new year does indeed provide a unique opportunity. For at least a day or two, it feels like we all have a little more time: time to reflect, time to think, time to evaluate, time to plan. For a few days after the rush of the Christmas season is over, our hectic lives slow to a crawl, gracing us with the chance to dream of all things new.
In response, we make New Year's Resolutions. These proposals can initiate an illusive journey that commences with a clean slate. It gives us a chance to believe that we really can begin (or end) those habits that we believe will revolutionize our lives. Gym memberships skyrocket. Plans are devised for healthy eating. Vows are made to save more money, be more kind, stop procrastinating. Will power is accessed as we silently chant along with the little engine, "I think I can, I think I can..."
But before you break into the mad dash towards 2015, I want to encourage you with something different while it's still 2014.
As you stop and reflect, find something good that was birthed in 2014.
Paul said in Philippians, "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things." Even if you experienced a difficult year, I'm pretty sure you can find a pearl. Look for that gem, however small it may be.
And then...
Carry that gem with you into 2015, and build on it.
In my experience, it really is easy to start something new. For a day or two. Or even for a month. It takes incredible force, willpower, and energy to keep it going when it loses its novelty. A research statistic that I read recently said that only 8% of people are able to actually follow through on their new year's resolutions and be successful. Yikes.
Maybe you're one of those that begins each year with a hefty, optimistic list of resolutions. I've definitely done that. But sadly, 3 months into the new year, I find that my gusto has fizzled along with the melting snow.
Here's a different approach. What if you springboard into the year with the momentum of something you've already started? What did you do right this year? What can you celebrate and build on? Before you look forward, look at where you are, and look back to see how you got there. Instead of replanting lots of new ideas, fertilize the things in your life that are bearing fruit.
Consider this. Perhaps it's not the right season for some of the things you want to initiate.
I remember several bygone Januarys when I vowed that THIS would be the year for me to start an exercise program. I would commit to myself to start working out regularly. I would envision that I could get into shape. I even invested in the necessary gear to make it happen. Cool workout clothes, check. Yoga mat, check. Dumbbells, check. Calorie burner watch, check. Workout plan, check. The problem for me was that some of those years were times when my kids were little, and my energy level was not only low, it was non-existent. Try as I might, this idea was doomed from the start because my idea of what I could do far exceeded the reality of what was possible in that season of my life. The timing of my great and wonderful resolution was terrible. Additionally, if the truth be told, I did not really want to do it. It was something I felt I should do, or something that would be good for me.
Here's another reality check for you. Guilt rarely produces fruit.
Last year, I decided to focus on starting merely one new thing. I began this resolution immersed in the flurry of new year's electricity that seems to permeate the atmosphere. I also capitalized on the winter hiatus to jump start my change. The resolution I devised was to become an avid reader again. I was that passionate reader many years ago, but I allowed the circumstances of life to ebb away this value expressed in my life. Though I've currently lost count of how many books I've read this year, I can say that I've read a lot: articles, editorials, classics, mysteries, biographies, inspiring documentaries, and many other riveting tales. It felt as if a part of me came alive again. It turns out that this reading resolution was the foundation for another long awaited resolution that didn't begin until much later in the year: writing. As for the exercise routine, my husband is the one who successfully followed through on this positive change. He also managed to be consistent without all the workout accoutrements I mentioned above. As a result, a part of him has come alive again too.
As I go into 2015, I have 3 resolutions. Two of them will build on the things I started in 2014. There has been so much fruit, and I am inspired to go deeper. Only one of my resolutions is new.
Perhaps this is the year for you to gain momentum instead of starting over.
Sometimes we can't make significant progress in an area is because we overlook areas of growth. Amidst our desire to start something new, we abandon our progress and in so doing diminish the fruit that is possible.
As I propel myself into 2015, I have written my private celebration of 2014 on a small stone which I will use as a reminder. It is my memorial stone, my stone of remembrance. I wrote about this in a very short blog almost 2 years ago called Milestones and Memorial Stones. I'm taking my little stone with me into 2015. I have high hopes of even greater fruit in 2015.
Celebrate the goodness of God in what you have accomplished this past year. As you reflect and make your resolution list, look at how you can take the goodness from 2014 with you into 2015 and build something lasting and something wonderful.
December 30, 2014
December 21, 2014
Collect Experiences, Not Things
I remember the Christmas when...
How would you fill in the blank? I would predict that it probably would not be with the name of a gift you got on a certain Christmas. More than likely, you would complete that sentence with a significant memory you have had during this time of the year.
I recently read an editorial called Abundance Without Attachment in the New York Times. The contributor, Arthur Brooks, is a researcher in economics, politics and enterprise. Sometimes God speaks to me through the least likely people. This was one of those times.
Brooks made 3 simple points about avoiding the materialism trap. The first point was like a burning bush to me, an epiphany that became even more significant as I turned aside to ponder and listen for its message. It was a straightforward phrase.
Collect experiences, not things.
I've contemplated that expression in the quiet of my thoughts. I've also listened for it as my own family reminisces with laughter around the dinner table. I've smiled as my grown kids ask repeatedly for more of the ordinary experiences that symbolize Christmas to them. Baking cookies, playing board games, seeing Christmas lights, decorating gingerbread houses, attending a candlelight service, watching It's a Wonderful Life, and choosing simple gifts for siblings hold special places in the hearts of our family.
I've reflected on my choices for spending money this Christmas. Aside from ornamental boxes and bows under the tree, does my time and spending reflect this value? Am I collecting memories instead of simply more stuff?
I believe that I am.
Even my grocery bill mirrors this value. It's not because we necessarily eat a lot or because we choose expensive food options. It is because I understand that mealtimes morph into memories, and their value reaches far beyond the absorption of vitamins and minerals. Our family gatherings around the table are imprinting moments in time. My small investment into candles and tablecloths over the years creates atmosphere in my home that blends into a sensory holiday experience.
Even my grocery bill mirrors this value. It's not because we necessarily eat a lot or because we choose expensive food options. It is because I understand that mealtimes morph into memories, and their value reaches far beyond the absorption of vitamins and minerals. Our family gatherings around the table are imprinting moments in time. My small investment into candles and tablecloths over the years creates atmosphere in my home that blends into a sensory holiday experience.
We choose to allocate part of our Christmas budget to family outings. Sometimes the jaunts are nearby, and other times they are extended trips. These outings can not be wrapped up or tied with a bow. We're collecting more experiences, ones that solidify relationship, that highlight family, that invite reflection, that create opportunities to see and discuss the true meaning of Christmas.
Yes, there are gifts under the tree, but perhaps more than the gifts, the anticipation of Christmas for us is being together, remembering that we do have a wonderful life, and knowing that our Savior has made a way for us.
Remembrance is truly powerful, particularly at Christmas. We remember Jesus, born in a stable, as we read the Christmas story. We remember our favorite Christmas traditions, and we relive them.
One such example of a bygone Christmas experience occurred about 10 years ago. In a well intentioned attempt to thwart the gift counting and comparison amongst my 5 children, I came up with an elaborate letter-number coding system for the presents. Instead of putting names on the gifts, I had a unique 'code' indicating whose gift it was. I was the only one in possession of the decoded list, which consisted of perhaps 20 individualized codes. As you might expect, this brilliant idea did not have the intended effect I had hoped for. Though none of my kids remembers specific gifts they received that year, to this day they will never forget the dreaded 'secret code' of Christmas!
Materialism is not the only thief of the true Christmas spirit. Many have experienced terrible loss or trauma during this season. It is real, and my family is not immune from this. The negative experiences can collect to mar the beauty of the season, for some to an almost unbearable level. If this is your current experience, I encourage you to invest in a new experience, one that will supplant the pain of previous experience. My sister is a beautiful example of this. Several years ago just before Christmas, she tragically lost her husband. December has since been a difficult month both for her and her family. This year, she bravely invested in creating a new memory. She opened her home to family and friends in a simple pre-Christmas drop in party. She allowed laughter and friendship to supplant grief and pain. She collected a new experience, perhaps one that will continue throughout the years. Additionally her daughter also brought joy into a difficult time by announcing her engagement. A time that once held pain and loss now holds hope for the future.
Collecting experiences doesn't just include what you do with your own friends and family. We are fortunate for be a part of a school in Denver that focuses on giving. In the last 2 weeks, our school collected over $3000 in loose change, and through additional small donations of less than $5, raised enough money for 25,000 meals for the hungry and homeless in our area. My daughter was one of those that helped to pack the meals.
Jesus was very clear on collecting things.
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
I imagine that first Christmas night was full of sounds, smells, and sensory life. The emotions, the people who were there, the things that happened. Yes, there were gifts given, but it was the experience not the things that defined this day of all days. That is our example as we live out our own lives.
I believe we can have a small part of heaven here on earth, with God inside of us and His value system affecting ours. I hope you will further your collection of experiences this season.
Love deeply, and focus on what is truly important.
I believe we can have a small part of heaven here on earth, with God inside of us and His value system affecting ours. I hope you will further your collection of experiences this season.
Love deeply, and focus on what is truly important.
December 4, 2014
Oh What You Can Do With One Educated Girl
Imagine, for a moment, that tomorrow your life is different. Imagine, for just a moment, that the most difficult thing you can remember in your day today is the easiest thing you will encounter in the day tomorrow. Your home, your family, your security: those things would not exist like they do now. Your worries today of finishing a project at home, work or school, your difficulties with a teenage son or daughter, your challenges with a toddler whose will defies your own, your frustrations at traffic or shopping lines... Those concerns pale in comparison to the lives of some of the least in other parts of the world. Imagine, for a moment, you are a young, uneducated girl living in an impoverished country.
For a growing number of girls in countries such as Pakistan, Afghanistan, India, China, Cambodia, Thailand, the Congo, Ethiopia, and many other nations, the statistics are staggering. "It appears that more girls have been killed in the last fifty years, precisely because they were girls, than men were killed in all the wars of the twentieth century. More girls are killed in this routine 'gendercide' in any one decade than people were slaughtered in all the genocides of the twentieth century." Slavery is still very real. One recent statistic I read said that, "there are 3 million women and girls (and a very small number of boys) worldwide who can be fairly termed enslaved in the sex trade." I know it's hard to imagine that this terrible reality is still in existence, but alas the slavery market is alive and well. Percentage wise, "far more women and girls are shipped into brothels each year in the early twenty-first century than African slaves were shipped into slave plantations each year in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries -- although the overall population was of course far smaller then." Many of slavery's victims today are those tender girls who are just reaching puberty.
I've been reading over the last few years about some of these girls, girls who are like me in their XX chromosomes but are separated from me by innumerable fathoms of the ocean, by age, by culture, and sometimes by skin color. These are simple girls, and some of them find themselves in the most horrible of situations. I've always believed that even one person can make a difference, and the stories I'm reading bear that truth out. I am beginning to comprehend the possibility that transformation in some societies may be packaged in the frail frame of a little girl -- and in those people who choose in some way to help her.
There are some books that impact my heart, books that change my mind, and books that are catalysts for further transformation. The first one of these that I recently encountered was Three Cups of Tea. I read this one a few years years back when it was left behind as the product of a misplaced but well intentioned Christmas gift. The book sat collecting dust and eventually found its way into my hands and my heart. This biography begins with failure. Oftentimes life brings failure. We fall flat at something that has driven us and consumed us. In our desperation, we cry out to God to give us purpose, vision, and direction. At times, the new purpose is not what we had envisioned. Instead, God sends purpose to find us in our defeat. In this case, the failed attempt of one mountain climber led to the eventual establishment of many schools in rural Pakistan and Afghanistan. Because of those schools, many children (especially girls) are learning for the first time. These children are growing up, and the culture and opportunities in the village are improving. Change is happening. And it all started with a failure.
What can you do with one educated girl? Better yet, what can you do with a whole village of educated girls? And why girls? Why is educating girls such a big deal?
In countries like the ones that Greg Mortenson visited, girls are considered second class citizens. They are not allowed what we might consider basic human rights. Education for these girls is considered frivolous and a waste of time. When Mortenson happened upon one of these remote villages, the boys in the village were scratching in the dirt with sticks during their daily school lessons. The girls were not involved. In a world where social justice continues to gain a greater voice, people are standing up for these children. When girls learn, they have useful skills to aid in their work. "Evidence is mounting that helping women can be a successful poverty-fighting strategy anywhere in the world." When girls work in impoverished communities, economies can change. Goldman Sachs has said, "Gender inequality hurts economic growth." When economies change, cities and countries can change. It can all start with educating a girl.
During the summer, I encountered another heroine who began her life as a girl in Pakistan with a father who believed in her. She was bright, and she desired above anything else to learn. She unfortunately happened to live in a place where girls were not allowed to learn. Her name was Malala Yousafzai. Eventually, her courage and faith caused her to be targeted by one of the the largest terrorist networks in the world: the Taliban. I have wondered why educated girls would be so threatening to grown men, men who have guns, criminal networks, and above all, a weapon of intimidation and fear. Besides faith (which is primary), a mind is a powerful weapon that God has given us. After recently recovering from a terrorist bullet to the head, this 16-year-old girl spoke to the United Nations and gave these words, "Let us pick up our books and our pens. These are our most powerful weapons. One child, one teacher, one book and one pen can change the world." (I Am Malala, p. 310) She went on in 2014 to become the youngest recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.
The current book I am reading is perhaps the most challenging book of all. It is full of true stories, and they are gut-wrenching. Half the Sky is a bittersweet collection of reality. There are some atrocious endings, but there are some satisfying endings, as well as hope for the future. The premise of the book comes from a Chinese proverb that says, "Women hold up half the sky." In essence, women contain valuable assets that contribute half of what our world needs to thrive. Tragically, females are being victimized and exploited in many parts of the world. As I read the accounts of girls who are being sold and trafficked (some by their own mothers), as I encounter girls who are kidnapped, and as I see that childbirth in developing countries can leave a teenage girl maimed for life, I am heartbroken. I have to stop reading for a little bit. I have to gain my composure and catch my breath. Then I experience gratitude. I do not have to worry that my own girls may be pulled from their school or from our neighborhood and kidnapped. I do not have to think about the terrors of gang rape for my own daughters. But I do have to think about society. I do have to think about my role as an agent of change, empowered by God to do my part.
For these girls, they do not know that another life exists. They are stuck in a perpetual life of modern day slavery. The solution is not simple, but for those willing to try, there has been progress. Fear and illiteracy are the powerful weapons that these groups of darkness wield. Fighting them is difficult and fraught with the potential for bodily harm, exile from families, and even death. The rewards of education, courage, support, and faith, however, are invaluable and are helping to begin to turn this dismal tide.
In a short passage in Mark 5, we see clearly that Jesus cared about a little girl. Her father begged for healing for this little girl. As a result, we encounter a miracle for a 12-year-old girl who was desperate, not unlike the modern-day girls I've described all over the globe. A little girl can make a difference, just like the little girl who was instrumental in Naaman's healing. She was a slave, but her life was significant. She spoke into the life of the commander of the army of the king and helped set the stage for a great wonder.
We have ability to help. One 14-year-old girl was rescued from a brothel for $150. Another 15-year-old, physically disabled by rape and birth complications, received a surgery for $300 that allowed her to live a normal life. Many reputable organizations offer ways to get involved on a short term or long term basis. Above all, we can pray. We can pray for justice. We can pray for equality to the degree that no race or gender is demoralized or extinguished. In Revelation, the dragon awaited the birth of a baby to devour it. Regardless of your eschatology, it is apparent that an unseen evil force is seeking to devour anything pure, innocent, and young. An evil force desires to devour our world's young girls.
Our own education must mean something too. Learning about these girls is the first step towards societal change.
We must be responsible with what we know and with what we have.
We must remember that faith does triumph over fear. Every time.
Added to faith and courage, educating little girls is one of the biggest differences we can make. One person can make a difference. I encourage you to explore how you can be a part of that difference.
Authors Note: Quotes in this post are primarily from the book, Half the Sky by Nicholas B. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. This book and the others mentioned here are available at many popular bookstores.
For a growing number of girls in countries such as Pakistan, Afghanistan, India, China, Cambodia, Thailand, the Congo, Ethiopia, and many other nations, the statistics are staggering. "It appears that more girls have been killed in the last fifty years, precisely because they were girls, than men were killed in all the wars of the twentieth century. More girls are killed in this routine 'gendercide' in any one decade than people were slaughtered in all the genocides of the twentieth century." Slavery is still very real. One recent statistic I read said that, "there are 3 million women and girls (and a very small number of boys) worldwide who can be fairly termed enslaved in the sex trade." I know it's hard to imagine that this terrible reality is still in existence, but alas the slavery market is alive and well. Percentage wise, "far more women and girls are shipped into brothels each year in the early twenty-first century than African slaves were shipped into slave plantations each year in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries -- although the overall population was of course far smaller then." Many of slavery's victims today are those tender girls who are just reaching puberty.
I've been reading over the last few years about some of these girls, girls who are like me in their XX chromosomes but are separated from me by innumerable fathoms of the ocean, by age, by culture, and sometimes by skin color. These are simple girls, and some of them find themselves in the most horrible of situations. I've always believed that even one person can make a difference, and the stories I'm reading bear that truth out. I am beginning to comprehend the possibility that transformation in some societies may be packaged in the frail frame of a little girl -- and in those people who choose in some way to help her.
There are some books that impact my heart, books that change my mind, and books that are catalysts for further transformation. The first one of these that I recently encountered was Three Cups of Tea. I read this one a few years years back when it was left behind as the product of a misplaced but well intentioned Christmas gift. The book sat collecting dust and eventually found its way into my hands and my heart. This biography begins with failure. Oftentimes life brings failure. We fall flat at something that has driven us and consumed us. In our desperation, we cry out to God to give us purpose, vision, and direction. At times, the new purpose is not what we had envisioned. Instead, God sends purpose to find us in our defeat. In this case, the failed attempt of one mountain climber led to the eventual establishment of many schools in rural Pakistan and Afghanistan. Because of those schools, many children (especially girls) are learning for the first time. These children are growing up, and the culture and opportunities in the village are improving. Change is happening. And it all started with a failure.
What can you do with one educated girl? Better yet, what can you do with a whole village of educated girls? And why girls? Why is educating girls such a big deal?
In countries like the ones that Greg Mortenson visited, girls are considered second class citizens. They are not allowed what we might consider basic human rights. Education for these girls is considered frivolous and a waste of time. When Mortenson happened upon one of these remote villages, the boys in the village were scratching in the dirt with sticks during their daily school lessons. The girls were not involved. In a world where social justice continues to gain a greater voice, people are standing up for these children. When girls learn, they have useful skills to aid in their work. "Evidence is mounting that helping women can be a successful poverty-fighting strategy anywhere in the world." When girls work in impoverished communities, economies can change. Goldman Sachs has said, "Gender inequality hurts economic growth." When economies change, cities and countries can change. It can all start with educating a girl.
During the summer, I encountered another heroine who began her life as a girl in Pakistan with a father who believed in her. She was bright, and she desired above anything else to learn. She unfortunately happened to live in a place where girls were not allowed to learn. Her name was Malala Yousafzai. Eventually, her courage and faith caused her to be targeted by one of the the largest terrorist networks in the world: the Taliban. I have wondered why educated girls would be so threatening to grown men, men who have guns, criminal networks, and above all, a weapon of intimidation and fear. Besides faith (which is primary), a mind is a powerful weapon that God has given us. After recently recovering from a terrorist bullet to the head, this 16-year-old girl spoke to the United Nations and gave these words, "Let us pick up our books and our pens. These are our most powerful weapons. One child, one teacher, one book and one pen can change the world." (I Am Malala, p. 310) She went on in 2014 to become the youngest recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.
The current book I am reading is perhaps the most challenging book of all. It is full of true stories, and they are gut-wrenching. Half the Sky is a bittersweet collection of reality. There are some atrocious endings, but there are some satisfying endings, as well as hope for the future. The premise of the book comes from a Chinese proverb that says, "Women hold up half the sky." In essence, women contain valuable assets that contribute half of what our world needs to thrive. Tragically, females are being victimized and exploited in many parts of the world. As I read the accounts of girls who are being sold and trafficked (some by their own mothers), as I encounter girls who are kidnapped, and as I see that childbirth in developing countries can leave a teenage girl maimed for life, I am heartbroken. I have to stop reading for a little bit. I have to gain my composure and catch my breath. Then I experience gratitude. I do not have to worry that my own girls may be pulled from their school or from our neighborhood and kidnapped. I do not have to think about the terrors of gang rape for my own daughters. But I do have to think about society. I do have to think about my role as an agent of change, empowered by God to do my part.For these girls, they do not know that another life exists. They are stuck in a perpetual life of modern day slavery. The solution is not simple, but for those willing to try, there has been progress. Fear and illiteracy are the powerful weapons that these groups of darkness wield. Fighting them is difficult and fraught with the potential for bodily harm, exile from families, and even death. The rewards of education, courage, support, and faith, however, are invaluable and are helping to begin to turn this dismal tide.
In a short passage in Mark 5, we see clearly that Jesus cared about a little girl. Her father begged for healing for this little girl. As a result, we encounter a miracle for a 12-year-old girl who was desperate, not unlike the modern-day girls I've described all over the globe. A little girl can make a difference, just like the little girl who was instrumental in Naaman's healing. She was a slave, but her life was significant. She spoke into the life of the commander of the army of the king and helped set the stage for a great wonder.
We have ability to help. One 14-year-old girl was rescued from a brothel for $150. Another 15-year-old, physically disabled by rape and birth complications, received a surgery for $300 that allowed her to live a normal life. Many reputable organizations offer ways to get involved on a short term or long term basis. Above all, we can pray. We can pray for justice. We can pray for equality to the degree that no race or gender is demoralized or extinguished. In Revelation, the dragon awaited the birth of a baby to devour it. Regardless of your eschatology, it is apparent that an unseen evil force is seeking to devour anything pure, innocent, and young. An evil force desires to devour our world's young girls.
Our own education must mean something too. Learning about these girls is the first step towards societal change.
We must be responsible with what we know and with what we have.
We must remember that faith does triumph over fear. Every time.
Added to faith and courage, educating little girls is one of the biggest differences we can make. One person can make a difference. I encourage you to explore how you can be a part of that difference.
Authors Note: Quotes in this post are primarily from the book, Half the Sky by Nicholas B. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. This book and the others mentioned here are available at many popular bookstores.
November 22, 2014
Something Old & Something New
With the holidays approaching, I become nostalgic and reflective. Now more than any other time of the year, I value tradition.
Ok, now don't call me old-fashioned, judge me, and stop reading this post. Hear me out until the end.
In our 21st century western society, there is a delicate balance between the contemporary and the traditional. The word "traditional" can have a very negative connotation with meanings like old fashioned or out-of-date, especially when compared with something nouveau or vogue. Geez. Even those words sound infinitely more chic. Traditional could conjure images of plaid couches and dusty large-print black Bibles. But remember, I didn't say I value traditional.
I value tradition.
Traditions are beliefs or customs that are transferred from generation to generation. A tradition is something that is worthy of being upheld and passed on and bears the enduring qualities that are considered timeless.
Thanksgiving is one of those holidays where my ideas of tradition have been stretched. Growing up, I believed thanksgiving was a time when you are together with your family. Since my mother was a nurse, however, every other year she would have to work at the nursing home, caring for others, so even that idea of what was traditional had to change to fit our circumstances, with my father bearing the responsibility of the meal preparation and my mother being absent.
When I married and began my own holiday gathering, we first began to celebrate the day with our parents, assembling with siblings and cousins. Several years and several children later, we found ourselves somewhat far away from relatives, and we decided to have our own Thanksgiving. As we surveyed our co-workers and friends, we realized that there were multiple people who had nowhere to go on this special American holiday. Many of them were internationals, either traveling or on short assignment in the states. Some were college students who couldn't afford to go home to their own families. Suddenly we found ourselves with a new and expanding sense of "family." We found that as we opened our doors and invited guests to our table that we certainly had much more to give and much to be thankful for. Our tradition expanded. Some of our most vivid Thanksgiving memories are laughing with our international friends as they observed our traditions and feasted at our table.
How, then, does the tradition become the traditional?
Traditions can become the less attractive step sister called "traditional" when the meaning and life behind them gets lost. Jesus warned about this when he said that some were, "neglecting the commandment of God, and holding to the tradition of men." In other words, they were busy doing the things but they had forgotten why they were doing them. There was no life in their customs or traditions. These people were more concerned with the act than the heart of what was behind it.
I believe there is a balance. Repetitiveness can cause something to become boring and mundane. Routine traditions can run the risk of losing the life and meaning behind them. When a tradition becomes passé, it bears a look at what is at the heart of it and how it can be renewed. An inability to adapt the outward expression of the tradition to the present reality can result in an outdated tradition. Re-energizing a tradition is like giving it a face lift or renovation. The core value remains the same. The presentation is merely updated to allow for endurance of the principle.
For our family, knowing the traditions that are coming provides a sense of consistency and comfort. Change has always been a large part of our lives, and our traditions provide the glue of familiarity and anticipation in what lies ahead. There are traditions that we are willing to adapt and change, and there are others that will always stay the same.
There are some traditions that have stayed consistent for us throughout the holidays. Here are some of my favorites that have stood the test of time.
1- Expression of Gratitude. As a tradition at our bountiful feast, we choose to give thanks. Giving thanks is the heart of the holiday, and it is primary on our agenda. In some format throughout the day, each person is given opportunity to express gratitude for something in his or her life. The implementation has changed from year to year, but the expression remains the same. We articulate appreciation to the One who has brought us all together and for health, for relationships, and for the most significant events of that year. This is a time set aside to reflect, remember, and express gratitude.
2- Enjoyment of Food. I enjoy the presentation, the aroma, the flavors, and the variety of food, and this is a holiday made for food! Turkey has always been the centerpiece of our table, but the surrounding dishes have evolved over the years. We have long since stopped serving green bean casseroles and creamed corn. Creativity and maturing tastes make this celebration of food an opportunity to add originality to a cornucopia of nourishment. When international guests join us, the menu adjusts to include their respective additions. I give my kids plenty of input into their favorites, involve them in the process, and vow every year not to overdo it. I'm hoping this year I can actually fulfill my vow. :)
3- Giving Love to Friends & Family. In addition to our table including friends and family, we take time to connect to those friends and family who can not be with us. Gratitude is also the foundation for of this purposeful connection. Phone calls, texts, and skype sessions provide the avenue for fostering relationship to those who are afar.
4- Launch into the Christmas season. Once the dishes are cleaned, the football games ended, and the leftovers stored, our focus turns to the next holiday. We take advantage of a long holiday weekend to begin the decorating festivities leading up to the Christmas season and the celebration of the birth of Jesus. My whole family joins in the kickoff to this next holiday. Lighting of lights, holiday music, and tree decorating are highlights for our family. Over the years, I have given each family member a unique tree ornament which represents something important in that person's life. Carefully removing these from their packaging unleashes a swell of memories from significant life events and bonds our family closer with love and a sense of remembrance.
Whatever you do this season, think about tradition and the role it plays in your home and family.
The proper mixture between the 'old' and the 'new' can enable traditions to have their rightful place of value, honor and therefore longevity in our hearts and in our homes.
Ok, now don't call me old-fashioned, judge me, and stop reading this post. Hear me out until the end.In our 21st century western society, there is a delicate balance between the contemporary and the traditional. The word "traditional" can have a very negative connotation with meanings like old fashioned or out-of-date, especially when compared with something nouveau or vogue. Geez. Even those words sound infinitely more chic. Traditional could conjure images of plaid couches and dusty large-print black Bibles. But remember, I didn't say I value traditional.
I value tradition.
Traditions are beliefs or customs that are transferred from generation to generation. A tradition is something that is worthy of being upheld and passed on and bears the enduring qualities that are considered timeless.
Thanksgiving is one of those holidays where my ideas of tradition have been stretched. Growing up, I believed thanksgiving was a time when you are together with your family. Since my mother was a nurse, however, every other year she would have to work at the nursing home, caring for others, so even that idea of what was traditional had to change to fit our circumstances, with my father bearing the responsibility of the meal preparation and my mother being absent.
When I married and began my own holiday gathering, we first began to celebrate the day with our parents, assembling with siblings and cousins. Several years and several children later, we found ourselves somewhat far away from relatives, and we decided to have our own Thanksgiving. As we surveyed our co-workers and friends, we realized that there were multiple people who had nowhere to go on this special American holiday. Many of them were internationals, either traveling or on short assignment in the states. Some were college students who couldn't afford to go home to their own families. Suddenly we found ourselves with a new and expanding sense of "family." We found that as we opened our doors and invited guests to our table that we certainly had much more to give and much to be thankful for. Our tradition expanded. Some of our most vivid Thanksgiving memories are laughing with our international friends as they observed our traditions and feasted at our table.
How, then, does the tradition become the traditional?
Traditions can become the less attractive step sister called "traditional" when the meaning and life behind them gets lost. Jesus warned about this when he said that some were, "neglecting the commandment of God, and holding to the tradition of men." In other words, they were busy doing the things but they had forgotten why they were doing them. There was no life in their customs or traditions. These people were more concerned with the act than the heart of what was behind it.
I believe there is a balance. Repetitiveness can cause something to become boring and mundane. Routine traditions can run the risk of losing the life and meaning behind them. When a tradition becomes passé, it bears a look at what is at the heart of it and how it can be renewed. An inability to adapt the outward expression of the tradition to the present reality can result in an outdated tradition. Re-energizing a tradition is like giving it a face lift or renovation. The core value remains the same. The presentation is merely updated to allow for endurance of the principle.
For our family, knowing the traditions that are coming provides a sense of consistency and comfort. Change has always been a large part of our lives, and our traditions provide the glue of familiarity and anticipation in what lies ahead. There are traditions that we are willing to adapt and change, and there are others that will always stay the same.
1- Expression of Gratitude. As a tradition at our bountiful feast, we choose to give thanks. Giving thanks is the heart of the holiday, and it is primary on our agenda. In some format throughout the day, each person is given opportunity to express gratitude for something in his or her life. The implementation has changed from year to year, but the expression remains the same. We articulate appreciation to the One who has brought us all together and for health, for relationships, and for the most significant events of that year. This is a time set aside to reflect, remember, and express gratitude.
2- Enjoyment of Food. I enjoy the presentation, the aroma, the flavors, and the variety of food, and this is a holiday made for food! Turkey has always been the centerpiece of our table, but the surrounding dishes have evolved over the years. We have long since stopped serving green bean casseroles and creamed corn. Creativity and maturing tastes make this celebration of food an opportunity to add originality to a cornucopia of nourishment. When international guests join us, the menu adjusts to include their respective additions. I give my kids plenty of input into their favorites, involve them in the process, and vow every year not to overdo it. I'm hoping this year I can actually fulfill my vow. :)
3- Giving Love to Friends & Family. In addition to our table including friends and family, we take time to connect to those friends and family who can not be with us. Gratitude is also the foundation for of this purposeful connection. Phone calls, texts, and skype sessions provide the avenue for fostering relationship to those who are afar.
4- Launch into the Christmas season. Once the dishes are cleaned, the football games ended, and the leftovers stored, our focus turns to the next holiday. We take advantage of a long holiday weekend to begin the decorating festivities leading up to the Christmas season and the celebration of the birth of Jesus. My whole family joins in the kickoff to this next holiday. Lighting of lights, holiday music, and tree decorating are highlights for our family. Over the years, I have given each family member a unique tree ornament which represents something important in that person's life. Carefully removing these from their packaging unleashes a swell of memories from significant life events and bonds our family closer with love and a sense of remembrance.
Whatever you do this season, think about tradition and the role it plays in your home and family.
The proper mixture between the 'old' and the 'new' can enable traditions to have their rightful place of value, honor and therefore longevity in our hearts and in our homes.
November 19, 2014
On Perspective and the Nuthatch
With the recent Arctic weather, I've been thinking a lot about perspective. I think almost everyone can agree that it's cold. But what does that mean, really?
Last year, we moved to Denver, Colorado where winter snows and cold weather are frequent. Having previously lived in California where the summer temperatures could peak at 113° F, we were not exactly prepared for cold. Last week we experienced one of the most frigid days this year with a high of 6° and a low of -10°. Wind chills plunged the relative experience even more. Several days later, the temperatures rose to a high of 27°. That was still very chilly, just below the freezing point. As I picked up my daughter from school, however, she got into the car without her coat and exclaimed in classic middle school hyperbole, "Mom, it's so hot!"
Was it really hot? Of course not. But her perspective had changed in light of her comparative recent experience. I too had shed my wool sweater and scarf. Meanwhile my east coast friends who rarely see freezing temperatures were shivering in their 35° experience.
Experience can definitely affect your perspective.
As I prepared to leave the grocery store yesterday, the young man bagging my 2 carts of groceries offered to help me out. "Thanks, but I can manage," I answered and immediately recollected the days of pushing 2 grocery carts with 5 small children. In those days, I wasn't sure exactly what food made its way into my cart. I was too preoccupied making sure my toddlers did not do somersaults over the cart edge or whether I could make it out of the store without having to change a dirty diaper. Pushing the 2 full carts yesterday was effortless in light of those previous experiences.
For anyone who deals with significant tragedy, the minor irritations of everyday life are pale in comparison. I was made very aware of this a couple of years back when my sister-in-law was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. On one particular day I was blow drying my hair and was slightly annoyed at the extreme time and effort that drying my thick hair required. When my thoughts turned to my sister-in-law and her loss of hair, my perspective changed. My annoyance turned to gratitude.
I observed a wonderful example of perspective by accident in my California home. I often sat outside in the CA sunshine and observed the birds that shared a feeder in my backyard. We were blessed to live on a large isolated track of land, and the wildlife was abundant. I noticed a curious bird one day that captured my attention. It was a species that I later came to discover was the Nuthatch.
Although it is a beautiful bird, there is nothing extremely striking
about the appearance of the Nuthatch. The quality that
stood out to me was this bird’s ability to travel down a tree headfirst, feet and legs strong enough to support it
actually traversing down the tree trunk, vertical and upside down. With a seeming disregard for gravity, this
bird is at ease with its mode of transport, descending the trunk while all the
other birds are moving up. It is not uncommon to see them literally hanging upside down. The Nuthatch isn't looking upwards or even straight ahead; it is viewing its world from the top down.
When we can become comfortable with our uniqueness, realizing that it’s a part of the Creator in us, we are free to fully engage in that aspect of our being, letting God be fully God in us and feeling his pleasure and the fullness of His expression in our earthly vessel. When we can step back and see our circumstances from a different perspective, we are empowered to see things as they really are. Understanding our individuality allows us to be who we really are.
One meaning of perspective is a true understanding of the relative importance of things.
I hope to have the eyes that see those things that are truly important, and to choose a perspective that recognizes and understands their value.
Last year, we moved to Denver, Colorado where winter snows and cold weather are frequent. Having previously lived in California where the summer temperatures could peak at 113° F, we were not exactly prepared for cold. Last week we experienced one of the most frigid days this year with a high of 6° and a low of -10°. Wind chills plunged the relative experience even more. Several days later, the temperatures rose to a high of 27°. That was still very chilly, just below the freezing point. As I picked up my daughter from school, however, she got into the car without her coat and exclaimed in classic middle school hyperbole, "Mom, it's so hot!"
Was it really hot? Of course not. But her perspective had changed in light of her comparative recent experience. I too had shed my wool sweater and scarf. Meanwhile my east coast friends who rarely see freezing temperatures were shivering in their 35° experience.
Experience can definitely affect your perspective.
As I prepared to leave the grocery store yesterday, the young man bagging my 2 carts of groceries offered to help me out. "Thanks, but I can manage," I answered and immediately recollected the days of pushing 2 grocery carts with 5 small children. In those days, I wasn't sure exactly what food made its way into my cart. I was too preoccupied making sure my toddlers did not do somersaults over the cart edge or whether I could make it out of the store without having to change a dirty diaper. Pushing the 2 full carts yesterday was effortless in light of those previous experiences.
For anyone who deals with significant tragedy, the minor irritations of everyday life are pale in comparison. I was made very aware of this a couple of years back when my sister-in-law was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. On one particular day I was blow drying my hair and was slightly annoyed at the extreme time and effort that drying my thick hair required. When my thoughts turned to my sister-in-law and her loss of hair, my perspective changed. My annoyance turned to gratitude.
I observed a wonderful example of perspective by accident in my California home. I often sat outside in the CA sunshine and observed the birds that shared a feeder in my backyard. We were blessed to live on a large isolated track of land, and the wildlife was abundant. I noticed a curious bird one day that captured my attention. It was a species that I later came to discover was the Nuthatch.
I often desire to have this top down perspective, more of a heaven to earth outlook. If we could see things from above our circumstances instead of being deeply affected by them, I believe we could consciously choose to change our perspective. If you have ever looked out the window of an airplane, all of the things that seem so prodigious from the ground like trees, cars, and buildings are insignificant when you are distanced far enough from them.
In addition to its viewpoint, the Nuthatch also takes a different route than other birds. It gets to the same destination, only in a completely opposite way. Because of their approach, they are able to see insects hidden in the trunk that are obscured from the view of the other birds. This bird is fashioned for a similar experience in life as the other birds. It simply goes about its daily life and purpose in a unique way.
In addition to its viewpoint, the Nuthatch also takes a different route than other birds. It gets to the same destination, only in a completely opposite way. Because of their approach, they are able to see insects hidden in the trunk that are obscured from the view of the other birds. This bird is fashioned for a similar experience in life as the other birds. It simply goes about its daily life and purpose in a unique way.
When we can become comfortable with our uniqueness, realizing that it’s a part of the Creator in us, we are free to fully engage in that aspect of our being, letting God be fully God in us and feeling his pleasure and the fullness of His expression in our earthly vessel. When we can step back and see our circumstances from a different perspective, we are empowered to see things as they really are. Understanding our individuality allows us to be who we really are.
One meaning of perspective is a true understanding of the relative importance of things.
I hope to have the eyes that see those things that are truly important, and to choose a perspective that recognizes and understands their value.
November 14, 2014
The Orange Blouse
A funny little thing happened to me the other day...
My daughter tells me that I should never say that, because despite my best efforts, things are never as funny when I retell them as they were when they actually happened.
Well, a funny thing did happen to me the other day. But it was also a convicting thing, and hopefully, a lesson that I won't soon forget. It came in the form or an orange blouse.
I attend a weekly study group, and at times, I fall behind in the reading 'assignments.' Each assignment consists of easy 10-15 minute passages of thought provoking material. Today, I was behind, but my early arrival afforded me the necessary 15 minutes to quickly get up to speed on my reading. As parking spaces quickly filled up in the small parking area nearby, I chose an unmarked spot on the outer circle of the parking lot, thinking I could make my getaway easily by leaving only a little space in front of my car.
I settled down with the dregs of my morning java, and opened my book.
Forgiveness.
"Oh this one will be a breeze," I thought. Being raised in the church, I had heard innumerable sermons on the topic, and knew that I was probably an expert on this one. I breezed quickly through the chapter, looking up only when a flash caught my eye. A car was coming towards me (the wrong way) into the parking lot. I looked behind to see that the lot was full, and she was probably going to have to back up in light of the other cars heading towards her.
Suddenly, to my dismay, she darted forward to edge her car towards my front bumper. Closer and closer she came until she finally stopped. There couldn't be more than 6 inches between my bumper and hers. Without attempting to attract attention, I looked behind to see that 4 other cars had solidly parked behind me. I was stuck. Trapped. Pinned in. Done for.
My irritation at traffic issues is probably not unlike many of you reading this post. I watched in stunned surprise as a beautiful, regal woman dressed in a bright orange blouse stepped from the sports car parked nearly touching my family car. She walked back several times, apparently wondering if she had hit my car. Except for the knowing that I would have felt a bump, I was thinking the same thing. Apparently her assessment satisfied her, and she hurriedly walked away.
What to do now? Leave a little note on her car? Take her license plate number? Roll the window down and offer my parking wisdom to her before she escaped? Memorize her clothes and have a few choice words with her inside the building? The chances were good that she was going to the same place I was, so conviction got the best of me, and I decided to wait it out. After all, I still had 2 pages left to read in my chapters on 'Forgiveness.'
The irony of the situation did not escape me. Surely forgiveness does not include traffic offenses, especially by beautiful women who drive sports cars! I walked into the building, trying my best to walk slowly and confidently, while my heart began to be pricked at the internal offense that was building.
The familiar chatter of women greeted me, and I turned to see none other than the woman in the orange blouse. Here's where I would really be slapped with my resolve (or lack of it) for forgiveness. Ok, it was a small thing, but completely blocking someone in? Really? Surely this was not a Christian woman.
The confrontation and internal struggle in my heart was quiet but unmistakable. By the time our meeting was called to order, I had resigned myself to waiting as long as needed until it was time for me to go. This was not that big of a deal, and surely I could be patient. I would know when she left the room. The orange blouse would be difficult to miss.
The usual preliminary announcements commenced, and after short order, our speaker was introduced. She was a prestigious community member with numerous accolades and an impressive list of accomplishments. I was excited to hear from this well of wisdom. We all turned to see her, and to my shock, the woman in the orange blouse gracefully took the microphone.
My internal dilemma grew deeper, and I was glad my secret was safe. No one will ever know, I thought, as I prayed my flushed face wasn't obvious. I settled my beating heart, and listened as she told her story.
During the next 30 minutes, the speaker with the orange blouse, contrary to her position and personality, exposed her own hurtful & embarrassing past, including mistreatment bordering on abuse from a step father. She continued through misty eyes and a shaky voice to confess her bitterness towards him, and finally to express the journey she took towards forgiving the man who had stolen her childhood and her innocence.
Afterward, the table discussions blurred in my ears, and I heard God gently speak to me the parable of the man who had been forgiven a great debt. After receiving this forgiveness, the man went out and demanded a few pennies he was owed by another man, and even had him thrown in jail when he couldn't pay. I did not want my life to be like that of the ungrateful man, forgiven of a great debt yet unwilling to forgive others. What a small thing the parking lot incident seemed to be now in light of the forgiveness this woman had released to her abuser and shared with a group of total strangers.
The pounding of my heart increased as I knew I had to expose my own experience and share my story. This personal exposure would solidify my own conviction and resolve, and perhaps my story could help others too. I had the grace that day when this 'funny confession' I had really was funny. And poignant. And convicting. And memorable.
I'm wearing an orange sweater today, and I think of the orange blouse that imprinted on my heart that day a message of forgiveness. It is not just the big things that need to be washed away, but more often for me, it's the little things. The last piece of gum taken from my purse the day before a big interview. The spilled juice on my freshly mopped floor. The car that parked way too close to me in a crowded lot.
God came to me that day in the form of a beautiful woman in an orange blouse, and spoke a message of forgiveness that I will not soon forget.
My daughter tells me that I should never say that, because despite my best efforts, things are never as funny when I retell them as they were when they actually happened.
Well, a funny thing did happen to me the other day. But it was also a convicting thing, and hopefully, a lesson that I won't soon forget. It came in the form or an orange blouse.
I attend a weekly study group, and at times, I fall behind in the reading 'assignments.' Each assignment consists of easy 10-15 minute passages of thought provoking material. Today, I was behind, but my early arrival afforded me the necessary 15 minutes to quickly get up to speed on my reading. As parking spaces quickly filled up in the small parking area nearby, I chose an unmarked spot on the outer circle of the parking lot, thinking I could make my getaway easily by leaving only a little space in front of my car.
I settled down with the dregs of my morning java, and opened my book.
Forgiveness.
"Oh this one will be a breeze," I thought. Being raised in the church, I had heard innumerable sermons on the topic, and knew that I was probably an expert on this one. I breezed quickly through the chapter, looking up only when a flash caught my eye. A car was coming towards me (the wrong way) into the parking lot. I looked behind to see that the lot was full, and she was probably going to have to back up in light of the other cars heading towards her.
Suddenly, to my dismay, she darted forward to edge her car towards my front bumper. Closer and closer she came until she finally stopped. There couldn't be more than 6 inches between my bumper and hers. Without attempting to attract attention, I looked behind to see that 4 other cars had solidly parked behind me. I was stuck. Trapped. Pinned in. Done for.
My irritation at traffic issues is probably not unlike many of you reading this post. I watched in stunned surprise as a beautiful, regal woman dressed in a bright orange blouse stepped from the sports car parked nearly touching my family car. She walked back several times, apparently wondering if she had hit my car. Except for the knowing that I would have felt a bump, I was thinking the same thing. Apparently her assessment satisfied her, and she hurriedly walked away.
The irony of the situation did not escape me. Surely forgiveness does not include traffic offenses, especially by beautiful women who drive sports cars! I walked into the building, trying my best to walk slowly and confidently, while my heart began to be pricked at the internal offense that was building.
The familiar chatter of women greeted me, and I turned to see none other than the woman in the orange blouse. Here's where I would really be slapped with my resolve (or lack of it) for forgiveness. Ok, it was a small thing, but completely blocking someone in? Really? Surely this was not a Christian woman.
The confrontation and internal struggle in my heart was quiet but unmistakable. By the time our meeting was called to order, I had resigned myself to waiting as long as needed until it was time for me to go. This was not that big of a deal, and surely I could be patient. I would know when she left the room. The orange blouse would be difficult to miss.
The usual preliminary announcements commenced, and after short order, our speaker was introduced. She was a prestigious community member with numerous accolades and an impressive list of accomplishments. I was excited to hear from this well of wisdom. We all turned to see her, and to my shock, the woman in the orange blouse gracefully took the microphone.
My internal dilemma grew deeper, and I was glad my secret was safe. No one will ever know, I thought, as I prayed my flushed face wasn't obvious. I settled my beating heart, and listened as she told her story.
During the next 30 minutes, the speaker with the orange blouse, contrary to her position and personality, exposed her own hurtful & embarrassing past, including mistreatment bordering on abuse from a step father. She continued through misty eyes and a shaky voice to confess her bitterness towards him, and finally to express the journey she took towards forgiving the man who had stolen her childhood and her innocence.
Afterward, the table discussions blurred in my ears, and I heard God gently speak to me the parable of the man who had been forgiven a great debt. After receiving this forgiveness, the man went out and demanded a few pennies he was owed by another man, and even had him thrown in jail when he couldn't pay. I did not want my life to be like that of the ungrateful man, forgiven of a great debt yet unwilling to forgive others. What a small thing the parking lot incident seemed to be now in light of the forgiveness this woman had released to her abuser and shared with a group of total strangers.
The pounding of my heart increased as I knew I had to expose my own experience and share my story. This personal exposure would solidify my own conviction and resolve, and perhaps my story could help others too. I had the grace that day when this 'funny confession' I had really was funny. And poignant. And convicting. And memorable.
I'm wearing an orange sweater today, and I think of the orange blouse that imprinted on my heart that day a message of forgiveness. It is not just the big things that need to be washed away, but more often for me, it's the little things. The last piece of gum taken from my purse the day before a big interview. The spilled juice on my freshly mopped floor. The car that parked way too close to me in a crowded lot.
God came to me that day in the form of a beautiful woman in an orange blouse, and spoke a message of forgiveness that I will not soon forget.
November 3, 2014
Mary, Mary Quite Contrary
Words have power.
It's amazing how much what others say about us can shape what we think about ourselves. I was surprised recently at the stories of grown women who could still remember negative things that had been said to them from as early as age 4. Things like "you'll never find someone to love you" or "you'll never be good at school" were not uncommon. Hearing these women say that they could still vividly remember those spoken words clearly illustrated their power.
I do believe in the power of words.
I also believe I can choose to use my words to positively impact those people around me.
Mary wore a pale gray, over sized Disney sweatshirt, which hung loosely on her in an attempt to hide her expanding midsection. Her round face bore the effects of teenage acne, and it was beginning to show the signs of the encroaching years. Her thinning white hair was pulled into a simple, high ponytail, devoid of any attempt to mask its sparsity.
I hadn't really noticed her name until that day at a weekly mom's gathering. On that day, Mary repeatedly interrupted and turned the conversation to herself and her own stories, mostly of offense and hurt. This was not a new occurrence, but it had been escalating each week. Though her shared thoughts were valuable, I could see the possibility of an ever increasing hijacking of future sessions. Mary began to dominate more and more of the discussion.
As the conversation continued and I pondered our dilemma, I happened to look down at her name tag. "Mary," it simply said. As soon as I saw it, I began to think of the most famous Mary that I knew. This Mary at my table didn't look or act like any image I had of that Mary from long ago. Then I realized that sometimes inspiration in not based on logical thought. One thing I have learned over the years is that at times my thoughts are interlaced with impressions which I interpret as God's voice, and I prayed a silent prayer, asking for help with this lady. I certainly did not have a good plan about how to guide her (and rescue our group). As the meeting drew to a close, my thoughts became more ordered, and I decided to make my way around the table to speak with her.
I told Mary that her name was not an accident. Mary, in the Bible, was chosen by God with a unique purpose and destiny. "The same is true for you," I told her. "You were also chosen by God for something very special." I spoke this to her, hoping that my words would be encouraging. I sincerely believe that there is a design for each of our lives. Knowing that and seeking to find and engage in purpose is vital.
Tears began to flow down Mary's cheeks as the reality that she was valuable began to wash over her. "Really?" she asked, incredulous that her life had meaning and importance. I shared a few other simple things with her, as well as some advice on finding the sense of acceptance she was seeking. She sat, pondering what I had just told her. As I walked away, I left with the belief that my words had power to break through some of her insecurity and discouragement and leave her with a new confidence that would minimize the need to continually look to others for affirmation about herself.
Just as negative words have power to shape and form our images, so do positive ones. Adding our belief to words gives them ultimately more power. The Bible says, "The power of life and death is in the tongue." I had several options that day. I could have engaged her during discussions and corrected her publicly for interrupting. I could have resigned myself to the idea that she fit the image of the nursery rhyme "Mary, Mary quite contrary" or that she embodied one of the meanings for her name which is "bitterness." I could have walked away, assuming it was not my responsibility. Instead of all these options, I decided to give life with my words. I took 5 minutes to make a difference, to speak words of encouragement that have the power to displace the negative ones that have obviously been sown into her life.
Weeds grow much more readily than planted seeds, but that day I planted a good seed. The Mary in the nursery rhyme had a garden. In a way, we all have a garden in our hearts, where many words and feelings are planted.
I pray that the good seeds of encouraging words will grow in Mary's heart, and that the reality of belonging, usefulness, and purpose will supplant the insecurity and failure. That is how I hope her garden will grow.
It's amazing how much what others say about us can shape what we think about ourselves. I was surprised recently at the stories of grown women who could still remember negative things that had been said to them from as early as age 4. Things like "you'll never find someone to love you" or "you'll never be good at school" were not uncommon. Hearing these women say that they could still vividly remember those spoken words clearly illustrated their power.
I do believe in the power of words.
I also believe I can choose to use my words to positively impact those people around me.
Mary wore a pale gray, over sized Disney sweatshirt, which hung loosely on her in an attempt to hide her expanding midsection. Her round face bore the effects of teenage acne, and it was beginning to show the signs of the encroaching years. Her thinning white hair was pulled into a simple, high ponytail, devoid of any attempt to mask its sparsity.
I hadn't really noticed her name until that day at a weekly mom's gathering. On that day, Mary repeatedly interrupted and turned the conversation to herself and her own stories, mostly of offense and hurt. This was not a new occurrence, but it had been escalating each week. Though her shared thoughts were valuable, I could see the possibility of an ever increasing hijacking of future sessions. Mary began to dominate more and more of the discussion.
As the conversation continued and I pondered our dilemma, I happened to look down at her name tag. "Mary," it simply said. As soon as I saw it, I began to think of the most famous Mary that I knew. This Mary at my table didn't look or act like any image I had of that Mary from long ago. Then I realized that sometimes inspiration in not based on logical thought. One thing I have learned over the years is that at times my thoughts are interlaced with impressions which I interpret as God's voice, and I prayed a silent prayer, asking for help with this lady. I certainly did not have a good plan about how to guide her (and rescue our group). As the meeting drew to a close, my thoughts became more ordered, and I decided to make my way around the table to speak with her.
I told Mary that her name was not an accident. Mary, in the Bible, was chosen by God with a unique purpose and destiny. "The same is true for you," I told her. "You were also chosen by God for something very special." I spoke this to her, hoping that my words would be encouraging. I sincerely believe that there is a design for each of our lives. Knowing that and seeking to find and engage in purpose is vital.
Tears began to flow down Mary's cheeks as the reality that she was valuable began to wash over her. "Really?" she asked, incredulous that her life had meaning and importance. I shared a few other simple things with her, as well as some advice on finding the sense of acceptance she was seeking. She sat, pondering what I had just told her. As I walked away, I left with the belief that my words had power to break through some of her insecurity and discouragement and leave her with a new confidence that would minimize the need to continually look to others for affirmation about herself.
Just as negative words have power to shape and form our images, so do positive ones. Adding our belief to words gives them ultimately more power. The Bible says, "The power of life and death is in the tongue." I had several options that day. I could have engaged her during discussions and corrected her publicly for interrupting. I could have resigned myself to the idea that she fit the image of the nursery rhyme "Mary, Mary quite contrary" or that she embodied one of the meanings for her name which is "bitterness." I could have walked away, assuming it was not my responsibility. Instead of all these options, I decided to give life with my words. I took 5 minutes to make a difference, to speak words of encouragement that have the power to displace the negative ones that have obviously been sown into her life.
Weeds grow much more readily than planted seeds, but that day I planted a good seed. The Mary in the nursery rhyme had a garden. In a way, we all have a garden in our hearts, where many words and feelings are planted.
I pray that the good seeds of encouraging words will grow in Mary's heart, and that the reality of belonging, usefulness, and purpose will supplant the insecurity and failure. That is how I hope her garden will grow.
October 31, 2014
Road Closed Ahead
I came across a traffic sign recently that is one of the most dreaded signs to me, and it literally stopped me right in my tracks.
ROAD CLOSED.
Not detour, not construction, but road closed. In other words, this is the end of the line for you. Your ability to go any further on the current course is denied.
There's no doubt that life throws us curves all the time. Despite our best efforts to plan, change seems to be the only constant that life gives to us. We have become adept at detours, changing course to meet new demands and expectations in the moment. It could be an unexpected sickness, a sudden accident or tragedy, or something else that impacts our lives negatively. Alternatively, life (or more specifically the IRS), could send us an extra large tax return refund or a promotion could come our way at work. Any change requires a rethinking and a re-planning. These are the detours which are most common on the path of life. We're still moving forward, but perhaps a little to the right or left.
A roadblock is not that way. It prevents any forward movement, and sometimes a suggested change to the course is not given. Many times, these roadblocks occur with no warning, and we sit staring ahead, wondering 'what do I do now?'
In physics, Newton's 3 Laws are the bedrock of many other scientific principles. His first law, the law of inertia, states that an object at rest will tend to stay at rest unless some force acts upon it, and an object in motion tends to stay in motion. In life, it is easiest for us to keep doing what we're doing, rather than stop or change direction. It takes energy -- thought, action, and flexibility -- to make a change.
Roadblocks in life force us to make a revision. We are no longer able to continue along our preset path. This requires tremendous energy according to the law above. First we have to stop when we were moving. Then we have to start again -- and in another direction. Sometimes our temptation in those circumstances is to turn around and go back or to simply stop altogether, paralyzed by the situation.
On the day I ran into the roadblock, my first response was shock. I had driven 70 miles (2 hours), and was 3 miles from my destination when I encountered the roadblock. It was another outdoor hike I had planned, but, due to time contstraints, walking the extra 6 miles was not an option. The first response to a roadblock can be shock and disorientation. Both of those emotions can cause us get stuck, and to stop our forward motion.
You have be powerful to meet obstacles. Power is demonstrated in decisiveness and choice. We all have the ability to choose: discouragement or empowerment, hope or despair, confidence or fear. Each choice is powerful, and choices are always before us.
Once I regained my composure that day, I chose a different path (literally), without much knowledge of where I would end up. I had to trust that the well marked path was leading me somewhere great, as it had led many others before me. I had to have hope that the desination would be worth the journey. My hope was realized, as I ended at a beautiful alpine lake vista, not entirely different from my original desination.
Be powerful today. When life puts a roadblock in your path, find a different path.
Not detour, not construction, but road closed. In other words, this is the end of the line for you. Your ability to go any further on the current course is denied.
There's no doubt that life throws us curves all the time. Despite our best efforts to plan, change seems to be the only constant that life gives to us. We have become adept at detours, changing course to meet new demands and expectations in the moment. It could be an unexpected sickness, a sudden accident or tragedy, or something else that impacts our lives negatively. Alternatively, life (or more specifically the IRS), could send us an extra large tax return refund or a promotion could come our way at work. Any change requires a rethinking and a re-planning. These are the detours which are most common on the path of life. We're still moving forward, but perhaps a little to the right or left.
A roadblock is not that way. It prevents any forward movement, and sometimes a suggested change to the course is not given. Many times, these roadblocks occur with no warning, and we sit staring ahead, wondering 'what do I do now?'
In physics, Newton's 3 Laws are the bedrock of many other scientific principles. His first law, the law of inertia, states that an object at rest will tend to stay at rest unless some force acts upon it, and an object in motion tends to stay in motion. In life, it is easiest for us to keep doing what we're doing, rather than stop or change direction. It takes energy -- thought, action, and flexibility -- to make a change.
Roadblocks in life force us to make a revision. We are no longer able to continue along our preset path. This requires tremendous energy according to the law above. First we have to stop when we were moving. Then we have to start again -- and in another direction. Sometimes our temptation in those circumstances is to turn around and go back or to simply stop altogether, paralyzed by the situation.
On the day I ran into the roadblock, my first response was shock. I had driven 70 miles (2 hours), and was 3 miles from my destination when I encountered the roadblock. It was another outdoor hike I had planned, but, due to time contstraints, walking the extra 6 miles was not an option. The first response to a roadblock can be shock and disorientation. Both of those emotions can cause us get stuck, and to stop our forward motion.
You have be powerful to meet obstacles. Power is demonstrated in decisiveness and choice. We all have the ability to choose: discouragement or empowerment, hope or despair, confidence or fear. Each choice is powerful, and choices are always before us.
Once I regained my composure that day, I chose a different path (literally), without much knowledge of where I would end up. I had to trust that the well marked path was leading me somewhere great, as it had led many others before me. I had to have hope that the desination would be worth the journey. My hope was realized, as I ended at a beautiful alpine lake vista, not entirely different from my original desination.
Be powerful today. When life puts a roadblock in your path, find a different path.
October 20, 2014
Carpe Diem
This Latin phrase, carpe diem, periodically arrests my thoughts and sets the course of my actions.
Seize the Day.
Live in the moment.
Embrace life.
Take advantage of opportunities that present themselves.
As you may be aware, intellectually understanding words on a page and living in the reality of them are two different things. Life is a continual series of choices that test whether or not our beliefs will be expressed in our actions. A few days ago, I took the opportunity to embrace a moment, and my day turned from blasé to extraordinary. Sometimes the simplest moments in life can leave a powerful impact on your very own heart.
I was awake early for a morning airport run which was followed closely by a school dropoff. By 8:15 am, I had already been in the car for wearisome 2 1/2 hours. When I arrived back home, I was faced with decision points about the remainder of my day. Hmmmm. The toilets certainly were not sparkly and disinfected. The carpets bore the reminders of the numerous feet that pass over them each day. A steady stream of emails were queued and waiting to be answered. There was health insurance paperwork that was nearing an important deadline. The dilemma of a healthy yet tasty dinner was pulling on my thoughts. Merchandise returns had begun to stack on top of the snail mail waiting to be sorted, processed, and recycled. An ever encroaching daily press of maintenance can consume and choke out the energy of the creative life that we all possess. As I pondered the day ahead, the Colorado autumn sunshine seaped past my eyes and bore deep into my soul. It battled with the unchecked items on the To-Do list of which my conscience continued to remind me.
A few months earlier, I had spent several schedule deficit summer weeks collecting information on the Colorado hikes that I wanted to explore. I searched online, borrowed library books, and read local magazines. For residents of the mile high city, outdoor adventures are in abundance, and I had my eye on some great alpine lake hikes, waterfall hikes, and dog-friendly hikes. It was our first official summer in Colorado, and I wanted to be outside. As the summer wound to a close, the outdoor concerts, baseball games, barbeques, mini-golf and poolside relaxation had superseded my long list of hikes. These other events had provided the memories I was looking for to satisfy my longing for family connection, but my yearning for the closeup scenic majesty of the Rockies went unfulfilled.
One quick check of the weather gave further incentive to my budding plan. Today's weather had no chance of precipitation, which for the Front Range and neighboring cities, has proven to be an anamoly with elevation driven afternoon storm systems. There would be abundant sunshine throughout the day. The last potential roadblock crept into my mind: driving time. My afternoon carpool deadline would come before I realized it, so as the clock ticked past 9 am, I realized my decision point was upon me. I seized the day. I was going, and my faithful golden doodle, Winnie, would be my companion.
The hour long drive passed in what seemed like a moment as I drove through golden, aspen-dotted foothills. I could feel my heart lighten as I inhaled the fresh air and scenery. My chosen spot was a place called Eldorado Canyon State Park. Planning this trip was effortless thanks to Day Hikes Near Denver. I enjoyed several hours of picturesque autumn beauty as I gained more than 900 feet of elevation on my upward climb towards 7073'. With my heart pulsing, my endorphins charged, and my face towards the warm October sun, I paused frequently to breathe in my surroundings and meditate on the Creator architect. As I walked, I pondered a recent book I had read called Wild about a woman's emotional and physical journey along the Pacific Crest Trail and imagined I was walking my own version of the trail. It was me and my dog, mostly alone on this day, except for two hiking buddies and a family of three whose descent intersected my climb. We ate lunch at a scenic spot and admired the great continental divide. I attempted to give my dog her first 'selfie' and laughed at her unwillingness to appreciate our stunning vista.
As I returned home later that day, my body was weary but satisfied. My soul was refreshed, and my mind active and clear. I knew that the chore list that still awaited my attention would be tackled with fresh vision and energy, even if it would be one day late. I was recharged and fulfilled, poised to continue what I had now remembered was my wonderful life. We all have opportunites to break from our daily routine to choose a moment or hour that will renew our vitality and vision. It may be a lunch date, an afternoon jog, a favorite movie, or a outdoor escape. Each of us has numerous activities that serve to refresh. On this day, mine was a mountain hike.
I made my choice.
I stopped.
I embraced life.
And life embraced me anew.
Seize the Day.
Live in the moment.
Embrace life.
Take advantage of opportunities that present themselves.
As you may be aware, intellectually understanding words on a page and living in the reality of them are two different things. Life is a continual series of choices that test whether or not our beliefs will be expressed in our actions. A few days ago, I took the opportunity to embrace a moment, and my day turned from blasé to extraordinary. Sometimes the simplest moments in life can leave a powerful impact on your very own heart.
I was awake early for a morning airport run which was followed closely by a school dropoff. By 8:15 am, I had already been in the car for wearisome 2 1/2 hours. When I arrived back home, I was faced with decision points about the remainder of my day. Hmmmm. The toilets certainly were not sparkly and disinfected. The carpets bore the reminders of the numerous feet that pass over them each day. A steady stream of emails were queued and waiting to be answered. There was health insurance paperwork that was nearing an important deadline. The dilemma of a healthy yet tasty dinner was pulling on my thoughts. Merchandise returns had begun to stack on top of the snail mail waiting to be sorted, processed, and recycled. An ever encroaching daily press of maintenance can consume and choke out the energy of the creative life that we all possess. As I pondered the day ahead, the Colorado autumn sunshine seaped past my eyes and bore deep into my soul. It battled with the unchecked items on the To-Do list of which my conscience continued to remind me.
A few months earlier, I had spent several schedule deficit summer weeks collecting information on the Colorado hikes that I wanted to explore. I searched online, borrowed library books, and read local magazines. For residents of the mile high city, outdoor adventures are in abundance, and I had my eye on some great alpine lake hikes, waterfall hikes, and dog-friendly hikes. It was our first official summer in Colorado, and I wanted to be outside. As the summer wound to a close, the outdoor concerts, baseball games, barbeques, mini-golf and poolside relaxation had superseded my long list of hikes. These other events had provided the memories I was looking for to satisfy my longing for family connection, but my yearning for the closeup scenic majesty of the Rockies went unfulfilled.
One quick check of the weather gave further incentive to my budding plan. Today's weather had no chance of precipitation, which for the Front Range and neighboring cities, has proven to be an anamoly with elevation driven afternoon storm systems. There would be abundant sunshine throughout the day. The last potential roadblock crept into my mind: driving time. My afternoon carpool deadline would come before I realized it, so as the clock ticked past 9 am, I realized my decision point was upon me. I seized the day. I was going, and my faithful golden doodle, Winnie, would be my companion.
The hour long drive passed in what seemed like a moment as I drove through golden, aspen-dotted foothills. I could feel my heart lighten as I inhaled the fresh air and scenery. My chosen spot was a place called Eldorado Canyon State Park. Planning this trip was effortless thanks to Day Hikes Near Denver. I enjoyed several hours of picturesque autumn beauty as I gained more than 900 feet of elevation on my upward climb towards 7073'. With my heart pulsing, my endorphins charged, and my face towards the warm October sun, I paused frequently to breathe in my surroundings and meditate on the Creator architect. As I walked, I pondered a recent book I had read called Wild about a woman's emotional and physical journey along the Pacific Crest Trail and imagined I was walking my own version of the trail. It was me and my dog, mostly alone on this day, except for two hiking buddies and a family of three whose descent intersected my climb. We ate lunch at a scenic spot and admired the great continental divide. I attempted to give my dog her first 'selfie' and laughed at her unwillingness to appreciate our stunning vista.As I returned home later that day, my body was weary but satisfied. My soul was refreshed, and my mind active and clear. I knew that the chore list that still awaited my attention would be tackled with fresh vision and energy, even if it would be one day late. I was recharged and fulfilled, poised to continue what I had now remembered was my wonderful life. We all have opportunites to break from our daily routine to choose a moment or hour that will renew our vitality and vision. It may be a lunch date, an afternoon jog, a favorite movie, or a outdoor escape. Each of us has numerous activities that serve to refresh. On this day, mine was a mountain hike.I made my choice.
I stopped.
I embraced life.
And life embraced me anew.
September 24, 2014
5 Cheers for Reusable Bags
As I left the grocery store today, I remembered an article that I read earlier this year in the NY Times stating that plastic grocery bags are banned in nearly 100 cities in CA, including Los Angeles. California is hoping to become the first to ban these bags statewide. (Read NY Times article here.) These flimsy one-use bags seem to find their way into rivers, oceans, trees, and drains all across America. It got me thinking about my reusable bags and their power packed punch. Here are some thoughts I had.
1. Simply put, reusable bags are better for the environment. That matters: to me, to humanity, and I believe to God. Our Creator loves the earth, and we are entrusted with the responsibility to take care of it. So it's an awesome act of power to do our part in eliminating at least a little of the nonrecycleable plastic.
2. It's a great way to express your personality and be a silent cheerleader for your passions. By looking at my bags, you can see that I support breast cancer research (my pink bag), I'm an avid sports fan (my Rockies bags), I love shopping at World Market, and I just like color and variety. Choosing solid colored bags or matching bags allows for continuity and structure if that fits your style.
3. Using my bags brings back happy memories. Some of my bags were purchased because I just liked the way they looked. Others were picked up at events I attended. My Lucky bag came from an outing with my daughter to a Latin American Eco Festival. It was a super fun day and seeing the bag reminds me of our precious time together. I also have a reusable bag from Parents Weekend at my boy's college. It always makes me think of them and shows my support for their school.
4. Using cloth bags saves so much space in your car. Reusable bags line up so much neater than the plastic ones which end up being stacked on top of each other and spilling out all over the trunk. In order to feed my family, I have to use a zillion of the plastic ones. Yuck.
5. They don't fall apart in the rain, and they will serve you well in the rain for years. In fact, you'll probably be singing in the rain when your bags aren't falling apart and you don't have a zillion of them to lift and load into and then out of your car.
So, the most ordinary, everyday reusable bag now becomes a powerhouse for efficiency, environmental responsibility, and positive emotional well being. Hip Hip Hurray!
1. Simply put, reusable bags are better for the environment. That matters: to me, to humanity, and I believe to God. Our Creator loves the earth, and we are entrusted with the responsibility to take care of it. So it's an awesome act of power to do our part in eliminating at least a little of the nonrecycleable plastic.
2. It's a great way to express your personality and be a silent cheerleader for your passions. By looking at my bags, you can see that I support breast cancer research (my pink bag), I'm an avid sports fan (my Rockies bags), I love shopping at World Market, and I just like color and variety. Choosing solid colored bags or matching bags allows for continuity and structure if that fits your style.
3. Using my bags brings back happy memories. Some of my bags were purchased because I just liked the way they looked. Others were picked up at events I attended. My Lucky bag came from an outing with my daughter to a Latin American Eco Festival. It was a super fun day and seeing the bag reminds me of our precious time together. I also have a reusable bag from Parents Weekend at my boy's college. It always makes me think of them and shows my support for their school.
4. Using cloth bags saves so much space in your car. Reusable bags line up so much neater than the plastic ones which end up being stacked on top of each other and spilling out all over the trunk. In order to feed my family, I have to use a zillion of the plastic ones. Yuck.
5. They don't fall apart in the rain, and they will serve you well in the rain for years. In fact, you'll probably be singing in the rain when your bags aren't falling apart and you don't have a zillion of them to lift and load into and then out of your car.
So, the most ordinary, everyday reusable bag now becomes a powerhouse for efficiency, environmental responsibility, and positive emotional well being. Hip Hip Hurray!
May 9, 2014
Mackenzie Red Cloud: The Least of These
Last week,
I accompanied a group of 8th graders from Cherry Hills Christian Middle
School on a mission trip to South Dakota to share God’s love with the Lakota
people on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.
Part of our job was to assist at the Lone Man School, which educates
almost exclusively Native Americans.
Traditionally these people are, at best, wary of white men and, at
worst, distrusting and opposed to them.
On our first day there, we
were greeted with enthusiasm and curiosity by eighteen 1st graders. The teacher appeared overwhelmed, and I soon discovered that her class had just been combined with another 1st grade class. As we entered and introduced ourselves, she told me quietly that in addition to the last minute combination of classes, her photocopy quota had mistakenly been exhausted, leaving her unable to make copies of schoolwork for the large class that was on the border of unruliness. She leaned to me and said, "These kids don't do well with visitors." Already there were 3 strikes against us.
Ms. Hespe, the teacher, suggested our 8th
graders read to the little ones, and she was then able to leave the classroom to prepare for the day. As the older kids began to read to the youngsters,
I scanned the faces of the 1st graders. I
was looking for the difficult ones: the ones who struggled with the
assignments, the ones who wouldn’t sit still, the ones who were making trouble.
They had warned us before
coming to the school that we should never assume that girls were the ones with
long hair. On the Lakota reservation,
many of the men and boys continue to wear their hair long as part of their
culture. With this in mind, I was
careful to not make any assumptions.
Though I wasn’t aware of this child initially, I was taken aback when a
small 1st grader with a pierced ear, a round face, and a long black braided ponytail stood in line for the boy's bathroom. This was my first real encounter with
Mackenzie Red Cloud and the first signal that I should look deeper below the surface.
I had spent the morning
with a few girls in the class, and after the bathroom incident, I began to
watch Mackenzie. His school papers did
not have any recognizable letters or numbers on them, only the scratches of a
few random lines. He was distracted and listless,
uninterested in any of the classroom activities. He sat alone during reading time, and no one
seemed to notice.
It wasn’t until lunch that I began to really see Mackenzie. He sat at the long lunch table with his head down, his food untouched. I watched as the teacher attempted to get him to eat and finally to put his tray away. He struggled to follow directions, and as the class lined up, he pulled away from the other children, wandering away from the rest of the kids. As the class walked in a line down the hall, Mackenzie ran ahead, on his own path towards the classroom. It became more and more clear that the teacher, having double her class size, would not have the time to deal with Mackenzie, so I decided at that point he would be my adopted Lakota.
The class filed in and took their seats, with Mackenzie sitting in the hall, head on his knees. I got the feeling that this was not his first time sitting in the hall outside the classroom door. Ms. Hespe briefly went outside to speak to him, with no noticeable response. I motioned to her that I would sit with him, and she nodded and returned to the 17 restless children waiting inside.
I sat down and realized that Mackenzie was crying. As I quietly prayed, God began to show me strategies for helping him. I asked him what had happened, and he said that none of the boys would play with him at recess. It became apparent that this was also not the first time that the darkness of rejection had found its way into his heart. I spoke encouragement to him and told him of God’s love for him, and that I had come to his school because of that love. Bit by bit he emerged from his despair, and after convincing him to wash his face, he decided to return to the class. He was in the class, but still not engaged.
I imagined what his home life was like. The teacher had explained to me that very few parents ever showed up during family events. Only 2 children had any books in their home or only a few had ever heard a bedtime story. As I stood at the back of the class, dizziness overwhelmed me, and I recognized this as spiritual warfare. Within the Lakota tribe, as with many Native Americans, the dark spiritual forces of their ancient religious practices combine with culture, rejection, and loss of identity to cause significant confusion. Why this boy was important, I did not know. But this initial encounter of sharing God’s love caused a backlash of disorientation that made me realize that my actions must be having impact in the spiritual realm.
As our first day drew to a close, I saw more and more that Mackenzie was disconnected from the class. While the other children were writing words on their own and drawing pictures, Mackenzie’s papers simply had a few marks, with nothing distinguishable as words or drawings. He randomly got up from his seat during class, and though the teacher attempted to keep order, he was not used to following her directions.
Our 2nd and final day arrived in Ms. Hespe’s 1st grade class, and we walked in to find order and quiet, unlike the day before. On entering the class, my dizziness returned, as did my resolve to make a difference for Mackenzie. After quiet reading, the teacher announced that all the children were going to write their own stories. Intimidation threatened to sway my resolve, but I determined that God was with me, and His power would help to overcome any obstacle.
I knelt beside Mackenzie, and began asking him questions. The first obstacle to writing is choosing a topic. These children had been isolated on a reservation in a remote part of South Dakota for all of their life, and had little experience outside those borders. An idea came to me: they were going on a field trip that Friday to the circus! Perhaps Mackenzie could write an imaginary story that began there.
As I asked more and more questions, and guided him along, Mackenzie began to come alive. When we started to write the first sentence, I realized he didn’t know the letters to write, nor could he write any words (unlike some of the other 1st graders). How would I overcome this? I found a piece of 1st grade lined paper and carefully wrote the words from his first sentence. As I began to write, he began to copy. We recited letter by letter together, and the sentence began to take shape. Done! One sentence down and 4 to go.
There was no time to lose
as he gained momentum. The process
continued with me asking questions and making suggestions for the next sentence
in his story. Who would he take? How
would he get there? What would happen
when he arrived? After about 20 minutes
of painstaking effort, writing, reading, and rereading, the following story emerged.
“I am taking my cat Luigi to the circus. We will ride on the bus. We will see elephants and eat popcorn. I am happy.”
I was happy too! What an accomplishment! Yet the daunting task of illustration still
loomed ahead. “How about drawing an
elephant?” “I can’t draw an
elephant.” “What about a cat?” “I don’t
know how.” I decided that copying had worked before and it could work
again. I drew out some very simple
drawings and watched as Mackenzie energetically reproduced them. He began to add his own details of steps and
a self-portrait. His smile emerged,
exposing several silver teeth. A smile
brightened my face too.I encouraged him to show his teacher, Ms. Hespe, wondering what she had struggled to do with these 10 children who most assuredly did not meet the standards of Common Core. As he showed his story, she smiled and shook her head in awe. I saw her eyes moisten as she admired what this boy had produced.
The class continued on and so did my dizziness. I walked to the cubbies to get reoriented. There printed above the cubes it was: Mackenzie Red Cloud. Red Cloud. I had heard that name yesterday when we visited the elite (by Lakota standards) Red Cloud School. Red Cloud School was a private school where the more promising students attended. It was named after Chief Red Cloud. Now I knew. Here was the great, great, great grandson of the famous Chief Red Cloud. He was a great warrior and leader, and was very respected by his tribe. And here in the 1st grade Lakota class was his legacy, struggling to find his way, forgotten amongst even his own people.
Then I knew.
My part to play was to share the love of God with this boy – not in a
Sunday School story, but in a real encounter of patience, encouragement, and
support. That’s the power of God,
allowing us to be more than we think we are.
He is life and light. And when we
share that, life and light come to those we touch. On another level, I was here to play a small
part in righting a wrong that occurred more than 100 years earlier. My
ancestors had oppressed, killed, and stole from his ancestors. We had seen the
Pine Ridge Cemetery where the Battle of Wounded Knee occurred. US Soldiers had brutally killed more than 150 men, women, and children of the Lakota tribe over a misunderstanding with an
elderly deaf Lakota man. There is power in
forgiveness. There is power in kindness,
encouragement, and love. There is power when skin color and age are ignored, and a person is
treated with the dignity and respect meant by his Creator.
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