The Arte Y Pico Award!

I was awarded the Arte Y Pico Award by Annie, a fellow widow/writer/chapter 2 journeyer, who writes a blog (Anniegirl1138) that I enjoy reading everyday. Annie presented me with this award today with the following instructions:

1. Pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.

2. Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog.

3. Each award winner (upon acceptance) should show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award.

4. Show the link of Arte y pico blog , so everyone will know the origin of this award.

5. Show these rules.

I have never heard of blog awards until today. Upon research, I found that many blogs have awards attached to them--never paid much attention to those little iconic thingys at the bottom of blogs. I am honored that Annie chose me for this award, but am more honored that she often posts comments on my blog that always encourage me as a writer and a person. Since she has already received the award, I can’t pass it back to her, yet that would be my first choice, SO, after much consideration, I have decided to pass on the award to the following:
Rob
Shelly
Evan and Julia
Alicia
Rosanne Though she just began blogging, I have learned much of what I know about teaching writing from her.

Here is a huge thank you from me for enriching my life with your words.

Realistic Victory!

As a beginning runner, I long to look like the guy down the street when he runs. He has long, muscular strides, his form impeccable and seems to run effortlessly. He is an “Adonis of running”. As much as I admire his abilities, it would be ridiculous to set my goals by his standards. I mean, he is half my age, not even my gender and obviously has more athletic genes in his little finger than I have in my entire body. But this is what we do in life; we compare our journey with that of someone else and set our goals by another’s standards then are surprised and dejected when we don’t “measure up”.

I understand that goal setting is paramount to success in any new endeavor, yet doing so often leads to failure. Why-- because we are unrealistic in our expectations. I tend to set unattainable goals like: lose 20 pounds before a wedding in two weeks, then I am shocked, disappointed and left with feelings of failure at my lack of achievement; when in reality, I set myself up for failure.

When I began to run, I made a conscious decision to set small, realistic goals that would lead to my one big desire of running a 5K race before the summer is over. Let me remind you that on my first attempt to run, I may have actually jogged – a block without needing a respirator to breathe. My first goal was to run ONE mile without stopping to walk. Each day I have watched myself come closer and closer to attaining this goal.

Today I actually reached it---

When I hit that one-mile mark, I felt like Rocky Balboa running the streets of Philadelphia. I am sure I heard the beat of the “Rocky Theme” bellowing in my head, as I looked the fool—jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk celebrating self-victory. I know one mile isn’t that far and that I have much further to go before I can run 3.1 miles without stopping, but this was a huge accomplishment for me. I immediately called Kent and Ginny, huffing and puffing as I shared my achievement. They cheered for me, and encouraged me and represented all that someone who loves you should be.

Why it is that we don’t celebrate life’s milestone in similar ways? Why don’t we hear the “Rocky Theme” the first time we accomplish things in our life that take guts to complete. Why don’t we cheer each other’s accomplishments no matter how small? I can’t tell you the number of endeavors I was able to complete on my own, after Don’s death. Instead of celebrating my successes, I often complained or whined that I “had” to do it on my own. I felt slighted because my circumstances required me to “step up” and I wasn’t as good at it as some other widows or single parents that I knew. What a travesty! I look back now and thing---DANG, I should have called Ginny and said “You know what? I changed the toilet ring, made solo-travel arrangements, or fixed the grill!” She would have cheered me on just as she did today, but I didn’t give her the opportunity.

We should set our goals according to our own expectations and circumstances---not gage our lives by those of others and at the same time we must allow others to celebrate with us. Life’s goals and accomplishments should be celebrated, no matter how trivial they may seem. We should spring up those proverbial stairs, arms raised in victory as the “Rocky Theme” plays in the background each day we step out on faith, accomplish something we never have before, or reach a personal goal. Can you hear it?

Tuesday Triviality

I rarely simply copy and paste "stuff", but I think Tuesdays will become "Tuesday Triviality" and on this day of the week I will share things I have found important to me---basically to have a place to record "stuff". Feel free to do the same...

Triviality #1:
Henri Nouwen quote:
Optimism and hope are radically different attitudes. Optimism is the expectation that things-the weather, human relationships, the economy, the political situation, and so on-will get better. Hope is the trust that God will fulfill God's promises to us in a way that leads us to true freedom. The optimist speaks about concrete changes in the future. The person of hope lives in the moment with the knowledge and trust that all of life is in good hands.

Triviality #2:
As a former pastor once said, "If this don't light your fire--then your woods all wet!"

No Need, For Speed

It is with great trepidation that I write this post. Basically, because I know that by doing so I have somehow become accountable and well, it would be much easier not to be. One week ago, I began running. Well, more truthfully---I began walk/running. If you see me run it you might ask yourself, “What’s the point? Her run is not that much faster than her walk.” But I call it “running” just the same. Kent is a runner, my friend Ginny is a runner and I wanted to share this activity with them, so I started to run myself.

Anyway, true to the Marsha approach to everything in life—I READ it to death. Perhaps I thought that by reading about running I would automatically become---well---a runner, and that actually pounding the pavement wouldn’t be necessary. Guess what? It doesn’t work that way.

Ginny recommended “No Need for Speed” by John Bingham and it arrived on my doorstep with in 48 hours just as Amazon promised. Funny thing is, I can’t put it down. Over the past few years, I have read at least 30 books about widowdom, I have read more than 30 books about being a good parent or wife, and many more about dieting; yet, this book on the subject of running has created more challenge in my life than any of the previous reads.

Bingham’s approach to running couldn’t be a more perfect metaphor to how we should approach widowhood and life in general. Let me explain.

With all due respect to Mr. Bingham I am going to analogize some of his writing. I am going to replace “running” (for the most part) with the word “widowhood”; the word “life” would work as well:

“Widowhood is really just one giant game of Chutes and Ladders, though in widowhood there are more chutes than ladders. You make decent progress in your widowhood and then suddenly an “injury” sends you back to where you were 6 months before. So you roll the dice and start again.”

In addition, Bingham writes of the problem many beginning runners face: that of setting unrealistic expectations. He explains that he receives a multitude of emails from folks who feel they “should” be running faster, but are caught in the expectation trap. He clarifies how runners have stopped being happy about the progress they have already made and are trying to live up to some preconceived “standards”. I find this a problem with many folks. They read about another’s journey and expect that they must have the same one and if, for some reason they do not, they feel less or more because they have a different experience.

I like Bingham’s response (once again I am executing literary license in bold print):

“A timetable may be vague, ill defined or a schedule they’ve read or heard about. Whichever it is, they’re certain that they’re falling further and further behind everyday.

Your widowhood won’t confirm to a timetable. It won’t adhere to a schedule that you put on the wall, write down in a journal or read in a grief book. Improvement comes over time. You’ll get stronger and grow further when YOU can---and not a day before.”

I don’t think I have ever read a self-help book that holds such perfect truths for the widowed (or life for that matter), yet it comes in the form of a book about running. I stand amazed at how God reveals truths to us when/if we are open. Following Memorial Day, I have been more mindful of my widow journey. I am not defined by it, but I most certainly am who I am today BECAUSE of it and it continues…

Becoming.....

It is only the first week of summer vacation and I have already read three books—not ONE of any literary value whatsoever. I just finished “Twenty Wishes” by Debbie Macomber. I wouldn’t normally have chosen this book—mostly because of its nauseatingly “cutsie” cover; but it is a story about four widow friends, so of course I had to read it. Each of the characters is at a different place on their widow-journey. All are different ages and have different stories. The author seems to grasp the essence of widowhood without making it such a downer that no one would want to read the book. At one of the widow’s gatherings while talking about the fact that they want more out of life, each widow is challenged to create a list of 20 wishes. The novel then follows these four women as they begin to realize their life wishes.

The book didn’t make me want to run out, buy a scrapbook and begin my own 20 wishes journal, but it did make me think about why people get “stuck” in their lives. I wish getting “un-stuck” was as simple as writing down wishes, but it is not. Something else has to happen. You have to want to be “un-stuck”. You have to have a plan to become “un-stuck”. You have to create a life where being stuck simply isn’t an option.

I never thought about this much until now, but Kent and I both knew we didn’t want to remain “stuck” in our lives. I would like to be able to admit that I could have created a fulfilled life without the love of another; I simply can’t. I understand myself well enough to recognize that a large part of who I am requires that aspect of my life to be fulfilled. I know not everyone is like me regarding this aspect of "singleness"(and some would never admit it anyway), but I have great respect for people who find contentment being alone and who have found fulfillment and strength in being single.

I know that being “stuck” wasn’t an acceptable option for my life. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had a plan to become “un-stuck”, though perhaps unconsciously. I knew I didn’t want to live my life stagnated by tragedy. My good friend often tells me that I seemed to always be “open” to a new relationship and that was accurate. I was honest with myself as to what I could give and what I needed for the second part of my life. I needed someone intelligent; someone to share my religious beliefs; someone who loved music; someone who would accept and love my family; someone unafraid to attempt new adventures; someone just like – Kent. So, I shouldn’t be surprised that I have been blessed again, nor should I be apologetic to those still searching because I DO understand how difficult this journey can be. I will remain forever grateful that I have been fortunate, as well as encourage and cheer on others as they take the steps to become "un-stuck".

I don’t need 20 wishes. I just have one big one and that is to have a life filled with love, happiness and the chance to share it with someone honorable.

Making an IMPACT

When I was growing up in Missouri, our church denomination organized a group of selected teenagers from around the state to travel, sing and minister in the summer. My dad was instrumental in the organization of the group, so I was always "under foot" during rehearsals. The group was called the “IMPACT Singers” and I anticipated the time I would turn 16 and have the opportunity to travel with the group. It seemed so glamorous. I was only 10 or 11 at the time and wanted to emulate every girl singer in the group and fell in love with every teenage boy. Unfortunately, we moved to Nebraska before I had the chance.

I can’t imagine a group similar to this one would be feasible today. Middle class teenagers are far too overbooked to be able to donate an entire summer to travel. I hadn’t thought of the IMPACT Singers in years, until I was watching television late last night.

Nightline ran a story about the Impact Repertory Theater in Harlem. This group was first introduced to the public through the movie “August Rush” (perhaps my favorites of the year) and then again at the Oscars. Jamal Joseph, the founder of the group had more in mind than simply creating singers, dancers and actors when he envisioned IMPACT. Each member of of this group must audition; survive a strenuous “boot camp”; pledge service to family, friends and community; AND commit to college. WOW—talk about making an IMPACT.

Joseph “gets” that teenagers need to be connected, plugged in and given opportunities to find fulfillment through hard work and education. These kids are from the inner city; many have been in jail or led troubled lives, yet will travel two hours by train to be a part of IMPACT and to have the opportunity to turn their lives around.



It is difficult to get middle-class children to grasp the discipline it takes to create a fulfilled life. I am not talking about financial success. I am speaking of a rewarding life that makes a difference. For my own children, I long for them to value service to others, education and commitment. My wish for them is to aspire to create an IMPACT.

BREATHINGS of the HEART...
I hope the blog change doesn't affect those of you who view my blog on a daily basis...if so ... let me know..

After much deliberation, I decided on this new title for my blog. I know it is a bit sappy for my taste, but I do think it captures the essence of my words.

Blessings,
Marsha

Honorary What???

This morning I hear Paul McCartney received an honorary doctorate from Yale—of all places. Normally, this would not affect me in any substantial way, but today—it just burns me. I lack the discipline and fortitude to complete a doctorate. I do hold two master’s degrees, which I tease should add up to ONE doctorate, but they do not.

My principal, on the other hand, is in the final stages of receiving her doctorate. She has sacrificed, studied, and surrendered her will to completing this process. It has been arduous. She has given up so much…yet some guy (albeit a "Beetle") who simply wrote a few good songs gets one—without effort at all. Call me cynical (though few do), but PLLLLEEEAASSSEE!!! It is simply W R O N G.

I don’t want to be an “honorary” ANYTHING…don’t want to be an honorary wife, mother, or teacher and I don’t want an honorary doctorate. If (and when) I decided to push myself in this direction, I want to know I EARNED it…I wonder if Sir McCartney feels the same?

Out With the Old--In With the New

I need to re-title my blog. It isn’t that I don’t like the one I have; it’s that I am irritated with Oprah right now and find it necessary to distance myself (like we’re best buddies). So fellow bloggers, readers, posters and lurkers---any ideas? Here are a few I am kicking around, but would love to hear your ideas:

The Open Vein
There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. ~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

Breathings of the Heart
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~William Wordsworth

Inner Music
To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the inner music the words make. ~Truman Capote, McCall's, November 1967

Rain and Battle
For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain and the noise of battle. ~John Cheever

My Struggles Against Silence
Writing is a struggle against silence. ~Carlos Fuentes

Free-Range Parenting; Free-Range Kids

Ever heard of it? Me either, until my blogging pal Annie wrote about it today. So I did what any self-respecting parent would do---I googled it. Here is what I found: Free-range parenting is a concept whereas parents live responsibly (seat belts, helmets, airbags, etc.), but do not restrict their child's actions out of fear.

I agree with Annie that most of us (40-50 somethings) were raised with the “free range” mentality—there simply wasn’t a label yet. My parents loved me. I don’t doubt it a bit, but they NEVER had a chart on the refrigerator to “track” my grades nor did I EVER receive a sticker for completing my chores. They made it to “most” of my softball games when it was convenient and fit their schedule and yes; I rode my bicycle to many practices, play dates and extra curricular activities (without a helmet, no less). Their lives included me, but didn’t “revolve” around me. I ran in the woods with the neighborhood boys, I played “king of the mountain” with a rusty knife and I smoked a cigarette with the naughty girl across the street. Consequently, I not only have lived to tell the tales, but I have NO sense of entitlement. I don’t expect my boss to overlook when I am late, I don’t expect someone else to make sure I have my lunch, I tend to take chances that have brought great joy to my life, and I don’t tend to blame anyone, but myself, when I screw up.

I remember when our (now 19 year old) son was asked to play on a travel baseball team. My husband and I sat him down and with all the love we could muster announced (in our best Dr. Spock voice) that sometimes the “good of the family outweighed the good of one member” and that traveling all summer long would be both arduous and financially rigorous for our family. We lived with the disagreeing stares from his friend's parents. Weren't we AFRAID that Chad would NEVER get playing time in high school if he didn't play on the travel team? After much discussion, our son reluctantly agreed and, alas, did not play on the “travel team”. At the time, it was a difficult decision; but now that I look back it was providential; as that was the summer we all went on a Caribbean cruise---it ended up being the last vacation before Don’s death. If Chad had played travel ball, that vacation would have been impossible.

As an educator, I come into contact with all types of parents: helicopter parents, consultant parents, drill sergeant parents; but seldom free range parents. Rarely do parents look realistically at their children and furnish the parameters in which they can grow. It is easier to accentuate the positive aspects in our children, than to address those not so attractive dimensions of their character. We want to “save” them from making the mistakes that we made, only to inadvertently set them up to do so anyway. We are AFRAID to allow them the freedom to learn, perhaps fail and then relearn. We are quick to "save" and slow to "guide". It seems easier some how---or is it?

I have not looked at my youngest sons grades since first quarter this year. I was frustrated that he was not achieving as I thought he should. He is disorganized and somewhat scatterbrained, but is extremely contented—definitely a “glass half full” child. He has made honor roll all four quarters, albeit with a couple of C’s. Could he do better? You bet. Do I need to encourage him? You bet. Does he need a cheerleader? Yes, when he does something worth cheering. Does he need someone to take him to task? Yes, when he lacks confidence or drive. Does he need time to figure things out on his own? A HUNDRED TIMES—yes. Is it difficult to sit back and watch? Sometimes, but other times it is exciting to see those synapses taking place in his adolescent brain as he works through each hurdle. Am I this pragmatic all the time? Heck no—wish I could say that I was.

Children need freedom—and limits. They need to be able to make mistakes and learn from them. They need to be treasured enough to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them and that the difference they make in the world comes from hard work and heart. They need the autonomy to take chances and the discipline that goes with limitations. They need to know that you will always be their cheerleader, but not always their savior. They need to know you will have the integrity to call them out when they are wrong and support them when they are right. They need to be allowed to run through the woods, play “king of the mountain” with a rusty knife and break the rules without you knowing it—why? Because we can talk to them until we are blue in the face, but until they experience the consequences of their actions, they can’t own them. They can’t learn from them and they certainly can’t grow.

This I know for sure…

Gotta Love My Job!

Do you remember what it was like to be 12 and counting down those last days of school? There was the anticipation of freedom that summer brought, along with the fatigue of concluding a school year. Do you remember planning just what you would do when school was out?
...slept-in,
...stayed up late,
...played outside until exhaustion set in or mom called you to dinner,
...had friends sleepover during the week,
...read,
...watched mindless television,
...aspired to only involve yourself in activities that made you happy…
ahhhh…
Those were the days!!!
WAIT….
I am a teacher---those ARE the days!!!!

Here's to the last week of school!

This I know for ABSOLUTELY sure...

Appreciating Those Who "Get It"

This past week was “Teacher Appreciation Week”. We have been fortunate that, for the most part, our children have had effective, dedicated teachers. My students wrote letters of appreciation to teachers who have impacted their lives this week. Teaching is most definitely a calling and for me, a legacy.

My mother “gets” kids. She has been a teacher for as long as I can remember and now, at 68, is still teaching kindergarten in an inner-city school, making a difference every day. I value the fact that she “gets” kids because I have never been more aware of how important this quality is for a teacher. Mom understands that children are not merely miniature adults, but are unique individuals with matchless potential. She “gets” that kids forget stuff and that they have lapse in judgment, yet she permits them, coupled with accountability, to make mistakes. She “gets” that it is because of missteps that children can “grow”. She does not tout her “standards”, but is aware of the fact that standards are only validated when she connects (in a real way) with the students in her classroom – and she does.

Of the countless attributes I could have inherited from my mother, this is one of the most fundamental. I want to “get’ my students. I want to be more a part of their lives than a part of some established rule of “standard”. What excites me, as a teacher is when I hear students say that they “get to go to English” or “Mrs. C. can we do this again tomorrow?” NOTHING beats that validation.

I am aware that there are educators who never get to experience this aspect of teaching—how sad that is! They never have understood, what mom always has, that education is a partnership between the educator, the child, the parent and the school. They have a totalitarian classroom environment where kids are stifled and devalued. They expect far more from their students than they expect from themselves and they have truly missed what it means to be effective.

I used to tell my Millikin students that teaching is two faceted—one is the love of the material and the other---is magic. I assured them that I could teach them one, but the other (the magic part) they either already possessed or never would and that “faking it” would never work---kids are too smart not to notice. I actually had pre-teaching students come up to me after my class and say, “I’m not sure I have the magic” to which I would, in the most supportive manner, lead them to some other interest as a vocation.

Don’t get me wrong; I am not talking about teaching styles or teacher “popularity”. There are countless teachers, who “get kids” and have a teaching style converse to mine. There are teachers who are stricter, more lenient, more hands-on, less hands-on…yet have a relationship with their students. They not only know, but also care which students have a dance recital on the weekend (and are usually invited), or which one plays traveling basketball, or which one is dealing with family tragedies. They know these things because they have chosen to connect with the kids. Within their classrooms students feel valued and therefore enjoy learning more. They make a difference every day…there are many teachers like this and to them I say “YOU are appreciated”

This I know for sure…

Star Struck in Central Illinois

Matt Damon is in town filming THE INFORMANT. This has caused quite a stir in our small community of BIG industry (ADM, Tate and Lyle, Caterpillar). There have been star sightings all over town. When out with friends, I have heard "Did you know Matt Damon is staying with the _________'s?" to which I chuckle and say, "I heard he was staying with the _________'s, then someone else said he was staying at the Mark Whitacre house in Moweaqua or at the Decatur Conference Center."

Personally, I have a hard time believing that Matt Damon is staying at a former Holiday Inn (even if this is the best Decatur has to offer). Gossip and misinformation about him abounds. Our local newspaper has a site especially for those of us who are “star struck” and wish to trace Mr. Damon’s every move.
http://www.herald-review.com/informant/

I have not read the book about ADM executive Mark Whitacre who turned FBI informant uncovering the biggest antitrust case ever, but I ordered it yesterday along with a analogous book called Rats in the Grain. I remember when the news story unfolded in 1995 and ADM's dirty laundry exposed. It was one of the biggest news stories in town—for a few weeks. I hate to say that I paid little attention. The initial story had little or no effect on my life. Conversely, the movie being filmed in town has had greater impact than the original story---so sad to admit.

Nevertheless, it has been a wee bit of excitement for our otherwise mundane existence. I anxiously await the movie premier if for nothing more than to acknowledge the familiar local landmarks and who knows…perhaps I will have a brush with greatness before the set shuts down.

The Lost Passion

For years, gardening was my summer passion. Our home in Maroa, built on farmland, was blessed with rich soil that made the task rather effortless. My love of gardening had a simple inauguration. I started out with a few flowerbeds to landscape the back of our home which over time grew into our backyard refuge. I knew the name of every flower, plant, bush and bird that found its home in our yard. When Don died, so did the passion to garden and for the life of me I don't know why. It is but one of the oddities on my journey that I simply can't figure out.

This weekend I caught the bug again. The passion was activated when I scrubbed the dirt from the pole system and hung my bird feeders making it easy to survey the birds finding sanctuary there. Gradually, I began to recall the names and recognizable sounds of common backyard birds. Taking in the familiar sparked an exhilaration that I can't explain. Subsequently, the soil simply began to call.

After examining the yard and its myriad of opportunities, I chose to begin with a small plot by our deck. I purchased some bulbs, perennials and a lovely pink rhododendron to place into my new flowerbed. I bought annuals for the planters on the front porch and hanging baskets of flowers to share with the birds. Finally, Kent and I purchased our first piece of furniture as a married couple - a beautiful granite topped outdoor table and chairs.

There is something therapeutic about getting your hands dirty—of sifting through dirt and planting new life. There is also something soothing about sitting in nature and taking in its beauty and solace. The exhaustion of planning, planting and working the soil is outweighed by the pride of accomplishment when you are finished. Perhaps our life moves in cycles of passion—or perhaps our passion is more connected to our life experiences than we think.

The soil in our new home is nowhere near the quality of the house in Maroa. It needs to be worked and enriched and worked some more to become ideal for new growth. It is much more difficult to prepare the soil, but more rewarding when completed. Cultivating the soil reminded me that sometimes our life is like clay—we are undernourished, and rather inadequate for growth. We didn't get to this point on purpose - life circumstances brought us here. Just like the soil, it is only when our lives become enriched through relationships, renewed passions and productive living that we become equipped for growth once more. It isn't easy - we must choose to fill our lives with nourishment. Just as I had to consciously make the decision to get in my car, drive to Menards and purchased enrichment for my garden soil, so must I make a conscious effort to enrich my own life.

This I know for sure...

A Grief Revisited

I want so desperately to be a guiding light for other widows. My widow support system has been such a huge part of my own healing that now I want to give back. What I find, however, is that because I have remarried---my sage guidance seems less significant. I think what I have to bring to the table is discounted because I am no longer a member of the “club”, but that is so far from the truth. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t still mourn and deal with some aspect of my grief. There is a section on the YWBB for those “Beyond Active Grieving”. Recently, there was a post about this very topic.

To which I responded:

I think this section of the board just may be THE most diverse. As a group, we seem to land all over the place on the grief spectrum. Some have seemed to move on quicker or more smoothly--others seem stuck and are fighting to move on--others are stuck and perfectly willing to stay there--some have seemed to move on only to realize they have NOT. It is difficult to put into words that we STILL, and forever will, live within the parameters of our grief. I find it more difficult now to put what I am going through into words. On top of that, I worry that I will offend someone who is not at the same place, or make someone feel bad about where they are on the journey. I rarely start threads anymore and perhaps that is the reason. I never thought much about it until you posted today---interesting isn't it.

Or is it….or is it simply God’s way of continuing to connect us as members of a community? One thing I want to make PERFECTLY clear is this fact---we ALL still grieve. Those of you who are in the peripheral of a widow(er)—know this—grief does not cease to exist because our life circumstances may change. It continues, perhaps in a different form, but it continues…

This I know for sure…

A Chance for Grace

I wrote this piece several years ago---I post it today in memory of Chance 1996-2008

I need to confess up front that up until this particular day, I wasn’t fond of the dog. I mean, he is was too big to cuddle and was a bit unattractive; but Chance belonged to my youngest brother, Evan. He was a greyhound that Evan and his wife, Julia, adopted from greyhound rescue. Needless to say, I was pleased that upon their Thanksgiving visit to Decatur, Chance would not be staying at my house, but at my parents.

On the Friday following Thanksgiving, everyone in my family came to our house for Thanksgiving dessert. Because of my ungraciousness, Chance was not invited. Looking back, I should have set my feelings aside, been more hospitable and invited the dog, too. Perhaps none of this would have happened if I had been more charitable.

As the evening progressed, my parents decided to take my grandmother home. Evan and Julia planned to stay and watch a movie with us. You see, they had moved to Kansas City a few years and we rarely got to spend time with them. I was especially looking forward to our time together.

It wasn’t long after my parents left that the phone rang. On the other end I recognized my father’s anxious voice announcing that Chance had somehow escaped from his kennel and deposited his doggy-poo in the basement and wet on my parent’s bed. To make matters worse, he had eaten the entire bag of grandma’s biscuits.

Evan jumped up, set down the phone and headed for the door. Grabbing my gallon pail of Oxi-Clean and a coat, he was on his way, obviously ready to make restitution for the good dog gone wild.

As for me, I was infuriated. Chance’s naughty-doggy behavior had stolen precious time that I was to spend with my brother. I decided that I would not stand by and let this happen. I headed out the door straight to my parent’s house. I was determined to spend time with my brother, even if I had to clean up doggy-poo to do so.

I arrived at my parent’s house thirty minutes behind my brother. By the time I reached my destination, the excitement was over. Everything was cleaned up. All seemed calm. Chance was lying in the corner pensively reflecting on the day’s escapade.

What I saw next astonished me. Evan was sitting next to Chance, petting him, soothing him, and telling him what a good dog he was. There was no mention of the awful consequences of such destructive actions, no lecture about how his behavior affected other people in a negative way, and no lasting punishment for disobedience.

My attitude softened toward Chance that day. Suddenly, I saw this dog through the eyes of the one that loved him most. I saw grace pure and simple.

When others make a mess of things; when people are destructive with actions or words, I hope my love is great enough to grant the same amount of forgiveness that was afforded to a naughty greyhound. We all deserve a “Chance” for grace.

This I know for sure...

The Human Heart

I lead our church book club. This was a reluctant “ministry” for me. Our Women’s Ministry Director recruited me for over a year before I finally relented—basically because I had read little “good” Christian fiction (besides the classics of course). I had a real “attitude” about this particular genre. I wish I could say I have changed my mind.

One thing I do NOT do is pre-read the books I select. I want to read the books along with the rest of the group and be fresh to discuss each one. I rely on book reviews at different sites and then compile a list for the club to read over the year. What amazes me is that no matter how poorly the book is written, it still stimulates great conversation, which-I think-is the entire point of a book club.

This month we are reading a book entitled “When Crickets Cry” by Charles Martin. From the start, I must say that this is one of my most favorite books that we have read. What I realized early on, and was again emphasized in this particular book, is that loss; whether it is of a spouse or a child or a father or a mother, is fodder for fiction. This book follows the pattern.

The protagonist is a widower and a doctor who is attempting to come to grips with his life following the death of his wife. Of course he leaves the practice of medicine because he can’t “save her” and enters an entirely different life crafting boats. Well into the story he begins to have a relationship with another woman who is the caregiver for her niece – who happens to have a similar heart problem as his departed wife. The new “girl” seems to “get it” and here is the conversation that she has with her niece one evening:

“Do you think he likes you?”

This time Cindy responded, “Honey, I’m not sure. Grown-ups sometimes have a lot going on inside their hearts and…I think Reese has a hurt heart.”

“Like mine?” Annie asked.

“No,” Cindy answered, “not like yours. More like he gave it away a long time ago, and when his wife died she took it with her.”

“Oh,” Annie whispered. “Can he get it back?”

“I don’t know,” Cindy said. “I don’t know if he wants to. Sometimes the memory of love is so strong that it edges out most everything else.”

Wow—I had to set the book down for a while. This is insightful. I have read over and over on the widow board how folks want to find love again, but do they really WANT to? Is the memory of love too strong? I never thought of life on these terms because my experience has been much different.

I, on the other hand, maintain a different attitude. I believe IF you have had a great love, than you long for, even are destined to, have another. The greatest memorial I can give Don is to love again—not to find someone to “distract me from the pain”, but to truly search out and find one to share my life with. I was fortunate to have found such a person.

Having said that, I also understand how difficult it is to be open to new love—to put yourself out there when rejection can wound an already fragile self-esteem. I understand how, at times, it feels as if you are “cheating” on the one who has departed, but I go back to the fact that if the tables were turned (and fortunately Don and I discussed this), I would want him to love again.

The human heart is more complex than we will ever be able to understand.

“Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?” William Shakespeare

OHH—if it were that easy…
This I know for sure.

Complaint Free----ME?

I am rereading Positive Words, Powerful Results by Hal Urban. I read it for the first time several years ago and it challenged me to think more thoughtfully about the words I say. The author provides challenges throughout the book to practice positive word choice. One of his challenges early in the book is to go 24 hours complaint free. Can I do this? Can I go 24 hours without complaining about ANYTHING? I have always looked at myself as being fairly upbeat and positive, until I began to consider how difficult it might be to avoid complaining totally for 24 hours.

SO—here it goes. No complaining about the student who doesn’t ever turn in homework, comes to class unprepared, or seems to underachieve. No complaining that the trash isn’t at the curb, or dishwasher isn’t unloaded, or that the kids play too much XBOX. No complaining about my job, my hair, my weight or my health. No complaining…..period.

This is going to be difficult.
This I know for sure…

Friendship: Penn and Teller Style

Kent and I were given tickets to see Penn and Teller as a wedding gift from a few of his co-workers. It was a wonderful gift. Kent is a bit of an amateur magician and was looking forward to the show. I expected glitzy tricks and scantily clad assistants, what I got instead was an intellectual magic show filled with a few astonishing illusions, but mostly an extreme amount of information about magic in general.

We purchased the program to add to Kent’s collection (guess he has a David Copperfield program as well). Inside the program, Penn introduced Teller and Teller introduced Penn in a rather voiced autobiographical prose. Now, I don’t normally read through an entire program (an ADD issue), but this one intrigued me. The men themselves are fascinating. Both are highly intelligent and verbose (yes, even Teller). I found I longed to know as much about their friendship as I wanted to know about their magic.

I began to read about the friendship between these two men. Several insights resonated with me. Penn on Teller “We don’t need no stinking affection. We have respect. From the moment I met him I knew he was the best in the world at being Teller.” What if this was the way we looked at our own friendships? What if we loved and appreciated those closest to us for simply being who they are?

I had, what many call an “AHA moment”. This is the way I feel about my closest friends and hope they feel about me as well. I think that’s why our friendships are so strong and why we have stood the test of time and circumstances. We have “respect”. We come from different backgrounds; we are on opposite ends of the political spectrum; we represent different religions and have different socioeconomic status; yet, there is an amazing bond because we are comfortable enough with ourselves to not only allow, but encourage each other to bring these differences to the “friendship table”. Little irritants aren’t blown out of proportion because we know each other’s heart and know that nothing is ever said or done with malice. We love each other for WHO we are—not what we think the other should be. Ginny is the best in the world at being Ginny. Rosanne is the best at the world at being Rosanne. Kathy is the best in the world at being Kathy and Lori is the best in the world at being Lori and I, well----couldn’t fake myself if I wanted to.

“We don’t need no stinking affection”—but we have it---that and respect as well. I am so blessed---

This I know for sure…

In All Things God Works for the Good----oh Really?

Disclaimer: I am not sure why it has been so difficult for me to craft this post. I started on it well over two weeks ago and have anguished through the revision to final publishing--yet I know I was meant to put it out there for you...

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

How do we find God's glory in difficult situations? In the midst of pain, where is the "good" for those who "love him, who have been called according to his purpose"?

The dichotomy of the heartache, pain, and struggle that plagues our lives is that one is totally within our control, and one is not. Simply because we live in an imperfect world tragedy can assault our lives. We did not cause the pain, it just happened---death and illness are examples. Sometimes; however, we create our pain. Through poor decisions, even sinful actions we make a mess of our lives and are left with the fall out. In these situations we are forced to take personal responsible for the misery in our lives. It matters little in the long run HOW heartbreak enters our lives, we are still broken and bruised; left wondering how these life tradgedies can possibly ALL work for the good?

Honestly, the “good” may be extremely difficult to find at first—the hurt is too raw. For those of us who have experienced tragic circumstances beyond our control, I believe God can comfort and give strength as we (and those connected to us) begin to work through our heartbreak. The "good" that comes from such tragedy is that we can become stronger people with invincible faith. As our faith grows, we have the opportunity to "pay it forward". Do I think God creates tragedy in my life because I ask for a deeper walk—NOT AT ALL? But by being open to spiritual growth, I allow God to work the miracle of healing in my own heart and to guide me so that “good” can be accomplished.

Likewise, blatant acts of sin are just that---evil and contrived. Sometimes seeing “good” in sinful consequences seems impossible, but God is capable of changing one’s heart and mind in miraculous ways and yes, even turning evil into something “good” for His glory. In my opinion, from conception to death ALL life has Godly potential. God’s grace exceeds what the human mind can fathom.

When examining my own condition, I realized that if “good” didn’t come out of our tragedy then Don’s death was in vane. All I know is that following Don's death; God worked something equal to a miracle in my life. I struggled to redefine my existence without Don and my familiar role as his wife. I didn’t like anything about my new existence. I hated being a single parent, homeowner and person. I couldn't have faced the situation; let alone grown from it all on my own. Hopefully God has been glorified in the aftermath and some “good” has come from the pain.

Through faith, I accepted my plight (at least most of the time) and continuously pursued ways to thrive within the parameters of my new identity. Even as I type this, my words seem trite and simple. It has been the hardest thing I have ever had to work through in my entire life. I am not the person I was before Don died and at times I have a difficult time even finding fragments of who I was before, but slowly I am seeing that God can take tragedy and make good come from it. Not only that, I WANT desperately to “claim” that “goodness”.

There is hope that that life’s tragedies won’t be in vane and that despite great sorrow—all things CAN work for the good.

This I know for sure…