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…

Wedding Photos

On the left-side of the blog is a very few pictures from our wedding. We will continue to add pictures as we receive them.

This I hope---for sure...

Joy Comes in the Morning!

Sunday, March 16, 2007 I woke up this morning with a different name, a different kind of contentment and a joy beyond measure. God’s promises became reality.

I thought back on my wedding day with a giddy blissfulness. Looking around the beautifully adorned room at our family and friends, I felt my life blessed. These were the folks who had meant the most to Kent and I throughout our life, and especially these past 2-3 years. They came from all over the United States and many from our hometowns. Though I wish I could take this moment and equally thank everyone individually for how much they have meant to us, I would run out of blog space and would continuously write for days.

Love is truly one of the most coveted of all emotions. We are social beings; passionate about seeking and discovering love in our lives. I was fortunate to be blessed with one amazing love, as was Kent. Though we were open to the possibilities, neither of us expected to find that type of complete companionship again. God had a different story in mind for us.

As I looked into Kent’s eyes on Saturday, I had such inner peace. I had confidence in our love and in our future as man and wife. Am I under the illusion that life from here will be “perfect”? Of course not, but I know that he is the one I want to go through life’s struggles with. I want his hand in mine as we maneuver the rest of our lives together.

Perhaps as widows we have a different outlook on life. We understand the temporal, as well as retain hope for the eternal. We recognize that life is short, but that it will be sweeter with each other than without. Through our individual grief we each have developed a deeper and abiding love. It is this steadfast love we long to share with each other. It seems like quite a price to pay, but I am grateful that God has reached down given “beauty for ashes” (Isaiah 61:3) and that we were each open to accepting the gift.

We bring different life experience and individuality to our relationship; seasoned with time. These life experiences have crafted us into the people we are now, yet it is because them that we are able to offer each other such unshakable love (Jer. 31:3).

All in all, it was a day of new beginnings—of counting our blessings and holding dear to our hearts those we love and treasure. I love the fact that by attending our wedding, our friends and family vowed to support our new life together. That means more than anything….yes, JOY does come in the morning.

This I know for sure…

Hope Is Worth More Than Five Minutes

Today is Easter Sunday. For Christians, this is THE Celebration---the Christian Super Bowl (as borrowed from our youth pastor). Without Easter there is NO hope. Without resurrection there is no anticipation for tomorrow, let alone eternity. The significance of hope found in the fact that our Lord is no longer dead, is worth more than five minutes on an Easter Sunday isn't it? It should not only be a portion of the message – it is paramount to the entire message for us today.

Christ IS risen and because of that fact, we are invited into a personal relationship with Him…
Because He has risen, we anticipate eternal life…
Because He has risen, we are victorious over life’s tragedies…
Because He has risen, His glory is found in our trials…
Because He has risen, we never face life alone…
Because He has risen, we are granted peace…

Yes, the message of resurrection is what this world needs to hear, and is absolutely worth more than five minutes on Easter Sunday.

He is risen-----risen indeed.

This I know for sure...

I Am Praying for You...

"I'm praying for you." I have said this or had it said to me a million times. Sometimes, it seems to have become trite. I wonder how many of us actually follow through and pray for the person we say those words to. The reason this struck me today is because this was in the closing of an email from a good friend. Normally, I would skim across the closing and move on to the next email, but because this email was from my friend J, I paused knowing full well that she meant what she wrote. See, I know she is a modern day "prayer warrior".

We don't hear that term used very often today. Perhaps it is because these saints of prayer are vanishing. I have been fortunate to have many "prayer warriors" in my life starting with my Great grandmother Stroman. When visiting her as a little girl, I remember peeking in her bedroom door. She would actually be on her knees beside her bed petitioning God out loud on our behalf. Some days she would call me in to join her. Of course my ADD would set in and within seconds and I would begin to "squirm", as she liked to call it. Finding it more than difficult to keep my eyes shut, I would eventually leave. These memories of my great-grandmother praying are a part of her legacy to me.

My grandmother Hancock was also vigilant in prayer and meditation. Her life was spent in ministry with my blind grandfather. She was a prime example of a life totally surrendered to her faith. Between the two of them, I know they logged hours upon hours in prayer for family, friends and the church.

Then there is my mother. Oh to have the discernment and grace that defines her life. Though I know it may be difficult to believe, I wasn't the easiest child to raise---I still am not. You could make an argument that this fact alone would bring her to her knees, but that isn't the case. No matter what trepidation life has brought my way, I KNOW that my mother has been praying for me—in that thought alone, lies great strength.

Mom doesn't take prayer for granted. She is a student of prayer. She extensively reads, writes and speaks about this topic. I am cognizant of the fact that my mother prays for me. She would never need to tell me because I know; yet she often verbalizes it to me anyway. She doesn't simply say, "I am praying for you." She says, "Marsha, I am praying that God….". Herein lies her resolve. She knows the secret. Praying specifically is as important as the act in itself.

We often disregard the power of prayer and the effects of meditation on our lives, yet I am positive that the prayer of Godly people in my life has been extraordinarily powerful and effective (James 5:16). Oh to be the kind of warrior of those faithful who have gone before me. I long to be worthy…

This I know for sure…

On Body Image

“I want to be them someday,” I expressed upon entering the locker room at the local YMCA. These older patrons are admirable. I am even jealous of them. I want to be as comfortable with my body as they obviously are.

They don’t have perfect bodies—far from it. They have lumps and bumps; gravity has certainly taken its toll, but they strut around the locker room as if they were Heidi Klum. I, in contrast, am in the corner of the locker room with the towel in my mouth covering my less than attractive body; the twenty pounds I have gained since my hysterectomy sits on my body like a ball and chain, while these women-totally naked- stop to chat. It is an enigma to me. How do you get to the point where you are comfortable with your body AS IT IS? I am not there yet.

This I know for sure.

Building a Bridge

I went to the cemetery today. It is the first time in a while. When I visit Don's grave I don't often talk to him outside of an initial greeting, but today I was compelled to do so for some reason. Snow was still on the ground and it was cold, but I felt warmth drawing me to his memorial. Approaching his stone, I spoke the familiar greeting, "Don, how are things at home?" I felt somewhat of a smile on my face as I thought of his heavenly home and the encompassing peace he must have.

I spent some time catching him up about the boys and how amazing they are doing—how I know he is proud of them beyond measure. I chatted about his mother and brothers and told him Chad was excited to visit them in Arizona.

I then began to discuss the "chapter two" I will begin to write in a few days. I expressed that I felt honored that God had chosen to bless me twice in my lifetime. I told him about Kent—how different this relationship is from the one we had, but how perfect he is for me at this stage in my life. I expressed my concern with instantly becoming a mother of six. I knew he would find that, in itself, humorous. There was no awkwardness in the discourse—like it was a natural flow of conversation. Through my tears of grief and joy, I assured him that he would always be the boy's father and the legacy that he has left them will sustain them for the rest of their lives. I promised to uphold his memory. I guaranteed him that Kent had no desire to be a replacement father, but felt honored to simply be a strong male influence in the boy's lives (I think Kent realizes he has a lot to live up to).

I am not sure anyone (except perhaps my widow friends and even they might think this a little weird) can understand how important this task was for me to complete today. I wasn't asking Don permission or needing any kind of assurance. I was simply building a bridge from my "chapter one" to my "chapter two". Not, in any terms, closing one to open the other, but fully recognizing and acknowledging the importance of both in my "life story".

About that time, a gentle breeze began to blow onto my face. The feeling gave me goose bumps. It's gentleness reminded me of that quality in Don. Was this Don's way of giving me his blessing? I stood, in silence, beside the grave for what seemed like hours, but in reality was mere minutes. As I turned to walk away, I experienced an immense calmness in my spirit--- the feeling that my "Chapter two" had been sanctioned. I left with immeasurable peace. The bridge was complete.

This I know for sure.

Touched -- By Love!

Sometimes a poem, writing, or prose---touches me without warning. I came across this poem by one of my most favorite poets, Maya Angelou. It says it all...


Touched by an Angel

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

-Maya Angelou-

This I know for sure...

The Cuttill-Price Bunch

In two weeks I will become a stepmother. This realization just hit me today for some reason. Upon recognizing this fact, I immediately did what any other educated “soon-to-be” stepmother would do. I hit the Internet and Googled everything I could on the subject. I entered; “blended families”, “adult stepchildren”, “being a successful stepparent”, even “how to blend adult children”. If it could be researched, I read it. The conclusion of my investigation is that step parenting, although may have it’s own intricacies, is not all that different from parenting in general especially where adult children are concerned.

Though they are adults with lives of their own, I have grown to love Kent’s children.. They seem to have accepted me as I have them. I appreciate them as individuals and hopefully they have embraced me in the same way. One advantage to becoming a stepparent at this stage in life is that I get to be a part of the kid’s life as they embark on adulthood. Perhaps this is a good state of affairs

I wonder if they think about having a stepmother? I wonder if they have expectations or worries that I should be aware of? All of a sudden these questions seem to swirl around in my head.

I want Kent’s children to know that I love their father and by doing this I choose to love the ones he loves. I want them to know that I respect and honor the life they had before me and will always hold it in high regard. I pledge to learn more about each of them as unique individuals with exceptional promise. Most of all they need to know how determined I am to be the kind of stepmother they need.

I am not naive. I know that adult children like to make their own decisions, yet often their choices affect us sometimes in positive ways and at times in difficult terms. I know that any valuable relationship is worth the hard work it takes to grow. I know that there will be bumps in the road and times when the relationship will be strained, but I also am resolved to do what it takes to make the bumps less and the joys great. I look, with promise, to the opportunity to blend two families into one strong unit. I am gong from being a single mother of two to a married mother of six and grandmother of one-How blessed is that?

This I know for sure...

She Chose Us!

This is Chelsie---she is the fourth member of our family. We adopted her, but she chose us. Our life is enriched because she is apart of it. We didn’t intend to fall so madly in love with her—it just happened.

A few years ago I had to put our family pet, Divot, to sleep. It was such a traumatic experience for me that I told the family “No more dogs!” That lasted a couple of weeks. Don wanted a golden retriever—our favorite breed, but I didn’t want to do the “puppy training” again, so I contacted a golden retriever rescue to see if there was an older dog available for us to adopt.

Now, the process for adopting a dog from the rescue rivaled that of adopting a child. There was an astronomical amount of paper work; as well as home visits and background checks. When our “case worker” brought Chelsie to our house the first time, it was simply to see how we interacted with a dog. You see, Chelsie had been promised to another family. When Chelsie entered our house it was as if she were already home. We took to her immediately and she obviously loved us. She even sat at the back door and cried when Chandler ran back into the house to find a ball for them to play with.

This was not what the caseworker expected—this dog instantly bonded with us. As we watched Chelsie drive off that day, we were left with an empty feeling. Later that evening, we received a surprising email from the caseworker. She had taken Chelsie to the other family, but the visit didn’t go quite as well as she expected. She told us that she was “re-thinking” Chelsie’s adoption. Excited beyond belief, we actually prayed that we would be chosen. A few days later we got a call. Chelsie was to be part of our family—she had chosen us.

Ever since the day we signed the adoption papers, this dog has been an important member of our family. She is gentle, loving and so very affectionate. She has never run off—she doesn’t need a leash. She learned to “sit”—after her first lesson; she shakes, lies down and clearly loves us unconditionally. I laugh at the saying that “I long to be the person my dog thinks I am”, but with Chelsie it fits--if only I could be that person.

She loved Don. They spend hours together, and when he died Chelsie mourned with the rest of us. The vet even prescribed doggie Prozac for her. Now, she is closest to me. She has become my self-proclaimed protector. Wherever I am in the house, that's where you can find her. In these weeks of “counting my blessings”, Chelsie is one of God’s greatest.

This I know for sure.

Paying It Forward

I had dinner last night with a fellow widow. We first connected through the YW board and then through mutual friends. She is heading into her six-month “sadiversary”. Oh, how I remember that time period. It was perhaps the most difficult along this journey. Shock was beginning to wear off and the reality of loss seemed overwhelming. It was also the point where I was trying to compensate with material possessions both for the boys and myself. I wouldn’t want to relive that time for anything, but sure would like to have made different choices.

This week my schedule has been overloaded. I have little to no down time and much to accomplish, but when this widow called I knew that she needed a sympathetic ear. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to our visit, but was reminded that it was at my own six month mark when I connected with the Chicago widows. They were, and continue to be, a very special lifeline. So, I wanted to at least attempt to “pay it forward”. We met at a local restaurant and clicked immediately. Conversation easily flowed out of the loneliness of loss and spanning across the difficulties of raising children without their father.

When a spouse dies, you not only lose your best friend, lover, confidant…you lose your support system, your anchor and sometimes your confidence. Gaining back your self-assurance is a long road. One thing I appreciated most about my widow group in Chicago was that they were like my life cheerleaders. I wanted to be that for my new friend.

Surprisingly, it was so very easy to do. We laughed together---teared up together, but most of all we “got” each other. Here is someone I barely knew; the only thing we had in common was the loss of a spouse, yet we immediately connected.

Paying it forward is one of life’s privileges. We all have experienced heartache, pain and even joy which connects us to others. Connecting with another in a meaningful fashion not only enriches their life, but enhances our own. Living life to the fullest has little to do with “stuff”—nice houses, new cars or exotic vacations, but is about sharing with those along the journey. In the end, the legacy we leave has much more to do with relationships than with anything temporal.

This I know for sure.

Marge

I made it up today by 5:15 AM (yes, AM) and headed to the YMCA to work out as part of my new routine. When I arrived in the locker room, there was Marge. She sitting on the bench in my locker area; confidently changing her clothes to get into the pool. I assumed she must be around 75 or so and in fairly good shape. Her sassy spirit was quite evident in our banter. She wanted to know if I was one of the "new girls". I hadn't been called a girl in so long, I quickly responded that I was indeed a "new girl". Apparently miffed that I was in her space, she went on to tell me that she drives all the way from Monticello three times a week to workout and that there were already four women in our section who come religiously and have for years. Of course by this time I was bound and determined to win her over—the challenge was simply too hard to resist.

I assured her that I would not be intrusive; that I simply needed to grab my headphones and would be out of their way. She seemed relieved. I expressed that I was impressed with her dedication to fitness and that she looked amazing. "Well,” she explained, “besides coming to the YMCA on a regular basis, I never drank, I never smoked and I had a lot of sex. That is why I am in such good shape. I am almost 90 years old." NINETY!!! WOW!! What a recipe for longevity.

I introduced myself and she politely reciprocated. She told me that she lost her husband 15 years earlier. I told her I had lost my two and a half years ago. There is an instant bond between widows—camaraderie that time and age transcends. Immediately, her spirit softened. We traded a few more pleasantries and I headed for the locker room door. Behind me, I heard her say, "Ah, a new friend."

With a grin on my face, that she never caught sight of, I responded, "You bet, Marge. Thanks for the advice and I'll see you Thursday."

Blessings come in different packages, in countless circumstances and through a multitude of means. We must be receptive when they present themselves. Today, Marge was my blessing…

This I know for sure.

Keeping a Holy Lent

I Kings 19:1-8

I am not sure of the theological history behind "giving up" something for Lent. I am sure it is rooted in penance of some sort, but for me, this simple act of self-sacrifice has brought focus and discipline I have long needed. I feel as if God is calling me to open myself up to the possibilities he has in store for me.

When I choose to give up something in preparation for a spiritual awakening, I am consciously taking steps to that end. It gives action to my beliefs. I don't think God cares that much what I am giving up as much as he wishes for me to experience what life has for me without the desired behavior.

The journey from chaos to clarity is not about doing what we're told. It's about searching for the voice of God and finding it deep within who we are. It isn't about the reward but about the journey..

This I know for sure.

If you want some great suggestions as to how to memorialize this Lenten season—this is a great web site:
http://www.beliefnet.com/lent/calendar.html

Even Through the Desert

During my quiet time this morning I read today’s Lenten devotional from Matthew 4:1-11. It is the passage concerning the temptation of Jesus in the desert. It made me realize that we all are tempted in different fashions, but usually in a productive manner. I personally believe that evil typically enters our lives in subtle fashion. I am no longer tempted by the same things I was when I was a teenager. For me, evil can manifest itself in my life through attitude and a critical spirit. When I studied this scripture this morning, it had little impact. I even thought, “Gee, what will I blog about.” But God is always faithful when we truly seek Him.

I have grown up in the church I now attend. I believe its theology, mission and purpose. There are times when many of the local aspects of the church cloud my attitude and it is as this point--within the confines of my heart-- that I am tempted. Today was one of those days. It is easy to critically view the physical church. Finding fault with the programs, leadership and worship style can cloud my heart and before I know it that critical spirit stagnates my spiritual walk. I become an ineffective Christian.

I entered worship this morning with a less than stellar attitude. Those insignificant irritants listed above were in the forefront of my mind and I began to feel my attitude sliding into that abyss of negativity. This is the desert where temptation can try my heart and mind if I allow it to do so. Remembering the scripture in Matthew and our Lord’s temptation, a sudden peace swept over my being. I came to the re-realization that God’s Church is NOT this local one. Praying for strength to see past myself, I was able to enjoy what God had to say to his people through the words of our pastor. I was being transformed—

Even this short lesson in trusting God, had its own speed bump. The evil one didn’t let my spirit go quite so easily. Three quarters of the way through the sermon the pastor interjected what seemed to be a very insecure and unnecessary comment about our church before his ministry. In that moment, I could feel my heart transform immediately to that critical nature as though everything God had shown me was clouded. But it was as if the Holy Spirit would not allow my heart to remain in this state and I was reminded that my pastor, though ordained by God, is only human. Because he has revealed much of his heart though ministry, my heart was assured that he would never knowingly say something to hinder anyone in his flock. I witnessed my pastor in a more human light.

When it all is said and done, becoming a vital member of the "church our world needs" means constantly taking stock of our own spiritual status. It means understanding the ways in which temptation can test our hearts and create less than effective lives. It does NOT mean being bound to the building we enter every Sunday, but instead to the folks who journey together with us.

There are no words to capture the conversion of my spirit today. So, the journey continues, even through the desert…

This I know for sure…

Called to a Different Fast

Today’s Lenten devotion was take from Isaiah 58:5-12. I really thought I was doing this right—the Lent thing that is! I had the right motives; I chose to “give up” something that was difficult for me to do without. But low and behold, Isaiah calls me to a different fast, one that requires a bit more consideration. (vs 6-7)

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

What is my role, as a Christian in social consciousness? My son just wrote a paper about young people and their tendency to be so self- absorbed that the social injustices of the world don’t seem to be of much concern to them. Well, after today's devotion I have found the need for my own self-reflection in this area.

I have believed that as long as I didn’t knowingly purchase items known to be harmful to the environment or shop at places that are less than fair to their employees I was being socially responsible, but what if that isn’t true? What if, as a Christian, it is my responsibility to place a portion of my energy into "loosing the chains of injustice" in a more significant way and if so, how is this accomplished?

Perhaps it isn’t enough to simply recycle or give to “Feed the Children”. Maybe I am called to genuine action—to become aware of social injustices and do my part to bring them to an end. I don’t mean carrying picket signs or radical action (unless I am lead to do so), but taking small steps to bring social consciousness into my life.

Taking that first step, for me, begins with education. You can’t take a step, if you don’t have a clue where to go. I often view organizations like Greenpeace as being too radical. But God has given me a brain and a fair amount of discernment, so I could examine the information these types of organizations publish, do some research, pray and unearth (on my own) significant ways that I can take the first steps to fasting differently.

My views need to become more global and yet; on the other hand, my eyes and heart must become more attuned to the social ills right here—in my own community. After all, a journey of a thousand miles truly does begin with a single step.

This I know for sure…

CONGRATULATIONS FRED AND LISA!!!

Love is patient, love is kind. It always protects... Always hopes... Always trusts... Love never fails!

May your Chapter Two be filled with much hope and happiness!!!

The Journey Begins...

It is the Lenten season. As I reflect on my last few posts, I have come to the realization that this is the perfect time to actively seek the clarity I long for. I love Easter. It is by far my most favorite holiday. I love everything it represents spiritually. I love the promise, the hope, and the expectation of the season. The idea of a 40-day preparation for Easter intrigues me. Our church observes lent, but not in the same way the Catholic Church or Greek Orthodox do. I like the concept of self-sacrifice during the Lenten season. The idea of giving something up that I find pleasurable as outward evidence of an inner work, strengthens my spirit. Perhaps it is because self-discipline often eludes me. I think that by committing to "giving up" something and in its place creating time to pray, reflect, and serve; one can’t help but grow. By observing and participating in the Lenten season I can begin to find clarity in my life as well as prepare my heart and mind for the Easter celebration. So, over the next 40 days (yes I know it is less than 40 by now), I will take you along on the journey with me.

The decision has been made as to what I will relinquish for the Lenten season. I am not going to publicly acknowledge what it is I am giving up because I believe it to be a contract between God and myself. Guess you will have to trust me on this one, but I am committed to "giving up" this pleasure until Easter. Since whatever one chooses to give up for Lent is supposed to be something pleasurable, I imagine that giving up exercise and vegetables isn't exactly what theologians had in mind.

I also want to embrace the idea of replacing what I have sacrificed with something of value, perhaps in a service for others fashion. I will have to think about this one, but will actively explore ways to serve during the season.

I know I am getting a late start on this lent thing due to a major "act of God" (see post below), but I really don't think God will mind since it is sort of His fault anyway and He knows where my heart lies.

Tell me, are you doing anything to commemorate this Lenten season? If you are, share your stories. I love hearing from others walking the same path. The journey begins…

To change and to change for the better are two different things.
German proverb

This I know for sure…

It Just STINKS!!!

How much “clarity” can a person take in a 24-hour period? It was as if God said, “Marsha, you want clarity, then here we go girl!” I am almost positive that’s the way God speaks, by the way. Anyway, upon arriving home last night from work, I started downstairs to greet the boys. As I crept down the stairs I noticed water seeping into the basement through the window casing and the floor of the basement becoming saturated with water. Nervously, I pulled back the curtain and to my horror saw my entire window well (all 57” by 40” of it) totally filled with water---gallons and gallons of water!!!!

Now, I tend to overreact initially. I panic---for a moment—yell---scream and then it is over I can then engage in whatever action is needed to rectify the situation. So, I ran upstairs to phone my father when I heard an incredible glass-shattering crash (followed by more screaming—this time it wasn’t me). The window had shattered and water --- gallons and gallons—was pouring into my basement. The three of us ran, frantically, through the house grabbing anything that would hold water---nothing was large enough—water was everywhere. In the midst of cleaning, calling for help and procuring professional assistance I found that I was amazingly calm. Yes, I cursed the fact I was facing this by myself, but was thankful for my father and brother in law (who came to my rescue).

SOOOOOOO—after hours of cleaning, millions of phone calls and LITTLE SLEEP, here is where we stand. It will cost $3,000 to dry out my basement (this doesn't include replacing the carpet) and the insurance company says --- they will NOT cover it, oh but don't worry---they WILL pay to replace the $186.00 window. We will appeal the decision (so anyone with good ideas to this end, let me know), but… it doesn’t negate the fact that it is more stress than I am ready to expend… at this time. This just stinks--literally and figuratively!

This I know for sure…

Through the Fog

My widow sister Alicia posted about clarity this week (Clarity). Her post resonated with me. I was reminded of her words as I was driving home from school on Monday. The fog in Central Illinois was unbelievable. I couldn’t see ten feet in front of the car and had to travel a highway to get home from school. I asked Chandler to be my second set of eyes and to keep me informed of familiar landmarks so we could navigate our way home a bit easier. I was sure I could keep my bearings if I could identify those familiar landmarks, but the fog was so dense, that familiar markers were unidentifiable. I became overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness. I was a slave to the weather. It is very easy to become lost without “clarity” and that sense of helplessness can become oppressive.

My life has been clouded in thick fog for the past two (plus) years. Since Don’s death I have had a general since of losing site of some important aspects of who I am and what I need to do to continue life in a productive manner. Some of my “life landmarks” have been clouded in fog and I have done what any young widow would do, I have kept on “driving”: hoping that someday I will wake up and everything will be clear again---praying that I don’t get totally lost or worse.

Don’t get me wrong, one aspect of my existence that is perfectly clear is my relationship with Kent, but other facets of my life are unrecognizable. Other things, like finances, simply elude me. Now, I was never all that stellar in this area anyway, but through the fog of my life—it seems worse. Taking care of myself physically, seems to have taken a back burner to, well, everything. Through the fog, it has been impossible to be motivated anyway.

The lack of vision may be the biggest consequence of this life fog. I seem to simply be living for the moment—the day at best. I have a wedding to plan, two households to join, a new life to create and what have I accomplished to that end? I have a dress to wear and that is about it—no flowers have been ordered, no caterer has been hired, no stringed quartet has been procured—where is my vision as well as my energy? I am teaching with an administrative master’s and no plan to use it—where is my vision? OH, and did I mention I need to get to the gym in order to fit into “the dress”? I need clarity.

I long for someone to point out life landmarks through the fog. You know, those milestones that keep life clear when circumstances get muddled. There is but One who can be that visionary. Turning over the driver’s seat of my life fog to a God who loves and cares for me, should be one of the easiest things I could do. Then why isn’t it? Why am I so unwilling to allow Him to create clarity which naturally leads to the energy and wisdom I need to regain control of my life? All I have to do is ask—and the fog will begin to lift-the helplessness would ease. Yes, I will be required to take action as well, but I need clarity in order to move ahead with confidence and for that, I pray. On the road to clarity…
…this I know for sure.

Effective Teachers/Effective People

What constitutes an effective teacher…. how about an effective human being? If you asked a million teachers this question, you would get a million varied responses. One thing I know for sure is that I would get different answers from effective teachers than from the ineffective ones. We all know who they are. Ineffective teachers are easy to spot to everyone, but themselves. I believe most ineffective educators don’t realize that they are this way. They have lost the ability to self reflect and lack the flexibility to transform even if they were to realize that what they are doing isn’t successful. These are educators who NEVER are afforded the opportunity to hear students say they are excited about coming to class, or to have parents (in public) say, “Yes, she is an awesome teacher”.

Quite the opposite is true for ineffective teachers. These are the ones who quite proudly proclaim it isn’t important what parents or students think. They make it known that because they posses some higher discipline or standard that they are exempt from the obligation to connect with students, let alone the educational community. How do I know all of this? I wish I could say it is because I have come into contact with one too many ineffective teachers (which unfortunately IS part of the story), but actually it is because there have been times in my career when I have felt unsuccessful. This ineffectiveness gnaws at my gut until I take the time to pause, reflect and change. Sounds simple, but it is far from painless.

Self-reflection is complicated. It requires us to be honest with ourselves. What’s more, it requires that we take responsibility for our actions and create a plan for change. If we aren’t up for change then reflection is pointless. Perhaps this is where ineffective teachers get hung up. As difficult as reflection can be, admitting that you need to change is even more so.

Maybe this is a human condition more than a “teacher” one. For instance, if we find ourselves in failed relationships of any type, it is rarely our fault, but more often we feel the failure is due to the actions of others. We even tend to blame spiritual emptiness on the lack of being “fed” by the church or blame God for abandoning us. It simply never enters our mind that it is our responsibility to seek the nurturing our own spiritual connection. As long as we blame and deny—we never are required to confront and transform. Honest reflection might be complicated, painful or even exhausting, but it is the answer to obtaining many of the life successes that we so adamantly pursue.

This I know for sure…

When I Can't Find the Words!

I haven’t written for a week. I simply don’t have much to say right now. Characteristically, I decided to analyze why. It could be a direct result of my plate being full - stuff like planning a wedding, preparing for two book clubs, teaching 120 students everyday, running a household, balancing the budget and simply keeping the plates spinning. For the first time in a while, I am speechless. It’s like I don’t have an intelligent thought in my head let alone one to share.

I know I need to exercise again. The first step has been taken—I joined the YMCA. Now, I just need to go. I am not terribly tired, just preoccupied. It is in times like these that I believe my ADHD goes wacko. Not only am I keeping the plates spinning, but my mind is spinning as well.

Finding moments of respite isn’t easy. It takes conscious effort on my part to slow down my heart and mind long enough to be recharged. I used to have a screened in porch that was my haven: my special place to find solace. More than once, I remember retreating to this special place in the middle of winter. I would take a space heater, a huge blanket, a big cup of coffee, and my Bible into this sanctuary as I refueled my soul. I really don’t have a physical respite at this moment. It appears as if this would be a good place to start my search for solace. If I can’t find that extraordinary place—I will need to find extraordinary time.

This I know for sure…
Dang, pretty long for not having anything to say...

Spiritual Choices

Spiritual Choices a Henri Nouwen devotional.

Choices make the difference. Two people are in the same accident and severely wounded. They did not choose to be in the accident. It happened to them. But one of them chooses to live the experience in bitterness, the other in gratitude. These choices radically influenced their lives and the lives of their families and friends. We have very little control over what happens in our lives, but we have a lot of control over how we integrate and remember what happens. It is precisely these spiritual choices that determine whether we live our lives with dignity.

I have been on this journey for over two years—from the most traumatic and painful to a newfound contentment and even joy. Along the road I have met many different travelers. It always amazes me at the lengths folks go to avoid feeling (or dealing with) pain. One person in my life even accused me of being a “downer” because whenever she experiences pain she simply “thinks happy thoughts”---geezzz—lucky her. Apparently she still sleeps with a husband who breathes in and out---ok---I digress…. What concerns me is this superficial “choice”— this choice to evade seems to imply the avoidance of working through the pain. I wonder if this strategy will end up backfiring in the future and the pain becoming overwhelming.

The pain of loss never entirely goes away; however, it is vital to make a conscious decision to work through it. Avoiding the lure of bitterness becomes another balancing act. The very thought of “choosing” to live in gratitude seems absurd at best. How can you be grateful while enduring such heartache? The answer is that WE can’t, but by living within our faith it becomes possible. When Don died, I wanted, more than anything, to make sure I appeared strong for my kids. What I found instead was the ability to recognize the “blessing in the thorn” The fact is that it is impossible to experience real joy without knowing the heartache of real pain.

This I know for sure…

Resolution Solution!

Bridet Jones's Diary begins with 33 of her New Year's Resolutions. She provides a window into her character simply from creating the list. Tomorrow I go back to school, yes it stinks as all the other schools around us are out until Monday. In trying to create a writing assignment for my students that mixed the rhythm of the season (New Year's) and the craft of creating character, we are going to complete the following New Year's Resolution. I can't wait to learn more about my students through this activity--wonder what they will learn of me.

My New Year’s Resolution:
(or A Tribute to Bridget Jones)

I will not…
…jump to conclusions before getting all of the information, at least most of the time.
…drink a gallon of Diet Mountain Dew each day—half-gallon tops
…desecrate another moment trying to figure out why things happen
…waste calories on food that doesn’t taste good—
…squander my energies with negative talk.
…check my email continuously—keeping it to three times a day (morning, noon, evening).
…allow past mistakes/failures to affect the future.
…abdicate my responsibility to figure out what the heck is wrong with the dishwasher.
…allow the children to manipulate me into giving them money, letting them out of responsibilities or dismissing disrespect as teenage angst.
…yell first and ask questions later

I will…
…sing louder and more often in the car.
…watch less tv and read more
…not wait until the last minute to read the book club books
…get in touch with friends I have be inattentive to for far too long
…take a planned family vacation
…learn to write down passwords so that I don’t forget them.
…exercise more talk about it less.
…try harder to redirect the negativity around me
…not participate in gossip, hold my tongue and save my obnoxious opinions for when it is essential to use them.
…accomplish Guitar Hero on “medium” level---ok maybe become a proficient “easy”

This I know for relatively sure…
Now it is your turn---what do you resolve???