Back to School: Tales from my journey (Part 1)

 

Last week my post discussed the start of the football season and what that meant in the lives of coaches’ wives.  Well, football ain’t the only thing kicking off in August.  The start of football season signals the start of school for many kids and families.  Back-to-school for me and my grown children is very different now than the experiences we had when they were younger.  Over the last couple of weeks, I have talked to friends with young ones headed back to school.  Watching them gear up for school and everything that comes with the school year brought back memories of the decisions and the planning families engage in to survive each school year.  What to wear? Which activities? How much will this cost us? Who can pick them up?  Who planned these bus routes?  Too many concerns for one blog post so I will do this in parts.

My kids were four years apart and that turned out to be a good thing for me when it came to scheduling.  It just meant that there was generally no free time in my schedule.  By the time I watched one get on the bus before sunrise it was time to drag the other one out of bed to get to the next bus stop on time.  I think the staggered school schedules worked when they were middle school and high school age because they were old enough to hang out at home or wherever and manage until I could get there.

Recently, I had a discussion with a friend about kids managing at home alone and how you decide when they are old enough to stay home alone.  We agreed that there does come a time when you have to trust them to stay home alone even though you think that they are somewhat immature and prone to spontaneous decision making in ways that make you nervous.  (As a parent of grown children, let me tell you that this phenomenon might present itself over the course of many years so take deep breaths and carry on.)  I praised my friend for the strategic after school plan she developed then I told her about one of my experiences.

When I thought my son was old enough to stay home alone, I tested my theory with a short trip to the grocery store.  I only needed a few items and the store was a fifteen-minute drive from the house, one way.  I figured he would be glued to the television watching a movie or playing video games so my absence wouldn’t be felt.  Before leaving, I gave him a list of things not to do.  I said, “Don’t’ answer the phone unless it’s your dad or me calling.  Don’t open the door for anyone.  Don’t go outside.  And, call me if you need me.”  Then, I reminded him that I was putting the cordless phone right beside him.  The rules seemed straight forward enough.  He affirmed that he understood with a head nod and probably his normal, “I got it, Ma.”

Taking deep breaths, I got into my car, said a little prayer, and headed to the store.  Those who know me well know that I can get a little distracted in stores by whatever the new, bright, shiny thing might be that draws my attention, but not on this shopping trip.  I was super focused.  I arrived at the store and made my way through the aisles at almost an anxious speed shopper pace quickly grabbing the items on my very short list.  I praised myself for staying on task as I got back into the car and headed home.

I arrived back home relieved that I had not received any distress calls and proud that he was not outside shooting baskets in the driveway.  Everything looked good so far.  The creative, impulsive one seemed to have successfully managed his inaugural home alone experience.  I opened the door with my bags in tow and shouted out, “Hey, I’m back.  How’d it go being home alone?”  He said, “Good.”  (Note that “good” for some reason is the go to response of adolescent children for every question asked by an adult person.)  After he assured me that he didn’t take any calls or answer the door or go outside, he said, “Guess what?! I baked us some cookies!”

You know that smile you give when you want to appear excited although your heart is sliding in slow motion to your feet?  Well, that’s the face I think I showed him.  Clearly, I must have disguised my alarm because he excitedly reached to open the oven to show me the perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies.  “How thoughtful,” I said with my inside sarcastic voice.  I hurried into mama mode, gently snatched the oven mitt away from him while flashing that same “oh my gosh I can’t believe this just happened smile.”  I took deep breaths and forced myself not to get caught up imagining all of the possible awful scenarios that could have happened in my kitchen when the impulsive, creative one decided to hone his master chef skills in my absence.  After we put away the groceries, we sat down and enjoyed the cookies.  Parenting always provides teaching moments for me too and that day I learned a valuable lesson: Don’t forget to tell them not to cook when you are trying to test whether or not they are old enough to stay home alone.

X’s and O’s: the playbook of a coach’s wife

Dear Sisters In The Shadows,

I wrote an ode to you some weeks ago (http://wp.me/p6L8u0-eV) because I felt called to speak for those who may not feel that they have permission to speak or maybe those who are just too dang tired to open their mouths to say a word.  People from all walks of life, all races, all genders, and all nationalities live in the shadows and go about their daily tasks without being noticed or rewarded for the things they do to support others.  My hope is that I encourage and empower those who are living that life and that I enlighten others who neglect to consider the shadow dwellers as they move through life.

I recently celebrated my 50th birthday!  I found reaching that milestone in my life to be a very liberating experience.  I have heard some people say that they dreaded turning 50, but for me I saw the promise, the potential, and the benefits of being a woman who knew what she liked, what she wanted, and what she didn’t need to spend her time doing or pretending she liked doing.  The sprinkles of gray in my hair resulted from seasons of life experiences that I intend to use to bless the lives of others.  How can you not be excited about the life at 50?!

While there was much to be excited about, the year that lead to the big 5-0 was filled with reflective thoughts on the things I learned over the years.  As I reflected on my adult life, I realized many of the decisions I made about my career, my social circles, my children, and my extended family were influenced by the game of football.   I call it a game, but as my husband moved from being a college athlete to a little league coach to a coach in the National Football League, I found that the game felt more like a business.  Honestly, the regimented customs associated with all levels of the game made it feel formal to me and not like a game that kids play.  It felt abnormal for me a shadow dweller whose daily responsibilities didn’t usually allow for a regimented schedule like the practices and team meetings required by the football schedule.  Heck, the kids didn’t get hungry or need a snack at the same time every day and I couldn’t regulate potty training.  I found that the laundry and dishes didn’t seem to care about my schedule either.  As a coach’s wife, my normal seemed very abnormal as I watched other families participate in their family and community rituals.  I often had to explain that those holidays and community events fell on work days for my significant other.  It seemed quite abnormal to teach my children how not to discuss their father’s job because I didn’t want his job to define them or their visions of the lives they would live.  Today, I dedicate this blog post to all of us who are beginning a new football season in a world that can only become normal for those of us who live in the shadows of the game.

Being married to a man who loves the game offered me the chance to enjoy some of the most amazing victories in my life and to deal with some of the greatest challenges in my life often without the kind of support most families would expect.  There were times when the game that has entertained millions has been an amazing burden for me and others who do our damnedest to support the ones we love without injuring the egos of the people they work with and for.  And we strive not to negatively impacting the brand they all represent when we make our cameo appearances on behalf of and in support of the team.  We who live in the shadows take this responsibility seriously and we generally perform our roles seamlessly while balancing kids, the house, the pets, the family, the neighbors’ kids, our relationships, and those community obligations we choose to support in addition to those chosen by the ball club.  It can sometimes be a daunting task and we pretty much go unnoticed and misunderstood.  If this is your story, congratulations for being so awesome!

People love to tell me how I knew what I was getting myself into when I married a football coach.  Well, smarty pants people, I didn’t.  I met my coach when we were in college and I believed I was marrying a man who would become a teacher and maybe coach high school football.  I believed we would live in the south where he would teach and I would pursue my career goals.  I thought that we would be driving distance from our families and enjoy the pleasures and normalcy of eight to five jobs worked by people who live in small town USA.  Never did I expect to live in many cities and never in a city with family.  I never thought that I would be forced to build support villages for me and my children more than a few times during our marriage.  I never expected my husband to have a job that would tell the world when he was hired and fired.  I certainly never expected to see his name scrolling along the ticker on ESPN because he had been “released” from his duties at a ball club.  So much for the idea of keeping our family affairs private.  Who would expect a neighbor to think that it was a good idea to leave a copy of the local paper on the porch with your husband’s name and salary circled in red ink? Like I said, I had no idea what I was signing up for when I married a man who had a calling to be a football coach.  I do believe it was a calling on his life because who would choose this lifestyle? Who would choose the physical, emotional, and time demands that come with living this life?

I have been attached to the coach and hence the business of football for 27 plus years.  As a coaching family, we experienced life and family in ways that most people will never experience them.  Some of the best times we experienced were direct results of successful seasons by the team.  I learned through my life in football that timing is really everything.  Those exciting times happened because the team was ready and prepared to take advantage of opportunities when those  opportunities presented.  We celebrated winning a Super Bowl. We went to Pro Bowls and the Japan game.  We experienced winning seasons with Hall of Fame coaches and players and hung out with some folks socially who I never imagined would invite me into their spaces all those years ago when this journey began.  I am grateful for those experiences and the life lessons I learned from the time spent with each team in every city during every season.  I am also thankful that I saw the big picture and recognized that my success as a shadow dweller was a valuable contribution to the success of each team.  The success I speak about is not just winning and losing games.  I mean success in terms of the impact on individuals and communities by the teams.  I have always appreciated Jim Irsay for his efforts to make everyone in his organization feel valued and respected, including the coaches’ wives.  The sad part to me is that there were many women married to or attached to men in the game who never understood their value as supporters operating in the shadows.  When you don’t recognize that your work and contributions are valuable, your identity can become that of the person in whose shadow you reside.  When your identity melds into that of a person or organization you don’t control, you fail to dream and develop yourself to live out your purpose and calling.  Finding the way to do that without damaging the fragile relationships in the business and without looking like you are not supportive of the coach you love can be tough.  Like community building, this process is complex and tough, but necessary work for you and your family.

My advice to folks married to the game of football (or any other profession that is not cutting the check in your name directly) is to protect your heart and your identity.  Establish at least one thing that is your own because you choose it and not because someone else thinks that it would be good for you.  Often there is an expectation that you will use your time, energy, and other resources to support the game even when you don’t feel that the game supports you and your family.  Saying this out loud almost feels like blasphemy which seems crazy to me, but that inclination not to speak and to control impulsive actions is a learned behavior taught by years in the game.  It is a transferrable skill to other situations, but it feels weird to need to exercise it in the business with which you have developed such intimacy.  So, even if you can’t say everything you think out loud, you can make decisions about how much of you and your resources you share.  You should give yourself permission to make those decisions in order to protect your heart, your identity, and your household budget.

You should find at least one friend who has no idea when the team plays.  Find a friend who does not work for the team, but who does understand why your husband is rarely with you and kids at church or the cookout or the kids’ activities.  Those friends will understand why you video tape your kids’ games while other folks look at you like you are a pageant mom obsessed with your amazingly awesome kids when all you really want is to provide an opportunity to keep their dad connected.  (As an aside, I also advise you to have that friend do the taping because I could never keep the camera on my kids when they did something exciting during their performances.  I have often recorded myself saying, “Oh shoot, I missed it!”)

Become comfortable with his absence because it teaches your children to be secure with the environment and the family structure.  Embrace the quiet of the space you have when he is gone and the kids are asleep.  Use that time for reflection and dreaming so that you don’t forget how to dream and how to keep your goals alive in your heart and mind until that moment when the nest is empty.  Keep your goals and dreams alive until that moment that you just decide that your dreams and your voice matter enough to challenge the game to make room for you and to support you in your decision to live out loud in well lit places.  Spend your alone time envisioning the day when you will expect others to give life to you in the same way that you breathed breaths of life into the business of football. The positivity will keep away the negativity.  There is scriptural support for the idea that darkness can’t live where there is light and you will need the light in order to experience success in this business.

I honestly believe that those of us who live in the shadows of the game believe in the work that our coaches do every day of every season and every off season.  We all understand that this is more than teaching X’s and O’s and the science of football.  I think that we continue to define our lives by seasons and where we lived when certain life events happened because we know that the work that we support enables the game to raise boys to men.  We know that the game provides memorable experiences that bond families, friends, and communities.  For some folks it’s entertainment, but for us it’s life.

Because it is your life, you should not make it a habit to discuss the team with other folks like it is your responsibility to justify game day decisions by the coaching staff.  Additionally, you should instruct your children to limit their talk about the team to prevent them from the burden of being identified as a coaches’ kids every place they go.  If you don’t provide such guidance to your children, they might hear some of the good after some of the games, but more likely than not they will hear all of the negative every week of every season you live in that city.  This odd phenomenon of people wanting to shower your children with negativity can make them dread school every Monday morning.  Your family’s relationship to football can never be understood by a person who only sees the game for its entertainment value.  Those folks will never feel the literal impact of wins, losses, and institutional decisions based on an evaluation of the fruits of your coach’s labor.  Therefore, you ought not get your heart caught up in debates with them about football and you should expect them to express their empathy and understanding with the team when your husband gets fired.  They will move on to the next very quickly while you are struggling to figure out the next move, the next schools, and how to tie up the loose ends in the city you are leaving.

The experiences with some of the fans and the decisions of some in the game have taught me to focus on my calling to serve and to learn from the players to have “a short memory.”  You will be forced to learn not to make business decisions personal.  You will be forced to learn how to cheer for the team you cheered against last season.  You may even learn how to cheer for the team you knew very little about last season in a city you never wanted to call home.  If you are lucky, you will learn how to maintain a cool, level head like an athlete under pressure to execute a two-minute drill flawlessly in order to score and win a game.  Most families in the game understand the fragile nature of the business and how the outcomes can directly impact where they live, what city their family calls home, and their emotional and financial stability.  Since you probably won’t ever be asked to come into the locker room to deliver a pregame speech, or step into a game to take a snap, or to come study the game in a team meeting, you need to figure out how not to let the game control your every thought and action.

Stop trying to memorize the schedules for every single thing they do.  Stop trying to remember every coach’s assignments and the hometowns of every player.  Stop getting mad if they don’t tell you something before the media reports it.  On the other hand, it might be a good idea to start being concerned about the ramifications of the names of your children being published in the online media guide.  Start being concerned about how you will spend the time that your coach is off work.  Start being concerned about how you will redecorate when he ain’t home to give you his two cents about color schemes and furnishings.  Start worrying about how you will use your time to do one thing that feeds your passions.  I hope that this blog post inspires you to believe that you can operate as a shadow dweller in the game and simultaneously reward yourself by promoting one personal goal or accomplishing one task that enhances you personally.  There is no rule that says you must not have an experience in the light while you busy yourself in the shadows of the game.

I write and speak from a place of wanting others to live more fully and more deeply because of my experiences living the game. We have but one time to do this thing called life and we need to do it the best way we can figure out how. I charge you and myself to do it with purpose, with passion, and without limiting our potential. Work on developing your God given gifts and those of your children and let that giftedness be the driving force and not an opinion of another person about what your or their perceived goodness might be. When I write and speak about leadership and the potential of excellent villages, I enter a realm of satisfaction that only those things provides me. That is how life works when you are living your passion.  That is what I see in the eyes and movements of the coach when he’s in the presence of the players.  He does not have that same feeling when we watch Tiny House episodes and my favorite shows on HGTV and I don’t have my most pleasurable moments in life sitting on bleachers watching him coach.  So, figure out your thing and spend some time doing that thing.  Then, make him sit on the hard butt bleachers with squirmy kids for a few hours watching you do your thing.

Finding your place in the light will empower you and make you less concerned with all the things happening in the game that you have no control over.  You might even find that you and your kids will become champions of the concept of being a fan of a game that your coach loves.  I have studied fans in my time at games and here are a couple of things I have learned from fans that that might make your life in the game more tolerable and hopefully make you pursue the idea of you and your kids moving closer to the light:

Always stay supportive of the team regardless of the roster or the weather.

Loyal fans attend the game then separate from the emotion of the game when they leave so that they can get on with the business of accomplishing things that have nothing to do with the game.

And finally, the fans have taught me that when I think my guy has forgotten his name, he always responds to, “Hey, Coach.”

Conquering fear and sickness to bridge gaps villages

My heart aches about the strife that results when people who share a village won’t find a way to bridge gaps in the community.  I don’t understand why it is so difficult for grown folks to do the necessary work, whatever that entails, to make life better for the young people who call their village home.  My heartache presses me to write more and to speak more about the benefits of overcoming the barriers that divide and impose on us conditions and circumstances that steal the hope, the safety, and the unifying spirit that are essential to a vibrant, protective, hope filled environment.   As communities of people, we seem to be missing the point that we must care about the diversity of voices and the very broad, multifaceted definition that creates healthy, sustainable communities.  There are so many reasons that this sad phenomenon is our reality.

Last week I spent a lot of time with a family member who is fighting a good fight with cancer.  I talked to the doctors to gain a better understanding of the fight ahead of my loved one.  During the conversation, I reflected on my lessons from my genetic counseling sessions.  My simplistic version is that cancers present in our bodies for different reasons, some hereditary and some environmental.  Our bodies are formed with natural defenses to stave off harmful agents that attack us.  However, in order for the body to perform optimally, some input is required from us.  We must contribute to the biological process that maintains the health of our bodies.  Each of us is the keeper of free will and each of us controls the decisions that can impact the ability of our bodies to withstand the attacks of the cancers.  When I decided to do the genetic testing, my goal was to learn if I had any greater risk of having breast cancer than any other similarly situated person. Once I started down the path, I asked the counselor to expand the testing to include other things.  Delving into the possibilities of disease in my life was frightening.  Because of my family history with cancer and other diseases, my doctor thought it would be a good idea for me to engage in the scary work of exploring the science of my body.  Why do that when it’s so much easier to just wait and see?  Why do that when it was so frightening for me to go to those appointments alone?

I did it because I have learned that knowing is better than not knowing.  Knowing earlier is better than learning about it later.  On the other hand, knowing meant accountability to do something.  Knowing meant accountability when I do nothing.  Knowing meant accountability when I decided to just do the same thing I had been doing before I knew.  Knowing meant ownership by me for the residual impact that my decisions could heap upon me, my family, and my kids.  Honestly, the kid part was the part that made me schedule the first appointment with the genetic counselor.  Even if I wouldn’t do the hard work for myself, I sacrificed and did the scary work to give my children the tools to have the best chance at a fruitful, prosperous, healthy life.

During the process of the genetic testing, I learned that my chances of contracting cancer was not any greater than those of the average person.  Unfortunately for me, that meant that many of the cancers we evaluated were caused by environmental agents and not hereditary agents.  “Oh wow,” I said to the counselor as she looked up from her paper with a smile and a nodding head.  Her response signaled that she knew that I got it.  I knew then that many of the decisions ahead of me related to food choices, stress, sleep habits, pollutants, and the trash I feed my brain, my body, and my heart could directly impact my ability to equip my body to wage a successful battle against attacks from harmful agents.  That meant ownership, accountability, and responsibility.

It might have been so much easier to just take that information and start looking for other people and situations to blame.  When people discuss the origins of cancers, there is often talk of  conspiracies theories and I could have joined that dialogue, but that would have dismissed my complicity in engaging in behaviors that promote harm to my body.  I knew that I had to accept that while I didn’t control the onset of all diseases, I was a decision maker and my decisions could contribute to the quality of my health.  As I did the research into my family medical history, per the instruction of the genetic counselor, I had the blessing of talking to elders in the family and spending time with them sharing stories about our family history.  I learned that my great grandmother was a freed slave.  I already knew that my maternal great grandfather was a white man, but I didn’t know that he owned slaves.  The fear of the result of the genetic testing was now compounded by the shock that I might not ever know my full medical history because of visages of slavery.  That man and all four of the children my great grandmother conceived with him were dead.  Except for my mother and one of her brothers, all of the grandchildren of that union were also dead and the family medical history died with them.  His white family did not keep in touch with his other family so after his son lost contact we lost contact with him.  This is simply a summary of my story.  In no way does my version of my truth cover every potential fact scenario for others.  I can only speak to what I have experienced in my life and how I think my experiences are relevant to discussions about bridging gaps in our communities.

I believe that communities possess the foundational tools and strength to build systems that can defend against systemic, lethal attacks.  However, I don’t believe that it is easy to organize partnerships and strategic plans that merge the varied interests of the stakeholders in the community.  While it may be complex and challenging, it is necessary and possible if we are willing to put in the work.  We have to be willing to hear and ask thoughtful questions rooted in a desire to understand even if we find we don’t agree or realize we may never completely understand.  I knew very little about genetics or the science of cancer when the genetic counseling began, but I listened and trusted the counselor because she had more experience than I did in this area.  I listened to her put the issues in simplistic terms that even I could comprehend.  I listened and evaluated her comments recognizing that her goal was to help me and not to make me feel belittled and ignorant.  I listened with intensity because the information could literally mean life or death for me and more importantly significant life challenges for my children. The potential of cancer cells to move undetected through my body and take over reminded me of how some things creep into our communities, seize the communities, and then leave the villagers grumbling and placing blame.

Somehow we have to figure out how to allow differences in opinion or the challenges that divide our communities to become the catalyst that promotes meaningful conversations and accountability for the sicknesses that inhabit our communities.  If I had made the decision to just act like my family history did not include cancers with the potential to overtake my body and wreck havoc on my life, I would never have any idea about how to help my family make lifestyle changes to help us live healthier lives.  I also loved the fact that in doing the hard work I deepened my relationships with some of my family.  Having deeper, more meaningful relationships in our communities may also be a positive result of us doing the tough work of bridging gaps.  I recognized that my work didn’t make the risk dissipate completely, but it did assure that my children and other family members would have a foundation of facts and truths upon which to build.  Similarly, the community laborers can establish a foundation of unity and concern for each other that enhances the relationships and increases the chances of the stakeholders demonstrating that the health of the village is an urgent concern.

Like our bodies, the communities need some distance from the bickering and arrest that tire the people in the villages.  Like our bodies, the communities require peaceful, controlled dialogs that lend themselves to recovery and healing.  Like our bodies, our communities need to be nourished with healthy food in the form of messages driven by hope and promise as opposed to fear.  We have to meet each other at a neutral site and embark on the journey of learning and understanding.  We need to share stories and challenges with each other.  We need to find a way to exercise patience with one another and affirm the feelings of others even if their story is not our story. We need to act with a sense of urgency for the benefit of uplifting our youth.  If we don’t intercede for our children, we leave them vulnerable to a diseased community.

Paulo Coelho, the author of The Alchemist, wrote:

“I have known true alchemists,’ the alchemist continued. ‘They locked themselves in their laboratories, and tried to evolve, as gold had.  And they found the Philosopher’s Stone, because they understood that when something evolves, everything around that thing evolves as well.”

The children in our communities need us to make them believe that they are valued.  Our children need us to set aside our pride and selfishness.  They need to see us make choices that place us at a lunch table or a coffee date with a combination of community stakeholders.  They must see a show of solidarity for the mission to heal our communities.  Instead of becoming vocal about their failings and all of the ways they make us afraid, they need to hear loving and supportive initiatives that breath hope into their spirits.  Our children need to believe in a hope greater than anything they can see.  We need to become more like the “true alchemists” who understood “that when something evolves, everything around that thing evolves as well.”  We have to do the hard, scary work of helping “everything around” us become better in the spirit of the alchemist.

 

 

Bridging gaps in the village through communication and compassion

I began writing this blog post three times or more last week.  I wanted to continue to write about back-to-school preparation and reflections, but my thoughts were just not light-hearted and whimsical last week. I spent most of the week trying to understand people and the confusing messages we send daily.  I want so badly to understand the complexities of people so that I can do my part to enhance the villages I am blessed to serve.

I am confused by the religious faithful who boast about their missionary efforts and accomplishments in other countries yet complain about designing a system that provides the same services in their own country.  It seems a little hypocritical.  The decision not to serve communities closer to home in the same way also gives the appearance that they don’t want to cover local villages with their prayers and the power of the God they say they serve.  In my observations last week, I thought about how anyone concerned about the success of the village can expect greatness and excellence for the entire village absent a sincere concern for the merit, gifts, talents, and potential of each individual they call “family, “brother,” citizen, or human.  Saying “we are only as strong as the weakest link” and not working to develop the perceived weakest link leaves the village weak.  Failure to develop the perceived weakest link by simply ignoring the weak ones also makes the village weak and denies the potential greatness of those we ignore.

Today is Sunday and many church services were held across the country.  Church goers heard messages about a savior who offered himself and his resources to the weakest links in the villages.  They heard how He did so without shaming them or layering on messages of guilt and inadequacy.  He served without using his lineage or privilege in a prideful way.  They heard how he served and delivered those in need repeatedly without regard of their perceived value to the village members or the village leadership.  According to scripture, He too, was born into less than ideal circumstances and He experienced rejection most of his life.  He was falsely accused of crimes he didn’t commit and surprisingly continued to have faith that his sacrifice could give new life to villages of people.

In our modern day story, there are still those who represent the targeted and misunderstood.  There are also those who judge without understanding and use their platforms to heap persecution and damnation upon those who don’t come from their village.  The Sunday morning sermons will charge groups of believers with the responsibility to be like the savior in their own villages and take a message of hope to barren lands.  Church goers will be charged to be “a light on a hill” for many to see in the darkness of their villages.  I pray that we can each expand our view of our village boundaries to enable us to be lights in villages that don’t have lights.  How helpful is it to add your beam to the block already illuminated with street lights, porch lights, landscape lights, and lights with motion sensors? Why be a light in a well-lit place? Why keep your light inside your well-lit village and look from your porch with disgust and frustration at the darkness in the villages nearby.  I pray that the messages of inclusion, hope, tolerance, and forgiveness practiced by the savior in the Sunday sermons will be used to open minds and hearts enabling us to hear the views, the pains, the trials, the struggles, the needs, and the successes of villagers whose environments might make us uncomfortable.  The scripture says that the savior was human so I can’t imagine that He went into those villages to help folks that the community shunned without feeling discomfort or fear.  I am thankful for His example of experiencing fear and/or discomfort and still going anyhow.  I am thankful that the voices of many espousing the negative thoughts about those perceived as the weakest didn’t prevent him from helping the weakest members of the village.

I often hear leaders talk about the importance of the “buy in” from all of the members and how their group is like a family.   I am confused by leaders who believe that having or maintaining the spirit of the “buy in” or the vision of a family atmosphere is possible without having the diversity of voices.  The leader, in the selection of trusted advisors, ought to have sincere consideration of the input of folks with varied perspectives.  The leaders seeking “buy in” from their teams or chasing the vision of a family atmosphere would be wise to consider many ideas before making decisions that will create the policies that will ultimately influence the degree of “buy in” and level of family dysfunction.  Expecting greatness and success for the whole without concern for the station, voice, value, and hope of each member we call “family,” “brother,” citizen, or human will impact the relationships in the village and eventually the operation of the same.  I think we sometimes get so caught up in our own interpretations of the rules and guidelines that we forget or reject the idea that we may not be the only right viewpoint.  Sometimes we get caught up in our wishes to control villages of people without an in-depth understanding of those villages.  We forget that all villages don’t function with the same resources and we deny that outcomes in our villages are often based on the availability of said resources.

This week I was concerned that people might be afraid to let their hearts hear the hearts of others because in those statements there might be some truth or some accountability or some responsibility to change the course and direction of their own normal.  Perhaps hearing someone else’s testimony might have stirred up their own sorted stories.  I don’t know.  I’m just sharing the thoughts that went through my mind last week.

Someone recently called me “a beehive shaker.”  Initially, I was surprised and didn’t know what to think about that description.  I don’t know that I am always consciously deciding to shake the hives, but I do believe that challenging people to hear the hearts of others or to listen to other perspectives in an effort to evaluate the literal impact that their decisions is a good thing.  I don’t mind engaging in conversations that may cause people to feel a bit agitated like the bees in the hive.  Human relationships can mimic a nervous hive and an aggravated hive would be unsettling if I were standing nearby.  This revelation reminded me of the time when I was pulling weeds in my yard and I felt a jolt of piercing pain.  I looked down to find three bees attached to my hand.  At that moment all I could do was swat at them and then apply salve and ice to my hand. Later, I gave thought to how that situation came to be.  As unnerved as it made me to be the target of an angry beehive, I spent time considering that the bees didn’t get upset for no reason.  I learned to take responsibility for the bee stings and for upsetting the normal of the bees.  I struggle with the “beehive shaker” who does not care about their role in upsetting the normal of the bees.   I don’t think they realize that their lack of demonstrated concern makes it appear that they do not care about the circle of life that relies on the contribution of the bees to maintain a productive, sustainable village.  Unfortunately, we often spend too much time and energy evaluating the fault of the other party (the bees) and the trouble they cause (the stings) and we miss opportunities to share in experiences that help us demonstrate that we are able to be about the business of what we say we are about – caring about the life of the hive and the value the village received from a healthy, productive beehive.

When we miss opportunities to live out the precepts, values, and standards we believe will make the village better, we ought not be surprised when people resist or don’t seem to accept our leadership on issues important to the vitality of the village.  Growth in the village can come as a result of changes in perspective and process.  If we believe that God has given each person certain talents and gifts, it follows that God did not create us expecting the same contributions from each villager.  The Sunday sermon suggests, however, that there remains an expectation of victory for the village even with the differences in predestined assignments, gifts, and talents.  I will be super excited when all of the people who have or will call me friend expend their energy becoming champions of positive messaging about the village and those who reside within it.  I dream of a day when our discussions and decisions are guided by compassion for others and a desire to uplift those who may be considered the weakest links in our villages.

Back-to-School means more than shopping

It seems like it hasn’t been that long since the school district broke for summer and now it’s already time for the kids to go back to school.  When my kids were school age, they looked forward to shopping for new clothes, shoes, and school supplies.  Every fall when those back to school shopping commercials began, my kids would get excited about the possibilities.  My thoughts, of course, always centered on the cost associated with purchasing all of the things they wanted so badly.  In general, I would discreetly spread the shopping out over a couple of weeks to keep from straining the household budget too much at one time.  The lengthening of the process also allowed the teachers time to submit that second supply list with the one special item you could only find at one store in town.  The other thing I would do is find out if there were family members who might be feeling the urge to share a little back to school love by contributing toward helping the kids get geared up for the new school year.

I found that the grandparents were always on board with the idea of sending their grand babies off to school looking sharp so I always provided the opportunity for them to join the back to school shopping initiative.  Before the days of high school sports teams, we used to travel south mid summer to visit the grandparents so the kids would start their school shopping down south.  Grammy and Papa would fund a couple of outfits and Grandma, in keeping with her practical shopping theme, would buy a couple of school outfits and something for them to wear to church.  In addition, I could usually count on my mother, Grandma, to send a check right before school started to help with the other things.

Mama taught school for forty-two years before retiring so for her there couldn’t be too much preparation for the school year.  My mother firmly believed that students had a more positive experience when they felt good about their learning environments and that included how they felt about themselves.  As a child, I can remember her shopping for her own school clothes.  I don’t think her students ever knew that she cared for them so much that she wanted to project her concern, compassion, and pride for them and their learning environment through her wardrobe.  I am pretty sure they didn’t know that she  carefully selected clothing that would make her look professional, yet approachable, to them and their families.  From the holiday sweaters to the denim dresses and colorful coordinated accessories, she modeled respect for the educational process while she served as a teacher.  As a retiree and grandmother, she wanted that for her grandchildren too.

So, while I was being shocked by the back to school signage, commercials and challenging the system about whether or not all of this was about need or just marketing campaigns, my mother was busy celebrating and encouraging the process.  My mother reminded me to embrace the freshness and new potential of each school year with the excitement of a child instead of focusing on the challenges of the process.  While I was dealing with the shock of the realization that their toes were at the ends of their shoes and that the clothes I bought in the spring were too small, she planted seeds of hope.  While I was complaining about having to buy yet another backpack, she was filling the kids with ideas that promoted enthusiasm about school and learning.  Mama expressed her passion for teaching and learning to the kids with soft words and anecdotal stories about the children she taught.  Mama balanced the back to school drama with a calm and collected presence.  Everybody working through the back to school shopping challenges needs someone like mama in their village.

Mama always kept the discussions with the kids centered on what they might learn and what they expected from the school year.  They talked to her about their friends or the kinds of friends and teachers they hoped to have in their classes.  She never talked to them about the things that challenged me like the budget for the clothes and how to stretch the money to cover those clothes and the stuff they needed to fill the backpacks.  Mama taught me that my budgetary concerns were not concerns for my children.  She forced me to manage my budget and grown up concerns and let the kids be kids and think on kid things.    She forced me to see that I should not make the kids feel any guilt about the cost of their clothing increasing as their clothing sizes increased.  All kids, like mine, ought to be able to concern themselves with the business of being kids and the things that come with that come with that like laughter, dreaming, healthy curiosity for new adventures and challenges and playing.  Grown ups ought to be tasked with figuring out how.  Therefore, the issue of budgeting for their needs rested with me.

Encourage your children to be excited about learning.  Don’t muffle the sounds of their playful energy or stifle their development with your grown up stress.  Don’t restrict their potential because your grown up life may have some limitations.  Allow children in your community to enter the schoolyard free to explore and absorb the spirit of youthful pleasures.  I am forever grateful to Mama for her maturity and expertise as an educator and parent.  I am grateful that she didn’t restrict her wisdom to the confines of her physical classroom, but sought every opportunity to teach and parent.  Mama taught me the value of extending myself and my gifts beyond the theoretical and expected arenas into a larger audience thirsting for the gift of an excellent villager.

 

 

 

 

50 means “You’re on top of the hill”

50pic“You’re on top of the hill.  Enjoy the view,” was the text I received from my brother on my 50th birthday.  I can’t say that I enjoyed every part of the journey to the top of the hill, but certainly my perspective of my ascension to the top of the hill changed as I got closer to the top.  In the last year, I have spent a great deal of time dissecting my experiences, my passions, my purpose, and the decisions that will influence the direction I chose to take for the rest of the journey.  I stood on the hilltop with a new vantage point.  I stood with an excited energy about the successful rise through and above some adverse and challenging situations while simultaneously, feeling an adrenaline rush when I thought about the possibilities to come.  Some of my reflective thoughts moved me to tears, some to laughter, and others to dream and hope.

I didn’t realize that joining the 50’s club was a milestone that other folks would really care to help me celebrate.  I learned that other folks cared about the fact that for fifty years I consistently lived life and the fact that I did something consistently for fifty years was a milestone was worthy of celebrating.  I was pleasantly surprised about the number of text messages, calls, voicemails, and social media posts from friends and family helping me celebrate this milestone and offering encouragement for the rest of my journey.  Each message brought with it memories of times shared with the messengers.  I was thankful for the outpouring of birthday wishes from family members, childhood friends, neighbors, community partners, coworkers, and others who I may not even have a direct connection.

Reaching the at the top of the hill revealed to me that I am the combination of all of my experiences and all of my memories.

  • I remembered when I thought that 50 was old. Now, from this vantage point 50 felt like 30 and 70 another shift of the gears on a scenic road to some place really cool.
  • I remembered when I lived in the shadow of some emotionally painful childhood experiences and I couldn’t even dream past the 30’s. On top of the hill, I saw God’s plan for my life extended beyond my challenging and painful circumstances.
  • I remembered when I said I wanted to be an interior decorator and my daddy told me “You can’t make no damn money decorating nobody’s house.” On the hilltop, I laughed about marrying a coach whose career moves gave me multiple opportunities to decorate houses.  Daddy was right:  I didn’t “make no money” decorating houses, but I sure as heck saved us some money.
  • I remembered when I was a child wishing that my parents could visit me at school like those moms who volunteered for the school PTA and saying to myself that one day I hoped to be able to visit my own kids at school. On the hilltop, I saw that I had better be careful what I wish for because I ended up a stay-at-home mom for many years watching kid t.v. on the regular.  I ended up as a troop mom with a living room full of cookies to sell or deliver while my house was on the market.  Imagine asking potential buyers to pretend they didn’t see a thousand boxes stacked to the ceiling in the living room during their house tour.
  • I remembered when I turned 30 being pregnant with my second child in an unfamiliar city and feeling afraid when I learned that the new gig came with no benefits. On the hilltop, I see that challenges like that one teach life lessons in humility and compassion.
  • I remembered when I turned 40 just wanting a quiet peaceful weekend that wouldn’t break the bank or require lengthy travel. On the hilltop, I smile when I remember my introduction to Lake Geneva.
  • I remembered dreaming of what I wanted my kids to do and be. On the hilltop, I see that their lives turned out a whole lot better when I supported them as they discovered the calling on their lives and made decisions consistent with their passions.
  • I remembered over the years while I was a stay-at-home people challenged my decision to stay home to raise my kids. On the hilltop, I see that the investment in my kids paid dividends in my relationships with them and that they were my most excellent work product.
  • I remembered being asked when I “was gonna get a job that paid money” because, as she said it “every time I talk to you, you volunteering and doing something for free.” On the hilltop, I saw that the success of every village depended on people who did things “for free.”  There was no way communities could have afforded to pay for the collective needs of the community and for those little things given to it by the volunteers who were always “doing something for free.”
  • I remembered the life insurance salesman who told my husband not to worry about insuring my life because as a stay-at-home mom I didn’t have a job or income to contribute to the household. From the hilltop, I saw that some people really don’t get the value of excellent parenting.
  • I remembered when my daddy used to say “How ‘bout making me a half a cup of coffee” and my mother would fill their green thermos every morning in preparation for the thirty mile ride to work. On the hilltop, I realized that it is possible to go from a kid who didn’t like coffee to a coffee snob who would have made my parents proud.
  • I remembered when I thought grown ups knew something about everything. On the hilltop, I learned that they don’t, but many of them pretended that they knew more than they did or they deflected so kids wouldn’t know they were human.  Some of the best lessons I ever learned as a grown up were taught to me by my kids and the other kids I’ve met along the journey.
  • I remembered thinking my mom was weak because she was quiet and soft spoken. On the hilltop, I saw that she was a wise woman who was a good listener and understood that speaking softly made people more attentive if they cared about her voice and the words that might come out of her mouth.
  • I remembered Sunday afternoons at Mama Love’s house in the country hanging out with Mama’s siblings and the cousins. On the hilltop, I saw the benefits of fresh country air, playing made up games outside, and having only one room with air conditioning – cleansing breaths, healthy living, and village building.
  • I remembered thinking, as a child, that my neighbors were always watching me and telling on me. On the hilltop, I saw that they cared.  My neighbors modeled the practices of an excellent village for me and taught me the value of having a sense of responsibility for the safety and welfare of the children in my community.

As I stand “on top of the hill,” the fact that some people were villagers for me before I knew I needed a village.  I saw that there were people who filled gaps so seamlessly that I didn’t even know what they were doing for me.  I learned that excellent villagers throughout my life cared for me and loved me when I didn’t know love was the cure for many things that ailed or haunted me.  On my 50th birthday, I remembered some of the relationships that were strained or dissolved with honor and recognition of their role and timing in my journey.  I learned that while there are some who liked me and some who tolerated me there are those who wanted me to know they appreciated me and that they wanted blessings and favor to be upon me.  On my 50th birthday, I found myself expressing thanksgiving for so many people, experiences, and things.  My family helped me check a few boxes with their well-planned weekend of surprises.  As I stand “on top of the hill,” I am praying for excellent health, the ability to act with wisdom, the ability to continue to use my gifts to live my passion and calling out loud, and work-life balance for me, my family, my friends, and all who use their gifts to be excellent villagers in their communities.

Why blog?

This week someone asked me why I started my blog.  I hadn’t really been asked that question in a while.  More recently, I have been asked what my blog is about and how I got part of the blog published, but this questions reminded me of the first time someone asked me to ponder the why of my blog.  About two years ago, I sat down with a friend to discuss the idea of me as a blogger.  This friend’s idea for me was more of a directive than a cool idea worth sharing.  She said, “You are a really good writer and you have a lot of great insights to share.  You should have a blog.”  Prior to our coffee date, she told me that she wanted to talk to me about designing a blog site at our coffee date.  However, I saw no reason to process any thoughts about the subject of a blog or the design of the page prior to the date.  The truth was that I didn’t even know what a blog was at the time my friend advised me to become a blogger.  I had never considered having a blog and I didn’t follow any blogs.  So, it seemed odd to me to spend a lot of time on something I knew very little about.  It all seemed confusing and complex.  Prior to my blog, I used journals to record my thoughts.  I explained to my friend that I decided not to journal on a regular basis because people are nosey and I have had my privacy violated in the past.  As a result, the notion that I had to put my thoughts in a venue for people to read freely felt frightening and foreign to me.

For years people said to me that I should write a book about parenting because my kids were such cool kids.  This friend who was encouraging me to blog had littles and we often talked about the job of parenting and our lives in the shadows of our families.  While I understood her beliefs about my insightful experiences from my shadow living and those opinions of others may have been true, I was overwhelmed by the possibility that I might actually give myself permission to use my emotional energy and my time for myself when I had so many responsibilities with my family.  Since I couldn’t see becoming a published author of a book in my near future, I thought that maybe I could share some stories.  I wanted to share stories about lessons that I learned in the various support roles in which I have served.  Even after agreeing to begin the mental exercise associated with defining the why, I honestly got anxious just thinking about publishing my thoughts for the world to see, read and critique.  Despite my resistance, my friend continued to email me assignments, then she checked on me periodically via text messaging to encourage me to continue to take the steps that got me closer to going live with the blog.  She would ask me how things were going, had I thought of a name yet, did I find words to describe the takeaways I wanted for my audience, and what categories I would use to label the site.  Oh, the pressure.  It took eight months of strong nudging by my friend to force me to complete the project and click the “live” button on the blog site.

So, part of the reason I became a blogger was because someone said I should and I trusted her and decided to just try.  Once I went through the exercise of thinking about the nexus between my life experiences I felt worthy of sharing, I realized that in every role I existed in the periphery and out of sight for most people who thought their view of the experience was complete.  Yet, my role in the shadows was critical to the success of the event or challenge.  In most of the situations, I experienced loneliness because nobody acknowledged my presence or my contributions.  I considered that I served even when people didn’t know I was serving and that I served for the benefit of my family and my community without an expectation of financial reward.  In retrospect, I think the only thing I really needed as a shadow dweller was some type of affirmation or gratitude.  Instead, I heard things like this from the aunt who used to say, “Every time I talk to you you are volunteering somewhere.  Why don’t you find something that pays?”  Her comments initially aggravated me, but the voice of my friend encouraging me to dig deeper into the why of my journey helped me to see that serving the village was special and beneficial to many.  As a result, I found another reason to blog: I wanted to offer encouragement to folks who might be going through some things in life and feeling alone.  I wanted to offer the caretakers of family members a caring, sincere, transparent voice to empower and enlighten them.

The reason I wrote anonymously at first was because I believed that people needed positive messages and insights to ease the burdens of their daily challenges and in the ways of a true shadow dweller my identity was not necessary in accomplishing that end.  I did not believe it was necessary that the people knew my name and I had become comfortable in the shadows.  The writing was cathartic for me and that was my take away from blogging.  In the past, I had discussions with people about my feeling and issues with my shadow living, but once I started writing there was nothing that freed me like putting the pen to the paper to clear my head and realign my soul.  The idea that I could empower others and find a place to sort through my issues was enough for me.  Being forced to write in order to generate blog posts revealed to me that I needed to use my gift of writing for the purpose of storytelling.  Surprisingly, what initially frightened me because I didn’t understand it became a slightly addictive curiosity that drew me to the blog site to write and to learn more about how to manage the technical aspects of my blog account independent of my friend.  Confronting a fear without a need to control or see the end offered me growth.

I started blogging because a friend said I needed to blog.  I continued to blog because I found a safe place to share my heart and my experiences and because my words had the power to encourage, empower, and enlighten others.  Now, I believe I am called to blog because of the lessons I have learned from blogging.  I have learned that everyone does not possess the same gifts, talents, or testimonies which means the universe missed my unique voice when I choose to silence it.  I have learned that like many folks there have been times when I failed to use my gifts and talents because I was comfortable doing something else or because the time didn’t seem right or because I was simply afraid.  At different points in my life I have used at least one of these reasons to explain why I avoided exploring the possibilities of ways to use my gifts of oration, storytelling, and written communication.  I continue to blog because the blog posts rarely ends like I believe it will end when I start writing.  Learning that I don’t have to know the end for the thing to end beautifully provides some trust to live more freely in other aspects of my life.  Selfishly, I blog because that part of me that found pleasure and a thrill after accomplishing a goal or “fixing” problems for people enjoys the rush when someone likes, comments or shares a blog post.  I get super excited when someone says that something I wrote helped them in any way.  I continue to blog because I have learned that most people do not like to admit that they are flawed or challenged.  So, the fact that I share my challenges and pain with my outside voice has the potential to touch someone else in a way that might never happen if I remained silent.  I continue to write because dissecting my life has enabled me to think through some things with a new, distant perspective.  My blog opened a a creative window in my mind that I kept sealed shut most of my life.  My creative window was closed and sealed because I considered the limitations I anticipated.  I envisioned and rehearsed mental scripts that included all of the things and people with the ability to restrict my ability to be successful doing me.  Once the window opened, I have experienced a continuous flow of ideas related to ways that I can express my passion to encourage, empower and enlighten villages of people who support young people.  My blog has affirmed my passion for being an excellent villager and presented opportunities to enter villages I never anticipated visiting because other people can see the pureness of my passion and the consistency of my heart and my voice.  The verbal expression, through my blog, has generated more opportunities for me to serve as a catalyst for others to step out of the shadows into a more expansive territory too.  That makes my soul sing.  I never expected that my decision to make a step into a vast, unknown scary place would inspire someone else to dare to experiment with possibility.  I continue to blog because I remain hopeful that something I write will bless the lives of young people, provide tangible truths, relatable life experiences, hope, inspiration and support to people in places I have not seen or imagined.

 

Let’s Talk Interviews!

After choosing to remain out of the workforce for a number of years, I spent about a year studying the science of the interview process and experimenting with ways to get back into the workforce.  In the last year, I have been on hiring teams as well as the candidate under evaluation by hiring teams.  I am not generally one for formalities so the invitations to interview for jobs forced me to dedicate thoughts to wardrobe choices, my level of preparedness and the tasks associated with the jobs.  In addition, I had to think about the known members of the interviewing teams and their expectations.  My interviews ranged from a coffee date at a local coffee shop serving as sort of a scouting mission for a prospective employer to a two-day experience on-site walking, talking and answering questions. Hopefully, my experiences will help someone else prepare for the interview process.

I spent time considering how to navigate through each interview process successfully whether I was the candidate or a part of the interview team.  I had to think about what success really meant to me.  Some might have argued that I would only be successful in the interview process if I got the job.  I disagreed.  I considered myself successful when I was able to get to the business of managing my head and my heart before I ever stepped into the presence of the person or team doing the hiring.  Management of the head and the heart proved important for me in other areas of my life and the interview process was no different.

Getting to the business of managing my head meant that I had to remove the emotions and approach the process with a focused, professional, strategic mindset.  I researched each opportunity and the folks offering the opportunities.  I had to read about the organization, the history of the organization and its leadership.  By the time I decided to reenter the job market, most organizations had websites so some of the head work primarily involved using the online presence of the organizations as my research tool.  In addition to researching the organizations, I investigated best practices for the subject matter of the organization.  Then, I studied my work history and my personal life to create a dialogue that would enable the hiring team to see me as a viable candidate capable of fulfilling the tasks enumerated in the job description of the open position.  One of my goals was to force the hiring team to visualize me in their community as a vital contributor.  To me it was like the concept of visualizing your furniture in the space that might become your new home and that lasting mental impression days later that certifies that the place suits your housing needs.  I wanted the people on the hiring team to remember me and engage in the mental exercise of finding ways for me to advance the missions and goals of their organization.

As a member of hiring teams in the last year, I asked questions that demonstrated whether or not the candidate spent any time thinking about the position.  I wanted to know if the candidate had any idea how their particular skills sets or educational credentials made them the best candidate for the position.  Do not be afraid to speak honestly about your strengths.  In my capacity as a hiring team member, I appreciated the candidates who exhibited transparency and direct responses to questions.  It does not serve the candidate or the organization well for the candidate to give the answers they believe the hiring team wants to hear.  Pretending during the interview will become the expectation of the employer if you are hired.  If you don’t feel comfortable being yourself in the environment or the type of work done in that environment will be a challenge for a person like you, this is the time for you to make the decision to ask more questions or reconsider working at that place.

Consider yourself successful if you can do any of those things during the time spent with the potential employer’s hiring team.  It was not and is not enough to present as a well dressed candidate.  Your first impression ought to speak about you in a way that says, “I am well-informed, competent and reliable.”  Because I wanted the jobs I interviewed for I made it a point to present myself with confidence and professionalism.  I wanted the hiring team to believe I was the candidate they could trust to make decisions and complete the necessary tasks to meet and exceed the job expectations.

The heart of the process was the main reason I considered applying for and participating in job interviews over the last year.  My heart cause related directly to my need to be a village builder for young people.  I passed on a opportunity to interview for a full time position with a utility company doing customer service a couple of years ago in order to accept a part time position working with students.  There were times when I considered work just because I needed income and if that’s you then place value in that heart cause too.  Whatever the heart reason, I kept my focus on the reason because that often kept me driven to stay the course during the interview process and after the completion of the process.  I remember one time I had to admit to a potential employer that I needed the opportunity because my family needed to eat, but I couldn’t assure them how long I would be an employee if hired.  Although I got that job, I was concerned that when the hiring team weighed whether or not my truth would be an asset or a liability to the organization the result would leave me unemployed.  It was a risk to be honest and direct, but I earned the respect of the employer and I believed that they cared about the fate of my family and me when they took the risk to hire me.

The heart of the process became the catalyst for jobs on my search and application lists.  Moreover, I returned to the heart matter often during the interview process and during the course of employment to encourage me through the challenges of both.  I used my heart focus to energize me for the interview process.  My energy likely provided evidence to the hiring team that I was passionate about the position.  Owning my passion and living it out loud in front of the potential employer during the interview process made me more confident about the positions I sought.  Additionally, since I was confident about my heart reason for making application, I believed I could perform the tasks and could speak about my goals and visions if I was selected for the position.

It is so easy to over think the process of making application for a job.  I have learned that taking the academic, systematic approach removes the emotionally guided negative self-talk.  Literally putting the job description next to a list of my personal and professional experiences kept me focused on the reasons that I was uniquely suited to live out my passions in the position to which I applied.  Certainly if I could see the connection, I had a better chance of persuading the hiring team that I was qualified and ready for the tasks.  This type of preparation also gave me the opportunity to ask others for advice and feedback on anything that raised questions or doubts.  The last thing I needed was to take doubts with me into the process.  The goal was to project confidence, competence and passion without interjecting behaviors or comments suggestive of doubt, inadequacies or pretentiousness.  My advice is three fold: 1. Study the organization to which you make application. 2. Stay mindful about your heart reason and use it to motivate you to stay engaged in the pursuit of a job related to your passion and to keep you excited about the job when you are hired. 3. Rehearse positive self-talk that vocalizes a plan of action that specifically connects you to the organization. My lessons from interview processes made me feel successful because I believed I was in right place at the right time of my life and because I was convinced that my passion would allow me to serve a community as a village builder for young people.

 

A Parent’s Reflection: Moments that take your breath away

rainbowLast Saturday morning, I woke up thinking about the events that had taken place locally and nationally the week prior.  But for Swaggy encouraging me to take him out for fresh air, I might have remained in my thoughts a while longer.  I went reluctantly into the backyard with Swaggy and in my aggravated state looked into the distance and saw a rainbow.  Instantly, my demeanor and outlook became positive.  I am not sure why rainbows speak hope and positivity, but after that week of heart-wrenching, unbelievable and unexplainable losses of life I needed a reminder to “look unto the hills from which cometh my help.”

Life presents moments that can simply take your breath away.  Often people say that something has taken their breath away when the thing or circumstance left them speechless from excitement or overwhelmed by the beauty or amazing qualities of the thing.  In general, the moments capable of taking my breath away were not made by a human.  I have experienced breathless moments after seeing majestic mountain ranges or brilliant sunsets or the clarity and purity of a precious gem or my father’s light brown eyes.  Those kinds of things have stolen my breath away in a good and gratifying way.  That gratifying breathlessness literally stole me away to a quiet, peaceful almost magical boundless space where it seemed that only that awe-inspiring thing existed.  My time communing in such a space has always led me to ponder the why’s that might answer the mother of all questions: How did this breath-taking moment happen?  Then I would ponder the follow up question: How did this breath taking moment happen to me (or someone I care about)?

In moments I have spent basking in marvelous wonder riddled with rhetorical questions, I felt blessed and satisfied.  I was blessed to enjoy a calm, peaceful, amazingly wondrous place.  Like an addict, my satisfaction yearned for more satisfaction, more pleasurable journeys.  As a parent of young children, it warmed my soul to see my kids with bright eyes and mouths agape from the pleasant shock of a natural wonder.  I enjoyed the ooh’s and ah’s like those of an audience fascinated when a magician’s slight of hand tricked the human eye.  As my kids and I reacted in puzzled curiosity, they rarely expected me to be able to explain the why or the how.  However, when the thing or event taking our collective breath away resulted from a tragic, unexplainable and seemingly untimely thing or circumstance their eyes and expressions screamed, “Mama, why?” and “Mama, how did this happen?”

What irony that we found ourselves asking the same questions in our breathless moments after loss that we asked during sheer amazement and wonder?!  I also found it ironic that the same words described both experiences.  While there were similarities in the height and type of emotions, there was no burning desire for me to provide an explanation for the perceived amazing or whimsical things.  However, my heartache in the times of significant loss burned for answers to the why’s and the how’s.  The emotional impact of the loss and tragic events loitered in my spirit and hovered like a mist on a cloudy day.  In those moments, I was disappointed that my parenting vault of remedies failed to cure the pain and sadness.  Somehow the expressions of sympathy and overtures of “adult” sayings about bad things happening to good people and finding good in the bad rang of cliché and rather inadequate mama tools needed to heal the hurts of my babies.

The loss of a family friend last week and the tragic attack on innocent people in a tourist town down south, pierced my heart.  Even though I don’t have young children, I felt the need to offer comfort and explanations to lessen the volume of emotions mounting within many young people around me.  I wanted to say or do something that would speak to those emotions that surface in these types of moments that take your breath away.  I think the moments of breathlessness from pain and loss felt different to me because I knew that the source of the event or loss was beyond my control.

Parents work hard to maintain control of the environments of the ones they care about so moments of tragic loss, especially losses of other young people, compromise the shields of protection built by the grown ups.  Moreover, the encounters with the unexplainable, beautiful things tend not to establish residency in my head for as long as the unexplainable losses or tragic events and I expect that other parents have a similar experience with loss and tragedy.  Last week I found myself using the unexplainable good things like rainbows and breath to cope with the unexpected losses.  I spent some time last week confronting the losses, my pain and my regrets.  I engaged in dialogues and reflective services to honor those lost.  In both instances, pain which was manifested through silence and somberness evolved into celebratory expressive memories that moved the audiences to calls for action.

People vary in their opinions about how to cope with loss and tragedy, but from my parental lens I think movement and action become the only way to secure the armor intended to protect those of us who remain.  As a friend of one lost, I believe the call to action honors the soul of the friend in a way that enables the living to heal and preserve the best qualities and passions of the one we cared for while enabling us to secure their legacy.  Calls to action after a national or global tragedy assure us that humanitarian compassion lives.  I believe that these calls to action give us and therefore our children hope.  We hope that movements of support, encouragement and resources will empower our communities.  The calls to action and the movement of the community is restorative.  The active decisions to honor those lost and support those who live empowers individuals and groups in the communities.  Watching the community during breathless moments respond with positivity renews my faith that the village will embrace the challenge of standing with our children through the moments that steal their breath away.

To Daddy, with love!

daddyandmeweddingMy father was a man of conviction about whatever became his topic of discussion or interest. He loved his family, electronics and making people laugh. Daddy was a master story teller and champion dreamer.  My father was full of sayings and “reverse psychology” during parenting moments which was any moment that we were together. He was not a man who believed he was my friend so he didn’t worry about how I felt about the truth hurting my feelings.

He was generally delicate with the truth like when he didn’t like my outfit or he thought it was inappropriate for the occasion. He would say, “Where you going?…”Oh, ok.”… “Well, maybe your mother can help you find something more appropriate to wear.” I can remember thinking and saying with my inside voice, “Like what? A church dress?” I think I learned from him to give my kids some latitude about their wardrobe choices and reserve the strong suggestions about appropriate attire for select occasions.

I also learned from him to always encourage my kids to dream and believe in their abilities to be great at something.  My daddy used to tell us that we could be anything we wanted to be when we grew up. I laugh now because there are really some things I just couldn’t have been either because I think those things are plain boring or because I suck at quantum physics and molecular science. He used to say that if we wanted to be professional gamblers he would buy us “the best pair of dice” he could find. I am certain that was simply to make a point and a true statement of intention. He didn’t want me to be an interior decorator so I can’t imagine he would have ever made good on the pink dice in a camel colored leather case to ensure that I looked like a pro.

My father grew up poor in rural Alabama. As a result, he made it his goal to own most of the things he couldn’t enjoy or afford as a kid. Before the small motor home there was the old van he bought as a fixer upper. The van was such an eye sore when he bought it that my mother made him hide it in the back yard until she deemed it acceptable for viewing in her yard.  With my help, he designed and built benches and cabinetry for the interior. He added new seat covers and had cushions made with matching fabric for the benches in the rear. He got my cousins in Gadsden to paint the exterior in exchange for him making a number of television repairs for them. Then, we took the van home and added stripes. We spent hours in the backyard pimping out his ride while we listened to BB King. My mom used to say she couldn’t believe he had her baby singing the blues. I loved every minute of it.

Before the van, there was the boat. We went to Connecticut once to visit one of his brothers and came home pulling a boat behind the station wagon. His brother gave him an old boat that he considered junk. My dad saw hope and asked if he could take it home. Daddy put the boat in the garage and then went to a boat store to learn about how to prepare his vessel for many successful voyages. We dedicated many hours to sanding, shalacking and painting before we were able to spend weekends riding the Alabama River together.

Daddy often told the story about being so poor that he never had a bike. He said he would fix bikes for kids he knew in exchange for the opportunity to ride the bikes. He said that if they didn’t let him ride, he would return the bikes to their original broken conditions. He loved tinkering with anything mechanical from the HAM radio to the televisions to the small electronic devices. The joke in the house was never to tell daddy if the tv was doing any sort of funny business because you might spend the entirety of your favorite show watching him try “one more thing.” And Heavan forbid if you became the runner to his shop to search for the part that would be located behind the door, on the third shelf in the orange box marked with some long serial number like XQGB125798FLMTP. “Got it?” “Oh sure, Dad” is what I would say in my inside voice as I rolled my eyes and headed to the shop to search endlessly for the part.

Daddy was forever teaching. He believed in making a fisherman of any person he encountered. He parented us and he parented the kids he taught (and their parents). He came home one day laughing about how he convinced some boys at the elementary school where he was the principal that it was not a good idea to pee in the mop bucket. As the story goes, three young boys made it a practice to aggravate the janitor by peeing in the clean mop bucket water before the janitor could mop the bathroom floors. After a couple of successful missions at soiling the mop water, the janitor reported the boys to my dad. Daddy promptly called them to the principal’s office to get to the bottom of the matter. The boys were nervous, of course, and denied any involvement, of course. So, my daddy picked up the phone and called the health department. As you might imagine, he taught the person who answered the phone at some point in his career so when he started telling this story about investigating the mystery of discovering who peed in the mop bucket the woman on the phone played along. He made it sound so official and he laughed as he remembered the fear that overcame the suspects who sat in his office. He summoned the janitor and briefed him on the discussion with the health department representative.  Daddy said they needed a sample from the bucket. When the janitor returned with the murky sample from the mop bucket, daddy told the boys it might be better to fess up and tell on the person who peed in the bucket because they would be in a lot more trouble if they made him drive that sample a town over and put the folks in the lab through all the trouble of testing the mop bucket water sample. The boys nervously confessed and were sentenced to apologize to the janitor, help clean the bathroom floor and agree not to ever pee in the mop bucket again.  It also gave daddy an opportunity to teach the boys about the value of the work performed by the janitor and the respect the janitor was due.

The boys heard a lesson that I heard a lot from my dad: Treat everyone with respect.  My father was a son who loved and respected his parents.  He was a Marine, a baseball player, a teacher, a principal and a mentor.  He was a coach of high school football, baseball, track and basketball.  He was proud of his HAM handle, WA4ZYS, and proud of all of the young folks who respected him like their dad.  I was blessed to have him as my father and blessed that he loved me.  I was blessed when he said that I would forever be his girl. With love, to my daddy.