Breathe.

Lessons Learned

Road Rage, the Adult Equivalent to a Temper Tantrum

When driving, have you ever had someone follow you so closely that it seemed they might climb right into your trunk?  Although, your speedometer insists that you are maintaining a suitable law-abiding pace, her face in your rearview mirror clearly and vehemently disagrees. You could almost watch the fire engine red creeping up her neck in flagrant, irrational rage except that keeping your eyes on the road is a higher, albeit less entertaining, priority.  What is that but sheer impatience turned radically ugly. What drives that crazed, possessed fury laser-focused at the stranger ahead, who has done nothing but drive in full accordance with the law? I believe that we are forgetting how to breathe, despite the simple anatomical fact that breathing is an involuntary process which is controlled by the brain. It seems we frequently revert to toddler temper tantrums when we settle in behind the wheels of our cars. While grocery shopping one day, I witnessed a full out temper tantrum by a child who wasn’t going to get a toy at the grocery store.  The answer “no” was more than he could take, so on the floor he flailed with kicks and screams and a bright red face. He held his breath but continued his flurry of chaotic movements. (Not dissimilar to our road rage neighbor.)  His mother stood quietly, patiently there, her eyes perusing the shelves for the best-priced tomato paste. She was breathing. She maintained calmness and stilled her heart by pausing to breathe. When the young chap realized that the intended outcome was not to be, the tantrum downgraded and then fizzled at which point, he began to breathe again.  “No” is the word we cannot easily accept, especially when it thwarts what we want when we want it. No, you cannot drive faster when I am driving slower. Tantrum. No, you cannot push me to drive faster when I have decided to drive the speed limit. Tantrum. No, you cannot make me change my mind about speeding by shouting at me in the rearview mirror. Tantrum.  So with fire and daggers flying from your eyes, you spew hate in my direction, simply because you cannot travel the speed you wish. You don’t even know me and I am a little bit afraid of you already. Adult temper tantrums are ridiculously unflattering and bespeak a desperate narcissistic immaturity that is horrifically disappointing. If you require immediate medical attention, please call an ambulance as they are licensed to exceed the speed limit, and we will all pull over to let you through. If, however,  you are running late for your hair appointment or the ballgame or even work, please just set your alarm for a few minutes earlier thus allowing time to breathe. Breathing will certainly make you a more respectable citizen and will incidentally help make the world a kinder, gentler place for us all. 

The Language of Kindness, The Language of Friendship, Everywhere the Same

Lessons Learned

Crossing Over The Bridge Of Friendship

A graduate course in Cross-Cultural Educational Trends was going to lead me on a grand adventure across the ocean, to a cozy, beautiful town in southwest England. I was to live with someone I had never met or even spoken with, observe and serve at a Church of England primary school for about two months, and find my way to various places across England for meetings with professors and other grad students in this course. There were neither cell phones nor computers. It felt very far away. I felt very alone. I felt small and not particularly brave.  Students must feel these very feelings whenever they need to start in a new school, in a new town. I would never down-play or disregard or discount or minimize the weight of that emotional strain ever again.  Lesson already learned before even setting foot in the classroom or the host’s home. My host was extremely generous, compassionate and very kind. She was an outstanding teacher and an excellent friend. Our two mile walk to school each day was filled with endless conversation along narrow English country roads lined with flowers and dotted with cottages. Our daily walk took us right past a quaint, busy bakery where each morning the fresh, delicious smells beckoned us to stop for our breakfast of a warm hot cross bun. Many lessons were learned on our walks and many more lessons were learned in the classrooms and among the precious and very welcoming families.  Children are the same everywhere. They love to play and sing, run and laugh, ask questions and tell stories. Families are the same everywhere. They love their kids, attend the kids’ games and concerts,  and do the best they can. Neighbors help neighbors. Kind, gentle words lead to kind, gentle responses. Food brings people together. Sports bring fun. Music brings life. Laughter brings health. Communities are proud and are full of stories. As is always the case, there was significant book learning that was covered and tested in the course, but the life-changing piece of the course was unequivocally relational and emerged in the sweet connections made with these lovely, gracious new friends.

A Closing Thought To Taunton

Farewell my friends of recent days

To heart and home you’ve op’ed your door

And gently guided in your ways

A foreigner of distant shore.

Though words fall short when meaning’s deep

The best I have to share

Is in my heart for you to keep

A candle burning there.

darcy hill

No Need For Loud, Harsh Answers

Lessons Learned

A Gentle Answer

“A gentle answer quiets anger, but a harsh one stirs it up,” Proverbs 15:1.

In grocery store aisles and school hallways, on sports field sidelines and in performance hall parking lots, we hear parents yell at their kids and then kids yell back at their parents, and back and forth and back and forth, escalating ever escalating as if volume alone seizes the final, most authoritative word. We shout to assert control yet this very shouting bespeaks the control we have already so very clearly lost. We shout because the loudest, most ferocious bark belongs to the alpha boss dog, right? Or does it really? I believe we shout because we have not effectively learned how to lead. One of the most amazing classroom volume control strategies I have ever witnessed in thirty years of teaching, was demonstrated by a young, shy, gentle, peaceful teacher who never raised her voice above a hushed tone with students in her classroom. Their first grade voices matched her quietness. No voice was ever raised, and it was a beautifully calm room, lovely for learning. They listened for her voice and in that stillness there was comfort and security. Conversely, several doors down the hallway was a screamer whose classroom was invariably on the brink of chaos. By afternoon each day in the loud room, the decibels had been ratcheted up to an ear drum piercing roar, with everyone fighting to be heard including the teacher.  Exhaustion. Headaches. Frustration. Why do we shout? Do we lack the confidence necessary to be still, to be gentle, to be one who brings peace? In a world that regularly shouts its demands and demands its own way, a gentle soul who patiently listens and quietly responds is truly one of great strength and wisdom.  Our children have tender hearts and ears and need the careful tending of one who teaches and leads with calmness and gentleness, both at school and at home. We all need this, no matter how thick and hard our protective walls have become over time. Deep down, we long for this.  A gentle answer, a humble response, a quiet calming word breathes peace into our harried hearts. Try it. Be still. Turn the volume down. Respond with calmness, even if the impulse is to roar. Hold back that lion and watch the gentle response that returns to you.

19 years ago...

Lessons Learned

Valentine, The Gift of Time Is A True Gift of The Heart

Twenty four hours. In the pediatric unit of a hospital. Any time spent here with your child for a reason other than visiting someone else is equivalent to eternity. RSV, or respiratory syncytial virus, was the diagnosis for my nine month old. His breathing was raspy and labored and the discomfort his little body felt from this struggle left him so very restless and irritable. My heart ached watching him fight this insidious enemy as in his hospital crib he attempted to sleep tethered to wires and monitors. With permission, I lifted him from the foreign, strange-feeling crib and cradled him in my arms where rest and a bit of sleep more easily came.  All night long, I prayed over this angel in my arms, as the excellent but stretched-way-too-thin medical staff frantically ran from room to pediatric room tending monitors and needs. Between RSV and the Rotavirus, on that particular night during that particular year, every pediatric bed was filled, and sick, hospitalized children were filling beds in other units. Two children died.  Rocking and praying my son through the night, there was peace in our little room despite the overwhelming  and overarching anxiety  wrapped around a stay such as this. The hospital night in that pediatric unit was noisy with the cries of children whose bodies were in tremendous distress and I wept for them through the night as their painful, fearful cries went on. I asked our nurse why their parents were not allowed to hold these children to calm their little bodies? Their parents were not able to stay the night, for circumstances and reasons that demanded they not stay. These little ones cried and cried alone, and I cried wishing I had more arms and more time to hold and rock and pray over these other precious lives struggling with sickness.  Sometimes there simply is not enough time to do all that we need to do because life is busy and hard and full of choices that frequently leave you feeling that none of the options are really that wonderful. Perhaps this is the place where we need to step in for one another and fill in those gaps with our time. We all have hands and hearts and arms to hold and rock. We all have bits of time here and there that we could offer up to help. All we really need is a desire to do something about the cries filling the hallway.  

Are You Brave Enough To Say Who Cares About Being Popular?

Lessons Learned

Pursuing Popular? What Exactly Is It?

Popular. Popularity. Some people long for this with a raging passion that is fierce and all-consuming. It’s a must-have. It’s a must-be. And to not have is pretty much to not be, at least in the rules of popular. But what is “popular?” Is it a status? Is it an aspiration or an achievement or a goal or a scheme? Is it even real? I believe it is illusive and fleeting regardless of whatever else it is. I believe it is synonymous with power, that is, until it suddenly dissolves. Anything wrapped in power such as “popular” has high bully potential, and this certainly is the case. Popular is most often maintained through fear; fear of being in, fear of being out, fear of being nothing but invisible as deemed by the “populars.” I have even observed teachers who have so feared the wrath of the populars, that they allowed accountability inconsistencies to exist in their classrooms; accountability inconsistencies clear to all but addressed by none. The power of popular is very tricky to handle and almost always causes some degree of pain to someone.  I believe it has some very treacherous and destructive propensities, as well. I believe popular emotionally resembles a house of cards, which, upon its collapse, leaves a horrific wake of devastated, shattered self-esteems and desperately exposed and tramped upon feelings, which in some instances never in a lifetime recover. Why? For what purpose?  To be the king or the queen of the pile of what? And yet dreams of “popular” dominate an adolescent mentality until alas this hope of all hopes is ruthlessly dashed by another heartless aspirer, whereby one is overtly and publically deemed uncool and thereby thrown out of the running for popular. Who picks and chooses? Who sits in this omnipotent judgment seat of exalting one aspirer and crushing another with frivolous flippancy?  Is popular a supreme to the absolute extreme rendition of the classic tale, “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” where everyone but the emperor sees the lunacy and the tragic hilarity of the situation?  To pour one’s heart and energies into the pursuit of this particular illusion of popular, which seems to be very real and important when caught in the swirling sea of it, with thrashing and drowning part of its diabolical protocol, is to leave little heart and energy available for the pursuit of more meaningful, more lasting, more healthy, and more honest aspirations. How does one determine one’s gifts or strengths or aspire to reach one’s best if one is caught in the mire of clawing toward popular?  Fear and creativity cannot coexist well. Creativity’s very nature denotes uniqueness, originality, imaginative freedom, and wonder-filled curiosity, none of which bend to the conformity expectation of aligning with popular. Popular remains the best possible copy of what the world tells it to be, and creativity simply will not be contained as such. To not align is to be discarded. To be discarded is to be relegated to nothing status, to invisible, and if a heart is strong enough to bear this, it will emerge liberated and peaceful and on track to identify gifts, develop them and use them to chase dreams and bless the world; a wonderful place for creativity to dwell and flourish. Can we help our children with this, or are we just as tangled up in it as they?

The International Day Of Peace: September 21, 2014

With the International Day Of Peace fast approaching, September 21, 2014, we, as teachers and parents, neighbors and workers, are challenged to assess our own personal efforts on behalf of peace. Peace in so very many ways is a deliberate choice to be others-centered, patient, gentle, thoughtful, compassionate, tender-hearted, and kind. Peace cannot live well in a place where the air is thick and angry with loud polarizing dogmatic opinions which seem to so quickly become fiercely held narrowly scoped self-serving demands. Louder and louder we get in our attempt to make our point over the ever growing cacophony of everyone else attempting to do the same. Louder and louder the opinionated roar deafens and frustrates and alienates and infuriates, until the pitchforks appear and threaten, and then the strongest arm becomes the voice that silences the rest. Pointless. Fruitless. Hate-evoking. No. This cannot be the way we live or teach our children to live. To come together under a peaceful umbrella and then play nicely together in the sandbox of life, we need to reach and see beyond ourselves and listen to our neighbors. We can disagree and still be loving and respectful. Despite your politics, your sports teams, your perspective on issues and headlines, at the heart of you is your heart; precious, unique, valued, priceless. You are uniquely gifted and critically important. So too is your neighbor. Peace begins by turning the volume down, laying the opinions aside, turning the selfishness off,  and loving your neighbor. It's time.  

How Can We Learn To Be Responsible If We Refuse To Own Our Bad Choices As Well As Our Good Choices?

Lessons Learned

For Pete’s Sake. Own Your Behavior!

The knee-jerk response to most every “shouldn’t have done it” incident is I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it! Regardless of the age of the spokesperson, two to ninety-two, this response more often than not remains consistently uttered, for it represents the finest in Teflon outfitting defending one against all sorts of true or false but always uncomfortable allegations. I can be watching a student do the very thing he or she has been instructed not to do and when called on it will almost unequivocally, bordering on the brazenly, assert, I didn’t do it. Many times a day. This phenomenon is certainly not exclusive to schools and students, however, for these students have had to be carefully taught, which they absolutely have been. The I didn’t do it mentality and societal norm seems as automatic to human nature as bowing for applause.  I didn’t do it is usually followed by a bit of anemic bantering along the lines of yes you did, no I didn’t, yes, no, etc. where it then fizzles to conversational complacency, a very safe place where it quietly rests until it is needed again. It never gathers moss nor grows dusty waiting, though. In complacency it is deemed not a worthy fight, and in complacency it is perpetuated with increasing shamelessness.  But it’s a lie. A big, fat, bold-faced lie. I am not sure why we are okay with this. Over and over and over again in every walk of life and living from classrooms to legislative halls, from snarling interactions with referees, police officers, and parents to defensive exchanges with neighbors and road rage enthusiasts, we fight to abscond from the responsibility of simply owning what we do. The reality is, despite what our insecurities may shout at us, owning our actions, fessing up to our behavior, or begging the pardon of our screw-ups does not in fact really hurt that much. Mild embarrassment perhaps.  Or maybe a pinch of shame.  But honestly, bearing responsibility for our good or bad behavior strengthens integrity and is honorable. We all make mistakes with great regularity for it is in our very nature to push back a bit against the rules, even the most compliant among us. Own it. Claim it. Confess it. Apologize for it. Then be free of it. If you refuse to own it, it will in fact own you, and you will be diminished by it. The automatic I didn’t do it response is not good enough for today’s students, or yesterday’s for that matter, because it doesn’t call students forth to be strong or to be responsible, both of which they will need to become the leaders they are capable of becoming.

You've Got To Take The Leap

Lessons Learned

The Leap

The month was June and summer vacation in Wisconsin had just begun. All of the kids in our neighborhood exuberantly and together trekked seven blocks daily to the city pool. Summer paradise, unquestionably. Every minute at the pool was perfect from the first plunge to the banana popsicle we’d each buy for the drippy wet stroll home.   Something at the pool, however, had me thoroughly captivated.  It was the high dive. I was seven that particular summer.  Only the bravest of the brave ascended those metal steps leading to the bouncy plank which seemed to catapult divers first through the clouds then into the deep end of the pool. I was mesmerized. To want something so badly, yet at the same time to be so absolutely intimidated by it, left this curious youngster in a very perplexed, very conflicted place.  Come on, try it, urged the older siblings and neighbor friends. It’s not that hard, and we all will be right here. Right here? What exactly does “right here” do to help when you are ascending those steps alone, walking the plank alone, and mustering the courage for a leap through the clouds alone? Smiling to affirm their sincere encouragement with unbudging feet seemingly affixed to the poolside concrete, I continued to longingly watch the leaping. Even though just seven, I was a good YMCA-trained and competitive swimmer who understood the steely nerves required when poised on the starting block waiting for the starter’s gun to sound and the swim race to begin. I had a growing collection of swim ribbons and a strong shot at being a Junior Olympic participant. But the high dive was different. Day after glorious day with friends at the pool flew by on the wild wings of summer but with the issue of the high dive looming unrelenting on the edges of my young mind. I had to make the leap. The question was when. Gathering courage is no small or easy task, for it demands a daring charge of the will, a very deliberate choice to sidestep fear and reserve believing that the gain is worth the cost.  Watching others leap did not evoke increased bravery, it simply taunted. It was time. Without fanfare, pomp and circumstance, or any salubrious pronouncement, I crossed the poolside concrete to the metal steps, ascended them unflinchingly but with a few butterflies, and walked the bouncy plank to the end where I curved my toes around the fiberglass edge, took a deep breath and leaped. The older siblings and neighbor friends didn’t have time enough to amass a cheering section, but they all did pause in their playing to witness the splash. There. I did it. I took the leap, pierced the water’s surface with pencil straightness, submerged, and then re-emerged with a quiet victor’s grin. Life was never quite the same after the leap because there was a new confidence, a new boldness that from then on kept a bit of a bridle on those things that attempt to intimidate and subsequently paralyze action. I learned to leap that day, that summer when I was seven, and it has been a lesson of greatest significance throughout the next fifty years. Learning to leap benefits all learning as each new topic, new chapter, new unit, new school year, new skill, and on and on demands a willingness to set aside “I can’t” while reaching instead towards “yes.” With a month until the new school year begins, with a new job prospect on the horizon, with a dream itching to be chased, with a relationship whispering for more effort, with a need crying for your giftedness, with these and infinite others tickling at the edges of your awareness, perhaps it is time to practice and prepare for some life changing leaping. Take the leap. It is time.

Bringing The Kentucky Derby Home

Lessons Learned

Running For The Roses

The sort of teacher one becomes is, to a significant extent, the sum of who you are, what you’ve learned, what you believe, where you’ve been, the why’s of decisions you’ve made, the hopes you have, the hurts you’ve encountered, and infinite other influential variables that roll like waves through your life. All of these things impact you, inform you, instruct you, influence you, and become the screen through which your perspective is viewed. Life is indeed a classroom that teaches us to teach. On this particular day, my classroom was a horse show.

Buttons. I was to ride Buttons during the annual horse show held at the neighbor’s farm and riding corral. Buttons was a biter and a bit prone to unpredictable behavior, but only when she turned her ears back. As long as she kept her ears in place, I would only be a little nervous about her, us and the entire extravaganza.  We were novice riders and had just finished our first season of riding lessons. We were also city-slicker kids trying our best to learn how to be country kids, and this horse show was quite the event of the season drawing participants and spectators from a wide range of neighboring farms.  Hair in braids, flannel shirts, jeans, and sturdy boots, were the prescribed costume, and from that aspect, we were fully ready for the show to begin. Any participants without cowboy hats were supplied with one to wear in the show thus completing the appropriate look.  We put on our hats wishing we had a mirror, but we knew that the look was right, and we were just thrilled to be a part of the excitement.  The spectators lined the corral fence and amongst them were our parents.  The judges took their places. The announcer bullhorned a crackly welcome, stirred up the crowd, then commenced the show with the Pledge of Allegiance. Event after event. Rider after rider. Individuals and groups entered the ring demonstrating fine skills and command over these very powerful animals. When our names were called, Buttons and I entered the ring with the rest of our group of beginner contestants.  Please walk your horses.  Perfect. Please trot your horses. Perfect. Please cantor your horses.  Buttons ears went back and my blood ran cold. She took off running like there was no tomorrow, passing every horse on the inside, and gaining steam.  My thoughts were a flurry during those tenuous moments where speed and fear and recalling the need for showmanship collided.  Smile. Our instructor impressed upon us that to smile when passing by the judges demonstrated poise and confidence and control of the situation.  Although I clearly had none of those, I managed to paste on a smile which surely was nothing more than a blur as Buttons and I ran for the roses.  My hat flew off and may well have been trampled, but I stayed on, thankfully. Several neighbors came running into the ring with the instructor at that point and managed to catch Buttons just as she was eyeing the fence and the vast field beyond.  Calm was restored. Hat was recovered. Important lesson learned: when trouble strikes good neighbors come running.  Additional lesson learned: keep smiling even when titer tottering on the brink of a non-optimal outcome.  Whew! What a show!

Through the decades since that exhilarating horse show, which was my closest brush with anything resembling the Kentucky Derby, there have been numerous classroom moments when we have danced on the brink of “oh no” only to have the moment be saved by a kind, thoughtful, intuitive, generous "neighbor," student, parent, or colleague stepping in. And often times the blessing is to be neighbor who is able to step in and help grab the reigns. 

Imperative For Our Children

Lessons Learned

The Best For Our Kids

Visiting with some parents at a Head Start event, we shared thoughts on high priority activities, behavioral habits, and experiences which would serve to benefit their little ones greatly in preparation for school.  Simple things. Inexpensive things.  Things, however, that required a faithful, never-ending investment of time.  Children represent great hope and great promise, and each parent in our conversation clearly carried that twinkling spark of hope in his or her eyes.  We long for our children to succeed and to watch their dreams come true.  Somehow, somewhere along the way, however, life seems to get in the way and our very best intentions get hopelessly tangled in the mire that is the lock step of daily living. Distractions lead to compromises of time and trade deliberate learning and growing  efforts for auto-pilot screen-babysitters. Two jobs. Three jobs. No jobs. Life is very hard. Raising children is very hard. That conversation at Head Start has continued to reverberate in my mind over many years. As a teacher, what do I see? As a mom, what do I do? With both hats on, and with a very humble heart here are five simple thoughts on high priority activities, behavioral habits, and beneficial experiences for little ones:

1.       Read to little ones. Read. Read. Read.  Any books. All books. Go to the library. Get books in their hands. Abe Lincoln had one book as a child. He read it over and over and over again. Traveling through the pages of hundreds of books together, my boys and I were able to travel in our imaginations to places we would never be able to afford to actually visit.  Free field trips. Free vacations.  Never too tired to read. Never too tired to be read to.

2.       Eat healthy food. A bag of potatoes, for instance, is less expensive than a bag of potato chips and so much better for growing children.  Simple fresh food is typically less expensive than the processed snack-types and is completely, absolutely better for you. Eat healthy.

3.       Drink plenty of water. Water supports the brain, and the body needs so much more water than we think.

4.       Play. Forget about the fancy, expensive toys, and use what you have to foster creativity and imagination development.  Children need far less entertainment where they passively observe, and far more mind-engaging, problem-solving creative play with paper, crayons, rocks, sticks, water, and imagination. Play inside, play outside, get lots of fresh air, gross motor with lots of flailing and running, and fine motor demanding concentration; just must play.

5.       Enough sleep is unbelievably critical. Do not ever underestimate the necessity of sleep for little ones. Sleep allows the brain and body time to rest and recharge.  A well-rested mind is exceedingly more able to concentrate, focus, and engage in learning.

The future belongs to our children and it will be shaped to match their dreams. For the few short years that are ours to hold their hands and lead them, let us together make those years significant and opportunity-filled. They say it takes a village or a community to raise a child, and there is great truth in that. Our precious children deserve this promise and faithful commitment from us.

The Piece Of Furniture Known As The Television

Lessons Learned

Flying On The Wings Of Creativity

The first day of summer vacation could irrefutably be the most eagerly anticipated and longed for day on the calendar of all school children. In a word, freedom! My own boys were faithfully counting the minutes, starting weeks before the late winter snow had fully melted in the upper Midwest. On the eve of the day above all days, much discussion was occurring in my home among the boys as to exactly which television program might kick off the glorious three month hiatus. From my couldn’t help but listen post at the kitchen counter, I knew we could do better than this to usher in the summer, a beautiful season of different learning.  The woo hoo day arrived with torrential rain but none-the-less great jubilating joy. The race to the television was stopped in mid-step with the pronouncement that everyone needed to hop in the car. What? Why? Garage sale-ing. Ughhhh. Everyone gets five dollars to buy a broken appliance to take apart. It’s raining! All the better for a day at the workbench.  Garage sale hosts are exceptionally enthusiastic to have customers during a rain storm, so the deals were extremely good and it was clearly the peak season for broken appliances.  With three items and quite a lot of pocket change in our possession, we headed dripping wet to the basement workbench. Although the start was a bit slow with excitement in the project noticeably underwhelming, the momentum quickly picked up and soon tools were flying and the chatter of creativity was escalating in volume and speed. The project lasted hours, days, and weeks, and grew to include the neighbor kids who were already tired of watching television and much more interested in engaging their hands and ideas in the project. Early on, it was determined that all three appliances were completely unfixable, but by pooling all of the parts and adding this and that from various nooks and crannies in the basement, the garage, and the neighbors’ houses, a brand new idea emerged. The new idea led to drawings, plans, suggestions (only when asked) from engineer dad, and many phone calls (by the kids) to a variety of local gear shops. Fund raising efforts were organized to have money to order and purchase parts to continue work on the project.  The project was brilliantly and delightfully consuming and exhilarating and half of the summer whooshed by in a flurry of creativity before a calendar was ever noticed. Camps, family vacations, and assorted lessons punctuated the project efforts, but it all was good and fun and happy. In what seemed to be a snap, we were buying school supplies and shoes again readying for a new school year. Impossible. On the magnificent wings of creativity, the summer flew in the most joyful way hovering over the well-lit basement workbench, while the piece of furniture known as the television collected a good amount of dust.

To Live Well Is To Give.

Lessons Learned

The Gift Of A Life

Twenty four hours. A gift to have and a gift to give. She had end stage cancer. Although she had battled cancer twice before and won, this time was different and she was very tired. She was a mentor, a role-model, a light in the darkness, an endless giver, a perpetual hugger, a tireless servant, a champion for the voiceless, a babysitter for my boys, and a dear, dear change-your-life kind of friend. She was the person who, when she entered a room, all in the room were made better simply by her quiet, loving presence. She, in her vivid and brilliant imagination, constructed programs to serve those in greatest need in our community and then somehow managed to graciously sidestep the voluminous red tape of well-meaning committees and enact her loving programs, always serving up smiles, hugs, and assistance. She danced ballet. She painted beautiful pictures. She basked in God’s glorious creation all around her. She fiercely loved her family and her neighbors. She loved. She lived. And in her living and loving she taught us lessons of infinite and eternal importance without ever writing a lesson plan.  She poured more life and living into her short years, than most people do in ten lifetimes. When the end was near and exhaustion was mercilessly gaining, her husband called and asked if I had a few minutes to visit with her.  Dropping everything at the tiniest chance to give to this matchless giver, I raced over. He said she was tired and that a few minutes would be all she could muster.  Whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed. So we talked and talked and laughed and reminisced and before long, she asked her husband for an old photo album which together we wandered through with waves of emotion swinging from giggles to tears. It was precious, precious time. A deep and lasting gift from her which I will forever cherish.  We shared time, the priceless treasure. The gift had nothing to do with the right most eloquent  words to say or the loveliest purchased present; to be sure, and any thought to any of those would have diminished the true gift which was simply shared, treasured, beautiful time.  A perfect time that I was blessed forever to share.  Time. She passed and left the world much more beautiful than she found it.

The Need For Community.

Lessons Learned

Time To Check In On The Neighbors

Life is fast. Activities are many. Involvements and commitments fill our calendars. Squeeze it in, pack it in, as much and as quickly as humanly possible. Often times far from families. Faster. Faster. Faster. Until in exhaustion from all of our running we realize that we have forgotten to breathe. Breathe. What are we running for? What are we running from? Can we really ever keep up with or catch up to the Jonses? What happened to chatting over the garden fence with the neighbors? Life happens in a neighborhood.  From walks around the block with strollers to training-wheel bicycles wobbily being ridden on the sidewalks, from trick or treating to selling wrapping for school, from borrowing a cup of sugar to sharing a bag full of tomatoes, from watching the house next door until the family returns from vacation to bringing over a meal when a tragedy has struck, from searching together for a lost dog to working together to drag out a fallen branch, from borrowing a cool sports car for prom to giving someone a ride to the hospital, life happens in a neighborhood. We need each other. We need to be connected. We need to belong. Children need this, we all need this. We can set a head-spinning pace and race with all we are worth to keep up with ourselves, but at the end of the day does the spoil outweigh the fatigue? What would it mean, what would it look like to occasionally jump off the merry-go-round and instead linger over the garden fence to catch up with the neighbors, to make a connection, to engage friendship?  The human heart was made to be in relationship and yet we run disengaged keeping our empty distance. Not so in our neighborhood. We made a different choice here.   Our neighborhood, although a hodge-podge collection of individuals in every way,  is modest and connected, generous and attentive, and together we laugh and share and grow up. Together we are stronger. Together we are better. Together we are blessed. Perhaps it is time to stop running and check on the neighbors.

Good Neighbors Come Running...

Lessons Learned…

At The Horse Show

Buttons. I was to ride Buttons during the annual horse show held at the neighbor’s farm and riding corral. Buttons was a biter and a bit prone to unpredictable behavior, but only when she turned her ears back. As long as she kept her ears in place, I would only be a little nervous about her, us and the entire extravaganza.  We were novice riders and had just finished our first season of riding lessons. We were also city-slicker kids trying our best to learn how to be country kids, and this horse show was quite the event of the season drawing participants and spectators from a wide range of neighboring farms.  Hair in braids, flannel shirts, jeans, and sturdy boots, were the prescribed costume, and from that aspect, we were fully ready for the show to begin. Any participants without cowboy hats were supplied with one to wear in the show thus completing the appropriate look.  We put on our hats wishing we had a mirror, but we knew that the look was right, and we were just thrilled to be a part of the excitement.  The spectators lined the corral fence and amongst them were our parents.  The judges took their places. The announcer bullhorned a crackly welcome, stirred up the crowd, then commenced the show with the Pledge of Allegiance. Event after event. Rider after rider. Individuals and groups entered the ring demonstrating fine skills and command over these very powerful animals. When our names were called, Buttons and I entered the ring with the rest of our group of beginner contestants.  Please walk your horses.  Perfect. Please trot your horses. Perfect. Please cantor your horses.  Buttons ears went back and my blood ran cold. She took off running like there was no tomorrow, passing every horse on the inside, and gaining steam.  My thoughts were a flurry during those tenuous moments where speed and fear and recalling the need for showmanship collided.  Smile. Our instructor impressed upon us that to smile when passing by the judges demonstrated poise and confidence and control of the situation.  Although I clearly had none of those, I managed to paste on a smile which surely was nothing more than a blur as Buttons and I ran for the roses.  My hat flew off and may well have been trampled, but I stayed on, thankfully. Several neighbors came running into the ring with the instructor at that point and managed to catch Buttons just as she was eyeing the fence and the vast field beyond.  Calm was restored. Hat was recovered.  Lesson learned, when trouble strikes good neighbors come running.  Additional lesson learned, keep smiling.  What a show!