From Fiddles to Football

 So, I’m a transplant.  Actually, I’m a transplant times eight. I’ve lived in six different states, and have taken short jaunts to Germany over the last twenty-three years.   I’m a former ballet dancer, actor and model, cellist, singer, and admirer of all things culturally refined. I was fifteen when my Dad came home to tell us he had good news and bad news.  The bad news was we had to move, but the good news was that we were going to Green Bay, Wisconsin!   Seriously?  This was good news?  I think I remember asking if there’s an NFL football team there (Is that where I know the name from?...), but my mind’s TV was playing “Little House on the Prairie” in my head.  I was waiting for a camera crew to suddenly appear…even though “Punk’d” hadn’t even been dreamed up yet.

After the shock wore off, the moving trucks pulled away, and the three of us (my twin brother, my sister, and I) prepared ourselves for the up-coming school year, we found that meeting new people would be easy.  All we had to do was open our mouths, and there would be a gathering. We were stars … from outer space it seemed.

I grew up in southern Ohio, which some of you may be aware, is close to the border of northern Kentucky, so citizens of this area have a distinctly southern drawl adopted from its neighbor state.  If you live in other parts of the state you will have other accents, like the Clevelanders who sound like they’re from Philly, and the residents of Toledo can sound nasally New-York-ish.  I happened to have arrived to “Titletown, USA,” which was devoid of any diversity at the time, with a drawl that caused a stir everywhere I went.  I could not go to the mall, introduce myself in class, or talk to anyone on the telephone without having to answer the constant question of, “Where are you from?”  I wasn’t quite as confident then, as I am today.  Otherwise I would have answered, “The moon.”  To a community used to its Norwegian, Swedish, Dutch, French, and German foundations, a newcomer with a hillbilly sound was way too entertaining to ignore. 

Before we moved here we made a trip to the “Frozen Tundra” to go house-hunting together.  When I noticed there not being any people of color, my father off-handedly remarked that that was because any people of color in Green Bay…were on the football team.  I was dumbfounded.  My best friends back home had been the sons and daughters of doctors, military members, and scientists of one of the largest Air Force Bases in the world. It was a testing facility that handled top secret projects that were worked on by the best minds from around the globe. Therefore, my classmates were of every color and spoke with all kinds of accents.  It never occurred to any of us to point out the obvious...or maybe we just didn’t notice.

Anyway, my sibling s and I were asked constantly about the way we talked, and were even called “hillbillies” by the ignorant.  People told us constantly that we “talked funny” like one would comment on the weather.  Add to that the incredibly horrible winters, the length of time it took to get to spring, and that the nearest ballet company being almost three hours away, and had I reached my limit for tolerating this new environment;  thus, expediting my resolve to leave this place as soon as I could. 

Making it through those last three years of school, in the land who’s people bleed green and gold, prepared me for so many changes that would come in the future….like seventeen moves, twenty-five jobs, three career changes, marriage, motherhood, and one wheelchair.  I learned the value of knowing how to navigate new places, how to build fresh relationships under varying circumstances, and how to lean on your family.  The three of us became an oasis of non-judgmental sanctuary for each other.  That trying time help lay the foundation for the intimacy we still have today.

It also allowed me the opportunity to make some crucial choices for myself.  I had to decide how I was going to take the move, in the first place.  I had to figure out a new culture; one I could either boycott or embrace.  I can’t begin to tell you how hard it is for an orchestra kid, used to spending all of my extracurricular time in ballet class or the theater, to move to a football town!  I could choose to be angry about being made fun of all the time, or do something about it.  My twin brother happened to be well over six feet tall, and my sister fell close behind at just over six feet, when we came to town, so they really didn’t have to worry about the bullying, but I was the shortest of us (and most tender-hearted) so I succumbed to the pressure and morphed to fit in.  They would not drop their drawls for anyone, and I stayed up late to study news anchors so I could speak more “correctly.”  I learned to dress for the formidable weather, enjoy the sound of the games on TV every Sunday, and reveled disappearing in the sea of tall people in the church lobby every week.  As I said, this part of the country was settled by the Dutch, Dane, and Scandinavians, and such, so being tall here wasn’t out of place.

I can’t say I changed my mind about wanting to leave ASAP, but all that I learned during those years made coming “home” again (cause you know “home” is where your family is) easier.  I’m still here, even though I’m married to a pilot, and we could live anywhere.  The city of Green Bay has become a thriving metropolis, with more diversity than I could have ever imagined it having back when I was a teenager.  I have met people from every state, gotten lost in conversations with other Buckeyes, and smile when I see kids of all colors walking home from school together.  I’m glad I came back and gave Green Bay another chance. I would not have all that I have today if I hadn’t lost everything I’d ever known back then.

What about you?  Have you undergone some life-altering changes, or about to experience it?  How are you going to go about it?  Are you gonna have the courage to be different or use every opportunity you can to make the best of the situation?  And for those of you meeting someone new; ask yourself how you treat people that are different than you.  Be the one who treats them like they belong, even if they talk funny.

Do you have a story to share?  A change that you had to overcome?  Please share below!

It Becomes an Act of Faith

If you're not already familiar with my story, the long and short of it is a story of working toward goals that always end up just out of reach.  I know it's been used a lot, but the illustration of the mouse in a maze works perfectly here.  I trained to be a dancer, with all the blood, sweat, and tears that come with that aspiration.  I dreamed of being a drug- and tobacco-free dancer in the midst of an artists' world that can be very, very dark and full of abnormal ways to find comfort. I vowed that I would be the dancer that would bring the light of Christ into this darkness, and be a role model for the younger dancers at the same time.  But that was not what I was called to do.  A back injury incurred while waiting tables eventually landed me in a wheelchair, with no hope of my mangled spinal column being able to support my body's weight again.
So, my young husband joined the Marine Corps in an effort to take care of my medical needs, only to be sectioned-out on account of asthma.
I figured I’d go to school and become a therapist, to help other injured athletes.
"What do you mean we're moving to Montana?!  I thought we were going to Minneapolis!"
“I’m sorry, but unless you commit to a year's worth of hormone therapy, there's no chance you'll have any more children." 
Ok. So I’ll become a teacher and love everybody else's children…
It's been like this for nearly all of our 22 years of marriage. Every good intention, best-laid plan, and desperate execution of plan "B" has run into walls, and each time we have merely picked ourselves up and gone a different direction.  It took me a long time to learn that if I simply spend my time looking for another way to make my plan work, I miss the journey.  I don't mean just stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of missing the journey.  I mean missing the lessons that unfold along the way; about who God really is, and what it means to look for His way.  It becomes an act of faith to rest in the belief that God knows where you’re going.  When you realize that all those moments, even the moments on the way to where you’re going, can be full of growth, and that just because we aren’t where we want to be doesn’t mean we can’t be content.  That’s the place I’d rather be, because every other path leads to frustration.

God's Own Fool

Just an FYI...in case you may have wondered why I have taken this title, here's the song by Amy Shreve      that made me adopt it:


•Seems I’ve imagined Him all of my life as the wisest of all of mankind
•But if God’s Holy wisdom is foolish to men
•He must have seemed out of His mind

•For even His family said he was mad
•And the priests said a demon’s to blame
•For God in the form of this angry young man
•Could not have seemed perfectly sane

•For we in our foolishness thought we were wise
•He played the fool and he opened our eyes
•We in our weakness believed we were strong
•He became helpless to show we were wrong

•So we follow God’s own fool
•For only the foolish can tell
•Believe the unbelievable
•Come be a fool as well                   
  Amy Shreve: Harp and Willow ; WIX Group 1995

Substitute Teaching: Yours by Default

Only those who have done the time can truly understand the plight of a substitute teacher.  Students mistakenly assume that we are people who couldn’t get a real job, while others believe we took a weekend workshop and hung out a shingle.  I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I was getting into beforehand…. and did it anyway! My mom was a sub for most of my youth.  I heard the stories over dinner of the day’s events; of reprobate students, hallway hysteria, blow-hard Principals, and uncooperative associates.

Sounded like a blast… Not!

Mom did it because of the flexibility it offered.  She could take a job or leave it.  If one of us got sick she could stay home with us, and she didn’t have to spend her evenings drawing up lesson plans.  That’s the benefit of not being under contract.  Subs get to come into the building just before school starts for the day and leave as soon as the last bell has rung.  The downside is that we are invisible agents, with no home.  We live out of various bags, frequently travel uncharted territory, and often eat lunch in anonymity.  

Like me, she had her degree in one of the “Specials,” which is Art, Music, P.E., and Foreign Language.  Jobs in those areas are tough to come by, so most of us opt to sub until something full-time opens up. It’s a great way to get classroom experience and learn the trade from other teachers.  It can also be something akin to combat training. In trying to get my husband to understand how much “fun” it is, I painted the following illustration. 

He’s a pilot, so I asked him to imagine sitting by the phone every morning at 5AM, waiting for the call.  Once you get your assignment head to the airport, where the lady at the front desk will give you a folder and a key.  Find a place to stow the lunch you brought.  Locate your aircraft and board.  Once inside, immediately find your flight plans, which may be in the front, middle, or rear of the plane (maybe anywhere in-between).  Make sure you’ve packed back-up plans in case there aren’t any.  Once plans are in hand, familiarize yourself with the safety exit, fire procedure guide, and what to do in case of an intruder (which may ground you for the day), as each plane is different.  Get to know your flight plan before your passengers get on board, and start asking questions about it.  Make sure you have enough time to read the notes in the back of the plans that will fill you in on the plane’s idiosyncrasies.  This will be important, especially mid-flight.  Listen for frequent announcements from the tower…You get the gist.  Add to that the students who will remind you hundred times an hour that “Our teacher doesn’t do it that way!”, the kindergartener who suddenly barfs on your feet, the senior who asks to go to the bathroom…and doesn’t come back, and try not to bristle when the kids trick you.

Had enough?  Just wait.  Tomorrow will mean a different airport, new airplane, and completely different passengers.

Cheers!

Fall and the Journey from Life to Death

It's fall, my favorite time of year.  Even if it is getting closer and closer to the anniversary of my mama's passing. I still love the sight of trees changing. I know the colors mean that they will die soon, fall to the ground, and be covered with snow if they are not raked up. All of us know, because we learn when we are little, that leaves must be raked up. The piles are a riot of fun to jump into, but left to sit on the ground under the snow, they will rot and kill the grass underneath, making it more difficult for new grass to emerge in the spring.  Going through the process of dying is kinda like fall.  You know it's coming, and what happens after it does, and if you are wise you do a lot of preparing, like the squirrels.  You ruminate over every memory, ask every question you can think of, and make the most of every moment possible, because we all know that like expecting a tulip bloom in January, so is being able to ask one last question of the loved one who is gone.

As the days shorten, and the shadows lengthen, I am re-visiting the year we've almost concluded, and the year that led up to its beginning.  We were like those squirrels, busily preparing all that mama wished for.  We begged her to wish for a trip to Paris, or go on a Safari...anything crazy we could do together while she was still feeling good.  Ever the planner, she was adamant about us painting the house, stripping wallpaper, and anything else that might need doing instead.  She wanted to make sure that when our daddy was the only one left in the house, that he would not be overwhelmed by all that would need to be done before selling it.  So we steamed and scraped, rolled on paint, and laughed as much as we could...to keep everyone's mood lifted. And we teased, "Are you sure you don't wanna go to Paris, Mama?"  Then went back to work.

Later just as we hug our jackets a little tighter, as the air gets brisker and brisker, signifying the end of summer for sure, we stayed close.  Every sibling was on call, and every one of my sweet auntie's were ready to come running at a moment's notice. Mama tricked us twice, causing two impromptu gatherings at the local hospital, where we entertained each other...and the staff.  We even had a mascot for our club. His name is Herman. He kept an "eye" on things when the room was quiet. She pulled through both times, leaving us to rejoice in "just a little more time."

All the while we told stories.  We laughed, left the room frequesntly to secretly weep, and held each other while mama slept.  And we held our breath.

On the evening we met for dinner and she said she wasn't hungry I knew the time we would have her was dwindling. Cancer is a monster, because of what it does to its victims.  When they need the hugging, caressing, and reassurance that human touch provides, it hurts them so badly that both the giver and the receiver are at an impasse.  Both are left to grieve before it's time, scraping the heart raw like the tines of the rake, preparing it for the separation that is to come.  Then the scratching scrapes a little deeper with each segment of her incapacitation, each marking the change of the season.

In the end, when you have traveled together toward the most important day of her life, your heart is so ripped to ribbons, the only resolution for peace...is passing. Only when we witnessed her pain, empathized with her agony, and begged for her release could we let her go- and only when she was assured we were going to be okay did she let go and fall into the arms of her Savior.  His presence there in that moment, and knowing without a doubt that He was holding her is the only thing that saved the hearts of the ones left behind, during the winter that was to follow.

This fall I'm not preparing to say good-bye like last year.  I'm looking at the colors, soaking in the sun of Indian Summer, and remembering.  Remembering the funny, the unexpected, and zany moments on that journey so that it can warm my heart enough to press through another winter without her.

Summer Lovin'

Dear Readers,

I have had one of the busiest summers I've had in a while, which is why I have totally dropped the ball.  I just realized it's been since June when I wrote last.  We've been visited by five of the loveliest girls in all of Germany, attended Lifest in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, shown them Chicago, the Mall of America, and oodles of festivals and various outdoor venues to be had in Summertime in Wisconsin.  The highlight of my summer was to see the Budweiser Clydesdales in Peshtigo, Wisconsin.  Even made a side trip to the fire museum there, to learn about their historically famous fire of 1871. 

My dear husband told me not to worry about finding part-time work this summer so that I could concentrate on the needs of said German girls, just in case. I looked forward to spending time on developing my book and learning everything I can about being a speaker.  I didn't get as much writing done as I wanted to, but I spent hours digging into internet searches, new books, web pages, sound bites, and pictures.  Who knew picking out business cards, ingredients for a web page, and studying other speakers could be so exhausting-ly exhilarating!  I am so pumped!

I've also learned how much I love kids.  I can't help but watch other speakers do what they do and see the expressions on the faces of the audience, and say, I wanna do that!  I want to reach kids like that! '

And...I can honestly say I'm ready to go back to school...to work myself out of a job....and into a career.
Our kids need a reason to stay in school, pay attention to their studies, make educating themselves like attaining treasure, and giving them a reason to protect themselves by "being educated."   Secondly, someone has got to get through to our girls, re-define beauty, re-invent self-respect, and make modesty the new normal.I wonder how many of them will be shocked when I tell them I believe in waiting before marriage for sex, not because of moral reasons, but for self-preservation....What do you think?

Teaching Your Children Well

Haven't posted anything in a while.  For one thing, I have been consumed with becoming a speaker, and finishing my book, and secondly, I haven't had a bee in my bonnet about anything.  But...tonight I was considering the road I've been on as a parent.  I am one of those Mama's who is serious about mothering...and although I'm sad about not being able to mother more children, I am glad not to be doing this process over.

Parenting teaches each of us a lot about ourselves if we're willing to take the time to reflect.  (Sometimes what we see in that reflection isn't pretty!)  When they're little, you are so busy trying to find time to sleep that time for reflection is lost between the time it takes to put the baby down and when your sleep-deprive-induced snoring begins.  But, as they get a little more autonomic, you have time to pay closer attention to the faces they make (that look like an aunt) or the way they play (fodder for psychologists sometimes), and how they interact with you.  I did a lot of that with my daughter early on, because there were so many peculiar behaviors, and like most new parents I worried.  Add to that, my mother-in-law moved from our hometown to our "new town" to "help"...and she worried more than I did.  Problem was, we worried about different things.  She was distraught over sneezes, running noses, and coughs... or any sign that our daughter would be in any discomfort.  I, on the other hand, was concerned about how she reacted to light and temperature changes, her abrupt night awakenings, and her fearsome fits.  Oh, she smiled a lot, and she had the sweetest way of waking us with humming in the morning, but there were so many times that I researched and waited, watched and wondered.

Like other parents before me, I have learned how much we are responsible for their behavior, but how little control we have over their decisions, and that my dear reader is what has broken my heart.  The gene pool has only so much influence on a child's personality.  The rest is a complicated recipe.  You can hope like crazy that your child will have the best looks, a good heart, success in all they do, wisdom, and our Father's Eyes, but hoping doesn't make it so.  When any of those things are missing in your child's make-up, it makes you wonder what went wrong.

I can go over the pregnancy (which was  during a time of famine, friction, and tumult), the hit and run accident by a drunk driver during my 26th week, and the birth (which must have been so incredibly rude to her!) where her shoulders could not be delivered so she had to be pushed back inside and brought out, elbow first.  Rude, indeed!

I wondered if any of those reasons were to blame for all we'd been through. Is this why she has so many headaches, had the struggles in school, the neurological issues, and the anxiety? And this is just the tip of the iceberg.  She was an exceedingly willful little person, demanding, and busy; but all the same, charming, winning, and beautiful.  She's always been prone to singing, even to the annoyance of one of her elementary teachers, but won't sing for an audience.  She drove her teachers crazy!  And if you ever need a leader for any reason, my daughter is your gal.  But, buyer beware:  If she doesn't agree with you, there is absolutely no way to change her mind.  I mean it. (I'll be there for you, future husband, when she makes you want to pull out your hair!  I'll be in the kitchen, hiding out with my chocolate.) So, are you a parent who wants to be pro-active about their child's future?  Or are you like me, in the ring, up against rebellion far too often (and tired of being in the ropes)?

Then please read the advice I have for you in the following:

If I did get a do-over, I would pray a lot more.  I would have looked for people to help me teach my daughter how much my faith is intertwined in everything I am and the reason behind everything I do.  See, I thought if I led by example she would watch and follow.  Not so with and independent-thinking, strong-willed child.  She has always behaved like she believes she is the exception to every rule.  It doesn't matter if it's a school topic or a faith-based discussion.  For example, if I suggested she take a raincoat with her to school, she would assure me that it wouldn't rain that day.  Sigh.

I have also been way too quiet about my relationship with Christ.  It should have been regular input in my daughter's life...before she was big enough to get Disney-indoctrinated. Plead with  believers in your family to help show your child how much a Christ-centered life is as natural as breathing, so that when they get to school and meet other kids without Christ-centered homes, it will not rock yours. If you don't believe me, let me tell you sometime about the storm brought to us from Germany in the form of an atheist exchange student.

I would have had more regular conversations with my husband about how important it was to be a unified front, and to always, always talk about the other parent respectfully (even if they aren't in the room with you two).  If the two of you are not on the same wave-length about your faith, you'd better pray even harder, because if your child sees that, you've got a bumpy ride ahead of you! And when there are disagreements about parenting style, moral issues, or worldly influences never, ever discuss these differences in front of your child!  I can guarantee that if you want to plant the seed of doubt in a parent's competence, have disagreements about these subjects in front of your child, often.

Heartbreak can come in many forms, but if I have learned anything, I have learned that the worst heartbreak comes from a lack of obedience.  So often God's Word gives us what we need to the job, whether it be parenting, being married, working, or whatever.  If you really want to fortify your household then do what we're told to do in Deuteronomy (11:18-21), "So commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these words of Mine.  Tie them on your hands and wear them on your forehead as a reminder.  Teach them to your children.  Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed, and when you are getting up.  Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates, so that as long as the sky is above the earth, you and your children shall flourish...."

We just have to obey.

Because heartache stinks, and disobedience brings sin, and sin brings death....and that death can be the death of the dreams you had for your children, images of what could have been, but worst of all, the risk it puts on the soul.  Like death, you cannot simply explain this kind of loss. But you can do your part to prevent it. Go teach your children well!

Devotion

In the effort to learn my new craft of speaking to the masses, continue writing my book, balancing my work load as wife, mother, and sometimes-substitute teacher, with two high-energy dogs, I find I’m often lacking the time and/or skill to fit in time for much else. I keep meaning to work out every day, be better about reading one of my three bibles, and reaching out more to my neighbors.  So, when last Sunday’s lesson was given by our Interim Pastor spoke on the intimacy we should have with our Savior, and I couldn’t help thinking of my little buddy.

 It just came to consciousness, that recently…or maybe I just didn’t notice before…my newly blind Jack Russell seems to always be at my feet.  It doesn’t matter if I’m taking a bathroom break, making dinner, or taking a power nap.  My friend is always either at my feet, or lying as close to my hip as he can get.  He has learned to navigate the house (as long as we don’t move the furniture!), and walks outside and down the patio steps for potty breaks by himself.  So I don’t think he stays close out of fear.  I think he just likes being close by.

Considering this, I wondered why it is that I don’t have the same devotion to my Father.  I know, Gizmo is a dog. His life is so easy. Therefore, he doesn’t have the same obligations I have.  He doesn’t start his day with a list of things that HAVE to get done, a list of should’s, nor does he get caught up in the diversions I often find myself captivated by.  It makes me a little jealous of his simple life.

I suppose he could spend all his time chasing his ball, eating every time his bowl is filled, or nap on his own, but he stays with me instead…everywhere I go.  I wonder if he gets the same feeling that comes over me when I’m at church on Sunday mornings, when the TV isn’t blathering political ads, my cell phone is turned off, and I am blissfully quiet. Quiet enough to listen to my Father’s voice and be in the Word without any distraction, and to be one hundred present… at my Father’s feet.    Makes me wish every day could be Sunday, and moves me to try even harder to make that quiet time more of a priority.