Monthly Archives: March 2016

Just enjoying the day

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This is not something I am proud to share. But my daily existence has a to-do list that never ends, and my time is often double- and triple-booked.  Rarely do we have a moment that isn’t overscheduled. Yet the last two weekends were ones that had me celebrating the unexpected – the magic of the unscripted.

On Easter afternoon, I called my ninety-one year old grandmother, Mama, for a chat.  She is homebound in Alabama, and I know she doesn’t entertain many visitors.  An aptly timed phone call every week or so, often lifts her spirits.  In our conversation, I shared we had enjoyed our Saturday and the one before it just spending time with some dear friends.

Her voice drifted away as her mind raced back through its years of memories.  We don’t do that anymore, but remember, Shug, we used to do that.  Just enjoy our day.  You know yourself we used to all get together and just enjoy our day.  We’d eat and visit and spend the whole day together. But we don’t do that anymore.

My heart broke at the last line.  She’s right. We don’t do that nearly enough, or in my case, sometimes ever.  I am my own worst enemy when it comes to the busyness of my life.

I say YES when I should say NO. I lead with my plans rather than checking to see if they are God’s. I fill my calendar with requests for my time even when they pull me in directions I didn’t intend to go, and yes, at times that means crazy.

Yet the unexpected time spent with family and friends (who we call family) in recent days have worked like divine spittle removing the scales from my eyes.

Two weekends ago, cousins passing through on a cross-country drive stopped in after spending the night at home of other cousins.  As we sat and visited, the cousins who offered the place to rest pulled up in the driveway.  At first my eyes could not believe it.  What my eyes didn’t believe made my heart burst with excitement. My thoughts swirling around this is going to be the BEST. DAY. EVER! And it was!

Fast forward to this past weekend and my hectic schedule kept me from organizing get-togethers much sooner than I actually did, but traditions are the glue that hold my clan together.  A quick e-mail the day before turned into a day long time dyeing eggs, visiting, and going out to eat.  One big family just enjoying the day and making memories.  I had to hold the tears at bay watching my adopted granddaughter dye eggs, knowing how much Reed would have enjoyed that moment.  He would have loved her.

Our best friends love us despite our busyness, and they have embraced our penchant for eleven minute planning.  You read that correctly, it says 11 minutes not in the eleventh hour.  Our gatherings often begin with a text, phone call, or bumping into each other at the store a few minutes before we plan to do something.  This style was true to form this weekend.  One text created an entire Easter dinner and egg hunt of which we enjoyed every second.  Good food, even better stories, one hand picked family (minus the college students) just enjoying the day.

I often say that God has to slow me down to realize what he is trying to tell me.  More times than not, he has to repeat the message over and over for me to catch on.  Three unexpected times of slowing down with loved ones and a heartfelt, memory-laced, reminder from my Mama were eye-opening experiences which led my heart to focus on the message in our devotion at supper last night.

enjoy the day

How much is the sheer busyness of your life preventing you from living the life God is calling you to live?

The convicting answer was way too much.  God got my attention.  How will he get yours?

As for me, I am hoping to fill my calendar with many more “just enjoying our day”.

 

 

Shout out to 3.21

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Speechless.

That doesn’t happen to me often, but it certainly did Friday night at the Spring State Games for the Minnesota Special Olympics. My eyes poured out what my mouth couldn’t say. For the last three years I have been involved as a cheer team coach for flag football teams, and this winter was my first foray into the world of basketball cheering for Special Olympics.

When I accepted my son’s plea to create as close to an experience that he had on his high school football team for the athletes with intellectual disabilities he was coaching, I was ecstatic to become involved. He wanted the works: cheerleaders, banners, and letters (if possible) from local high schools.

Once a cheerleader always a cheerleader . . . it’s like remembering how to ride a bike.

Glittery pompoms, choreographed dance routines, creating cheers, and pumping up the crowd are all fun experiences, but even these pale in comparison to the joy of working with all the amazing athletes, coaches, and families of Special Olympics.

The hoopla of March Madness doesn’t stand a chance compared to being brave in the attempt.

Friday night was no exception. The Spirit (isn’t that about the most perfect name ever) were playing full court basketball. An earlier loss in overtime knocked them out of one bracket, but certainly not down. Later playing for a chance at a medal, the game came down to the last few seconds, the teams having been back and forth tied most of the second half. A pull ahead basket and one successful free throw clinched the game.

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!

games

My inability to speak came at the awards ceremony, when I heard that there was a special announcement. One of my football cheerleaders, who plays basketball in the winter, was handed the mic. Honestly I was expecting to learn of someone’s birthday.

I couldn’t have been more surprised.

A very special thank you was given to me for always being there to cheer them on and to the head coach of our delegation for all she does to make Special Olympics amazing in our community.

All I had to offer was tears.

I certainly don’t feel I hold a candle to the Coach M, considering she has 40+ years of volunteering compared to my three. It was a humbling honoring, serving as a reminder of what I preach to my own children.

Loving others goes a long way and you can never go wrong championing those around you.

Of all the places I volunteer, Special Olympics is one I hold most dear, capturing my heart each and every season.   Some may only see the disability, which is regrettable, because behind outward appearances are some of the best displays of resilience, enthusiasm, dedication, athleticism, hard work, sportsmanship and grit.

While not every Special Olympian has Down’s Syndrome, there are plenty that do, including my special friend, C, whose words caught me off guard on Friday night. In honor of her and every other individual with 3 copies of the 21st chromosome, today I celebrate you on World Down’s Syndrome Day (3.21)!

Thank you for the amazing AWESOME you bring not only to my life, but to the world.

Your ability to shine as Down Right Perfect . . . takes my breath away!

 

 

Tearful Praise

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Twice in the last week, I have heard the same alarming study.  The television and news journal both telling the findings of recent research regarding the endemic rise of heroin use among younger and younger people.  After hearing the details of the gateway experience attributed to this alarming trend, I was overcome with grief for the families chronicled in the stories.

My husband will explain he judges the quality of a story, movie, or commercial by my reaction.  Not ashamed to admit: I am a crier.  If the story causes me to cry, his judgment is two thumbs up.  No emotional reaction means it probably wasn’t worth watching.

Yet the visceral response after hearing of the families impacted by heroin use, brought me to my knees in tearful praise.  Tearful praise?  How could that be my reaction you might wonder?

The proverb – There but for the grace of God – would be aptly fitting here.  The youth in the studies had one common link – a childhood injury treated with narcotic pain-killers.  I am not anti-pharmaceutical, but I remember a day when we were forced to make a decision.

Following the bus crash, one of the Sawyer’s doctors prescribing higher and higher doses of pain medications which had us questioning this line of treatment.  Don’t get me wrong . . .  my son’s physical and emotional pain exceeded any human scale, but my spirit was unsettled. If we continue to give him more and more of these medicines, what will happen in his future when he gets hurt?

With my educational background, I have enough knowledge of neuroscience, chemistry, and biology to understand how complex biological systems adjust to a new state of homeostasis.

Sitting in that doctor’s office hearing the physician wanted to add another narcotic to the already lengthy list for an eleven year old had me baffled.  After consulting with other friends, who happen to be physicians and who shared our concerns, we changed doctors.

The first thing the new medical team prescribed was to wean off the narcotic pain medications immediately (as in do not pass Go and do not collect $200)  which was acknowledgement of all my worries.  I knew my son wanted to return to playing sports, and I knew injuries are often part and parcel with the sports he played.  While other moms were praying for all the things moms pray, I was praying  those things too with one addition, that my child’s brain chemistry would not crave medications to numb the pains.

God answered those prayers. 

When I heard the news story, the vivid reminders of those prayers came flooding back.  God answered the prayers of a broken hearted momma, who had nothing to offer other than open hands hoping for divine provision to fill the emptiness.

On my knees, tears flowing down.  I praised him over and over for answered prayers.  My heart overwhelmed with the power of what God achieved from the desires of my heart. Every surgical procedure, after the day we walked out of that original doctor’s office, we would take the powerful prescribed medications unopened to the police station for disposal.

Mightily, God answered the prayers of a mom who wanted to claim a future beyond his darkest day.  Overcome with gratitude and through tearful praise, I thanked God for the provision and while I was there, I asked for his comfort for all the families whose story did not mimic ours.

My heart breaks for the families impacted by addiction, and if you have a little room in your prayers, consider praying for each of them asking God to someday provide for them a day of tearful praise.

O_Praise_Him

By JFXie (Flickr: O Praise Him) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Dear Miss Nelle

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Dear Miss Nelle –

I never had the honor of meeting you, and I hope you wouldn’t mind me greeting you so informally. Your story and mine are intertwined in ways many would not have imagined possible.

Years ago my dad shared how your then two year old book, To Kill A Mockingbird, was assigned reading in his sophomore year of high school. He still chuckles over how this played out among his rural Alabama country school mates. The movie version had just been released and most of his classmates went to see the movie, featuring the dreamy Gregory Peck, rather than read the book. I know you have left us now, but something in me wants to apologize for their youthfulness. I like to believe you would have been proud of my Daddy, because he chose to write his report chronicling the differences between the book and the movie script. My now college son laughs at how that must have gone over in class of twelve. I have read of your admiration for your father, similarly my apple doesn’t fall far. My Dad is my hero, and his love of learning is embedded and encoded in every fiber of my being. We are both educators now, and perhaps his book report was a gift to the Beauregard School teacher.

Loving your words is just one small example of paths crossing. Imagine my sophomoric shock when I discovered as a teenager the place where we had travelled all our lives for Back-to-School clothes was your hometown. Every year we would drive to Monroeville to stretch the dollars of a teacher’s salary to buy jeans and other items at the Vanity Fair outlet. Those were the days of family outings as often three generations of my family would spend a day perusing the aisles of denim dungarees (as my Granddaddy called them) and various unmentionables. Looking back now, I am guessing I was walking on hallowed ground where most likely you had once trod.

Although he never reached high school, I passed on the love of Scout and Jem and Boo to my oldest child. He spent the summer before seventh grade reading what I lovingly called the “classics”. After reading the stories, we would watch the film versions. He agreed with his grandfather’s assessment years before -the book and his imagination won out.

There have been many other moments woven into the fabric of my life – a family vacation to visit the your hometown, the reading of Truman Capote’s classic and wondering about all the ways you helped him research, naming one of the family dog’s Scout (though I don’t know if that would make you proud or cringe), and gifting my Daddy the opportunity to play a juror in the stage play (which he claims was the gift of a lifetime). All moments in dedication and honor of someone who probably never wanted all the acclaim given her.

To someone who has been a fan of yours from the first chapter, riveted by the words of your story. I couldn’t believe my ears as I sat at home on my darkest day – the anniversary of the day my son died. Much like your private retreat from the spotlight, on that day I always seek the sanctity of somewhere safe with someone good. As I was reflecting on the day, snuggled tight with my tears and memories, I heard the newscast which caused me to shed a few more tears. The anchor announced the world was saying good-bye to Nelle Harper Lee. The world didn’t notice but I certainly did – a favorite author and my favorite reader share a heaven’s anniversary date.

My heart broke and was comforted at the same time – such is the dichotomous nature of grief. I can only imagine if my red-headed wonder has run into you in heaven he will have about a million and a half questions. My best advice would be to grab a couple RC Cola’s and settle in for a great conversation. Maybe – just maybe – he will save a few for me when I get there. And if you don’t mind, I would sure love to hug your neck when I do.

May your days now be filled with peace and thank you, Miss Nelle, for the memories.

 

 

 

Patriotism: Teach Your Children Well

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American flag – photo credit Euclid Library

I’ve always been interested in politics.  Well, at least since the summer of 6th grade.  I was visiting my Nanny and Granddaddy and while they were busy running a wholesale nursery business, I watched the national conventions (for both major parties I might add).  All the fanfare of speeches promising to make America better had me hooked. Not that at that time in my life I had strong opinions about what was wrong with my country, but the passion for citizenship was alluring. I have never had an interest in running for office, but I believe the election process is one that we should all teach our children.

I am a product of the Weekly Reader voting booths.  I remember the pomp and circumstance with which the whole experience was created and carried out back in my days at Gentian Elementary School in Columbus, Georgia. The school used actual voting booths (complete with the little patriotic curtains) as we marched solemnly to cast our votes for either Jimmy Carter or Ronald Reagan.  The excitement was palpable even if we were marching silently in straight lines to make our mark on history.

Jumping forward in time, I have always taken my children (even in car seats) to the voting booth with me.  I read each word to them, and we discuss our choices (even though only my vote counted).  I am THAT mom.  The one huddled in the corner of the room so as not to disturb other voters.  This election season one of my children has reached voting age, and I am thrilled he will be exercising his right to do so, which leads to today’s message.

Having formerly lived in primary states, the caucus system was a somewhat new experience for me.  I wish my voting record (including reading ballots WORD FOR WORD to my kiddos) or my re-creation of my childhood voting booth for the last twelve years for my children’s school would be enough alone to speak to my patriotism.  It would not because I would only be fooling myself. The truth is until Reed was twelve I had never participated in a caucus before.

After learning about the caucus process, Reed really wanted to attend and watch (obviously being too young to participate).  For those who knew my red-headed wonder, his passion for a new idea or learning concept had no limits.  In his enthusiasm, he attempted to persuade his Social Studies teacher to offer extra credit to all who attended a caucus of their choice.  In Mr. W’s defense, I think he thought Reed was looking for a few extra points, when in reality he was trying to encourage his classmates to get out and learn.  I don’t know what the final outcome was of those extra points, but I do know that my sweet boy attended his first caucus and was thrilled by the experience.

I didn’t tag along with Reed that year because we had already made plans to have dinner guests that evening.  If I knew then, what I know now, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  Reed only lived one more week of life, but that one evening of learning is one that has never left me.  He cared more about what makes this country great than he worried about missing an hour of dinner with great friends.

We need more of that in America.

There are many times in life when the student becomes the teacher.  That night was no different.  I remember his enthusiastic conversation as I picked him up.  He was genuinely proud to be a part of history in the making, agog over the choice he would have made in the straw poll.  I secretly took pride and felt disappointed at the same time.  Proud of my young man for growing up and living out his passion for learning and disappointed that I wasn’t there to enjoy it with him.

So no matter your beliefs or ideologies, think about living out your patriotism for one little red-headed wonder (who would have advocated for extra credit for all of us). Step out of your comfort zone, learn something new, and be a part of what makes America AWESOME!  I know Reed would be proud of my plans for the evening.