It's Official! I Have a Mission Statement!

Back in March, I wrote a post about mission statements.  Not only do companies and corporations have mission statements, but a pastor who visited our church explained that he had his own personal mission statement.  If you want to see that post, click here.  Well gang, I promised that I would share my mission statement with you once I was able to discover it, and after a handful of months, I have finally found it: 

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…” (Psalm 23:1). 

I don’t know why it took me so long to come to this very familiar verse.  I scoured my devotions, ran word and topic searches on BibleGateway.com, and reviewed all my favorite stories and passages in the Bible.  But I could never quite commit to anything.  I knew, however, that patience was my best ally, and one day the right verse would emerge.  Anyone who knows me knows that I have a terrible memory, but a few years ago I endeavored to memorize Psalm 23, and after practicing each morning and night during my travels to and from work, I was able to accomplish my goal.  But let’s be honest:  A mission statement is supposed to be concise and focused, and even though the 23^rd Psalm is only 6 verses long, it was too long to claim for my mission statement.  So I settled on verse one because it encapsulates truths of the entire Psalm. 

I want my mission statement to be, first and foremost, a guiding light for myself.  When days are hard, I want to lean on the words for strength; when days are great, I want to lift up those words in thanksgiving.  But I also want to share the words with others when they need encouragement or a bit of light on their path.  

Let’s break the verse down a little bit….The first two words, “The Lord,” are important.  They remind me what should be first in my life.  An online dictionary defines “Lord” as, “someone or something having power, authority, or influence; a master or ruler.”  Two words jump out at me from this definition:  First, God is power.  He has power that is vast (total world creation, for starters) and power that is personal and gentle (reaching into our everyday lives and loving us, among others).  Second, is the idea that lordship is influence.  God is active in our lives every day.  From small things to big, He guides our steps, shapes our futures, heals our wounds, and shines His light into our hearts. 

Okay, let’s move on to the next words of my brand-new mission statement:  “The Lord is my shepherd.”  A shepherd is watchful, protective, and careful with his flock.  Sheep are adorable little fluffballs, but they are often considered dumb.  My stupidity often gets me into trouble, and I am glad that I have a Good Shepherd to reach down and pluck me out of trouble.  Shepherds live with their flock and are therefore very aware of each sheep’s strengths, weaknesses, and personality quirks.  God knows each of us intimately, perhaps even better than we know ourselves, and He loves and cares for us.  When we need correction or redirection, He reaches out with his shepherd’s crook to guide us to the better path.  When sheep stray or become lost, the shepherd searches them out in order to bring them back into the fold. 

The last part of the verse is “I shall not want.”  God truly is concerned with the little things as well as the big.  If I am struggling, it is often then that the perfect words come to me through an email, devotion, or trusted friend…at just the right time.  That’s not coincidence, in my book; that is provision by a faithful God.  Nor is our God distant, looking at our lives from a long way off; He is close – in fact His Spirit is within us.  You can’t get any closer than that!  The idea of not being in want is tricky….please don’t think that I believe God is some kind of omniscient slot machine, dolling out my heart’s desires when I hit the right combination of prayers and petitions.  God has ensured that I have what I need by also not answering my prayers.  There have been many heartfelt, long-enduring prayers that have remained unanswered, or answered with a resounding “no.”  Looking back on my life, there were many things I thought I needed (perhaps thought I would die without), that were actually not the best things for me.  So this “I shall not want” coin has two sides.  It also reassures me that I have a loving, powerful, influential Lord ruling over my life and providing for me at every curve and crossroad. 

So there you have it:  “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want." 

It has been fun searching out my words.  If you haven’t yet chosen your life’s mission statement, start digging around to see if there are some words that speak to you and might act as your guiding light.  May the truth of those words inspire and encourage you each and every day!

Of Victoria's Secret and Chicken Cutlets . . .

This week I turned once again to my book 642 Things to Write About.  Today’s prompt:  My most embarrassing moment.  Oh boy….it’s gonna get real up in here. 

Dirt, bugs, backyard forts….these were the things I loved when I was young.  My penchant for climbing trees, making insects my friends, and building forts in the woods often tricked people into thinking I was a boy.  I was fairly scrawny when I was young, so I had to wear boys’ jeans throughout elementary school.  My hair was kept short.  I wore glasses.  I was mistaken for a boy by a passenger on an Amtrak train, a pastor of a church, and a classmate in 1^st grade who, when I came to school wearing a dress, asked if I had run out of boys’ clothes and had to raid my sister’s closet.  I understand why people got confused.  I was boyish in every way. 

I started growing out of the boy stage by junior high.  I wore trendy girls’ jeans (Seattle Blues, A Smile, and Jordache for you 80’s types), grew my hair out a bit, and put some flesh on my previously bony body…except for my chest.  When I learned that the most frightening thing about junior high school would be changing in front of other girls in P.E. class, I immediately begged for a bra.  I just couldn’t be that girl who was still wearing the pull-over training bra or (Heaven forbid) a simple t-shirt.  I needed a genuine bra, complete with lace, adjustable straps, and a front-clasp.  Thankfully my mom understood the social anxiety I was under and purchased two legitimate bras for me, and I didn’t die a horrible death that first day I had to change in front of my worldly peers in 7^th grade P.E. class at Canfield Junior High. 

But let’s be honest:  The bra was completely unnecessary.  There was no flesh filling it.  The straps were doing no work.  But my tender 12 year old psyche was saved by the illusion of a necessary feminine undergarment.  In fact, I was lovingly teased by my family for being a “pirate’s dream” (old sunken chests, har har har), and my sister gave me “Itty Bitty Booby Pills” for my birthday.  As my girlfriends began descending the lingerie alphabet (into the world of B’s and C’s), I was stuck with A’s (great for my grades, but bad for my early teenage self-esteem). 

I kept thinking that eventually my body would catch up with my friends’ bodies, but no…to this day I am a straight-A student (so-to-speak), and I can say I am okay with it.  But there was a time when I tried to enhance what God gave me.  I never pulled the old sitcom trick of stuffing my bra with Kleenex like a young Vicki Stubing did on The Love Boat, but when Victoria’s Secret came out with the Wonder Bra, I admit that I tried it.  And then a new-fangled invention appeared on the market:  The “Chicken Cutlet.” 

If you have never seen chicken cutlets, let me describe them for you.  They are often called chicken cutlets because they kind of look like them.  They are flesh colored, usually made of silicone or some other soft material, and they fit inside the cup of the bra to provide extra “oomph.”  Well, I was given a set of these cutlets and thought why not give ‘em a whirl?  So one day on a whim, I tucked the rubbery inserts inside my bra and set off for work.  I don’t know if they made a noticeable difference in my appearance…I actually forgot the little guys were in there.  I am a teacher, so I spend most of my days on my feet.  I am also rather…flail-y...when I get caught up in a good book discussion. 

So picture this:  It is mid-afternoon.  I am teaching in my small portable classroom stuffed with desks and the students in my European Literature class.  The class was comprised of only girls, the first and only time I have ever had the pleasure teaching an all-girl class.  We decided to read all the books that boys would have been unexcited about, and we giddily avoided the “guy books” like 1984, Brave New World, and Heart of Darkness.  Instead, we opted for titles with heroines like Emma and Tess of the d’Urbervilles.  It was Heaven.  We talked freely as girls, shared our feminine tales of woe, and sighed in unison as the credits rolled at the end of the theatrical version of Pride and Prejudice (starring Kira Knightly).  Well, I don’t recall which book we were reading or what exactly our conversation was about, but I can tell you that I was standing in front of the room waving my arms around about something when the inevitable happened:  One singular cutlet broke loose from its prison of a cottony A cup and simply dropped out of my shirt.  That’s right, folks, it was cutlets gone wild right there in the middle of sophomore English class.  Now, the good Lord blessed mankind with the ability to react instinctually to certain life-threatening events that don’t even require our brains to be engaged.  Somehow this blessed gift from God kicked in because even as the cutlet was making its descent from my shirt to the floor my body was kicking into survival mode.  I was never very athletic (usually near the end of the team selection for kick ball in elementary school, I confess), but somehow my foot managed to connect with that cutlet with the kind of skill that would make David Beckham proud, and even before it hit the classroom floor with a sad little quivering thump I managed to punt the little sucker behind my desk and out of sight. 

To this day I don’t know if anyone saw the rogue cutlet escape, and somehow I managed to continue teaching like nothing at all had happened.  But suffice it to say that as soon as class ended I made a swift trip to the ladies’ room to remove his cutlet friend and have never invited them back into my wardrobe.  They still occupy a corner of a drawer, mainly to give me a good laugh whenever I see them, and to remind me that the size of one’s bra does not determine one’s character or happiness.

Starting Summer Right...With Ice Cream!

Now that summer is upon us, I am knee-deep in books to read, chores to complete, and a calendar of days to fill.  It is indeed thrilling to look down a long line of days just waiting to be occupied with all the good things that get ignored during the school year.  One of the things I did to prepare for this summer was take a trip to the bookstore, armed with a gift card.  In addition to two novels by John Green, I found a book of 642 writing exercises.  I thought it would be fun to try a random exercise each week, and here’s this week’s prompt:  “Your most transcendent ice cream experience…”  Since summer was practically invented for ice cream eating, here’s my response: 

State Highway 41 winds north through several small North Idaho towns, closely flanked on both sides by towering tamarack, white pine, and Douglas Fir trees.  You’ll be lucky if your phone maintains cell service for the full drive, and you need to be on the alert for deer and other game crossing the road.  The road slices through mountains and forests, and in the winter months you would be wise to watch out for black ice on the curves.  This is the kind of highway that is off the beaten path, taking travelers through small towns, alongside pastures dotted with horses, cows, and red barns, and past family-owned cafes.  One of the towns you will encounter is Spirit Lake, a little dot on the map with a beautiful lake, rich history, and some of the best ice cream you will ever eat. 

Turn onto Main Street and you will find a town straight out of a film set for Little House on the Prairie.  Make your way down the street, past the Old West Hardware store, the train and antique store, Joe’s Hole Saloon, The Funky Monkey Bar and Grill, the White Horse Saloon, and the Linger Longer Lounge.  There, across the street, you will find a little building with a green-striped awning.  Tables with green umbrellas sit outside, inviting customers to rest a while as they eat ice cream before the summer sun can melt little rivulets that run down their wrists.  Before you step inside this quaint little shop, read the sign above the door:  Spirit Lake Video.  That’s right, your destination to the best ice cream ever is inside a video store.  This video store also features fudge and ice cream; the goodies behind the counter are part of Knick-Knack Paddywhack, though both businesses are owned and operated by the same family. 

As you meander past the old-fashioned fudge counter and racks of DVD’s for rent, you will find yourself staring into barrels of ice cream of all colors and flavors.  It was the delicate yellow and white swirls that caught my eye that fateful day I nearly cried in public when I took my first bite of Cascade Glacier Lemon Meringue Pie ice cream.  The young lady behind the counter took my order, a single scoop in a waffle cone, and reached the scooper inside the three gallon container.  Within minutes she had piled a mountain-sized mound of the gooey treat and pressed it inside my cone.  After my husband received his equally monstrous cone, we headed outside to sit in the sun to enjoy our snack.  The ice cream was thick and creamy.  Tart lemon bursts were paired with sweet vanilla undertones, and an occasional piece of pie crust was an added textural bonus.  Already the sun was causing small drips down the side of my waffle cone, so I ate faster, pausing only to say, “Oh my word this is good!” and lick the drips from my fingers.  By the time I had dominated the mountain peak of ice cream so that it was level with the cone’s edge, I had stopped speaking at all, now just making little happy noises as I watched people pass by the shop.  I nibbled around and around the waffle cone, enjoying the way the lemony-vanilla ice cream had softened the cone to perfection.  Finally, I came to the best part, the “cone butt” as I like to call it, where the ice cream pools for one final burst of ice-cream-and-cone heaven.  My stomach was full and happy as we loaded into the car, and sometimes I catch myself reminiscing about that delicious drive up north one Saturday afternoon. 

So this summer, if you are looking for a little adventure that ends in pure bliss, make a 26 mile trek north to a little lake town that offers a slice of heaven in a cone.

A Word about Words . . .

At night, when it is very quiet, my ears hum.  I like to think that reverberating in my ears is an echo from all of the day’s activities.  The ghosts of all those words buzz with such force I think I can even feel a vibration. 

If you think about it, we are bombarded by words all day long:  Our eyes run over letters and commas and periods and sentences from morning until night; our fingers pen or type words for work or just to leave a note for a loved one; we hear snippets of conversations by those around us, by people we don’t know; we speak with strangers and friends and acquaintances; some of us even talk in our sleep!  We release and receive probably thousands of words (if not more) each day.  What do all those words add up to, I wonder?

Today a student who just graduated from the school where I teach gave me a letter.  At the end of each school year, part of my freshmen final requires my students to write a letter to themselves.  They show me the letter, which I just check for the required length, then they seal it inside an envelope, affix a stamp in the upper right corner, and wait for a year and a half for that letter to reach them.  This has been a wildly well-received exercise, and when the juniors receive a missive from them former selves, they often are surprised and amused with the person they encounter.  They see their freshman handwriting, hear the angst in their freshman words, and reflect upon how far they have come.  It turns out that one of my students included a letter to me in her envelope, and she saved it for after she graduated.  Today I received the kindest words written four years ago, words that encouraged me and nourished my soul.  Those words, written on college ruled paper with a standard number two pencil, carried immense power, grace, and kindness.  Those words penetrated into my heart and built me up.  I will cherish her words and will keep that letter forever, because those words breathed life and joy and meaning into my spirit. 

How is it that letters connected into words that are connected into phrases and sentences and thoughts can penetrate into one’s soul?  How can mere words have so much impact in a person’s life? 

We should be very careful with our words. 

In a single word we can build someone up or tear someone down.  With a handful of words we can steal or instill hope.  Words can bring life or take life, connect or destroy hearts, bring laughter or tears.  We carry with us the words of those we love even after those loved ones are gone.  Words can lead others on a pathway of healing or a road to destruction.  Careless words spoken in haste can live on forever, released into the air like angry wasps waiting to sting.  Kind words spoken in truth and love can act like guiding stars for years to come. 

In the Bible there are over 130 mentions of the tongue.  Repeatedly the Bible describes the tongue as “restless,” “untamable,” “a fire,” and a bow waiting to fling an arrow, or a sharp sword.  With words the tongue can wound.  The tongue can mislead.  The tongue can instill fear.  The tongue can destroy.  But according to Proverbs 12 the tongue can also bring healing.  Using thoughtful words the tongue can build up.  The tongue can bring knowledge and healing.   Proverbs 15 says that a gentle tongue is a “tree of life.”  Proverbs 18 says that “death and life are in the power of the tongue.”  A happy tongue sings.  A wise tongue instructs.  A kind tongue edifies. 

It is easy to forget the power that we carry within our words. 

Words live on even after they are spoken, and they buzz and hum in our ears, rattle around in our brains, and settle into our hearts. 

What words do you allow into your life?  Silence those voices that only wound you with words.  Shut the door to them.  Don’t let destructive people harm you with their careless words. 

What words do you release into the world?  May they be words that bring life and hope and healing.

There Are Always Two Sides to Everything!

I have the privilege of working with and being friends with some wonderfully wise people.  I spend my lunches chatting with a teacher whom I really admire and appreciate.  We share our lives, discuss interesting books that we’ve read, air our frustrations, and generally just try to help bear each other’s burdens.  I find myself paying careful attention to people I trust and watching how they handle situations.  I want to glean as much wisdom from them as I can. 

My teacher-friend said something really interesting a few months ago.  A book she was reading pointed out that a person’s strengths are also rooted in a person’s weaknesses.  Think of it like a rope in a game of tug-of-war.  Your strengths pull the rope in one direction, and the weaknesses pull in the other.  The more I thought about this, the more I realized how true it really is…and I feel silly that I hadn’t thought of it myself. 

Take a second to think about one of your primary strengths.  What benefits are there to your strength?  How does it enhance your life?  One of my strengths is that I am pretty easy-going.  Not much gets me upset.  This has proven to be an asset in many ways.  When my students do something frustrating, I am able to handle it without showing signs of frustrations.  When tempers flare, I can often find ways to cool things down.  I am really content under most circumstances. 

Okay, now think about how that strength also has a flip-side.  In what ways does your strength get in your way?  How might it rear its ugly head in a negative sense?  My easy-going nature can really frustrate my husband.  He’s pretty tenacious, so he doesn’t always understand my “be calm” attitude.  I can be complacent and dare-I-say stagnant.  I don’t take risks because I am happy and therefore don’t always push myself for better. 

It has been interesting to look at my own behavior in light of this two-sides-to-the-coin point of view.  While I hate that I’m not more competitive, I love that I am very accepting of people and their differences.  My husband’s get-it-done attitude is not only admirable, but sexy, and I wish that I could be more aggressive in certain ways.   But I love that I always aim to treat people as kindly and gently as possible. 

I guess what I’m getting at is that we can wish we were different or yearn to be someone else, but who we are, both good and bad, is rather tangled up.  I could strip myself of my “be chill” attitude, but I don’t think I’d like the negative side of that behavior.  I think I need to start appreciating who God created me to be and capitalize on those things I am proud of.  I’m not saying we can’t work hard to cull out the things in our personalities or behavior that we don’t like…There are plenty of things I am working hard to improve about myself.  It is really healthy to nurture our strengths and work on improving our weaknesses.  But it’s not healthy to walk through life full of regrets and if-only’s.

So, take stock of the things about you that you are proud of.  Celebrate what makes you YOU!  Work on the things that need improving, by all means, but spend lots of time simply enjoying the person you are and the way you enhance the lives of others.  The more we focus on the positives, the more effective we can be in our lives.

Living on the Brink . . . .

Have you ever experienced the feeling of being “on the brink”?  It’s that feeling deep inside that something is about to change or burst forth, but you can’t grasp what exactly it is.  It’s like that feeling you get when you wake up from a dream and the shadow of the dream remains but you can’t conjure up the precise images anymore.  

Maybe my current feelings are appropriate for this time of year.  Everything is new.  Each day tender little leaves are unfurling from their curled cocoons.  Grass is poking up from bare spots of earth.  Birds are returning from winter getaways and filling the morning air with their songs.  This is how I feel.  Like something new and green and exciting is sitting just beneath the surface waiting to emerge. 

I am trying to be very alert during this time, because I think the Holy Spirit is at work and I don’t want to miss what He has in store.  So often I fear that I have let God down because I miss (or reject) the opportunities that He has set in front of me.  So I lean heavily into His word and keep my ears attuned to His direction. 

I took a class recently on improving my speaking abilities.  The instructor gave us tools to further our study once the class was over, and she left us with this thought:   When we focus our attention on something that we are trying to learn, when we submerge ourselves into a particular study or interest, everywhere we look we will see answers to our questions.  The topic will emerge wherever we go.  It’s the same concept where, when you buy a car, suddenly you see that car all over town.   So I plan to keep my eyes and ears open and hang onto God’s word which says, “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”  (Isaiah 43:19). 

I can’t wait to see what God is up to now.

The Problem with Clichés....

We’ve all heard the saying, “Live each day like it might be your last.”  The problem with this saying is that it’s a cliché.  The problem with clichés is that they once contained volatile truths, but they got so overused and overstated that they have become hollow of meaning.  I believe firmly in the truth that this cliché propounds.  Despite the fact that I believe it, I also quickly forget the weight of its meaning. 

Today I attended a memorial service of a man I deeply respected and genuinely liked.  His death came as a shock to everyone he knew.  Sitting in the church pew today, I listened to people talk about the way Jeff impacted their lives.  I heard their stories and joined in their tears.  One of the speakers said something that really got my attention.  He said he was trying to process his feelings about Jeff’s death when his son reminded him of a profound truth:  We go through this life not thinking that we will lose people whom we love.  But we do suffer lost, it is a part of life, and we are foolish to lose sight of this truth.  

As this message sunk in, that familiar old cliché took on new life.  While I want to live in such a way that I treat each day and each encounter as a treasure, too often I get caught up in the petty things of life.  How easy it is to let the cares of the day pile up and stress me out.  On days like this I come home short of breath and short of temper.  I get fussy about stupid things and snippy about stuff that really doesn’t matter. 

I love the idea of viewing each day as my last, but I too easily forget.  I think the way to bring new meaning to an old cliché is to view it this way:  Love each other like it might be their last day.  When I look at the faces of those I love, and when I think it might be possible that tomorrow I won’t get to take back that tone of voice or silly argument, suddenly something inside me changes.  I want set my frustration aside, focus all of my attention and care on that face, and appreciate that singular, priceless moment.  I hope the more I practice this mindfully, the more it will grow into not just a nice idea, but a way of life.

Eyes Wide Open....

I accidentally preached myself a sermon yesterday. 

I have a 16 year old cat named “Boy.”  Well, actually, his original name was “Charlie,” which became “Charlie My Boy,” which became “My Boy,” which became “Boy.”  And before I adopted him at the tender age of three months old he was called “Ernie.”  Boy is very fussy.   He likes his world to be the same, with no changes to his carefully arranged plans.  He doesn’t like surprises, he guards his peace and quiet, and he resists anything that can potentially upturn his comfort.  I understand Boy because he and I are pretty similar.  I resist change.  I need a peaceful environment.  Boy and I are cut from the same cloth.

Enter Noel…a rambunctious, spunky, springy little Corgi cross.  She is truly a sweet, agreeable little dog.  Her curiosity, especially with regard to our cats, is unacceptable to Boy.  Tippy McWetwoods, our rough-and-tumble formerly stray cat, has gotten quite accustomed to Noel’s curious nose.  If he jumps down onto the floor, Noel will follow after him.  Tippy just accepts this, doesn’t get worked up, and even taunts her a little bit before going for higher ground.  Sparrow, our feisty black-and-white mama kitty, is very chatty with Noel.  Sparrow will sit on the back of the couch giving Noel the what-for, and it is not unusual for Noel to take a few swats on the nose when she gets too close for Sparrow’s comfort. 

Then there’s Boy.  He has holed up in our bedroom ever since Noel’s adoption in December.   We put up a baby gate to keep Noel from invading Boy’s turf.  We carry him down into the living room to encourage him to interact with the family and get over his fears, but within a few minutes he scampers back up to his bedroom sanctuary. 

Yesterday, shortly after Boy snuck back upstairs, I said to my husband, “You know what Boy’s problem is?  He refuses to face his fears.  Rather than getting used to Noel and facing her head-on, he avoids her altogether.  If he would just suck it up, he would find that Noel isn’t scary.  She doesn’t want to harm him….” 

And then I realized that I had just preached myself a sermon. 

How many times do I avoid something simply because it’s scary?   (A lot, I’m afraid to say).  How often do I stare my fears in the face and see them for what they really are?  (Less often that I would like, to be truthful).  How easy is it to get stuck in the avoidance game?  (Too easy). 

It’s time to take my own advice on a more regular basis.  This life is filled with twists and turns and unexpected surprises.  Far better to face life with open eyes than with fear and trepidation.  

In the meantime, we will continue to carry Boy down to the living room to hang out with us.  We will also continue to deliver Boy’s food to him up in the bedroom.  He is, after all, a little prince who has had my heart for over 16 years.

Pssst...TSA Workers....Cheer Up!

I have a question that I hope one of you can answer:  What goes on in TSA training sessions?  I kind of want to go undercover and apply to be a Transportation Security Administration agent.  Maybe this will be my summer adventure.  I will wow them with my charm and skill, get hired at the Spokane International Airport, and sneak behind the curtain into the TSA training facility.  What are these poor newbie agents taught, exactly?  I suspect there is a rulebook that trainees must memorize.  Here’s what I think is on their list of rules:

1. Never smile.
2. Never laugh.
3. The nicer the travelers are, the more you need to suspect them.
4. Never smile.
5. Scrutinize each traveler’s I.D. until you make the traveler nervous.
6. Speak in short sentences and don’t converse with the guests.
7. Never smile.

I am sure there are more rules on their list, but I have a feeling that Day #1 of TSA training is a giant hypnosis session that removes all of their humanity and empathy.  By the end of their first week, the poor victims probably only answer questions using monosyllables and scowly faces. 

Chad and I took a quick little mini-vacation to Oregon a few weeks back.  We bought our airline tickets so early that it was actually cheaper to fly than to drive or take the train.  I had forgotten just how much I hate the security screening process, not because I have to shuffle along in my sock feet, pour all of my belongings into bins, or even stand in the scanner or step aside for a random extra screening.  I hate the process because of how cold and robotic it feels.  I am a fairly chatty person.  Though shy, once a conversation opens up, I happily ask questions and engage in conversations with complete strangers, whether in a grocery checkout line or a restaurant out of town.  I like people.  I like hearing their stories and learning about their lives.  And it’s no secret that I especially love grandpas and grandmas.  They usually have the best stories and best advice.  But then I step into that security line, smile at the TSA checking I.D. cards, and remember:  Oh yeah.  They don’t like people.  I forgot.  In fact, they seem downright annoyed when people like me want to engage in friendly Q and A sessions.  They don’t care where I’m going; they don’t care how excited I am.  They want to scrutinize my driver’s license and move me along like a cow in a chute. 

While waiting in the line, sock-footed and excited for our trip to Cannon Beach, I whispered to Chad:  “Here’s what’s wrong with the TSA agents.  There are basically three kinds of travelers – happy people going on exciting excursions, sad people who are leaving loved ones behind, and tired people who have to travel for work and just want to get home.  Why can’t the TSA be nice?  Is it against the rules or something?”  No matter how you slice it, the typical TSA approach to travelers is not suitable for the typical traveler.  To the happy traveler, the TSA is a buzz-kill.  To the sad traveler they are only agitating things and making the goodbye worse.  To the tired traveler they are further draining any spirit left in the weary worker. 

Now, I do understand that I am being unfair.  I am lumping all TSA’s into one very unpleasant bunch.  Surely there are kind and decent TSA agents out there.  Sure.  But most of the ones I have encountered have been the gruff sort.  One of my friends and co-workers just returned from an international trip.  In London she had to stand and watch as the TSA threw away probably $100 of specially vacuum-sealed meats and delicacies.  On one of my husband’s and my trips, the TSA worker rifled through our bags, haphazardly stuffed everything back it, didn’t bother to zip up our bags, and tossed them back at us like we were the reason he hated his job so much. 

On the flip-side, however, was Brenda, a superhero of a woman who helped Chad and I make a flight after having to cut our Hawaiian vacation short when our airline went bankrupt and left us stranded.  She moved Heaven and Earth to get our bags checked, tickets into our hands.  She took us to the front of the line so we could make the flight.  And we did….just barely.  I still think of Brenda and thank God for bringing her into our life.   Then there was the TSA in Portland.  We were heading home from our Cannon Beach weekend.  I was still kind of bitter about our last cold encounter with a Spokane TSA, but when I saw one of the I.D. checkers actually smile, I told Chad, “Let’s get into his line.  He's actually a human.”  He chatted with each traveler, wished them safe travels, and sent them on their way with kindness.  When I handed him my driver’s license I told him, “We picked your line because you’re happy.  That’s pretty rare in this business, isn’t it?”  His reply was accompanied with a smile:  “They teach us to suspect everyone,” he laughed, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.” 

I’ve taken a cue from that friendly TSA agent this week.  It’s been nuts at work.  Fourth quarter is always a sprint, but when I found out that for three weeks I am displaced from my classroom for state testing and have to lug my computer, books, papers, and materials to five different classes sprinkled all across campus, my first instinct was to groan and complain.  But then I remembered what a total downer people like that can be.  I don’t want to be some growly, scowly mutterer.  I want to be that person who smiles in the face of annoyance and finds a way to enjoy life no matter what.  So I said out loud, “I will not complain!”  Some of my colleagues have said with empathy in their voices, “Oh, you’re homeless, huh?” and my reply has been, “Yes, but I get some fresh air as I hike around campus, enjoy all the different classroom environments, and I get to see teachers I usually only see during staff meetings!” 

The positive approach is actually doing wonders for my inner attitude.  I don’t feel upset by this interruption to my routine.  When my students couldn’t find me today and I had to track them down, burning up at least 10 minutes of 3^rd period before we regrouped and found a classroom to use, I just reminded them, “A lot of times in life you just have to smile and roll with it.  It’s okay.”  And I really mean it.  Life is a lot about the little things – and the little things can do a lot to make or break someone’s day.  I really want to be someone who inspires smiles rather than scowls.

The Beautiful Music of Spring!

I have good news, folks!  I heard the first frogs of the season a few days ago!  Since then I have spied robins in the sunshine and buds on the trees.  This calls for celebration!  Below is a poem I wrote about this magical time of the year (which also happens to be my favorite).  I have another poem my brain is trying to organize.  I hope that I can share that poem with you very soon.  In the meantime, let us all say a prayer of thanksgiving for the wonderful buds of spring!

“Music in Spring”

Spring starts slowly in the Northwest,

like the winding up of a dusty victrola
long forgotten in an attic that groans
and slowly gains motion and finally music
crackles and catches and then smooths out.

You might first notice it in the morning air. 

A change in texture and smell.  What is it? 
Thawed earth?  New leaves?  New volume
in the air?  Snow-muffled quiet
traded for bird song and breeze.

Open your window as you drive the streets.

Windows shut up now open a bit, then more,
and before long there’s music
blaring from his car to yours
and heads are bobbing in your rearview.

You might laugh, but three blocks down

you’re at it, too, your voice mingled
with the radio and fingers tapping.
Everywhere is song and motion
and teens in fast cars checking each other out.

At home, in the woods, red-winged blackbirds

signal the wakening, then the Stellar blue jays
bicker in the trees.  And I say, “Shhhh… Do you hear that?
The frogs.  They’ve thawed.”  One at first, then tomorrow
it’s two.  By Friday the night is punctuated.

And I can’t help but stand, sock-footed and still –

the scent of mud and dripping rain
mingle with frog melodies and pine;
the chorus is caught, and doubles on itself –
on my deck, in the dark, the symphony rises.

Your Life's Mission in One Clear Statement

Most large companies and organizations have a mission statement. These statements clarify the organization’s focus, declare over-arching goals, and determine what underlies all of the choices that the company makes.  They act as both a guide for behavior and a mirror that keeps the members focused and unified.  Here are a few examples:

• Starbucks:  To inspire and nurture the human spirit – one person, one cup and one neighborhood at a time.
• The Humane Society:  Celebrating Animals, Confronting Cruelty.
• The Girl Scouts of America:  Girl Scouting builds girls of courage, confidence, and character, who make the world a better place.
• Facebook:  To give people the power to share and make the world more open and connected.
• SeaWorld:  To apply basic physiological research efforts and state-of-the-art reproductive technologies toward wildlife species management and conservation.

The charter school where I teach has a mission statement.  The railroad where my husband works has a mission statement.  Our church has a mission statement.  One thing I never really thought about (until recently) was why I don’t have a mission statement for myself. 

That’s right.  Why can’t people have mission statements?  If it’s good enough for Starbucks and Facebook and SeaWorld, why shouldn’t people have their own guiding principal?  The best part about life statements like these is that they are designed to be short, concise, and focused.  They are foundational, and they can be pulled out and studied in times of crisis, loss of focus, and movements toward change. 

I had never considered this until a few weeks ago.  Our church is in the process of calling a new associate pastor.  Being a part of the process has taught me a lot, and meeting the potential pastors has been very edifying.  One of the potential pastors, who visited our church for a meet-and-greet and brief talk about discipleship, talked about having a statement that guides his life in all situations, from enduring hard times to meeting others and talking about Christ.  The statement, which comes from the Bible, forms the foundation for not only his decisions but also his point of view.  When he is talking to someone about Christ, he said he makes it a point to ask him or her, “What is your life’s mission statement?”  Then he shares his:  “Jesus is Lord.” 

I had never considered what a handy thing it would be to have a life statement until this moment.  Think about it:  Did you have a bad day, where nothing seems to be going right?  Well, if your mission statement is “Jesus is Lord,” then you can rest assured that no matter what the circumstances, Jesus has you in His hands.  He has a plan for you, and no amount of bad days can change that.  Okay, how about this:  Did you have the best day ever?  Did everything go as planned?  Did you find success?  Well, guess what?  “Jesus is Lord.”  And if that’s the case, you know where those blessings came from, and you know whom to thank.  Did you meet a nice person on that flight to Seattle?  Did you strike up a conversation about life and work and what book you were reading?  Now ask that stranger what their life’s mission is.  Then share yours.  If it’s “Jesus is Lord,” that swings the door wide open to talk about how God has worked in your life, and all of the sudden you are discipling and blessing someone’s life in a potentially life-altering way.  Pretty cool, right? 

Ever since that evening where I was introduced to the idea of a personal mission statement, I’ve been sorting through my favorite Bible verses and passages, trying to decide what my life statement will be.  I want to it serve as a cornerstone for everything that I do.  I want it to speak to my attitude about work, about the people I encounter, and about the goals and aspirations I have.  I want it to be both an encouragement in the rough times and a guardrail that keeps my heart and mind on track. 

When I discover my mission statement, I will be certain to share it with you.  In the meantime, have you ever thought about what statement, Biblical or otherwise, that you want to act as a pilot light for your life?  If not, I encourage you to ponder it out.  It might be just the thing to illuminate what values you want to permeate your future decisions and your overall point of view.

Lessons from Obedience School . . . .

Noel and I finished our eight-week basic obedience class last Saturday.  I am proud to report that we both passed!  I have never been such a diligent student of dog care, and I feel as if I have let all of my past dogs down for not being a more involved parent.  The class served to bond us together, gives us things to work on at home, and we have both learned a lot. 

I suspect that I learned more than Noel, however.  I suspect that I should have taken basic obedience training many, many years ago….with or without a dog. 

I have been learning a lot about dog care in the past few months.  In addition to obedience classes, I have been doing a lot of online research about various training issues, watching (with great attention) Cesar Millan’s television show “The Dog Whisperer,” and reading books about the proper care and training of our little corgi cocktail.  

When Noel strains at her leash, our instructor taught me to just turn and go a different direction.  If she begins pulling against the leash again, turn and go another way (I must look like a drunken sailor walking our road).  Eventually she will get into “heel” position because I am walking unpredictably.  Before we go outside for a walk I give Noel the “sit” command, then tell her to “wait,” then exit the house and give her permission to come outside with an “okay” command.  We are practicing the “come” command repeatedly, largely because if she gets off leash while playing with the neighbor dog, she refuses to come to me.  Each time we practice the “stay” command I extend the time so that she will learn patience and look to me as, what Cesar Millan calls, “the pack leader.” 

Oh yeah.  I should probably mention that I took something called an Enneagram test and scored a .7% for assertiveness.  That’s right, folks.  I couldn’t even crack into the whole numbers for assertiveness.  I scored seven-tenths of a percent.  I’m surprised the website didn’t offer me a consolation prize for being the least assertive human being to ever take the Enneagram test.  Wow. 

I need to muster up every ounce of my .7% assertiveness to learn how to be my dog’s pack leader. 

Fortunately, Noel is a very sweet, very eager-to-please dog.  But even so, I have found that if I let up on my training consistency, or if I allow her to drag me along icy roads while she strains at her leash, she quickly forgets who is (supposed to be) in charge.  One evening, though totally exhausted, I decided I had better take Noel out for one last visit to the latrine.  It was raining, windy, and all I wanted to do was go to my soft, warm bed.  We went through the “sit, wait” routine, but when I opened the door she immediately trotted outside.  Despite my fatigue, we went back inside and went through the whole ritual again.  The classes and endless articles emphasize that consistency is key.  If the dog is allowed to believe he is in charge, he will walk all over his owner.  A dog straining at the leash is under the impression that she is in charge.  The same is true for dogs that are allowed to enter the house in front of their humans or eat before their humans do.  So dog owners would do well to establish boundaries consistently, because Cesar Millan says that dogs are more at ease when they know that their humans are in charge.  

This week I was thinking about how careful I am to toe the line with my dog, but not with my fellow humans.  I caught one of my students interrupting not only his fellow students, but also me during a class discussion.  Another one of my students had her feet up on a chair, which I know I have ignored in the past.  As a result, she had moved from using one chair as a foot rest to two chairs across which to sprawl like she was enjoying a movie in her living room.  I quickly corrected the situation, asking her take her feet off the chairs, scanned the room and saw two others doing the same thing, corrected them, and got down to business discussing “Oedipus the King.”  As I was driving home I had to accept the fact that my easy-going demeanor was largely to blame.  Because I had overlooked these little habits in the past, the habits began to grow and spread.  What’s funny is when I asked the students to stop sprawling, I used my “training Noel” voice and praised them after they had complied. 

Yes, my dear readers, I should have taken basic obedience training years ago!  When I think of all the people I have let walk on me or take advantage of me in small (and big) ways, I realize that simple one-hour classes at dog obedience school could have saved me from myself. 

So, I will continue reading training books (first up, Cesar Millan’s Be the Pack Leader), Noel and I will sign up for more classes with the Coeur d’Alene Dog Fancier’s Club, and we will practice old and new tricks.  Next year I get to teach two 8^th grade English classes along with my usual high school literature classes, and I will practice my training skills on fourteen year olds. 

Perhaps in a year my assertiveness score on the Enneagram test will actually cross into a whole number.  Dare to dream….

Hey Brain! Simmer Down!

I have mentioned before that I have a very chatty brain.  I wish I could say that all my brain chatter was intellectual, productive, or even interesting, but often it’s not.  It’s typically a whole bunch of random babble about past memories, future plans, and hypothetical conversations.  Today I wrote a lesson plan in my mind when I found 10 minutes of uninterrupted time.  This morning I had so much chit chat in my brain I had to turn on an audiobook on my car stereo just to shut up the silly brain banter. 

I wonder if I am not the only one who has a lot of noise in her life.  Really, we humans are bombarded with a lot of stimulation throughout our days.  I wonder sometimes if we have forgotten how to just sit.  Just sit and observe and think. 

I had the privilege of watching and evaluating several senior project presentations this month.  Our seniors researched every topic under the sun, wrote extensive essays, then culminated their findings into 10-15 minute oral presentations.  I have learned about the dangers of wheat, dogs that can smell disease, shift schedules of emergency/rescue workers, eating disorders, the danger of GMO’s, the harmlessness of GMO’s, and on and on.  Today I heard a presentation about how we communicate these days.  I learned that Facebook, email, and texting are the primary forms of communication.  Face-to-face communication was a teeny-tiny little smidge of conversation modes that are in use today.  Our gadgets rule us these days.  I admit that I am intrigued by the “smart phones” I see people carrying around.  I’ll bet it’s pretty fun to have a phone that is also a computer, camera, calendar, television, and general lifeline.  They look fun, they come in cool colors, and you can get the Siri app and she’ll talk to you by name!  I kind of want one.  But I know that if I had a smart phone, it would slowly take over my life.  I would be powerless to its siren charms.  I would be one of the people I see at every restaurant, mall, or park I have been to….swooshing away on my phone instead of paying attention to life. 

My Tracfone prevents me from becoming one of the tech-dependent…at least in public places, but I have already become victim to my IPad.  I get home from school, scoop up the tablet, and swoosh the night away.  Usually it starts out productive; I’m multitasking while relaxing and watching a show on TV.  I check emails and accomplish school-related tasks.  Then it becomes less productive:  Facebook, random internet searches, and (yes, I blush to admit it) my current addiction to Candy Crush.  (I am confident the addiction will end soon.  For a while it was Wordament, then Chicktionary, then Hungry Shark, then Tetris….my addictions come and go with alarming regularity).  Suddenly I look at the clock and realize that it’s 7:00, and I have work to do, kitchens to clean, pets to take care of.  Where does the time go? I lament. 

Oh yeah.  It flew away on the wings of a technological bird.  Sigh. 

Part of the problem is connected to multi-tasking.  I have realized that I don’t just sit and enjoy one activity at a time very much.  When I’m at home, I’m usually doing more than one thing at a single time:   Reading, talking with my husband, swooshing on my tablet, throwing a toy for the dog.  When I am out and about, I might actually sit on a bench and just observe.  (My cute little Tracfone doesn’t have the siren’s call that other fancy phones would have.  The poor thing usually sits snugly in my Subaru’s cubby, waiting for a phone call).  This morning I stood out in the February wind, holding the leash of my corgi mix, Noel (we call her a “Corgi Cocktail” because we don’t know what she’s mixed with).  Noel has this….quirk…where she likes to stand outside and think about things before heeding nature’s call.  So, this morning I stood in the winter “breeze” in my poorly-insulated pajama pants and jacket, waiting for her to make her move.  Noel let the wind waft through her hair, found snow to chomp (she really enjoys eating snow), and cocked her head at every rustle and creak in the forest.  I was being patient (I have progressed through the five stages of grief related to standing outside in inclement weather.  I am officially at the “acceptance” stage).  And then I heard it:  a singular Redwing Blackbird call.  In my still-sleepy state I nearly missed registering the significance of that moment.  A REDWIND BLACKBIRD CALL?  THIS CAN ONLY MEAN ONE THING – SPRING IS COMING!

Noel finally got down to business, and as I was walking into the house I realized that the three-minute morning solitude had produced quite a gem.  The Redwing Blackbird is our first harkening of Spring.  I would have surely missed that, had Noel not forced me to just stand there in the snow and BE. 

The Bible has a lot to say about quietude.  Peter noted that a woman’s truest beauty was in her “gentle and quiet spirit.”  He wrote, “…let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious.”  I think this is precious in God’s sight because it is so very good for us to experience quietness and to exercise gentleness.  I think quietude is something our souls crave.  I know I do.  So my goal in the next few months is to unplug a bit, simplify my daily activities, and find some moments of tranquility.  I came up with this idea during one of my brain’s chat-fests, so I guess not all of my brain noise is worthless.