When you were a child, did your parents ever leave you little notes in your lunch box? I’m not in the habit of leaving daily notes for my kids, but one day last year I grabbed pen and marked “I © U” on my child’s napkin. I had pretty much forgotten about doing it by the time we were out the door on the way to school, so I was surprised that my kindergartner was bringing it up weeks after.
It’s not like this was the first time I had told him that I loved him. I tell him many times every day. But to him, there was something special about the written note – maybe it was because it surprised him. Maybe he liked that he was getting a message from me during a time of the day when he’s not with me. Or his friends might get these notes and he was just glad to be included. Whatever the reason, my seemingly insignificant gesture was very meaningful for my kindergartner. We’ve all heard about the importance of positive thinking – and positive affirmations. When we think happier thoughts, our outlook is more positive. When we have positive mantras that we can recall when we are in a tough spot, we can keep ourselves from going to a dark place. These ideas are expounded all the time in self-help literature, so what I am saying here is nothing new. But I did learn something from my kindergartner. It’s not just knowing the mantras or keeping positive thoughts in mind that matters. There’s something special about seeing the words written down – and put somewhere that might catch us off guard – that has great power to influence us for the better. How, then, can we combine these ideas – the experience I had with my little lunch box note and the research about positive affirmations? One idea is to continue leaving little notes for my child to find. I can also go a step further and leave notes for my husband to find. Even sending someone a quick email or text in the middle of the day just to share kind words can boost his or her mood And maybe, once we start leaving positive notes for our loved ones, they will return the favor (as long as they know how to write J). We can even think creatively and leave random affirmations in books at the library or on a table at the coffee shop. You never know whom you will reach with a positive message. To leave surprise notes for yourself is a bit harder. One trick I used in college was to write on a mirror with dry erase markers. Once you go to bed, you usually forget what you wrote, and you enjoy the surprise message in the morning. Or, if you are more tech savy, there is a FREE app for my iphone called “HiFutureSelf” that lets you send messages to yourself or to other people. In any case, it’s important to see positive messages IN PRINT. Send them to yourself. Send them to other people. Thinking good thoughts can get you far, but writing them down and seeing them can reinforce the mental muscle. It takes lots of lunch box notes to instill a positive life outlook, but if we all start taking lunch box sized action, perhaps together we can feed some souls.
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from "‘Jillian was a force': Lafayette remembers shooting victim Jillian Johnson" in Washington Post by Abby Ohlheiser "To understand Jillian Johnson’s mark on Lafayette, La., just look around, her friends say. They guess that just about everyone in town has a T-shirt featuring one of her designs, sold from the popular gift shops she had a hand in operating. Johnson designed the logos for a generation of businesses, progressive organizations, and performers in the Louisiana city, which is reeling from the 33-year-old’s death after a lone gunman opened fire in a movie theater Thursday night, killing two and wounding nine others before turning his gun on himself. " Read the full article here. I had not thought of her in 15 years, but when I heard her name, a familiarity washed over me. She stood taller than most of the high school girls. She didn't wear much makeup, that I remember. She was artistic and quirky and didn't care what the popular people thought or did. She spoke her mind - sometimes under her breath. My interactions with Jillian happened mostly in 4th period yearbook class. This class took up the long, 2 hour block in the middle of the day that also included lunch and study hall. Most of us stayed down in the yearbook room the whole time, neglecting our books and the cafeteria. I joined the yearbook staff when I was a sophomore; Jillian a junior. That next year, we were co-editors. So all in all, we probably spent 10 hours together each week - for 38 weeks each year - for 2 years. That's the equivalent of 31 days. In 1996, when I was in the 7th grade, my little home town built a new playground next to the library. Last week, we took our kids to this spot to play. On the way, I told our oldest about how I had helped build the playground when I was younger. (Our class took a field trip across the street to help nail some balusters along the outside rail.) As he played with his newest friend, a girl who let him chase her around the park, I heard him tell her, "My mom grew up here, and she built this place." His gross exaggeration made me laugh, but mostly it left me thinking about all of growing-up that I done in this space.
I remember youth group trips to play "sardines." I remember meeting friends to chat on the swings. I remember holding hands with boys. I remember July 4 celebrations filled with hotdogs and fireworks. And I remember the night my parents came to retrieve me and my brother - in their pajamas - when they disapproved of us being there so late. I watched my oldest run through the towers and helped my little one through the maze of steps and slides. As I explored the park again, I felt a bit sad about the state of the park that had witnessed so many of my important moments. The mulch, once black and thick, had been kicked away, and only a dirty layer of sand remained. Many of the balusters were gone, creating shortcuts in the maze. The steering wheel of the wooden train was lost, and the many of the medal chimes that used to ring loudly had been removed, leaving a sparse and unsatisfying chord. At one point, I found myself on the outside of the play area; my family was all inside. I thought that instead of walking around to the entrance in the front, I could just hop the railing. Well, I decided to walk around to the front, after all. In that moment, I noticed that the park wasn't the only think that had aged. I had some wear and tear of my own. A few grey hairs have popped up on my head in the past few years, and a few pounds have gathered around my middle. My skin holds stretch marks and wrinkles now. But you know what, my kids didn't care one bit that the park had some wear. They jumped, crawled, climbed, dug, slid, and ran just like I did twenty years ago. They just wanted to play. That old park held their little bodies proudly. I wish I had that strength, too. When my little ones ask me to play, rolling in the floor with trains or legos, I often feel to old, tired, or run-down to do it. But they don't care that I'm old, they just want my time. It's the least I can do to give them a bit more. I want them to look back and remember their mom the way I remember the park - a place that holds them while they play and grow. A safe place to hide. Still fun, despite being old and worn. A few years ago, my husband and I took a trip out west. He grew up there, so it wasn’t too exciting for him, but I had never before ventured past the Mississippi River. To me, the idea of California was exotic and hip – compared to the slow and sticky south where I had always lived. Our first stop was Sacramento, the capital of the state. To my surprise, it wasn’t too different from Nashville, Tennesee, where I had grown up. It was way less humid, and some of the stores had different names (Hardees vs. Carl’s Jr.), but mostly it felt pretty much the same.
But just two hours east of Sacramento, right on the border of California and Nevada, I discovered a place that was NOT like my native land of middle Tennessee. It hit me that I was somewhere very different once we crossed the Carson Range and I got a glimpse of Lake Tahoe. Here are some facts: Lake Tahoe is the second deepest lake in the US and the 10th deepest in the world. The water in the lake comes mostly from melted snow, which makes for a chilly swim, even in the summer months. Lake Tahoe has a North Shore and a South Shore – the south is home to some of Nevada’s casinos and is a common skiing destination in the winter. To clarify, the lake itself wasn’t what was so different. After all, we have lakes here in Tennessee, too. What is so beautiful about Lake Tahoe is that this lake is surrounded by mountains on all sides. The Carson Range is on the east and the Sierra Nevada is on the west. The water on the lake is pretty clear, too. The average clarity is around 70ft. deep. The blue sky above makes the water look like glass, and the reflection of the mountain range adds to the picturesque quality of this unique place. If you don’t believe me, just type Lake Tahoe in to your search bar and look at some photos. There is a spot at Tahoe that adds to the dreamlike quality of the landscape called Emerald Bay. Doesn’t that just sound like something from The Wizard of Oz? Well, back in 1929, Mrs. Lora Josephine Knight had a summer home built on the edge of this bay – in the style of a Viking lodge. The house is called Vikingsholm and was built with old-fashioned construction methods – and very few nails or spikes. Standing in front of Vikingsholm looking towards the bay, you see an island right in front of you out in the middle of the bay – called Fannette Island – on which Mrs. Knight constructed a Tea House. The story is that she would take her guests by boat over to the island each day for afternoon tea. This is all now part of Emerald Bay state Park, and you can tour Vikingsholm or visit the Tea House still today. So what’s all this talk about Tahoe got to do with anything? Well First, I recommend that you go see this place for yourself. And if you are from somewhere near Lake Tahoe, then you should come to Tennessee and check out the Smoky Mountains. Our country is vast, and the landscapes are diverse. There is more here to enjoy than any of us will have time to actually go and see. Second, I remind you that in many ways, California and Tennessee aren’t too different. We all have stereotypes of how the other side lives, but at the end of the day, we all laugh, cry, do laundry, and go to work just the same. The great thing about our country is that we thrive on both our diversity and our similarities. So take some time and visit somewhere that’s different – yet strangely the same, too. A friend of mine recently asked me for some advice, and, true to my nature, I passed along advice that someone else had given me. This had me thinking about all of the great pieces of advice and words of wisdom that I have received over the years. Since everyone loves lists, here is my list of wise words. What's the best advice someone has given you? 1. Don't date someone for his/her potential.
This advice came to me from Jenny West. I had just experienced a break-up, and the guy in question wasn't ready to live in to the future that we had talked about. I don't know how I ended up talking with Jenny, but her words have stuck with me. She continued, "The future is a lie." The potential that you hope for in someone may never happen. For me, I realized that Jenny had called out a pattern. I kept trying to make my date someone that I needed him to be - and that I thought he could be. But that future is a lie. The end result was typically me becoming increasingly frustrated that he didn't see his own potential. So, date someone for who he or she is in the current moment. If you aren't satisfied with where that person is in life, then move on. 2. Don't work harder for other people than they are willing to work for themselves, but do work hard for other people. Preston Fields, my long time colleague and dear friend taught me this one. We worked together administering a scholarship for college students who had often come from some pretty rough circumstances. Many of them needed more mentoring than the average first-year college student. Preston would go to extreme lengths to help someone who needed it - giving grace where it was called for, making trips and calls all around the city to help someone over a hurdle. But sometimes, a student would be less than appreciative, or unwilling to hold up his end of the deal. This part was hard for me, an Preston helped me to see that I needed to learn to direct my energy towards those who understand the partnership, not those who expect me to do all the work. 3. People don't leave jobs; people leave supervisors. Carrie McConkey, a career services expert, shared this wisdom with me when I was going through some job shifting. I have found this to be true both in my experiences and those of friends and family. I have stayed in jobs where the situation was less than favorable (low pay, bad hours, little support) because the supervisor was fabulous. I have left jobs that paid well because the supervisors were difficult. Turnover is expensive. If you are in a supervisory position, remember these words! If you support your people, then they will generally be loyal to you. Job seekers - remember these words too! If a job seems great but the supervisor is a jerk, it's probably not a good long-term placement. 4. Never hire someone you can't fire. This one came from my dad, Ralph. I think it's great advice to live by. I have certainly put myself in the awkward position of using a friend or relative for some job and being unsatisfied with the results. Firing someone (or simply going elsewhere for services) is never easy, and when you add the complication of relationships, it is just not worth it. Getting recommendations for a dentist from someone at church is one thing, but going to your church friend for a cleaning is another. If you don't like the experience, it will be hard to avoid an awkward encounter - when he reminds you that you are due for a cleaning. 5. Sleep on it for 24 hours. This advice might not be unique, but it's a rule that we had in our family. Whenever I found something big that I wanted to buy (emptying my piggy bank in the process), my parents made me wait at least a day. Sometimes, I would wake up itching to head back to the store to make the thing mine. More often, though, I would wake up less enthusiastic than the day before, and would often decided that I would keep saving for something different. I think this idea can go beyond spending, too. In college, sometimes I would find myself annoyed with a friend for something he or she did/said. Instead of confronting the issue right away, I learned to sleep on it. Often, a day to think would reveal that the issue was more about me being tired or stressed and less about the other person's actions. This philosophy helped me to avoid some unnecessary arguments. 6. You know it's been a good summer when your feet get tan. Besides being one of the funniest people I know, Doug Renalds is also full of great wisdom. I don't remember when he said this to me; it could have been when I was in college and he was my scholarship director / mentor. It could have been in the 10 years since my graduation, since I am proud to say we are still in touch. Either way, I know that during the summer, when I get ready to hop in the shower or slip on my shoes, I look down at my feet and smile. Having tan feet means that I spent some time outside - probably playing with my kids or sightseeing. When I see my tan feet, I realize that I am living a privileged life - and I should try not to take it for granted. 7. There are some people we cannot save. There are no people we cannot love. I heard Bart Campolo speak at the Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference for Children's Advocacy, a week long conference run by the Children's Defense Fund. He was talking about how he and his family moved to a highly depressed neighborhood in order to share Christ's love with the people who live in the margins. Someone asked Campolo if he was ever frustrated with the addicts who do not recover or the homeless who do not want homes. I loved his response here. He reminded those listening that our job as Christians is to love people, not to save them. Leave that to God. (This conference, by the way, is a close to the Beloved Kingdom as anything I have ever experienced. If you can go, it is well worth your time. If you live near Knoxville, you can listen to the Great Preacher Series each evening for free. Click HERE for more info.) (The next few pieces of advice on my list come from Rev. Anne McKee. She was my boss for 7 years, but remains my minister, mentor, and friend. She is one of the wisest people I know! This is just a small sample of all she has taught me.) 8. You don't get a vote on who your kids date. Thankfully, my kids are not to this stage yet, but I do know some parents who have struggled with this. When your child begins to date someone that you think might not be "good enough" for your kid, the temptation is to tell the child that he/she can do better. RESIST this temptation! If you force your child to choose between you and someone of romantic interest, you are risking losing your relationship with your child. Behind closed doors, you can share your frustrations with your friends or spouse, but don't force your kid to choose. Honor their choice by providing a welcoming space for this new person, and pray that all you have taught will lead your children figure out on their own the kind of person they want to end up with. 9. Planning a wedding is a mini-marriage. Wedding planning is really stressful. The process can really dampen the excitement of two people who are hoping to begin a life together. When I was beginning my own wedding planning, Anne told me to think of this as a practice for marriage. Married life will have stress - and much of that stress will involve family, money, and compromise. Planning a wedding is ALL ABOUT juggling these elements. Though I still got stressed out when planning, I looked at it as good stress that was preparing me for my married life. This idea gives those arguments good purpose, which can keep a couple focused on more than just one day, but on the life that they are building. 10. When people are experiencing grief, don't ignore it. Tragic situations happen all of the time, and most of us don't know the best ways to respond. Once, a student lost her father to cancer during her senior year of college. The campus was really supportive; she took time off classes so she could be with family, and the professors were very understanding. Many people from campus drove to the funeral to show love to the student. After she returned, though, people didn't quite know what to do. People didn't want to talk to this student about her dad because they didn't want to "upset" her. This experience is very common, and those of us on this side of grief are sincere in not wanting to make someone upset. The truth, however, is that she was thinking of her dad all the time. Everyone around is just going about the day, and she is thinking about her dad. We don't want our loved ones to be forgotten, so it's hard when no one around wants to bring it up - so not to upset us. Asking a simple question, "Tell me about your dad" can give a grieving person space to keep the memory alive. from "I Thank God For You" by Andrew Osenga, album Choosing Sides, 2010 "I'm singing as you sweetly drift off to sleep, to grow another day I hope there is a special room in Heaven where moms and dads can watch their children play I want you to grow, but I want you to stay..." My sweet baby boy turned two last week. Like most moms do on such occasions, I spent some time remembering the circumstances of his arrival. Waking up at midnight with a sore back. Trying to rest in the recliner, IPhone in hand, timing the space between the pain. Mom driving overnight to get to us before he came. My dear friend, also a delivery nurse, by my side the whole day. Lenny's subs after he arrived. My husband saying to me, "Isn't this the best thing you've ever done?"
But once we left the hospital, the adrenaline of delivery wore away, and the exhaustion and emotional tornado took over. Trouble with breastfeeding. Multiple weight-checks. Infection; children's hospital; formula. All of those struggles seem so small to me now; I can remember them without the hard emotions attached. One moment, though, and the epiphany that followed, has remained foundational for me as a mom. I held him as we rocked in the room painted a green that wasn't quite what I wanted. I'm sure that I was under the influence of hormones, but I looked down at my week old child and started to weep. I became totally overwhelmed with the knowledge that he would not be this small always. I cried for my future self who would, very soon, not have a little bitty baby boy anymore. I know that I am not the only mom who has spent time mourning that time goes by too fast. In fact, I don't know one mom who hasn't. I see my friends posting pictures of their kindergartners with "#timeslowdown" underneath. Or I read a blog about how with parenting, the days are slow but the years are fast. We need to cherish each stress-filled day. Blink and they will be graduating. In fact, strangers in the grocery store or at a restaurant will often remind me of how quickly he will grow. "Enjoy it - he will be married before you know it." It was this truth that I had realized that night when I was rocking my seven-pound baby. It was this truth that left me weeping. I'm not sure how much time passed before I was able to reflect on this moment; it may have been a week or two later when I realized how silly I was being. I had become nostalgic for my baby while I was rocking my baby. I HAD the little bitty baby boy. There was no need to waste my time being sad. Yes, we should cherish the time we have with our kids. But what I came to realize is that we should cherish time with our kids because it is time with our kids - not because one day it will be gone. Not one bit of sadness or nostalgia or longing is going to keep this boy from growing. Once I flipped my thinking, I realized that what I wanted most was for my boy to grow and learn and become a good and loving person. I try hard not to say that I "miss" when my kids were smaller. Yes, those feelings come, but I don't want my boys to think that I'd rather have someone other than who they are right now. Instead of being sad, or thinking about how cruel time is, I try to celebrate each day, month, and year. My little man can count to 10. He can say "I love you mommie." He can sing along to our dinner prayer. My big boy can read chapter books. He can ride a bike and build cool things with Legos. These moments are happening now, and I cherish that God has chosen me to witness them. It's good to remember our babies births. It's good to look at pictures and remember how quickly things change. But being sad at how quickly they have grown makes us, well, sad. Instead, try to spend some time celebrating who your children are today. Tell them what you notice about their accomplishments. Look to the heavens and give thanks that they are growing and learning, and that somehow, God chose you to celebrate each day with them. from "The Dead" by James Joyce, Dubliners, 1914 "A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly on the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead." I taught this story in my British Literature course this past spring, and I was drawn to this passage (as most critics are). These final lines remind me of the the simultaneous strength and fragility of life. I took some creative liberty with the following stories, but they are both true, just filtered through my "sanctified imagination" as the fabulous Otis Moss III calls it. She struggled to push the cart of mulch toward the roses. After, of course, she had loaded each bag into her trunk at the store, and onto the cart once she returned home. Her family would probably arrive in a few hours - her brother, nieces and nephews, and great nieces and nephews. The tamales cooked inside; she would check on them once the mulching was finished. But for now, she must tend to the roses. The garden she cared for so carefully, feeding and nurturing each bloom, kept her fingers busy and her mind clear. Yes, tend the garden, then tend the family. Even though she did not have kids of her own, she had her garden - and she had family that she loved and nurtured. She cocked a slight smile, thinking of how her family would get to see her flowers soon.
But the mulch was too heavy. She pushed the cart, and her heart stopped. The doctors say it was quick and painless. For her, maybe, but not for the family - or the roses. So many questions lingered over the scene. Wasn't she feeling better? Why didn't she ask for help to move these bags? The cliche pleasantries followed. "Well, she lived a great life." "At least she didn't suffer." "She was doing what she loved." All true - but none served to ease the hurt or fill the void that she left behind. She seemed to have so much life left to live, but the mulch was too heavy. _____________________________________________________________________ The walk to the tower wasn't too bad. The four friends just needed to get away from campus for an hour; exam studying loomed heavy. A quick hike might help - looking down on the city and mountains from up high would give them some perspective. The college is a tiny speck from up there - the classroom, the teacher, and the test all seemed minor as they enjoyed the view. Still, the smog lingered, reminding them of the work still unfinished. So, they decided to work their way back down the ramp, through the woods, to the car, and back to their books. He was still feeling restless. This ramp, which made the view accessible to everyone, weaved back and forth. The long stretches of declining pavement added too much time to the journey. What's the shortest distance between two points? A straight line. So as his three friends continued down the safe concrete path that was laid out before them, he jumped. The first jump was both easy and hard; adrenaline pumped as he ran toward the ledge to jump over the three foot gap to the level below. He was ready the second time; he knew he could make the distance. But in the air, he realized that his angle was all wrong. For the first jump, the two legs of the ramp sat uncovered - exposed to the open air. But as he jumped further down, the concrete bottom of that top ramp loomed over. He missed, falling 50 feet to the ground below, hitting his head on the concrete ledge along the way. His companions called for help; it was ages before the ambulance came. They came from those tiny specks of building that the group had just pointed out from up high. It took him a month to walk again. And a year to speak. He had to re-learn everything. The almost sophomore was back in second grade. Three years later, as his friends graduated, he returned to that campus - that speck of building from before was now more daunting than ever. That walk to the tower was easy then; no walk is easy now. Still, he survived; he fought his way back to the classroom, the teacher and the test. ___________________________________________________________________ This paradox haunts me when I stop long enough to think. What a paper thin wall exists between life and death. One minor change in plans, one inch right or left, one second looking away - It's the difference between our loved ones planning dinner and planning a funeral. Forty pounds of mulch. Is this the difference between life and death? Yet, he survives a fall that should kill him. The body is both so weak and so strong - fragile and resilient. The worst is that I don't know if I should be afraid or encouraged. What I do know for sure is that the difference between those of us who live to see the sun another day and those who don't might as well be random. So, when I can remember to notice how lucky I am every night when my head hits the pillow, I try to give thanks for today's safety, pray for the same tomorrow, and soak in the mystery of this world. The first time he saw the ocean, he ran to it with the fury of a dog to its food. He had no fear - only wonder and excitement. I raced after, grabbing the little hand and keeping him at a safe depth. Water crashed over his toes; the sand under his feet pulled away as the water receded. As he inched deeper into the waves, a stronger current yanked at the ground under his feet - then a larger wave splashed up to his chest. He looked up with eyes wide, ready to retreat. "Momma hold you," he cried to me, reaching his hands up toward my neck. I snatched him up and planted him in the sand, a safe distance from the coming tide. For a while, he played with buckets and shovels, and I hauled the ocean to him in buckets so that he could still splash away from the danger of the open water.
Soon, he noticed his brother and cousins playing tag with the waves. Their laughter called him back towards the water. I followed closely as he approached, this time slower than before. Eventually, we found a nice spot just where the water lapped calmly to the sand. We sat together, playing in the sandy slime that rested below us. A wave broke close to us, and water once again licked his toes. He laughed and waited for another wave. "Here comes, here comes!" we screamed together as the water came toward us. Then again, one big crash sent us back to the safety of the dry sand - to repeat our play with buckets and shovels and second-hand ocean. This went on for most of the day as the whole family rested by the water - enjoying the sun and breeze in the Outer Banks. The sand and sticky salt water have never been my favorite, but helping my little one navigate this new landscape was well worth the irritation. I loved seeing the joy in his face when the cold water surprised him. I loved seeing his trepidation just the same. This particular child shows little fear - he jumps, climbs, swims, slides, and runs without any hesitation. Watching him in the ocean, though, I couldn't help but be proud of him for figuring out something about the world. The ocean is both exciting and scary. See, for his mama, when the water is to COLD or ROUGH or DEEP, retreat is the only response. The inconvenience of the consequences of a day at the ocean will keep me away - for good. The water is cold. The surface below is unstable. The waves are unpredictable. The sandy spot just above the breaking water removes us from danger. Still, my little guy is more brave than his mama. He knew that after some time, the sand starts to scratch and the sun starts to burn. Relief comes from returning to the water - scary as it is. This shockingly unstable and unpredictable world is where we live. I am grateful that this experience showed him this. More so, I'm glad that he chose to meet the water again and again - pulling my hand along for the ride. So last week, my family went to the beach. This means two things. 1) I did not spend time writing. 2) I am even more aware of my figure flaws. So, I am taking my title of Original Plagiarism more literally this week and re-posting something I wrote a few years ago. from The Eyes of the Heart: A Memoir of the Lost and Found by Frederick Buechner, 1999 In speaking about his mother: "I always felt [it was a] curse upon her of having been born blue-eyed and beautiful, with the result that she never had to be especially kind and loving in order to draw people to her because they were drawn to her anyway." So there was this girl that I went to college with named Ashley. I really didn't know her all that well - she lived in my dorm but on a different hall than I did. All I really knew about Ashley was that she was gorgeous. So much so that my friends and I started calling her "Pretty Ashley." (Coincidently, one girl in my close group of friends was also named Ashley. We did not intend for the adjective to become a point of comparison between the two girls with the same name, but I have not ever asked my friend if she was specifically hurt by the nickname for the other.) So conversations might be like this: "Pretty Ashley was at the gym this morning with me" or "Oh, Pretty Ashley was looking for her backpack - have you seen it?" I don't remember if we ever called her Pretty Ashley to her face, but to this day I think about her as not Ashley, but as Pretty Ashley.
We females are great at comparing ourselves to others - as my friends and I secretly did every time we saw Pretty Ashley on campus. I know that many "ologists" (Psychologists, Sociologists, Anthropologists) have scientific and cultural explanations for our tendency to always size each other up. It's an instinct thing - we are competing with each other for a mate. It's social - we associate beauty with wealth, so our chubby pale ancestors were beautiful because they didn't have to work and had money for food, but now tan and skinny is a cultural sign of wealth. In the end, I am sure that there are many logical reason that women walk into a room and immediately rate themselves against the others. "Well I am bigger than her, but prettier than that other girl..." Still, it can't be healthy and I wish I could stop myself from participating in this culture of comparison. When I first read this quote from Buechner I was shocked. I neglected to underline it, as I was reading in the pre-kindle days. Still, the idea that Buechner planted has lingered in my consciousness for years, so I finally hunted and found the direct quote: "She never had to be especially kind and loving in order to draw people to her because they were drawn to her anyway." What an insightful turn of perspective. Is it possible that my "Coomer Boomer"* hips have given me a wider sense of understanding? Could it be that my crooked nose has helped me to love straighter? Maybe my muffin top shaped my peaceful nature. If so, than did my symmetrical lips cause me to talk negatively about others? Did my pretty hair cause me to see others as ugly? Now I know that in many ways, this is a gross oversimplification and it does not work out. I know that a healthy self-esteem is good. It's normal for me to love and hate parts of myself. After all, there are plenty of unattractive people who are cruel and mean, and plenty of beautiful people who are warm and kind. Still, thinking about body image from Buechner's perspective helps me to shut out the negative self talk, the objectified comparisons, and the unjustified superiority - and I am guilty of all three. *"Coomer Boomer" is the name that my mom's generation of sisters and cousins have given to the genetically wide hips that run the family. My generation has adopted this nickname as well. Honestly, I have never met a stronger or more self sufficient group of women than the Coomer Clan, and I'll take these hips all day if it means that I can inherit an ounce of the drive and grace that comes with them. from "Planting Seeds" by Andrew Peterson , Counting Stars, 2010 "So many years from now Long after we are gone These trees will spread their branches out And bless the dawn." Two summers ago, my husband decided that he wanted to grow tomatoes. We ventured to the local home improvement store and purchased some small cherry tomato plants. He was very faithful in watering the plants, removing the bad blooms, and keeping the tomatoes healthy. That summer we had fresh cherry tomatoes on all of our salads! Though I didn’t do much to help in this venture, I still loved the idea of us growing our own food to enjoy.
Fast forward one year, we didn’t go to the store and buy a tomato plant. We didn’t put the effort in, so we didn’t enjoy homegrown tomatoes that summer. Things were busy – we had a new baby at home – so we didn’t feel bad about the lack of fresh produce that year. This summer, guess what? We didn’t buy tomatoes this year, either. We moved a few months ago, so tomatoes were not on our radar. Once again, we were planning to go to the local produce section for our salad fixings. So, imagine our surprise when vines started up from the pot we had used two years ago for our tomato plants. Turns out, that every once in a while, there was a rotten tomato on the vine. Maybe we didn’t get to it in time and it turned squishy. Maybe a bug got to it before we did. Either way, we knew that this was not a cherry tomato that we wanted to eat. So, we would pick it off of the plant and drop it in the pot. When we saw the beginnings of a tomato plant creeping back up this year, we realized that it was these rejected tomatoes that had done the work. What we thought was garbage and wasn’t worth saving actually has turned out to benefit us. The tomatoes helped to reinforce an idea that I hope to never forget. Lost causes can still have value. Relationships can be repaired. People can change. The bad apples (and bad tomatoes) in our lives can still bear fruit. We may have to be patient, and we may have to give it time to germinate, but it can happen. You may have heard the adage, “Anyone can count the seeds in an apple, but no one can count the number of apples in a seed.” Well I can tell you, it’s true for tomatoes too. Spend some time with me, and think about the lost causes or damaged people and relationships in your life. Could they still possibly bear fruit? |
Diana CurtisWife, mom, stepmom, writing instructor, handbell ringer, choir singer, calligrapher, and expert napper. Archives
December 2017
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