For Fun, IMHO

How to get through the long winter

No, this isn’t a Game of Thrones post. Sorry.

This is yet another post about how my kid amazes me. When we moved from a southern state to one a little further north six (!?!) years ago, I dread spending  long, grey winters indoors.

Until I saw how happy it made my kiddo.

Me:  (wrapping scarf #2 around top of child’s head and ears)  Fifteen minutes. You have fifteen minutes to play, then you come inside and warm up for five minutes.

Kiddo: mmffff  hmm meh hhmmm fmm mm.

Me: What?

Kiddo: (unbundling face) You don’t have to worry.

Me:  Of course I worry.  Frostbite is serious business.

Kiddo: Not for me. I’m part penguin. (grins)

It was that moment when I decided to let go of my worry (within reason) and I’m so glad I did. I watched from the window as a pack of tiny bodies waddled in the snow, flung snowballs with reckless abandon, and, generally speaking, behaved like a bunch of young penguins on an iceberg. My son-of-a-southerner flopped face first into a snowdrift, arms and legs flapping, and scooted across the front yard on his belly. Why? Who cares. It was fun.

Subsequent winters saw us with more snowball fights, snowmen named Jasper who liked jaunty caps, snow alligators, green with food coloring, towering forts and even a three-headed snow hydra.

So, now, I actually kind of look forward to the first big snowfall of winter. When the air is heavy and smells like ice, and you just know when you wake up the world will be clean and quiet with new snowfall. It seems no matter how old my kiddo gets, his face still lights up when he looks out the window at new snow. Maybe he is part penguin.

 

 

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IMHO, Personal Growth

About extremes

 

I think it was near the end of fourth grade when my child started incorporating some of the Disney-channelisms into his everyday language.

Everything remotely good that happened, whether it was a bowl of cereal or a three-point basket became  “epic!”

On the other hand, if something didn’t quite work out – a stray dribble of ketchup from the bottle hit the dinner plate –  that was “so much fail.”

It’s all normal, I know.  Kids will pick up expressions from the playground, the classroom, YouTube, and that ilk. They try on different aspects of their personalities like  hats,  trying to see which ones feel the most comfortable.

Maybe it’s a generational thing, but an adjective like ‘epic’ doesn’t pair well with anything other than Homer’s Iliad.  Maybe Star Wars. The noun that follows a word like epic truly needs to demonstrate heroic substance and weight. With all due respect to Kevin Durant, I question whether the most beautifully-executed three-point shots truly qualify as epic. Nor does a simple misstep along the way to the trash bin equal devastating failure.

For a while, I thought maybe these expressions were a byproduct of the hormonal roller-coaster known as puberty. And honestly, at our house, this is probably exactly what it is – a temporary step in the process of our kiddo growing up.

But it seems like everywhere you look, daily events are hyperbolized into life-changers of one extreme or another. I laughed out loud this morning at an advertisement for a cereal that proclaimed This. Is. Everything.  I had no idea honey-sweetened oats were so powerful.

bowl of cereal a.k.a. everything
Everything?

On the one hand, I am a big fan of celebrating everyday joys.  Doing a happy dance when I toss a wad of paper towels from the kitchen table to the trash bin *and make the basket.* My child and I singing at the top of our lungs in the car. Life’s too short to not celebrate whenever you can.

On the other hand, though, when everything is an extreme – either everything or nothing – we lose our ability to appreciate the vast majority of our lives that lie in between.

I think that’s a shame. All those in-between things, the everyday observations that would otherwise go unmentioned in the  novel of my life, are the daily simplicities that sustain us. Because it’s in those little things, my husband’s smile, my child’s yawn, my dog’s snore, those are the things that show me how near God really is all the time. And that, my friends, that is what’s really ‘epic.’

 

 

 

 

For Writers, Personal Growth

presto change-o

I almost gave up again. On writing, that is. Between daily life and the holidays and new school/job, I’ve been struggling to make time to put words on the page.

It’s too much, I told myself.

It will keep, I reassured myself.

I can always try again after____ is over, I promised myself.

Somewhere in the middle of my rounds of self-negotiation, I was chock full of self pity and feeling pretty low. I mean, seriously, who do I think I’m kidding? I’m not a writer. I’ve started and stopped how many times? You could probably fill an entire wing of the internet with the number of blogs I’ve neglected to nurture. (I know the internet doesn’t have wings, but I’m making a point here)

It was at that point that a small, still voice told me it was time to pray about it.

I hadn’t prayed with much regularity since I was in high school, and even then, I confess that I was more of a gumball-machine prayer – the kind that dropped prayers in  and expected the good stuff to flow out.  So I was feeling pretty sheepish and awkward about trying to strike up a relationship with God again after, well, a long time.

Maybe I’d better not ask for anything, I thought. Maybe I ought to just read the Bible and see if there’s a verse that points me where I ought to go. After all, I don’t know that I would just strike up a conversation with someone I hadn’t talked to in years. That would be rude. I don’t want to be rude to God. Isn’t there a Commandment about that?

Anyway. I opened my Bible and here’s the verse I landed on, from Philippians 2:3:

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.

My immediate response wasn’t pretty.

When have I been selfish and vain, exactly?  I mean, sure, I’ve been aggravated when my plans haven’t worked the way I want them to.  Consider others better than myself?  I mean, I’m every bit as good a writer as these other folks, right? I might even be a better writer than they are. I’ve been writing most of my professional life. So why am I not published yet? Why is my name not on the best seller lists? Why am I not going on book tours or being asked to speak?

When my temper tantrum subsided, the truth hit me square in the face. The truth is that I’m not so great. And I really haven’t been trying to serve anyone but myself.

I’ve been writing to show other people that I could do it. To prove to people – family, former coworkers, friends – that I could be creative and imaginative and funny. I wanted everyone to know that I was important.

It’s hard to humbly serve when you’ve got a chip on your shoulder. In my case, I think I may have lugged around boulder-sized weights on both shoulders. I’ve been writing to advance my own ambitions rather than to help other people, to share the joy that comes from knowing we’re not alone, that God is for us.

So yeah, I prayed. I asked forgiveness for my arrogance, and for guidance to find the work that I’m supposed to do. I don’t have any answers yet, but I know that step by step I’ll uncover what God has in store for me.

Even though I may not be working on a manuscript, I felt like maybe blogging here about this next part of my journey might help someone else who’s feeling lost.  Every morning I ask God to help me find my place, to help me use whatever gifts I have to serve Him and others.

Whatever it is I’m supposed to do – whether it’s writing or building a powerpoint or shuttling kids to karate class- I’ll do it knowing that He loves me enough to show me the truth. He loves me where I am, and He’ll help me fulfill his purpose.