November 26, 2009

Pin It My mind is a tumult of thought.

I thought about Mom today; as I did, I found it strange that someone you care about in this life could suddenly be whisked away. Photographs still remain. Videos might be left behind. Recordings of their voice might still be in existence…yet they are no longer with us.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to write about Mom, about how I’ve felt, about the good and the bad moments over the previous months since that fateful day this past summer. A whole lifetime has passed since those heartrending moments, and yet, it feels like it was only as long ago as a whisper shared amongst friends.

Time keeps going on whether or not we’d like it to.

The house was a melee of smells as family members were preparing the food for our Thanksgiving feast; however, I just felt that I needed to get out for a little while—to be alone—to think.

I decided to take out the trash.

I moved outside into the bitter crisp of November as the Thanksgiving wind buffeted me from all sides. In the distance, the pale light of the sun shone through the horizon’s misty clouds. I wanted that sun to bury its warmth deep into the empty and dark places of my soul. I stood, breathing in with lungs capable of still doing so, feeling the oxygen filling me.

I thought of the meal we were about to eat; the meal that she would not be taking a part in. It just seemed so inequitable, so unfair.

I retreated to my basement office to escape everyone and everything. I decided to organize files—as well as the accumulated slices of decades’ worth of living—to take my mind from the pummel of reflection. I settled down and found boxes rising about me in the minefield of disorganization…

Letters, photographs, various knickknacks and paddywhacks; they surrounded me like a vestibule of yesterday.

As I sifted though these fragments of my own life’s history, I felt myself remembering this particular student, that specific moment of childhood—a fragmented memory which had long-since been forgotten and lain dusty and dormant.

It wasn’t long before my dad came into the room.

Against the wall was a collection of artwork Dad had given to me on that last visit home, nestled amongst them were the sticheries, those which Arlene had done while she was still alive. Dad stared silently at each of these pieces in turn and then asked:

“Did you know that she wrote to you on the back of this one?”

I looked up from the papers I’d been sorting through, and shook my head. I arose from my place and moved slowly to where my dad was standing. The stichery was large, proclaiming “Welcome to the Zimmerman’s” proudly from its frame.

I turned the frame with trembling fingers and looked down at the brown paper backing. There, scrawled in curls I immediately recognized, I saw a message written to me. Mom had written it, she’d written sometime before—before the final days and moments that had taken her inescapably away.

I read over the note she’d written, my mouth dropping open. I was devoid of speech for several moments—I simply gazed at the writing before me.

And, just for a moment, she was there. Whispering those things I so much needed to hear, a message spoken from beyond the blistering confines of this thorny life.

When my dad departed from the room, I remained a few moments longer, gazing at the letter written to me.

I smiled.

Photographs still remain. Videos might be left behind. Recordings of voices might still be in existence…and testaments of love will not be forgotten.

Repost - Adventures and Misadventures of What?

Pin It Originally posted on August 26, 2008

I wrote this just over a year ago at the commencement of a new school year. I was just starting out at a new school; it was a brand-new adventure...

So, Teachinfourth…the name of your blog is “Adventures & Misadventures of Daily Living” yet you don’t post every day. Why is that? Can it really be daily adventures if you don’t blog about these experiences?

Ah, quite the astute observation my friend.

Whist I admit that I don’t blog every day, I am trying to do something a little bit different…every day I am trying to live my life. There are adventures to be had and I can’t recall how many of these I have let pass me up; usually because of something which seemed so pressing, or because of my very innate nature which causes me to hold back at times.

When I was walking up to my place of work a day or four ago, I caught my eye in the glass entry doors. I gazed back at the young man standing before me, laden down with his laptop, camera case, and a bag full of school books. I stood there for very nearly a minute…it was as if I could see beyond my reflection…into something much deeper.

As I looked back into the eyes of my unmoving reflection, I was taken with this thought, “You only have one life, and you’re only young once. You need to be living that life for all it’s worth.”

I won’t say that it was a voice which spoke, because it wasn’t…however, it was something which struck me with a harsh realization, like a gust of icy-cold wind in the middle of August. That realization was that I have not always been living the adventure known as life.

Maybe these thoughts were the result of my witnessing some of the terrible things to people around me, or maybe it was because of the feeling of my own mortality, but regardless of the reason, it hit me all the same.

You, like me, only have one life…are you living yours?

Repost - More than yesterday

Pin It Originally posted on Sunday, October 19, 2008

It has been an eventful past few days.

I feel I need to write this entry for all of those who do not feel that they are who they should be—those people who feel that they are not living up to the expectations of their families, their God, their workplace, themselves…

I used to go to the gym back one upon a time ago. I remember being pretty devoted for quite a while. I’d be up at 5:00 A.M. and would get in a session before work nearly every day—there were also days I’d go back to the gym after work and hit the treadmills or stair-steppers.

Like I said, that was once upon a time ago.

I suddenly stopped going. Life got busy, and I found myself pressed for time—time which I did not have.

It was several weeks before I was finally able to make it back to the gym—and this was only for a short 15-minute visit.

I was berating myself for not having stayed longer, and for just how terribly I was doing. Later, when I was with a friend, we were having a discussion and I mentioned to her how I just wasn’t doing as well as I should in regards to the gym.

My friend looked at me and said, “Well, you’re doing a lot more than you were yesterday, which was nothing.”

These words have stuck with me throughout the past few years, and I find them reverberating in my head—quite often to be honest.

There are times in all our lives when we find ourselves lacking in one or more areas. Perhaps we aren’t eating quite as healthy as we should be, perhaps we are feeling that we aren’t spending as much time as we should with our families, maybe we’re disappointed with ourselves because of our seemingly-lowered spiritual levels, or maybe we didn’t complete that project which has been begging for our attention for quite some time.

Always know that tomorrow is yet another day—a day without mistakes in it. I’m not saying to only live for tomorrow, but instead know that it is a new start. By doing just a bit more than we already are—even just a little bit—is doing more than we’re doing now…just remember to take it bit by bit and don’t let discouragement overwhelm you.

A wise man once said that it is by doing little things that great things will ultimately come about.

By eating one less cookie than you normally would have, by putting away just one stack of papers, by walking for one song on your iPod...all of these things are milestones in the sense that they are all perhaps more than you were previously doing.

Repost - Stars

Pin It As a teacher there are students who slip in and out of a classroom, as well as in and out of a life. I’d wondered about this particular boy over the years, how was he doing? What was he up to? What kind of an individual had he become? I won't lie, I was moved when he showed up in my classroom on this winter evening...mysteriously finding his way into a locked school building.

These are the moments which matter - these are those small times when being a teacher is worth every single moment where we'd struggled.

Originally posted on Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I had a friend who needed to cancel our evening plans, which led me to stay at work a little bit later than usual tonight. As I entered grades, visited with a few other teachers, organized the room, and began to get ready for the next day’s teaching, my classroom door swung open. Standing there was a student I hadn’t seen for quite a long time…I’ll call this boy, ‘Joey.’

As Joey strode into the room I found myself surprised to see him, especially so late in the evening. How had he gotten into the school? Why was he here? Joey walked straight up to me and threw out his arms, embracing me in a bear-type hug. It was then that he began to talk. I couldn’t believe just how big this boy had become since he’d been a chubby little fourth grader in my classroom some six years before. He’d become a fine young man, now in his second year of high school.

Joey talked, expressing several times just how much he loved being in my class as a 4^th grader. He reminisced about the voices I’d used for read-aloud, the assignments he’d had fun with, and just how much the room had stayed the same…though it was just a little bit smaller than he remembered. His face grew somber as he turned and looked me in the eyes. He began to thank me for the countless hours I’d spent on him; hours of working on assignments as well as tutoring him with reading.

He took a deep breath and then said, “I wanted to tell you something else…I wanted to let you know that I’m a good kid. I’m not perfect and I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but when I started to drive to the school tonight to visit you, I thought about how proud I was of the fact that I am a good kid, and I wanted you to know that. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything like that, and I hope you don’t think I’m being prideful, but I’m not doing drugs, I’ve got a lot of good friends, and I’m nice to people. I’m proud of myself and I wanted to let you know that, too, because, it was you who really made me the person I am today. I can remember all of the long hours you worked with me and helped me to love school. The things you taught me about being a good person. Well, I just wanted to thank you for that.”

It wasn’t long before Joey’s cell phone rang…it was his mom. He needed to be home for dinner soon. I walked him out of the school; before he got into his car he gave me another hug, once-again expressing his gratitude. As I watched the taillights of Joey’s rover vanish into the darkness, I climbed into my own car and made the trip home over the icy streets of town, my head a flood of reflection. I had thought about Joey—on numerous occasions. He’s the type of student that teachers often think about…wondering: Was all the time I spent on him wasted?

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as I drove home; thankfulness for the time I’d chosen to spend on this particular child who had struggled with education for so many years. It was this same boy, ­now sixteen, who helped me to realize that the time we invest in others, though it may tax us to our very limits, can make the biggest difference. This time we spend is NEVER wasted.

In the words of Loren Eisley:

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean.

Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?”

The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”

“Son,” the man said, “Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach, and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said, “I made a difference for that one.”

Repost - The Highest form of flattery

Pin It When Mom first started getting really sick two years ago, my dad called and told us; I took a leave of absence from work for a week and flew home in order to spend time with her. When I finally came back to my classroom, I was surprised by what awaited me.

Repost - Breakfast with Dad

Pin It This excursion to The Hoot Owl was during a period of time when Mom’s health had first become precarious because of the cancer, and I had left my classroom for a week because the doctors had said she wouldn’t be around very long—in fact, they’d given her between one and eight weeks in which to live. Who would have guessed that she would have outlived their longest estimations by nearly 21 months?

Even as I read over this particular post, it reminds me of the month that I spent up in Sandpoint, and the final days I was able to spend with her before she died.

I still miss her.

Originally posted on Sunday, October 28, 2007

The morning would bring with it an excitement like Christmas - and yet sadness too, like the last day of school in the spring. This bittersweet feeling came all because of something my dad had whispered to Yancy and me late the night before, “Tomorrow we go to the Hoot Owl.” This small statement, coupled with the fact that my flight took off later that afternoon, had me feeling a mix of emotion.

So, what's The Hoot Owl? To answer that you would need to imagine one of those little restaurants which you can only seem to find in small towns. One of those places which has been run by the same family for years and the menu doesn’t ever seem to change…it’s like stepping back in time to a place that never seems to age, no matter how much you do.

On Saturday morning I was the first awake, and I carefully awoke my brother and dad. I felt like I did back when I was just a kid…trying so hard to be so quiet on Christmas morning, and yet wanting to be loud so we could get things rolling. It didn’t take long before the two of them were wide awake and we slipped off into the early morning mist and the shadows which still covered the sleepy neighborhood on Red Clover Drive.

As we drove to The Hoot Owl the sun slowly broke into life, rising ever so leisurely with its first rays of morning reaching over the mountains to linger on the treetops, orange and yellow. We parked in the dirt lot next door, and made our way to the brightly-lit restaurant which greeted us not only with warmth from the chilly October air, but a bundle of smells which all spelled breakfast.

Years ago my dad used to joke with us, telling us that each of the flies which always buzzed about this café all had names, and were personally trained by the family, being kept in little cages at night and released every morning to greet the customers. Though the thought of flies in a restaurant may sound nauseating, this is just one of the small things about this little restaurant which gives it a feeling of home. I’m sure that a part of this sentiment is due to the fact that it is a place that I’ve only been to with my dad before, and no matter how old we get we hold on to traditions—even those which have only been in existence for a few years.

My dad, my brother, and I sat there and talked over our steaming plates of breakfast. We didn’t necessarily discuss anything which was life-changing, or anything which was incredibly profound…we just talked. Many moments I just listened to what was being said. Amidst spills of water and maple syrup, laughter and deep thought, and friendly greetings from other people my dad and brother knew, we had the opportunity spend a last little while together before I left for Utah…this is something which doesn’t seem to happen near enough with my dad.

As we walked outside once-again into the chilly October morning, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. As I climbed into the rental car, fired up the engine, and began the two-hour drive to the Spokane Airport, I thought of how fortunate I was to have a family who cares about me, and one I care about back. Already in my mind I was anticipating breakfast at some future time again with my dad and brother at The Hoot Owl.

Come what May

Pin It I have not responded to your individual comments; I don’t know as how to respond to be completely honest; just know that I am thankful for them.

I am also grateful for the phone calls which I have not answered, the emails which I have not replied to. For the Facebook messages which I have not ignored and for the text messages which you know that I usually never read. For each of these, I offer up a hearty “Thank you…I’m so glad that I can count you as friends.”

To save time I will reply to the one incessant question which has been universal through most of these forms of correspondence: “Teachinfourth, what happened?”

Please be patient and indulge me just a bit as I answer as I can. I find myself doing what writers do when they are faced with a dilemma…they write about it. It is with this in mind that I put tremulous hand to page—

The steady beat of the windshield wipers scraped away the waves of water as the miles of highway fell away beneath the tires of my Honda CR-V. I hadn’t made this trip in years. The clouds overhead were gray and ominous; they were a good mirror for my thoughts—reflecting back the mood of what I had been feeling.

Wait, let me go back.

It was Saturday. I’d been in St. George when the phone call came

No, I need to go still farther.

18 years.

My parents got divorced.

Yes, that was hard. But that is a whole story in itself which could fill volumes. The life that I’d once known had become fractured into two. I at times wonder about the life that would be now had that dreadful event not come to pass, however I’ll never be privy to that information; what I do know is the life which ensued because it did.

That’s the one I am currently living.

To surmise: both my parents eventually remarried.

My dad married a woman named Arlene. To sum up nearly two decades in just a few sentences: she helped my dad and me to finally have a positive relationship. She always made it a point to make sure that we were all included as family. She cared about my father’s children just as much as if she had given birth to each and every one of them herself.

Is it any surprise that we call her, ‘Mother’?

I have two Moms. Two women I credit with varied parts of my life.

Fast forward sixteen years into the future—July 2007; Arlene was diagnosed with cancer. She was given between one and eight weeks to live.

This was the time I received a ticket for the emotional rollercoaster known as life, which would offer up its myriad of twists and turns over the next several months. I ended up flying home in October, thinking that one of my Moms was going to die.

She surprised everyone.

She began to get better.

She began to respond to treatments.

The cancer spread.

Saturday, June 20, 2009—1:34 P.M: The call came from Sandpoint, Idaho. My dad phoned to let me know that Arlene’s condition had rapidly deteriorated and it was not looking good. She had been admitted to the hospital just a few days before because of various complications which inevitably led back to the cancer. She had requested to come home—she told my dad that this is where she wanted to die.

There were to be no miracles this time; no saving graces where she would baffle the doctors and glean extra years to her lifespan as she had done so many times before.

This time, it was for real.

I was on my way. I bid farewell to the friends I’d been visiting and began the arduous trek to the panhandle of northern Idaho—a seventeen hour drive from my current location.

I ran the gambit of emotion as I drove in the rain nearly the entire distance to Tremonton, arriving at 9:00 P.M. and staying with an old friend so as to get an early start out the next day.

I was up before the sun, fumbling with contact lenses and car keys—slipping out into the early morning light, inking over the distant hills like warm butter. I drove along in silence. My jumbled thoughts were mismatched as town after tiny town nestled securely in and amongst the bosom of rolling hills passed in my wake, their inhabitants still aslumber.

As I drove, I passed from sunny skies to those of rainstorm. I traveled through storm after storm. Like the tempests in my own life, I traveled through he sun, rain and back again as the miles still fell away. From time to time I was in the sunlight, but I could see the dark clouds out on the horizon, and I was moving right toward them.

Bring it on.

Was this to be a metaphor of the events coming to pass in my own life? Leaving blue skies behind and trading them for heavens of ashen gray?

Makeshift crosses on the roadside served as sordid reminders of what was to inevitably come to pass. I winced every time I saw one, and quickly averted my eyes, as if having seen something repulsive.

I drove into the downpour.

Down it came, harder…threatening to dislodge my little vehicle from the road, but still I drove, unimpeded.

On the other side of the storm was a sky which was bluer than the one I’d left behind. It made the storm feel worth it, just to see what lay on the other side.

Joni Mitchell once talked about having seen clouds from both sides. I think I understood—finally—what she was trying to say….a road trip of this nature was the best thing for me at this time. It was just me—me and an iPod full of music and a head jammed full of thoughts and a heart full of emotions needing to be worked through. Like the trash strewn along the highways of my life, someone needed to pick it all up and sort through it.

Me.

So I kept traveling the road, with new sights waiting to be seen with the billboards of my life spelling back their messages in the broad moments of quietness.

This second day’s drive took 11 ½ hours, it was nearly 5:00 P.M. when I pulled into my parent’s suburban neighborhood. As I climbed out of my car I realized that had I flown, so many things would have been missed.

It was with a heavy heart that I cut across the evenly cut grass of the lawn and entered through the back door, silent as a wisp of smoke. The problems of the world were still gathering around me, pushing and shoving; they were mine to be conquered, mine to be vanquished.

But for now, let come what may; after all, there is nothing I can do to stop them.

The Crow

Pin It

“And the crow makes wing to the rooky wood…” ~ William Shakespeare, Macbeth.

Evening is overtaking the day.

I sit on a comfortable chair out on my deck, enjoying the last rays of sunlight as they ebb away over the mountains beyond the lake.

The last sounds of park patrons diminish, along with the calls of night birds.

All is becoming steadily quiet. All is calm.

I find myself reflecting on my drive home from work this afternoon, passing through the farmishly-rural neighborhoods around which I work. As I drove, I couldn’t help but notice two crows circling overhead.

They were barely flapping their wings as they soared gracefully over the landscape below them.

I’d never really visualized crows as being the most striking of birds; I’d always considered them being downright unsightly.

I’d never want to be a crow...

A hawk is what I’d envision myself returning to existence as—that is if I subscribed to the belief in reincarnation—but by no means a crow.

As I gazed at these two birds gliding over the air currents, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

These were crows

They were not the most beautiful or majestic of birds.

They were not the most striking

But they could fly

No matter what they looked like on the outside, they had within them the capacity to take to the air, and leave the earth far below them; they enjoyed the glories their wings afforded them, just as any other bird

It was at this moment that I felt envious of these crows.

As I gazed at them, I began to wonder…how often did I imagine myself as a crow? How often did I see myself as a being of little splendor; a person with so little to offer the world around me?

Yet, we have so much potential within us…more than we are aware of.

For some reason, we often only ‘see’ ourselves as how we believe others view us…how we are perceived. This is simply not the case. We have unlimited, untapped promise. We simply need to spread our wings and take it.

As I drove home, the crows were on my mind the entire way.

Oh, to be a crow.

The Marrow of Life

Pin It It was Henry David Thoreau who once penned the words, “I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”

What does this mean? What is he saying? Why did he say it?

While I cannot speak for Mr. Thoreau, and I guess it really isn’t that important to me, I know how this applies to my own life…

I was with a friend of mine tonight. We went out because of a life-changing event in the pathway she is walking. This event is not necessarily a good thing.

As we talked this evening and enjoyed our dinner—as well as each others’ company—I couldn’t help but think about the simple pleasures I have in this life. The things about me which I often take for granted. I hope you will forgive my indulgence by mentioning a few of these varied bits and pieces…

• Eating spoonful of cookie dough, as the sweetness of it beckons you to fetch a glass of milk.
• Walking on a brisk afternoon as the scent of autumn wafts about on the breeze.
• Watching a sunset as it sets the sky ablaze in an orchestra of color.
• Wearing a brand-new pair of flannel pajamas, and feeling the warmth of a blanket wrapped about you on a frosty night.
• The smell of freshly-baking bread and eating it, fresh off of the loaf, with little wells of melted butter like lakes on its surface.
• Talking to a dear friend for hours on end about nothing in particular—and enjoying each others’ company with so many common experiences we’ve shared.
• Watching the stars above you, as they watch you back on a warm, lazy summer night with an ensemble of crickets lulling you into slumber.
• Listening to that song…you know the one…the one I haven’t heard it in such a long time and then suddenly, there it is again. I love it even more than the first time I’d heard it.
• To shoulder a backpack and head out into the lonely windswept desert hills and not see another soul for days on end. It’s just she and I.

You might say that tonight was yet another reminder to me that life is meant to be lived deeply—and to the fullest.

“Live life so completely that when death comes like a thief in the night, there will be nothing left for him to steal.”

- Unknown

More than yesterday

Pin It It has been an eventful past few days.

I feel I need to write this entry for all of those who do not feel that they are who they should be—those people who feel that they are not living up to the expectations of their families, their God, their workplace, themselves…

I used to go to the gym back one upon a time ago. I remember being pretty devoted for quite a while. I’d be up at 5:00 A.M. and would get in a session before work nearly every day—there were also days I’d go back to the gym after work and hit the treadmills or stair-steppers.

Like I said, that was once upon a time ago.

I suddenly stopped going. Life got busy, and I found myself pressed for time—time which I did not have.

It was several weeks before I was finally able to make it back to the gym—and this was only for a short 15-minute visit.

I was berating myself for not having stayed longer, and for just how terribly I was doing. Later, when I was with a friend, we were having a discussion and I mentioned to her how I just wasn’t doing as well as I should in regards to the gym.

My friend looked at me and said, “Well, you’re doing a lot more than you were yesterday, which was nothing.”

These words have stuck with me throughout the past few years, and I find them reverberating in my head—quite often to be honest.

There are times in all our lives when we find ourselves lacking in one or more areas. Perhaps we aren’t eating quite as healthy as we should be, perhaps we are feeling that we aren’t spending as much time as we should with our families, maybe we’re disappointed with ourselves because of our seemingly-lowered spiritual levels, or maybe we didn’t complete that project which has been begging for our attention for quite some time.

Always know that tomorrow is yet another day—a day without mistakes in it. I’m not saying to only live for tomorrow, but instead know that it is a new start. By doing just a bit more than we already are—even just a little bit—is doing more than we’re doing now…just remember to take it bit by bit and don’t let discouragement overwhelm you.

A wise man once said that it is by doing little things that great things will ultimately come about.

By eating one less cookie than you normally would have, by putting away just one stack of papers, by walking for one song on your iPod...all of these things are milestones in the sense that they are all perhaps more than you were previously doing.

Adventures and Misadventures of What?

Pin It So, Teachinfourth…the name of your blog is “Adventures & Misadventures of Daily Living” yet you don’t post every day. Why is that? Can it really be daily adventures if you don’t blog about these experiences?

Ah, quite the astute observation my friend.

Whist I admit that I don’t blog every day, I am trying to do something a little bit different…every day I am trying to live my life. There are adventures to be had and I can’t recall how many of these I have let pass me up; usually because of something which seemed so pressing, or because of my very innate nature which causes me to hold back at times.

When I was walking up to my place of work a day or four ago, I caught my eye in the glass entry doors. I gazed back at the young man standing before me, laden down with his laptop, camera case, and a bag full of school books. I stood there for very nearly a minute…it was as if I could see beyond my reflection…into something much deeper.

As I looked back into the eyes of my unmoving reflection, I was taken with this thought, “You only have one life, and you’re only young once. You need to be living that life for all it’s worth.”

I won’t say that it was a voice which spoke, because it wasn’t…however, it was something which struck me with a harsh realization, like a gust of icy-cold wind in the middle of August. That realization was that I have not always been living the adventure known as life.

Maybe these thoughts were the result of my witnessing some of the terrible things to people around me, or maybe it was because of the feeling of my own mortality, but regardless of the reason, it hit me all the same.

You, like me, only have one life…are you living yours?

The Last Lecture

Pin It There are things and people we encounter in life who inspire us… these little wonders grab us, shake us, and refuse to let go. Today I’d like to share one of these people who changed me. By viewing this, I hope it will change you and become a part of your life as much as it has now become a part of mine.

Meet, Professor Randy Pausch, a man who’s made a tremendous impact on the lives of millions of people, a man who lived his childhood dreams of meeting Captain James T. Kirk and experiencing zero gravity, a man who fathered three children, a man who died today of pancreatic cancer.

The wisdom Mr. Pausch…only, he’d want to be called Randy—left behind speaks long after he is physically able to do so.

His message will inspire you.

Randy Pausch - ABC Special.

A condensed version of Randy's Lecture recently given on Oprah.

Randy Pausch's Last Lecture.

“The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us the chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people.”

- Randy Pausch

Writing update - There's a lot to do

Pin It

Whoa…

I just read over a BUNCH of information about becoming a published author, and there is a LOT more to it than I originally thought!

Author Rick Walton said: “If people really knew how much work it takes to be a successful writer, most people would never start.”

I must say that I am inclined to agree. Now, does this mean that I am giving up? Of course not! However, does it mean that I still have a lot to do?

Yes.

I guess you could say that I am feeling a bit overwhelmed tonight, and wondering if it will ever really happen…if it does, great. If it doesn’t, it hasn’t happened yet, and I am still alive, right?

I think that I would be able to continually to survive this as well.

No more tonight…but thanks for reading.

All 8 of you.

It’ s just a little bit odd

Pin It I pulled up to the gas pump.

The fuel gauge on my car read, “Empty.” So I wouldn’t be able to put it off any longer…not that I wanted to; I just hate those long lines that inevitably form at the Sam’s Club Gas Station.

When my turn arrived I hopped out of my car, membership and credit cards both ready and waiting. You see, I have a pattern, as I don’t like it when people pull up to the pump and then spend the next five minutes just trying to find what they need, forcing me to watch them in their ineptitude.

I’d rather eat shards of broken glass.

But as I said, I have a pattern: I pop the “fuel release” button as I jump out of the car, slide my membership card in at the pump, remove the fuel cap, insert my debit card, grab the nozzle, insert it into the car, select my fuel grade, and then begin to refuel my vehicle…this whole process takes less than thirty seconds.

As I was in the middle of my well-rehearsed routine, I noticed it…no, it wasn’t the $3.50+ cost for gas, but the fact that here I was, surrounded by other people getting fuel, and not one of us was speaking to each other. The woman on the other side of the pump was busy trying to get her card to work; the man in front of me had climbed back in his car…even though there were notices everywhere advising motorists to stay outside of their automobiles when refueling. Behind me was a line of three other vehicles, all waiting their turn at the pumps, each of them currently watching the “Zimmerman Show.” I did my best at leaning up against my car and trying to act cool…after all, if they wanted to watch somebody, I’d give them something to look at.

It’s all about eye candy.

As the pump continued to produce fossil fuels—as well as drain away my bank account—I spoke to no one. Nobody spoke to me. When my $50 purchase was completed, I quickly removed the hose, put the fuel cap back on, and re-hung the nozzle, leaping in my car and pulling away…

…still having spoken to nobody.

Now, just why do we do this? My only guess is that getting fuel is so personal of a thing that we just cannot share this experience with anyone else. OR perhaps it is instead that our collective breaths are taken away by what getting fuel really means...


Either way, it’ s just a little bit odd.

Let it rain

Pin It My head is full of reflections tonight; these tumble about in my head like the crystalline rushing of a mountain stream over a bed of smoothly-worn stones of thought.

I’ve come to realize just that life is much too short to live in apprehension, cowering with the fear of rejection, and listening to the whining of that little incessant voice in the back of our minds which whispers, “You just can’t do it.”

Who’s to stop me?

Probably just me, after all, I’ve done it numerous times before. I’m good at it too…too good to be exact.

The waters rush on as I stare at my computer screen tonight. As I do, I realize that there will be so much more to consider in the waters, what with the oncoming of the rain in the distant mountains.

Luckily, I do have an umbrella.

Let it rain.

Living out loud

Pin It I met Steven Curtis Chapman a few nights ago. For those of you who do not know who he is, he is a Christian singer/songwriter that I have listened to ever since I was about 15 years old. I feel that he and I have been through a lot together throughout the years. We’ve shared some good times and have built some great memories. However, all of these memories are mine, and not his.

On Friday Steven and I were just hanging out, we were talking and I finally met his family. They were not what I had expected. I thought that this man, the one who’d written so many songs which had moved me throughout the years, was somewhere around perfect, however, after conversing with him I realized that this was not the case at all, in fact, he wasn’t all that different than I was.

You see, I had always looked up to Steven. Wow I’d think, If only I could sing like that or if only my life were more like his...his life is perfect. Well, that night I got a wake up call. His family does argue, they do have problems, and he struggles with some of the same things I do in my life. When I asked him about this he responded with, “There are fights in my own house on given days...there is a point when literally hell sounds the trumpet and Satan releases his demons to come and attack the Chapman family. We pray and we get a lot of others praying...It’s not enough to just pray; you must respond when God’s answer to your prayer...and invest yourself in things that don’t always come easily to you.”

He then went on, “You know, you and I are really not all that different. We both have things we are working on in our lives. The thing is you don’t see those things when you look at me…do you?”

I admitted that I really hadn’t.

“This is live we've been given, Jason.” He said next with a smile, “It’s made be be lived out...so live your life out loud.”

It was at this point my alarm clock sounded, and I was roused from my night’s rest. As I opened my eyes I realized that what I’d just experienced was only a dream, a lucid dream, a dream that did not fade from my memory...it was so realistic that it still is sharp and defined even now, days later.

This experience was a great eye-opener for me to realize that Steven is human, just like us all. The reason I say this is because I think that many of us have a tendency to look at those around us who seem to have “perfect” lives and fail to realize that they have their problems, struggles, weaknesses, and even moments of deep despair.

I feel that I have spent far too much time in my life thinking, “If I were only like what’s-his-no-face, things would be better.” It has been over the last little while that I have realized that this is not really the case. I need to stop comparing myself to others and their seemingly “perfect” lives and instead compare myself to myself. Am I a better person today than I was yesterday? Have I done any better? If the answer is yes, good for me; if no, then I need to work a little bit harder. The point is, we all need to live our lives for who we are…not for somebody else.

We all are given life and each of these lives are different, it is my goal to follow Steven’s advice to me and to try to live my life to the fullest...if there does come an occasional day when I feel like staying in bed and doing nothing, this is okay—I just won't do it all the time.

I want to live my life the way I want it to be lived...

living it out loud.

Storms...and He that Calms Them

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Remember when I said that I had a soundtrack to my life?

I do.

I remember when I compiled the varied songs that there were far too many to simply have a one, or even a two-disk compilation. There are just too many songs which have become interwoven into the threads of my experiences. Their words, as well as the emotions they invoke, would also need to be included in that simple “soundtrack” to my life.

I needed more.

I went for a walk tonight, enjoying the crisp, evening air and the empty streets a Sunday night always seems to provide. It was nice to be outside and away from the things in a week which, at times, has been hectic and draining for me. As I was walking on a road overlooking the city, I stopped to gaze at the lights spread out below me…

In this vast panorama which lay before me, I could imagine a veritable trove of people, all with their individual lives and problems, struggles and challenges, joys and accomplishments. As I stood looking out over the city, it seemed so calm, so quiet. Into my mind came the words from a song I’d first heard many years before, as I drank in the calmness all around me, I felt at peace.

The calmer of the storm does look down and He sees us all, and is mindful of everything we experience in our lives. All of our pains, trials, and everything which bombard us each day; I need to remember to take the time to raise my eyes and not concentrate on the waves crashing around me.

My favorite stanza from the song is the following:

“There on the storm I am learning to let go.
The white wave’s high, it’s crashing o’er the deck
And I don’t know where I go.
Where are You Lord? Is my ship going down?
The mast is gone so throw the anchor…
Should I jump and try to swim to land?”

Thank you, Calmer of the Storm.

Calmer of the Storm
Down Here

When everything is wrong
The day has passed and nothing’s done
And the whole world seems against me
When I’m rolling in my bed, there’s a storm in my head
I’m afraid of sinking in despair.

Teach me, Lord to have faith
In what You’re bringing me will
Change my life and bring You glory

There on the storm I am learning to let go
Of the will that I so long to control
There may I be in Your arms eternally
I thank you, Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

You rebuke the wind and the waves
Once again I find I’m amazed by the power of Your will
‘Cause I’m a child of little faith
I feel the wind and forget Your grace
And You say, “Peace, be still.”

Teach me, Lord to have faith
In what You’re bringing me will
Change my life and bring You glory

There on the storm I am learning to let go
Of the will that I so long to control
There may I be in Your arms eternally
I thank you, Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

Oh when the torment blows
The middle of the sea.
May I never trust, never trust in me.
‘Cause there in Your arms I find
No tragedy.

There on the storm I am learning to let go
The white wave’s high, it’s crashing o’er the deck
And I don’t know where I go
Where are You Lord, is my ship going down?
The mast is gone so throw the anchor
Should I jump and try to swim to land?

There on the storm, teach me God to understand
Of Your will that I just cannot control.
There may I see all Your love protecting me
I thank you Lord, You are the calmer of the storm.

Stars

Pin It I had a friend who needed to cancel our evening plans, which led me to stay at work a little bit later than usual tonight. As I entered grades, visited with a few other teachers, organized the room, and began to get ready for the next day’s teaching, my classroom door swung open. Standing there was a student I hadn’t seen for quite a long time…I’ll call this boy, ‘Joey.’

As Joey strode into the room I found myself surprised to see him, especially so late in the evening. How had he gotten into the school? Why was he here? Joey walked straight up to me and threw out his arms, embracing me in a bear-type hug. It was then that he began to talk. I couldn’t believe just how big this boy had become since he’d been a chubby little fourth grader in my classroom some six years before. He’d become a fine young man, now in his second year of high school.

Joey talked, expressing several times just how much he loved being in my class as a 4^th grader. He reminisced about the voices I’d used for read-aloud, the assignments he’d had fun with, and just how much the room had stayed the same…though it was just a little bit smaller than he remembered. His face grew somber as he turned and looked me in the eyes. He began to thank me for the countless hours I’d spent on him; hours of working on assignments as well as tutoring him with reading.

He took a deep breath and then said, “I wanted to tell you something else…I wanted to let you know that I’m a good kid. I’m not perfect and I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but when I started to drive to the school tonight to visit you, I thought about how proud I was of the fact that I am a good kid, and I wanted you to know that. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything like that, and I hope you don’t think I’m being prideful, but I’m not doing drugs, I’ve got a lot of good friends, and I’m nice to people. I’m proud of myself and I wanted to let you know that, too, because, it was you who really made me the person I am today. I can remember all of the long hours you worked with me and helped me to love school. The things you taught me about being a good person. Well, I just wanted to thank you for that.”

It wasn’t long before Joey’s cell phone rang…it was his mom. He needed to be home for dinner soon. I walked him out of the school; before he got into his car he gave me another hug, once-again expressing his gratitude. As I watched the taillights of Joey’s rover vanish into the darkness, I climbed into my own car and made the trip home over the icy streets of town, my head a flood of reflection. I had thought about Joey—on numerous occasions. He’s the type of student that teachers often think about…wondering: Was all the time I spent on him wasted?

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as I drove home; thankfulness for the time I’d chosen to spend on this particular child who had struggled with education for so many years. It was this same boy, ­now sixteen, who helped me to realize that the time we invest in others, though it may tax us to our very limits, can make the biggest difference. This time we spend is NEVER wasted.

In the words of Loren Eisley:

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean.

Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?”

The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”

“Son,” the man said, “Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach, and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said, “I made a difference for that one.”

Storms of thought

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Today I found myself strolling down roads I’d walked so many years before; moving down pathways of memory which I’d abandoned long ago. However, I found myself feeling the need to write something…

Have you ever experienced a time when you wanted to write, yet your mind is such a torrential storm of contemplation that you can’t even separate one thought from the rest? This is the way I am feeling. There is so much I wish to say, but I just can’t seem to find the fitting words.

Logan, the Sky Angel Cowboy

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There are those things in life which really make you think and bring your perspective back to where it should be.

I was recently given a link by a friend of mine, Summer, to a clip on YouTube. The clip is of a phone conversation between Logan, a 13 year-old boy who lives on a Nebraska ranch, and a radio DJ for 89.3 FM KSBJ. This is a Christian radio station which broadcasts from Houston, TX.

Logan made a phone call to the radio station very upset because he had to put down a calf that he loved. The message he shared made me think of what is truly important this time of year, and that no matter what challenges we are called to face in our lives, Somebody knows and understands what it is that we are going through.