THE BEST WAY TO SEE NYC

She’s a lot of fun – my travel companion, my new friend. She laughs when I do and sees humour in our misadventures (which is fortunate, because we’ve had quite a few). She’s patient with my map-fumbling and missteps. We’ve seen the same streets of NYC several times over, ridden the subway in circles and taken the could-have-built-the-Empire-State-Building-by-now ahem, long way, several times.

Sadly, her sense of direction isn’t much better than mine. But her sense of adventure is bar none.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had our spats. She thinks she’s always right. Since I KNOW that I’M always right, it’s a problem when our respective rightnesses clash. What’s worse, I’ve learned that older isn’t always wiser and have had to concede to being slightly less right than her a few times. Ouch. She’s even less gracious in her concessions than I am. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.

Getting the Party Started

The red-eye flight out here was no picnic. After only 30 minutes of sleep I startled awake knee-to-knee and nose-to-nose with the unfriendly man in the next seat. Like most Canadians I find this level of unintended intimacy deeply disconcerting. I spent the rest of the night watching Downton Abbey reruns through bleary eyes. I’m afraid that no amount of Earl Grey can produce chipper after a night like that.

We yawned our way through the Museum of Modern Art (which was amazing nevertheless), Times Square (overwhelming), and the world’s worst tour guide. Finally, I understand how very annoying it is to my children when I start a sentence, trail off and leave it hanging in mid-air.

Tired, but still ecstatic to be here, we found refreshment in Little Italy. Is there anything a truly great piece of pizza can’t fix?

We stumbled into bed with visions of Broadway shows dancing in our heads.

NYC is full of New Yorkers

We nibbled at the Big Apple for the next 2 days. And it was delicious! There is something invigorating about this boisterous city and it’s Babel of languages and ethnicities and colours. We saw the Statue of Liberty, the Harbour at nighttime, the Natural History Museum, Central Park, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the 9/11 Memorial and the inside of WAY too many stores.

The tour book said not to greet people on the street, because they’ll think you’re crazy. After a few polite smiles and head nods I can report that this is, in fact, true.

Not only that, but they won’t get out of your way. At one point a man came to a dead stop directly in front of me. He wouldn’t shift left or right. Just glared at me, until I scuttled sideways, then continued barreling down the sidewalk. I’m not clear what game we were playing, but I’m pretty sure I lost.

This doesn’t mean they’re not nice. Though no self-respecting New Yorker would cop to a descriptor as wimpy as “nice.” Loud and pushy translates into exuberant and interesting if I remember my place. After all, this isn’t my world, it’s theirs.

When my “thank yous” were overly effusive, eyes rolled. When we stopped and waited for the light to change, people tripped over us. Rude is a cultural construct after all.

On the other hand, advice and opinions are freely offered in New York. Most people we talked to were eager to show off their city and give us their best efforts (the rest were simply hustling us for tips). There was the policeman who gave us directions, then outlined the itinerary he felt we should follow for the rest of the day. And the matriarch of a Greek diner we discovered (read: stumbled into while looking for something else) who knew exactly what we should eat… and was right. New Yorkers have a brusque charm that is strangely appealing.

Our Favorite Things

If you ask my daughter what the highlight of our New York trip was, she’ll tell you all about “Wicked,” the Broadway show that stole her heart. It was brilliant!

But my highlight didn’t come with a playbill or a souvenir postcard. The best part of this trip was being just us. With a big(ger) family, with the extra demands of special needs children, with her serious dance commitments and homework and paper route and growing social life, I don’t get much time to enjoy her – something I know will only get worse as the next few years fly by.

My Favorite Teenager

Turning 13 is a huge milestone. We wanted our own “rite of passage” to celebrate with our kids, so years ago we came up with a plan. We discussed the bat mitzvah-style parties and coming of age rituals which are becoming more and more popular, but they just weren’t “us.” A trip, however, with its concentrated one-on-one time and attention, a shared experience, an adventure, a memory… that has “us” written all over it.

Of course, NYC is more ambitious (read: expensive) than we envisioned, but it has been priceless.

I thought I would take this opportunity to parent intentionally. I thought we would have an important episode of the sex/boys/self-worth conversation, with forays into girl politics, healthy choices and 14 reasons drugs are for losers. But those are part of our ongoing discussion. She hardly needs an official sermon at this point, because we’ve been talking about it all along.

Instead, we had fun together. Turns out, that’s not a less important parental function after all. Especially when we are navigating a new level of independence on her part and more of a supporting role on mine. Turns out, that’s what we really needed.

Dear Teenager,

You already know that I love you. That I will fiercely protect you, and relentlessly hound you to do chores, and expect the best from and for you, and pray for you, and catch you when you fall.

But do you know how much I like you? Do you know that I WANT to spend time with you? That I think you are interesting, and bright, and kind?

We might not always get along like we do now, but that’ll always be there. When I look at you and when your Dad looks at you, we see more than what is. We see the best version of you.

Hopefully, because of this, you can see her too.

I saw her a lot this week, grinning at the camera in cheesy poses all throughout New York. She’s a lot of fun! I’m so glad I got to know her a bit better this week!

Love
Mom

The best way to see NYC has nothing to do with maps, or itineraries, or even tour guides… the best way is to see it with someone you have fun with.

So here’s us, travel buddies, explorers, friends… a great way to start the teen years. I’d highly recommend it.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

REFLECTIONS ON TURNING 40

Save for the year after being orphaned, this year has been the toughest of my life. I finished four years researching and writing my book, and I didn’t pay any attention to how completely burned out I had become. It certainly didn’t help that 40 was looming and, while I have no hang-ups with getting older in and of itself, it kicked off another cycle of grief.

At its core, grief is loneliness. Obviously you are lonely for the person who no longer shares life with you, but it is also lonely knowing there is no one else who misses her the way you do or remembers him the way you do. Even my brother and sister – the closest people to understand the early loss of our parents – have different experiences, memories and reactions as members of the Orphan Club. 

In this place of exhaustion and loneliness, things that I thought were foundationally solid have been called into question. When you are forced to take a pit stop in life, you actually have time to survey your surroundings. Sometimes you like where you have ended up and sometimes you don’t. This is terrifying for someone who has built a life and career as the how-to girl. Slowly and painfully, I began to see the world differently. 

During my soul searching, I realized how judgmental I have been. In my own defense, I honestly didn’t realize I was being judgmental – I thought very open to other experiences and perspectives. But I secretly thought I had it all together and when you think this way, it is seductively easy to slide into a condescending attitude. Over the last year as I have been shaken to the core, I realized that I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want to be that person. 

I think we choose to be judgmental because it makes us feel safe – we can hide behind the walls of our belief systems, our ideals, our routines, our absolutes, our decisions. Coming out from behind those walls to question those things is deeply frightening because we have to venture into no man’s land. The Franciscan friar Richard Rohr calls this place liminal space – when we have left all that we know but we have not yet arrived at the next place. In liminal space we cannot be sure where we will end up when we emerge. In fact, we fear we will get fully lost and never emerge at all. 

I was chatting with a friend the other day about all of this “40 Stuff,” and he looked me dead in the eyes and said very calmly, “It is human.” Going through these times in life is part of our personal evolution. Learning to accept and embrace the process doesn’t always look pretty, but it is so very important. Somewhere along the lines, amidst all the how-to’s and rules and checklists, I forgot the beauty of being human and all the messiness and uncertainty that it entails. 

So I am surrendering to this season and have stopped trying to control or rush it. I suppose it’s kind of like giving up the expectation that my life will look like a Renoir depicting clear images to the world, and coming to grips with the fact that it might end up looking like a Jackson Pollock with random paint splattered on a canvas. Or it could just end up looking like a three-year-old’s drawing. I suppose there is beauty in that as well, but it is difficult to see when the work is not yet finished. 

So as I turn 40 today, I realize that I don’t know much. I don’t have a lot of answers. In the months of musing and reflecting, however, I have some thoughts. 

I think authenticity matters because it is the only way we can hear the hearts of people who believe differently than us as well as the voices of our own tribe. 

I think staying bunkered in “us vs. them” mentality – always defining ourselves by what we are not – leaves no room for our own growth as well as extending that same opportunity to others around us. 

I think real change, revelation and connection takes place when we ask more questions and give fewer directives. 

I think wisdom is mined in the dark places, and if we refuse to allow seasons of darkness dwelling, we miss out on some of the best stuff in life. 

I think we only grow more tired, tattered, impatient and unkind when we do not create quiet places for our souls to rest and reflect. 

I think vulnerability is worth the risk of getting rejected because when we spend our lives covering up what we truly feel and think, we only guarantee chasms of loneliness between others and us. 

I think it is brave to ask for what we truly want and need from those closest to us rather than expecting them to just intuitively know. 

I think it is only when we accept ourselves as good enough – not pinning that acceptance to elusive achievements but right in the here and now – that we can love ourselves and others well. 

I think we all need intimacy – the connection between two human beings with the ability to say I see you, I accept you despite all your imperfections, and I love you. 

I think cultivating patterns of forgiveness with others and ourselves is better than striving and failing under the weight of perfectionism. 

I think having the courage to linger in the questions is more powerful and transformative than rushing to find the answers. 

And I know it is scary as hell to take the leap to put all this into practice. 

That’s all I’ve got.

ERYN-FAYE FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach®
ErynFaye.Com

HEALTH TIPS FROM A FAILURE

The internet is full of experts. Real experts with credentials and half the alphabet in their titles. Self-proclaimed experts with more confidence and bluster than knowledge. Wily capitalists posing as experts to cash in on our every fear and imagined flaw.

I am none of these things. In fact, some days I’m the farthest thing from an expert a human being can be, and still walk upright. Sadly, the older the I get, the more apparent this becomes to me. I’m doing my best. Usually, that’s good enough, thank God (literally… insert comment about grace and prayer and all the people who pitch in along the way).

When the Daily Press Writing Challenge came out this week I immediately deleted the link. Write a blog post on “Health and Wellness.” Ya, right.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got some things figured out. My house is pseudo-tidy, which is impressive to anyone who’s spent more than 20 minutes with our clan. My family’s routine is the right balance between flexible and predictable. My spiritual life is meaningful. My marriage is strong. My children are wonderful.

But I wouldn’t consider myself especially healthy in a physical sense.

I am overweight, overtired and overwhelmed.

I don’t think I’m unusual in this, although I do have a special mix of kidney problems, weak immune system and chronically injured/swollen/makes-creepy-noises-when-I-move joints. I may be developing arthritis. I’ve been tested for Lupus 3 times and they won’t rule it out entirely. Two of my four children have special needs and are A LOT of work. I have very little time to myself. Or money. Also, I love food. It is my drug of choice. Also, I’m not wild about exercise, never have been, probably never will be. I can rail about how unfair this all is and make excuses ’til the cows come home, but this is the way it is. This is the body I’ve been given and I need to take care of it. Probably more than most people.

I try. I really do. I’ve always tried. And I’ve often failed. Which brings me to this expert post. You see, I do have some degree of expertise in this area after all.

I’m the What NOT To Do Expert on Health and Wellness.

I have thoroughly and exhaustively explored these habits in my own life. I can say with expert certainty, they only ever make things worse.

• Over-schedule yourself – you SHOULD be able to do it all. Anything less is weakness.
• Stay up as late as possible. Then stay up even later. Sleep is for the weakness.
• Compare yourself to others – if someone else can do it, you SHOULD be able to too.
• Don’t cater to introverted needs, that’s just selfish.
• Obsess endlessly about your weight and appearance.
• Diet.
• Measure your worth on the bathroom scale each morning and evening. Naked. With all but one toe hovering in the air.
• React accordingly. If you’ve lost weight – time to relax; you’re clearly a rock star and might as well celebrate (by eating and being lazy). If you’ve gained – time to give up; you’re destined to fail and might as well binge out on an entire box of Oreos.
• New Diet
• Realize that the latest health food craze or exercise routine or New Diet is your true Savior. Sorry, Jesus. You just don’t burn that many carbs praying.
• Put life on hold until you feel comfortable in a swimsuit/little-black-dress/jeans-that-fit-in-high-school. It’s not like your kids are growing up and you’re missing out on it all.
• Immediately assess how many people are skinnier/better dressed/prettier than you when you walk in a room (hint – EVERYONE).
• Make careful lists of all the ways you need to improve. Don’t bother with all that gratitude crap, you’re not Oprah. Guilt and self-loathing is the key.
• Take drastic steps to overhaul your life. Slow and steady is for losers and YOU DON’T HAVE ANY TIME TO WASTE!!!! Panic!!!!
• Fad Diet.
• Avoid being in pictures at all costs. Someday when you look perfect and act perfect and all the stars align… on that day you can show up in your own life.
• Everything you do is a test of personal worth. Every mistake is a failure. Every failure is absolute. It’s all or nothing, all the time. (For a really good time, apply this standard to everyone you meet. Make sure you point their failings out. People will really appreciate that.)

So here’s me, I wish I could say all these habits are behind me. They’re not. There’s a few I still fall back into from time to time. But I know them for what they are. And according to G.I. Joe, “knowing is half the battle.” I never argue with plastic soldier toys.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

I CAN'T WRITE THEIR STORY

 

I reached for the steaming hot ducky felt rice bag for the umpteenth time.  “Thank you, son” I weakly whimper to my fourteen year old.

Lying helpless in bed is not the Mom-image I dream of being for my boys. In spite of the storybook family image I try to write for them over the years, I finally resolve, “I can’t write their story.”

While my youngest boy perfected the ability to stitch straight seams in his 8^th grade class, I am certain he never imagined his Mom would be getting so much use from the ducky bag he made.

Up and down the stairs he runs as he takes care of me, commenting how the bag stinks now. Zapped so many times,the rice burns beneath the soft flannel duckies. I place the bag on my gut where bright red burns have created a design the doctor thinks may never go away.

It’s the middle of summer and I have spent weeks in painful misery and long hours in the E.R. I’ve experienced too many blood tests, cat scans and increased doses of ox-codeine than I care to count.

This is not the plan I envisioned for myself or family this summer. The boys and I were going to cook from Alton Brown’s cookbook together. I hoped they would teach me how to lift weights in the garage. I took for granted sitting in my lawn chair cheering on the soccer team, taking videos of their swim meets and watching them improve their stroke.

Instead, I am an absent mom and my husband has taken on the role of Mr. Mom in their summer frolics.

I certainly never planned to listen to the family laughing and splashing in the backyard or conversing around the kitchen table from the misery of my darkened bedroom. I roll over saddened, maybe even ashamed, as I watch my boys walk quietly past my door.

“Please take him out of the room” I whisper to my husband as he shuffles our boy with special needs away from his mom. I can’t bear the thought of him being confused or anxious as I groan and weep in pain.

“Feel… better…. Mommy” he carefully tells me.

This is not the perfect family story I wrote for my children. I don’t want them to have a helpless mom. They shouldn’t have to take care of me at their age. They shouldn’t have to completely care for themselves throughout the day.

I should be vibrant, energetic, interacting with them. I should.

I should be cooking for them and driving them for milkshakes.

I should.

I should.

Wrestling with pain…Wrestling with “should’s”… Wrestling with God…

He stills my heart.

He reminds me this is what I prayed for over the years. I ask the Lord to grow character in my boys, to make of them godly men. I ask Him to orchestrate opportunities for them to rely on Him in a deep and personal way.

This is their opportunity to experience disappointment, even fear and worry — then learn to lean on and listen to their Heavenly Father.  They need to witness the hand of God, to experience their own answers to prayer.

It’s what makes faith real.

On my sick-bed I relinquish to God my rights as Mom. I confess my delusions to control the fine details of my children’s lives. 

Jesus, You be their Master Teacher.

Step into my children’s lives when I cannot and should not.

A sickly Momma is not the image I create in their story. But, God is working with them to create His own story in their lives.

He weaves their joys, disappointments and life experiences for His own good pleasure.

I don’t want to get in Your way, so Lord I am letting go–again–today.

“Be assured, if you walk with Him and look to Him and expect help from Him,  He will never fail you”-George Mueller

Friends, it is almost a year since my surgery and diagnosis of Crohn’s Disease. I have taken time to get my life back in order and enjoy a pain-free summer with the family. Now it’s time to share with you what God keeps trying to teach me at my bedside.

BONNIE CHRISTENSEN

Woman Gone Wise

This Is The WORST Best Lesson In Life

It’s a game we play, and replay, a lot at our house.

“But it isn’t FAAAIIIIR!” they whine.

I act Alarmed. Affronted. Confused. “Who told you life was fair? How dare they!”

It’s not entirely an act. I happen to think that teaching our kids they are entitled to a life of ease and comfort is irresponsible, possibly cruel. Someday the real world will come calling. If they haven’t had an opportunity to build important coping skills, they will likely to fall to pieces. The small, everyday disappointments of life are an important curriculum.

You won’t be able to watch that movie tonight, because Dad is watching his team lose the Stanley Cup.

There’s a hole in your favourite hoodie (the only thing worse than this is my suggestion of sewing on a patch, apparently).

Your sister has a sleepover tonight and you don’t. You’ll have to hang out with your mom instead.

I’m sorry, but your sister ate your homework (true story).

All valuable lessons, if handled correctly. Somewhere between “Vlad the Insensitive, Destroyer of Dreams” and “Schmoopy the Rescuer, Enabler of Dysfunction” lies good parenting.

My parents certainly didn’t subscribe to the “protect-at-all-costs” parenting philosophy. In their mind, suffering builds character, even for kids. They didn’t push us down the stairs or pinch us when we smiled too wide. But they didn’t apologize for the reasonable disappointments life brought our way – doing more chores than any of my friends, wearing second-hand clothes, bypassing the candy aisle, bringing lunch instead of buying… a whole lot of making do with what we had, without complaining.

This wasn’t easy to swallow as a child. And if I’m being honest, it’s still a struggle. Although I wasn’t raised to believe my life SHOULD be easy, I still feel somewhat surprised and ripped off when it isn’t. “But God, it’s not FAAAAIIIIR!”

Because it’s really not. Life isn’t fair.

Lessons I’ve learned from Disappointment:

Perspective: As I write this, on my personal laptop, in a warm house, dressed in a new (second-hand, but still newly bought) shirt, after eating a filling lunch, while my healthy son naps and my well supported children attend a well equipped school nearby, I realize that whining about life being unfair is pretty, well, unfair, to the billions of people who could only dream about a life as good as mine. Nevertheless, my small disappointments gave me a taste of suffering and dose of reality. Life is like this. Bad stuff happens (the slightly less poetic, but much more child-friendly truism). There’s not always someone to blame. No one is entitled to a trouble-free existence.

Health: How many of the worst patterns/habits/addictions we hold are attempts to escape or numb the pain life brings our way? I can personally attest to the tranquilizing effects of too much food, which I begin to crave whenever things start going wrong. One of my children asked if it’s true that ice cream is medicine? Ummm… A healthy person is learning to accept this discomfort and process it in a healthy way. Cry. Pray. Laugh. Create. Throw socks at the wall (really, it works).

Selflessness: Selflessness is learned in the hard places. After we process the disappointment, we have a choice. Where will my focus be? Will I wallow in my misery? Or will I think beyond me and what I want? Without a doubt, the instruction most often handed out, but not always followed by myself is: “It’s okay to be upset, but it’s not okay to make everyone around you miserable just because you are.”

Gratitude: What comes easy is often taken for granted. When I’m familiar with disappointment, then getting what I want/need/hope for is a gift and I will truly appreciate it. Our daughter B was born the year after we buried her brother Simon. Although her diagnosis with Down Syndrome threw us somewhat for a loop, it paled in comparison to the glorious fact that she was ALIVE and healthy.

Compassion: Disappointment is very real to the person feeling it. Whether anyone else understands or not, there it is. Someone who has faced their own disappointments may not be any better equipped to understand a unique sorrow, but we are open to the experience. Where it would be more convenient and comfortable to stuff our own pain beyond conscious reach and whitewash over the pain of others, the student of disappointment is not afraid to go there.

How to Grieve: My small disappointments have prepared me for the devastations in life. Not entirely. Nothing can. But it’s a start: the basic skill to face the hurt, work through it, find the joy in the midst of it and reach out to others regardless.

Disappointment isn’t lethal.

Disappointment is a natural part of life.

Disappointment is a good teacher.

I believe it and I want to live it… but doling it out as a parent is a lot harder than I expected. Perhaps it is my generation. Perhaps I’m just a pathetic softie. It’s hard to say no. It’s hard to watch those sad little faces. It’s hard not to jump in and make everything fair and smooth out the rough edges and bribe them back to happy.

So, I’m thankful for the times we really can’t afford it. Or there isn’t enough time. Or enough energy. Or it just really grosses me out (see: pet snake argument).

There is nothing wrong with WANTING to give your children everything. There IS something wrong with actually giving it to them. Unless you’re hoping to raise spoiled, greedy, miserable brats. If so, then by all means, appease and rescue and avoid disappointment at all costs. You’re on the right track.

So here’s me, hoping we’re all disappointed just enough to build strong character and no more.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

HOW TO BE A GOOD SPOUSE AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY

There is no getting around it – holiday parties can be dreaded events. As if being forced to spend time with colleagues you avoid like the plague during work hours isn’t bad enough, you’re supposed to be, well, merry. The only thing worse than attending a Christmas party at your own office is going as your spouse’s “plus one.”

But what if the Christmas party could actually help your relationship? What if your presence could bring value to your spouse’s professional life? What if attending could be one of the bestgifts you give your spouse all year? If you have the right attitude, you can reap a lot of relational benefits from the Christmas party. Here are some pointers:

1)   You get a snapshot of your spouse’s life 40+ hours a week. If you are like a lot of couples, there is an extremely good chance that the people at your spouse’s workplace get to see him more than you do. Sure, you get to hold his hand, raise children together and go to bed with him at night, but when you subtract the hours that you spend sleeping, commuting, eating and other such necessary activities, there might not be a lot left over for you. The Christmas party is your chance to step into your spouse’s world. Who does he interact with all day? What makes him so passionate about his job? How does he interact with others? How does he treat his direct reports? What does he really have to put up with from his boss? These answers give you new insight into your spouse – a very valuable thing in marriage if you want it to last.

2)   You get to see your spouse through the eyes of another. It is inevitable that over the years, we all have a tendency to put our spouses in a box. You have preconceived notions of what she likes, how she behaves in certain situations, and how she gets work accomplished. But her colleagues might have a radically different perception of her. When she is at work, her quirky sense of humour might have more air to breathe than at home rushing through dinner and homework duties. Her ability to manage a team might look drastically different than her attempts to support the elementary school fundraiser. What do your spouse’s colleagues appreciate about her? How does she bring value to her workplace? Discovering the answers might reveal a side of her that you haven’t seen in a while.

3)   You have the opportunity to make your spouse look good. Ultimately, this is the greatest gift you give your spouse. If you show up at the party with a great attitude, mingle with others, show interest in your spouse’s colleagues and behave respectfully (no heavy drinking, no tacky comments, no inappropriate outfits and no bugging the boss about overtime), your spouse will reap the benefits professionally, and you will reap them personally.

The holiday season is about sharing love and kindness to those around us. It is about slowing down enough to appreciate the small but significant things in life. Allow this holiday cheer to extend to your spouse’s Christmas party and into your relationship for the New Year.

ERYN-FAYE FRANS ® Canada's Passion Coach

Erynfaye.com

LAST YEAR'S CHALLENGES - WHAT DID YOU LEARN?

I think every one on the planet can point to key moments in their lives where a situation either made them or broke them or sometimes both.  For some it's a death in the family, a birth, a move, a loss of a job, etc.  

There were a few challenges for me in the last year, and looking back, I hope that one day I can say, "Yep, that definitely made me a better person."

Toward the end of the school year I was faced with making a decision to continue teaching at a school I dearly loved or to take a step out of my comfort zone and move to another building, job, etc.  This decision was not entered into lightly.  I started contemplating and researching options in February - even taking a jaunt around the state to see if some of my options were what I really wanted.  I explored many opportunities that I would not have considered before and for that I think I am better.  I learned a lot about myself through interview processes for different positions in different capacities.  But, in the end, I chose to go to another building.  Not because I was unhappy, but because I wanted to be in control of some of the change that would take place over the next year.  It was a challenge to leave a family that I had grown to love like my own family and enter into a building where no one knew a thing about me, how I taught, etc. But, I did it.  Has it been a challenge to learn the new expectations of a new administrator?  Absolutely.  Has it been a challenge to learn a new grade level? You betcha!

As a part of this challenge, I faced one of the largest challenges in my life.  I've dubbed it the 2011 Blog Catastrophe.  As a part of my closure, I wrote about leaving my school and moving to another.  Without going through the painful details, I experienced personal attack like I had never done so before. I became terrified to share my opinion about anything, scared to write on my blog.  I deleted most of my facebook friends because I didn't know who I could trust and who I couldn't. I went through weeks of phone calls to people who were upset with me, lots of tears, not eating, questioning everything I did.  Honestly, I still struggle with some of these things when asked what I think about something now.  This experience shook me to the core and still rattles me.  

But, I learned something in it all.  Beware, this may offend someone, but know that you were warned and I am not singling anyone out.  I learned that it doesn't matter what you say, when you say it, how you say it, what you write - someone out there will be offended.  You can NEVER make everyone happy 100% of the time, and if you spend your time trying to do that the only person who will be UNHAPPY is you.  Talk about huge learning.  

GUEST POST - SHASTA LOOPER

Scripted by Shasta

SIX VALUES I GAINED AS A MILITARY BRAT

My father, Colonel Howard F. Smith, was a career military officer in the U.S. Air Force.  He served in the Vietnam War in the 60’s, and Desert Storm in the 90’s.  When he was not overseas, he walked through the front door of our home every evening at 5:00 p.m., wearing his blue uniform decorated with ribbons and pins he earned in his 30 years of service to our country.

When he passed away, I requested a pair of the silver bars which were always fastened to his hat. The blue hat with pins was a constant in our home, and it represents the consistent work ethic and military commitment of my father.

Just as a missionary or a pastor is called to the ministry, I believe military personnel and their spouses feel a similar calling.  It is a unique person who is willing to invest their very lives in the risky unknown. Unknown danger, unknown housing options, unfamiliar living conditions, constant moving, unpacking, and moving again. One might wonder what kind of toll this takes on the spouses and the children.  While I can only hypothesize about a spouse’s point of view; I am able to speak from a kid’s point of view.  These are the reflections and values I learned as a Military Brat.

Always, always stand at attention for the National Anthem. 

Whether in the movie theater on base, in the classroom or at a football game, we must stand up for the National Anthem.  Give the anthem your full and complete attention and respect.  No talking.  No squirming.  No hands in pockets.  No hands touching anyone else. No fumbling in your purse.

The National Anthem represents our story; the story of the United States of America, her fight for freedom, and the ones who gave their very lives for the freedom we enjoy.  The anthem represents our own grandfathers, fathers, mothers, siblings who risk their lives daily so we can live freely.

If any kid dared to goof around during the National Anthem on base, that kid and his friends were kicked out of the movie theater, game, or classroom.  No exceptions.

So my friend, if you ever try to talk to this girl or attempt to do business with me during the National Anthem; expect to be ignored.  That’s just the way it is.

Make new friends and keep the old

I remember vividly coming home from school, after laughing and enjoying my friends, and hearing the words, “We got our orders.” That meant we must move to another base, another state, possibly thousands of miles away.  It happens frequently. Sometimes we received our orders to move, only to have the location changed again.  Flexibility becomes a common character trait.

It takes a person an average of 2 years to become comfortable with friends and settle in to a new community.  It is tough on a military family who just begins to warm up to their new friends, then it is time to pack up and leave again.

Tears, fears, lost friendships and the stress of starting all over again can take its toll on a kid. Many of us learn through inevitable trial and error to make friends quickly and support one another.  I am often saddened by the friendships I have lost over the years.  There were no social networking options to keep us connected. But I gained the ability to make new friends, and the compassion to help others feel included.

When I first attended a big public school in my teens, I heard friends say they went to school with their cousins.  I thought it was a joke.  I had not lived near extended family.  I rarely saw my grandparents, cousins, Aunts and Uncles since my father joined the Air Force when I was 5 years old.  A military family rarely has the luxury and support of living close to their extended family, and the children don’t have the same opportunities to know them like the civilian families.  We learn to support those around us when anyone is in need.

I am grateful for the opportunities to travel, to see our country from different perspectives and landscapes.  I write a funny cursive “r” which I learned in Alabama and I have a mild mix of accents due to living in different regions.  I never knew what city to call my hometown.  But, the travel helps a kid understand their narrow world from a broader perspective.  It is important to me to expose our own kids to travel, world studies, different cultures, and the National news.

Respect the American Flag

We were taught how to respect the American flag.  Our instruction included how to fold the flag properly, not to jump up to touch it when we walked near it, not to wave a ragged flag, and the list goes on.  As I grew up, I loved to sing songs about America and the flag.  How obnoxious my dorm mates must have thought I was as I sang “You’re a Grand Old Flag” at the top of my lungs down the hallway.  I did it frequently.  Did I mention I attended a college in Canada?  Years later, my Trinidadian roommate asked me to kindly quit playing Lee Greenwood’s song, “I’m proud to be an American”.

What can I say?  I am a proud military brat.  I know our freedom comes at a great cost. I benefit from it every day, I am grateful, and sometimes I gush!

Sacrifice for the greater purpose

There were many times I did not fully appreciate the fact that my dad was a Prosthodontist.  Often times when I was having my teeth worked on, young airmen in training would stand around the dental chair to observe.  As a junior high student, I didn’t enjoy good looking guys standing around me while I was drooling and having spit sucked out of my mouth. I’ll never forget the day one of the dentists walked into the waiting room and reprimanded me for leaving the chair too early.  I sat horrified.

I clearly remember the long days my dad worked to identify bodies from the Canary Island plane crash.  He had the job of examining the teeth in order to identify the horrifically burnt bodies.  He worked round the clock and changed his toxic clothing outside our house before entering in.

It wasn’t until my twenties when I entered the fabulous home of a local civilian dentist, that I first recognized the contrast between a civilian dentist’s pay and a military dentist’s pay.  My father had made a great financial sacrifice when he chose to serve our country.  It is admirable.

Do you know there are military personnel and their families who live on the poverty level?  Yes, they serve our country daily, and scrape to make ends meet.

Respect a person’s title and leadership

Military kids learn to call people by their official titles.  This gives military personnel the respect they have earned.  Everyone is addressed by their rank.  We answer those in authority with a “Yes, Ma’am” or  ”No, Sir”.

We may not personally believe in the political decisions of our leaders, but they deserve our respect.  This is a biblical principle as well.  Submit to those in leadership, even if they are unreasonable.  That is my role.  The Word of God tells us our leaders will have to give an account to God.

When my son was in fourth grade, we attended a Pearl Harbor reenactment downtown.  It was a rainy school day, but I thought this was a great learning opportunity for our boy.  We stood in the small crowd, squeezed together under the umbrella and listened to Veterans reenact radio announcements from Pearl Harbor.  They read the names of local heroes whose lives were lost that day.  My son soaked it all in. I nudged him to shake the hands of the Officers who stood in their decorated uniforms.  We thanked them for their service.

“Even though we feel shy about it, and don’t always know what to say,” I teach my boys, “always shake the hand of a Veteran and thank them for their service on our behalf”.

Stand up for what you believe in

I don’t remember the day my father left for Vietnam.  My mother tells us that I made such a scene crying in the airport, that everyone around me was in tears.  I do remember my father’s phone calls from overseas.  Our phone calls were monitored, and whenever we took a turn talking, we had to say, “Over” and wait for clearance to talk again.  The scheduled phone calls were brief.

I remember receiving letters from my father, sent in envelopes trimmed in red, white and blue.  He sent pictures of himself in his fatigues and holding weapons while riding on the back of a truck.  I didn’t know much about the war, only that my father was gone.

One day my mother brought us to Mather Air Force Base where we were stationed in Sacramento, to see President Nixon.  There were crowds of people and “hippies” on loud motorcycles.  There was shouting and a chaotic feeling in the crowd.  We viewed President Nixon stepping off of the plane as the crowd protested and yelled profanities at him.  My mother pulled us kids close, and then she told those hippies off!  I guess that’s where I first learned to stand up for what I believe in and who I believe in.

Life as a military brat was a good life.  I have fond memories of playing kick-the-can in the streets and enjoying the guards at the gate of the base with their fancy salutes.  I have a broader world view and an ingrown respect for our country. Life was good and I thank you, Mom and Dad, for the valuable experience of being your military brat.

BONNIE CHRISTENSEN

WomanGoneWise.com

 

9/11 - WHAT WERE YOU DOING?

My parents grew up in the generation that could tell you exactly what they were doing the day JFK was shot. My mom was working in Berkeley, California when she tried to use the phone and was told none of the employees could use the phones. How odd - within 30 minutes, talk was spreading like wildfire that the President had been shot! Within another hour everyone was sent home in shock learning their President had died. And I am part of the adult generation who can tell you exactly what they were doing the day two airplanes flew into the Twin Towers.

I was making the bed in our master bedroom and hadn’t had the TV on all morning when I got a call from my husband. His tone told me something horrific and huge had just happened as he said, “Christie, do you have the news on right now? Turn the TV on! You’re not going to believe it!” As I turned on the Today Show I remember seeing the footage of the first airplane flying into one of the buildings and thinking …. How can this be real? What on earth is going on? I remember calling him back and both of us reeling in shock and fighting the tears.

As the day unraveled, I learned of the third plane that crashed into the Pentagon ... And then the fourth plane that didn’t make it to Washington, DC because of some amazing heroic American citizens! It was terribly hard to make sense of all the emotions and conflicting thoughts. 

  “How could anybody penetrate our country’s intelligence and defense?”

  “Lord, please keep people alive in that rubble until help gets there.”

  “I want vengeance and I want it now.”

  “Where can I get an American flag for my car, my house, my yard?”

  “I need to call my family and tell them how much each one means to me.”

  “I feel utterly vulnerable.”

  “I can’t stop hurting for all the breaking hearts that have no one coming home tonight.”

  “What senseless tragedy!”

Personally, I don’t believe that life is fair or always makes sense. But I do believe that each of us can learn and can grow from every experience in our lifetime. So, instead of remembering what each of us was doing the moment 9/11 became historical, I want to remember what I’ve learned from that day and how I can be a better woman because of living through it.   

~ I have learned that security doesn’t come from believing your borders are impregnable. True security is found within me. His name is Jesus. 

~ I have been challenged to be willing to stand against anyone or anything that wants to hijack my life … even if it means dying in the process.

~ And I have been reminded that each day is not a right but a gift – and my greatest gifts are the ones that I come home to every night!

What about you? What were you doing on 9/11? But even more importantly, what have you learned from 9/11?  

CHRISTIE LEE RAYBURN

ChristieLeeRayburn.com