The first time it happened, I had attended a dance recital and saw a girl whose mother I was friends with at church performing beautifully. She seemed to have a grace and confidence that made her shine as she floated with the other dancers on the stage. So I sent her a letter to tell her so. I didn't really know her that well, but God laid it on my heart and I felt compelled to send the letter. She received it and her mother thanked me for taking the time, but she did admit that the child wondered why someone she didn't know well had written her. It made me doubt what I thought God was telling me and so for a number of years, my pen was silent.
Fast forward a few years...and I found myself face to face with one of those "thorn in the side" people that are brought into your life to remold you or to shave off the rough edges. This individual came in the form of a credit administrator who had the power to approve many of the loans that I was presenting when I was a commercial lender. He did not like the fact that I was wordy and that I tried to cover all of the bases. So, he was honest with me...and not in a kind way. He was ruthless with packages I presented and only let things through once he had battled over every point he could think of to raise. I learned to write my loan packages with no unnecessary words and by being honest about the strengths and weaknesses of each package I touched. I double checked addition on every column, researched industries relentlessly and quit being so thin-skinned about his disapproval. In fact, I came to expect it. So, when I left to go to work at another bank, God nudged me to send him a "thank you" note. I knew I was a better lender because of him. Granted, he had at times made my life a living hell...for five years. But I had become a pretty decent lender in the process.
I procrastinated and never made the time to send the note. He died two months later of a massive stroke. I've never forgotten falling short. And I've never been able to express to him the value of the lessons that he taught me. Who knew that my full time job would become writing and analyzing loan packages? Why? Because I could write a loan package that was easy to understand but covered all of the bases.
Since that time, I have never failed to pick up a pen when God has prompted me to do so. Letters have been sent to people as He directs without a lot of intervention on my part. The notes are in His time...not mine. In fact, from time to time, I've run into someone who has thanked me for a note that I'd forgotten I'd sent. Which just proves my point...the words may have come through me...but they are from Him.
Some people might think that is a little pretentious, but I don't. I believe that everyone here has gifts and talents that are unique and special. The true mark is that the person fails to see what a "big deal" that gift is in the service of others. Because our gifts really aren't for us to enjoy even though we often do. We forget that sometimes.
For me, I believe that my gift is words. God created in me a passion for reading and writing that borders on the obsessive. There have been times when I have been sitting at my desk at work and someone comes to mind. So I send a letter to them. I have no idea if these words matter to them or not and frankly...it is none of my business. My job is to take God's prompting and to do as He asks. To encourage, to congratulate, or just to notice something that someone has done. I don't feel obligated nor compelled...I just write.
May I recommend the same to you? If you are ever touched by someone's work, accomplishments or just their presence in your life, would you tell them so? So many of us assume that people know how we feel about them...and then a time comes when it is too late to tell them how very special or necessary they are or were to make you who you are today. I'm not really suggesting that you make a list...but I am saying that if God puts someone or something on your heart...do not hesitate. I did once...and I do not advise it.
We don't really know what effect our positive words can have in the life of someone else. Just to know that someone believes in us and cares enough to take the time to write is an amazing gift. I received a gift just like this a couple of weeks ago from a relative that I have not seen in many years. It meant a lot to me. In fact, notes of encouragement that I have received for the past 25 years are still in my possession. I re-read them sometimes when I am beginning to doubt myself.
Words have power. God must have thought so since He left us the Bible to reflect upon as His collection of encouraging notes to us. So, write others when you are prompted and expect nothing in return. You may be speaking words of life to someone who desperately needs to hear them. My friend reminded me of this through a song I posted to my Facebook wall tonight. She took the time to think that I might enjoy it and get something from it. I did. Thank you. :)
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Clutter
January is a good month for new beginnings. A new year...and a chance for life to change in positive and productive ways. Many people make resolutions because they see the opportunity to hope and to dream. To visualize themselves with a life better than the one they are currently living...or at least to move in that general direction.
I find it odd that most people are procrastinators. We tend to put off doing those chores that do not excite us...cleaning out closets, doing our taxes, or filing paperwork. Term papers are done at the 11th hour, and we find in reality that we actually do invest a lot more time dreaming than doing. We visualize what needs to be done, but then we let ourselves get distracted. Anything...television, a phone call to a friend, the computer, shopping, or the laundry.
And so it goes...day after day...month after month...year after year.
In my opinion, the problem we have is not necessarily procrastination...but clutter. Every item that we own has a corresponding amount of maintenance assigned to its ownership. If you own a vehicle...you have to get it serviced. You must change the oil, wash it, replace the tires, and put gasoline in it. Fluids, belts and wipers have to be replaced periodically to keep the vehicle in perfect working order. It must be insured, kept out of violent weather and stored somewhere in the yard or garage. In other words...you own a car...and it owns a piece of you. Well, at least a piece of your time and money.
Now, apply this principle to every item that you own. Every tablecloth has to be stored and pressed. Each plant has to be fertilized and watered. All of the knick knacks have to be dusted. The dogs have to go to the vet and require cute little sweaters (oh, wait...that's just my dogs). Jewelry has to be cleaned and insured. Electronics have to be updated with the latest software.
Over time, because we are as blessed as we are...we accumulate clutter. We have more clothes than we can possibly ever wear out if the styles wouldn't change. Men have it far easier in this regard, and also find their closets bulging over time. Big Dave is a perfect example of this. Although he has added some midsection weight...he has been virtually the same size for the past 28 years. His closet is a virtual "Island of Misfit Clothes" and he has put out the request that we not purchase anything for him for any holiday until he lets us know it's time. I was proud to purchase two new pair of jeans for him because he had flat worn out the two pair that he had. Banner day for me.
In fact, weight is actually "body clutter." That thought is not mine...I heard it somewhere and I have come to believe that it is true. We don't want to waste that last piece of cake...so we store it on our hips. We don't want to let out our grief or despair or depression...and so we stuff it down with cheese curls and kill two birds with one stone. I may not have a storage building to which I pay rent...but I have one that I carry around. And this is not a good thing.
How we actually make a resolution stick is to make a little change that we hold our ground on and then another and another. Eventually, we can look back and see the progress...but we have to be prepared for this to take awhile. It is kind of like getting on the treadmill with every intention of walking an hour and then talking ourselves into 30 minutes. We'd have been far more effective to have gone in there with resolve to do thirty minutes and then attempted the whole hour once we were already there, watching Fox News on TV and sweating like a pig. Then, hopping off at thirty minutes would have not only given us the satisfaction of a job well done...but the whole hour would be "gravy" instead of disappointment had we achieved it. Oh, but no. We berate ourselves for falling short and then make a sad little promise to ourselves of an hour and a half the next time. The next time, unfortunately, becomes two weeks later...or never. A death spiral of good intentions gone south that is way too familiar...for me at least.
Decluttering our lives gives us power. It frees us to be able to do the things in life that God has intended that we do. We aren't as harried and stressed because we don't have to spend a tremendous amount of time dreading the hurdles and maintaining the stuff in our lives. We end up more effective, happier, and more focused. This is not to say that we should not have nice things. It is to say that each of us is unique in finding the line between blessing and curse.
So how do we declutter? Well, we set realistic goals and throw away the calendar. We only have the present...so we plan the future (putting our gym bag in the car for example) but we don't live in it. We don't give in to the temptation to look too far up the mountain...we just look for the next place we are going to put our feet. Instead of swearing that we'll clean out our closets, we decide that we will pull out those things that we do wear and set those aside. We'll look for any necessary repairs (hems, cleaning, etc.) and then put all of the colors together. What remains in the closet gets put into the piles of "maybe" or "Goodwill". Then we go back through the "maybe" pile three more times before it is placed in another pile. I'd be willing to bet that 90% of what is in the "maybe" pile will not make the cut to "yes". You aren't wearing it now because it doesn't fit, it doesn't flatter you, or it has outgrown its original purpose. Toss it...and bless someone else by getting it out of your closet.
If you can make one change...the rest of the changes aren't quite as painful. That's been my experience...and that's what I'm counting on to make this year more effective than the last one was.
As for me, I have a lot of body clutter that needs to go. It is difficult to change my eating, spending, and activity habits drastically because I don't want to overwhelm myself. But I'm going to do what I can in 2010 but what I am focused on is TODAY.
By the way, last year's resolutions were to give something away every day, to clean out a lot of closets, and to write. Those were the ones I kept.
This year, I want to read the book of Isaiah through the prophets, to lose weight (no goals), and want to do another advent box project next Christmas. There are others...but those are the ones I'm pretty sure that I can do. Why clutter up my resolutions list with the improbable?
So, as you go through your day tomorrow, remember to pry the fingers of ownership that your things have on you. You'll be happier and have more time to do what you need and want to do. The simple things mean the most anyway. Plus, the joy you get from giving things away to others who need them cannot be overstated. Trust me on this one.
I find it odd that most people are procrastinators. We tend to put off doing those chores that do not excite us...cleaning out closets, doing our taxes, or filing paperwork. Term papers are done at the 11th hour, and we find in reality that we actually do invest a lot more time dreaming than doing. We visualize what needs to be done, but then we let ourselves get distracted. Anything...television, a phone call to a friend, the computer, shopping, or the laundry.
And so it goes...day after day...month after month...year after year.
In my opinion, the problem we have is not necessarily procrastination...but clutter. Every item that we own has a corresponding amount of maintenance assigned to its ownership. If you own a vehicle...you have to get it serviced. You must change the oil, wash it, replace the tires, and put gasoline in it. Fluids, belts and wipers have to be replaced periodically to keep the vehicle in perfect working order. It must be insured, kept out of violent weather and stored somewhere in the yard or garage. In other words...you own a car...and it owns a piece of you. Well, at least a piece of your time and money.
Now, apply this principle to every item that you own. Every tablecloth has to be stored and pressed. Each plant has to be fertilized and watered. All of the knick knacks have to be dusted. The dogs have to go to the vet and require cute little sweaters (oh, wait...that's just my dogs). Jewelry has to be cleaned and insured. Electronics have to be updated with the latest software.
Over time, because we are as blessed as we are...we accumulate clutter. We have more clothes than we can possibly ever wear out if the styles wouldn't change. Men have it far easier in this regard, and also find their closets bulging over time. Big Dave is a perfect example of this. Although he has added some midsection weight...he has been virtually the same size for the past 28 years. His closet is a virtual "Island of Misfit Clothes" and he has put out the request that we not purchase anything for him for any holiday until he lets us know it's time. I was proud to purchase two new pair of jeans for him because he had flat worn out the two pair that he had. Banner day for me.
In fact, weight is actually "body clutter." That thought is not mine...I heard it somewhere and I have come to believe that it is true. We don't want to waste that last piece of cake...so we store it on our hips. We don't want to let out our grief or despair or depression...and so we stuff it down with cheese curls and kill two birds with one stone. I may not have a storage building to which I pay rent...but I have one that I carry around. And this is not a good thing.
How we actually make a resolution stick is to make a little change that we hold our ground on and then another and another. Eventually, we can look back and see the progress...but we have to be prepared for this to take awhile. It is kind of like getting on the treadmill with every intention of walking an hour and then talking ourselves into 30 minutes. We'd have been far more effective to have gone in there with resolve to do thirty minutes and then attempted the whole hour once we were already there, watching Fox News on TV and sweating like a pig. Then, hopping off at thirty minutes would have not only given us the satisfaction of a job well done...but the whole hour would be "gravy" instead of disappointment had we achieved it. Oh, but no. We berate ourselves for falling short and then make a sad little promise to ourselves of an hour and a half the next time. The next time, unfortunately, becomes two weeks later...or never. A death spiral of good intentions gone south that is way too familiar...for me at least.
Decluttering our lives gives us power. It frees us to be able to do the things in life that God has intended that we do. We aren't as harried and stressed because we don't have to spend a tremendous amount of time dreading the hurdles and maintaining the stuff in our lives. We end up more effective, happier, and more focused. This is not to say that we should not have nice things. It is to say that each of us is unique in finding the line between blessing and curse.
So how do we declutter? Well, we set realistic goals and throw away the calendar. We only have the present...so we plan the future (putting our gym bag in the car for example) but we don't live in it. We don't give in to the temptation to look too far up the mountain...we just look for the next place we are going to put our feet. Instead of swearing that we'll clean out our closets, we decide that we will pull out those things that we do wear and set those aside. We'll look for any necessary repairs (hems, cleaning, etc.) and then put all of the colors together. What remains in the closet gets put into the piles of "maybe" or "Goodwill". Then we go back through the "maybe" pile three more times before it is placed in another pile. I'd be willing to bet that 90% of what is in the "maybe" pile will not make the cut to "yes". You aren't wearing it now because it doesn't fit, it doesn't flatter you, or it has outgrown its original purpose. Toss it...and bless someone else by getting it out of your closet.
If you can make one change...the rest of the changes aren't quite as painful. That's been my experience...and that's what I'm counting on to make this year more effective than the last one was.
As for me, I have a lot of body clutter that needs to go. It is difficult to change my eating, spending, and activity habits drastically because I don't want to overwhelm myself. But I'm going to do what I can in 2010 but what I am focused on is TODAY.
By the way, last year's resolutions were to give something away every day, to clean out a lot of closets, and to write. Those were the ones I kept.
This year, I want to read the book of Isaiah through the prophets, to lose weight (no goals), and want to do another advent box project next Christmas. There are others...but those are the ones I'm pretty sure that I can do. Why clutter up my resolutions list with the improbable?
So, as you go through your day tomorrow, remember to pry the fingers of ownership that your things have on you. You'll be happier and have more time to do what you need and want to do. The simple things mean the most anyway. Plus, the joy you get from giving things away to others who need them cannot be overstated. Trust me on this one.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Birthdays
A friend of mine recently had a birthday. This is not particularly unique in that birthday celebrations are a fairly common experience. Some of us enjoy them immensely while others of us cringe with the realiation that the odometer of life continues to click away.
Birthdays are meant to honor the day that the world was graced with the presence of someone. They may take the form of a quiet family celebration, a dinner for two, or a loud, raucous gathering of people from the four corners of the earth. They may be to mark a "zero" birthday as someone changes the first number of their age for another ten years.
The actual birth of a person is generally marked with celebration tinged with fear of an approximately seven pound bundle of wonder. Perhaps there were problems that meant that expectations had to be altered. But whatever the feelings, an actual birthday is usually a memorable event for a family. Although my sister was in France giving birth to my nephew and niece, I remember the joy at getting the call. I remember being late for class as a junior in college when someone ran down the hall to tell me that I had a telephone call. A call that announced a son for my Dad and stepmother. I remember visiting the hospital and two friends become parents both the first and second times...arriving at the moment in both cases when the birth certificates were being signed.
A first birthday is normally marked with a little being sitting in a high chair and getting to experience for the first time...the joy of sugar. Photos are snapped incessantly and the little thing is surrounded by relatives and friends who cannot believe that a year has already flown by.
The first decade has parties with themes, and activities and magical cakes. It is where the joy of receiving is far more prevalent than the joy of giving, and where parents attempt to recreate any missed experiences that they had in their own lives. Every child loves to be the birthday boy or girl. And for the parents...these years are marked with rarely having a weekend without a birthday party squeezed in somewhere.
At age ten, we fill up our two hands and marvel at the fact that this will be the last year we can physically display our age to people. We are crossing over to the point where we are expected to tell rather than show, and where spend-the-night parties prevail.
And then we become teenagers...a moniker that strikes fear into the heart of the adults in our lives and a period of time where we might get to mark a "sweet 16" and have the opportunity to learn to drive. Dating and flying off to college come during these years when it seems like we are perpetually too young to do anything really "fun"...so we keep wishing those birthdays around each year.
Age 20 is particularly cruel...no longer a teenager...but not yet an adult in every sense of the word. The birthdays in our 20's seem to be no big deal...we are no longer a kid...but we are young. We may be pairing up and starting families, establishing our careers or completing our educations or training. We may be enlisted in the military or buying our first home. Time is not our enemy.
When we turn 30, people start talking to us about "getting old" and being exhausted. We've shifted into overdrive in almost every facet of our existence. We strive so hard that we often burn out along the way...marriages left like roadkill, or health issues begin to present themselves. Our days are filled with soccer practice, baseball games, and church activities. Our parents are generally still in good health, and our children need us more. These birthdays click along in a blur...and we begin to see the seasons change more quickly and the days pass into months and years at warp speed.
At 40, we really begin to see the view from on top of the hill. Perhaps our waistlines or hairlines have taken a permanent vacation or we become "ma'am" to people that don't seem to be much younger than we are...except that they are. We are stretched thin and some days are actually dangerously close to snapping. We begin to understand that some of our dreams are going to be put on hold permanently, and we begin to accept this. We lose people that were important to us...teachers, church friends, and neighbors...and we may have to deal with losing family members as well. Economic challenges begin to mount as we educate our children and begin to realize that we have reached the apex of our earning potential. And the birthdays continue to roll around with each seeming to do so more quickly than the last.
At age 50, parties are planned...but are kinder than a decade ago. Our children are leaving or have already moved from the home. We begin celebrating silver wedding anniversaries and are watching our children get married. We realize that "looking good" means something entirely different than it did at 18...and we're okay with that. In fact, those who don't get that fact - the cougars - are looked upon with disdain. Okay, a little bit of envy too...but definitely some disdain.
When we turn 60, we begin to look toward retirement, are usually enjoying grandchildren and are still in great health. We may choose to travel now that our financial burdens are normally significantly lifted. We may start living some of those long-shelved dreams...anything from the trip of a lifetime to getting a tattoo. We may downsize and prioritize because the rat race of acquisition has left us with a house full of things that have no meaning to us. We may have even learned a tough lesson by having to clean out the house of a relative and we swore that it would never happen to us.
And then we turn 70. Did you know that there are no "Happy 70th Birthday" cards at the local Hallmark store? The number birthdays cards appear to cease at age 60. With people living longer and having wonderful, fulfilling lives, you'd think that this would not be the case. But it is. In my family, the 70's and 80's were periods of time when there may be some renovations made...but everything else was still within reach. The 90th birthday marked a time when a slowdown was finally necessary.
Birthdays give us the opportunity to mark where we are in life, and give others the chance to let us know how much they appreciate our presence in their lives. They might be difficult to experience sometimes, but they are coming around whether we choose to celebrate them or not.
So, this year as you celebrate your special day...remember that you will never pass this way again. Try to remember the joy of adding another finger to the physical presentation of your age instead of just giving it the middle one. You will never be any younger than you are today again. Frightening thought...isn't it? Or we can choose to be happy that we are still drawing breath. Can marvel at the joy of expectation of good things to come or at spending time with family.
Plus, you normally get to eat cake...so there's that.
Birthdays are meant to honor the day that the world was graced with the presence of someone. They may take the form of a quiet family celebration, a dinner for two, or a loud, raucous gathering of people from the four corners of the earth. They may be to mark a "zero" birthday as someone changes the first number of their age for another ten years.
The actual birth of a person is generally marked with celebration tinged with fear of an approximately seven pound bundle of wonder. Perhaps there were problems that meant that expectations had to be altered. But whatever the feelings, an actual birthday is usually a memorable event for a family. Although my sister was in France giving birth to my nephew and niece, I remember the joy at getting the call. I remember being late for class as a junior in college when someone ran down the hall to tell me that I had a telephone call. A call that announced a son for my Dad and stepmother. I remember visiting the hospital and two friends become parents both the first and second times...arriving at the moment in both cases when the birth certificates were being signed.
A first birthday is normally marked with a little being sitting in a high chair and getting to experience for the first time...the joy of sugar. Photos are snapped incessantly and the little thing is surrounded by relatives and friends who cannot believe that a year has already flown by.
The first decade has parties with themes, and activities and magical cakes. It is where the joy of receiving is far more prevalent than the joy of giving, and where parents attempt to recreate any missed experiences that they had in their own lives. Every child loves to be the birthday boy or girl. And for the parents...these years are marked with rarely having a weekend without a birthday party squeezed in somewhere.
At age ten, we fill up our two hands and marvel at the fact that this will be the last year we can physically display our age to people. We are crossing over to the point where we are expected to tell rather than show, and where spend-the-night parties prevail.
And then we become teenagers...a moniker that strikes fear into the heart of the adults in our lives and a period of time where we might get to mark a "sweet 16" and have the opportunity to learn to drive. Dating and flying off to college come during these years when it seems like we are perpetually too young to do anything really "fun"...so we keep wishing those birthdays around each year.
Age 20 is particularly cruel...no longer a teenager...but not yet an adult in every sense of the word. The birthdays in our 20's seem to be no big deal...we are no longer a kid...but we are young. We may be pairing up and starting families, establishing our careers or completing our educations or training. We may be enlisted in the military or buying our first home. Time is not our enemy.
When we turn 30, people start talking to us about "getting old" and being exhausted. We've shifted into overdrive in almost every facet of our existence. We strive so hard that we often burn out along the way...marriages left like roadkill, or health issues begin to present themselves. Our days are filled with soccer practice, baseball games, and church activities. Our parents are generally still in good health, and our children need us more. These birthdays click along in a blur...and we begin to see the seasons change more quickly and the days pass into months and years at warp speed.
At 40, we really begin to see the view from on top of the hill. Perhaps our waistlines or hairlines have taken a permanent vacation or we become "ma'am" to people that don't seem to be much younger than we are...except that they are. We are stretched thin and some days are actually dangerously close to snapping. We begin to understand that some of our dreams are going to be put on hold permanently, and we begin to accept this. We lose people that were important to us...teachers, church friends, and neighbors...and we may have to deal with losing family members as well. Economic challenges begin to mount as we educate our children and begin to realize that we have reached the apex of our earning potential. And the birthdays continue to roll around with each seeming to do so more quickly than the last.
At age 50, parties are planned...but are kinder than a decade ago. Our children are leaving or have already moved from the home. We begin celebrating silver wedding anniversaries and are watching our children get married. We realize that "looking good" means something entirely different than it did at 18...and we're okay with that. In fact, those who don't get that fact - the cougars - are looked upon with disdain. Okay, a little bit of envy too...but definitely some disdain.
When we turn 60, we begin to look toward retirement, are usually enjoying grandchildren and are still in great health. We may choose to travel now that our financial burdens are normally significantly lifted. We may start living some of those long-shelved dreams...anything from the trip of a lifetime to getting a tattoo. We may downsize and prioritize because the rat race of acquisition has left us with a house full of things that have no meaning to us. We may have even learned a tough lesson by having to clean out the house of a relative and we swore that it would never happen to us.
And then we turn 70. Did you know that there are no "Happy 70th Birthday" cards at the local Hallmark store? The number birthdays cards appear to cease at age 60. With people living longer and having wonderful, fulfilling lives, you'd think that this would not be the case. But it is. In my family, the 70's and 80's were periods of time when there may be some renovations made...but everything else was still within reach. The 90th birthday marked a time when a slowdown was finally necessary.
Birthdays give us the opportunity to mark where we are in life, and give others the chance to let us know how much they appreciate our presence in their lives. They might be difficult to experience sometimes, but they are coming around whether we choose to celebrate them or not.
So, this year as you celebrate your special day...remember that you will never pass this way again. Try to remember the joy of adding another finger to the physical presentation of your age instead of just giving it the middle one. You will never be any younger than you are today again. Frightening thought...isn't it? Or we can choose to be happy that we are still drawing breath. Can marvel at the joy of expectation of good things to come or at spending time with family.
Plus, you normally get to eat cake...so there's that.
Excuse Me, But Does My House Look Like a Best Western to You?
There are cute little stickers such as "Motherhood isn't for sissies..." that people grace their minivan bumpers with as they drive down the highway of life. We see them and smile because these little short snippets of wisdom pretty much capture the truth...sad as it sometimes is. Granted, there are the totally humorless ones such as "Save the Manatees"...but if we see something adhered to a bumper...we almost always make an attempt to read it in the hopes that it will make us crack up. At least I know I do.
In the South, we have our share of smart alecks, but we also hold our tongues and think far more than what we let actually get airborne. Oh, we aren't above pitching the "Oh no, she didn't!" hissy fit or putting someone in their place when it is really and truly necessary...but a lot of the time we sacrifice a lot of what should be said on the altar of hospitality, good manners, or being Christian about something. This is usually erased fairly quickly because we then gossip about whatever it was to whoever will listen...which puts us right down in the mudpit with them...but I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah...about motherhood not being for sissies.
Truer words were never spoken (or adhered to a vehicle). I mean, when we were pregnant, we had to listen to everyone's rendition of any difficulties experienced with conception, pregnancy, or labor in graphic detail. I've been in such diverse environments as a baby shower, a dentist's office and an elevator describing my 95 pound weight gain during my pregnancy with Jill. Yeah, the one where I looked like the Michelin Man and couldn't get in and out of the Jeep Wrangler I was driving without worrying about scaring people or hearing them whisper, "Bless her heart..."
I then graduated to the discussion of poop...a new mother subject that never seemed odd at the time...and one that actually spawned new friendships in the line at Toys R Us and the pediatrician's office. Why we are fascinated with this is possibly because they've sucked out our brain cells while we were carrying them or we are so sleep deprived that we actually think that someone - anyone - actually cares.
Once she stopped screaming nightly from colic and started sleeping through the night, we began two years of rocking her for 45 minutes and reading "Goodnight, Moon" so much that I can still recite most of it without even thinking hard. We got cereal in her after three weeks of rejection, and then finally got her to walk two weeks before her first birthday because I was having none of the comments about how lazy she was while everyone was there celebrating her birthday. Guess if I hadn't carried her everywhere it might have helped.
After her biting phase, cutting teeth, adjusting to her new little brother, and a well documented and quite hysterical aversion to school pictures, we got into the meat of her training...kindergarten. Later, five elementary teachers suggested that she might be a victim of the dreaded "Attention Deficit Disorder" before we finally got her tested and medicated. She made it through mean girls, boyfriends, cheerleading tryouts, high school, learning to drive and choosing a college pretty much intact. Looking back, I see what a miracle that was.
And boy has it been a ride.
But nothing prepares you for that whole "letting go" thing on the other side. And it is probably the part that I have handled the least gracefully. I've wanted to jerk a knot in males who act like children when they are closer to being men than boys. I've wanted to speak my piece about how something should be when I know that the decision is not mine to make. I've held back doing the things that are easy for me but harder for kids to adjust to such as making appointments and figuring out how to get a part time job. I've met young men that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up...not because they are bad guys...but because they are so obviously not Mr. Right...for her. And through all of that...I've been managing to keep my children speaking to me.
So, imagine my surprise at being confronted this week with a female houseguest that I laid eyes on one time in three days. She came in at all hours of the night and pretty much did her own thing while she was here. She wasn't driving...and I don't think she was whooping it up all over Montgomery. I mean, even if you want to whoop it up all over Montgomery...it's just far more difficult to do than it should be. Or so I've been told. But her behavior was just downright tacky.
I've had to keep from saying the words, "Excuse me, but does my house look like a Best Western to you?" to this young lady. A young lady whose mother would die a thousand deaths if she had an inkling that her child had come to my house and acted like we don't mind her coming in "whenever". Whenever turned out to be no earlier than 1:45 a.m. And what do you do with this? I mean, I could go all "gonzo"...call her mother, pitch a fit, confront her about it...but I swore that off after I texted one of Jill's friends who was being a jerk and we needed to know if the date was on or off. But, alas, it wasn't my battle...and I came off looking like a stressed out, hovering, crazy old bat...which I suppose was pretty much spot on. (Come to think of it...he was a houseguest here at the Mixon Best Western too...)
So, here are a few rules that I think that teenagers should understand and try to live by. And before you give me advice...believe me...I know that I am an adult, this is my home and that I should have spoken my mind. I will in the future. But this just caught me so off guard, that I've been sitting here all caught up in this "what the..." moment.
1. If you are a guest in someone's home...you should be in before midnight unless accompanied by someone who actually lives in the house. And NO, the dog coming in with you from outside does not count.
2. If you are under 21, you should not discuss how you talked to a couple of gang members in a Waffle House at 3 a.m. when you were out of your mind drunk and were surprised at how cool they were. Come to think about it, I really don't want to hear about it if you are over 21 either.
3. I do not need to know who is a "ho" or the who, what, where, when and how of any of your extracurricular activities. I'd really, really, really rather not know.
4. I am really not interested in how broke you are when you can manage to entertain me with your exploits involving alcohol, tattoos, or both. Especially when you are whining that your parents don't give you any money while you are sitting on your butt at home not trying to find a job.
5. Your brushes with the law are none of my business.
6. If your parents are crazy, I probably don't need the details. If it's that bad...we'll get a licensed professional or law enforcement involved.
7. Please don't call me from jail. Although I will pick you up from any location in Montgomery County if you "accidentally" drink something...I am in no way going to feel obligated to bail your sorry rear end out of jail.
8. Yes, I can proofread your paper for you...but I'd appreciate it if it is legible and you have at least attempted to string words together.
Oh, there are more...but most of these are some of the actual discussions I've had with various kids over the past six years...and most of the time kids who were not my own.
No, motherhood is not for sissies...but it is wonderful. There are times when I look at the kids who are actually growing into great, normal adults and I think about what a process the whole thing is from start to finish. And my bumper sticker suggestion? I just want one that says "Mother." That one word pretty much sums it up.
In the South, we have our share of smart alecks, but we also hold our tongues and think far more than what we let actually get airborne. Oh, we aren't above pitching the "Oh no, she didn't!" hissy fit or putting someone in their place when it is really and truly necessary...but a lot of the time we sacrifice a lot of what should be said on the altar of hospitality, good manners, or being Christian about something. This is usually erased fairly quickly because we then gossip about whatever it was to whoever will listen...which puts us right down in the mudpit with them...but I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah...about motherhood not being for sissies.
Truer words were never spoken (or adhered to a vehicle). I mean, when we were pregnant, we had to listen to everyone's rendition of any difficulties experienced with conception, pregnancy, or labor in graphic detail. I've been in such diverse environments as a baby shower, a dentist's office and an elevator describing my 95 pound weight gain during my pregnancy with Jill. Yeah, the one where I looked like the Michelin Man and couldn't get in and out of the Jeep Wrangler I was driving without worrying about scaring people or hearing them whisper, "Bless her heart..."
I then graduated to the discussion of poop...a new mother subject that never seemed odd at the time...and one that actually spawned new friendships in the line at Toys R Us and the pediatrician's office. Why we are fascinated with this is possibly because they've sucked out our brain cells while we were carrying them or we are so sleep deprived that we actually think that someone - anyone - actually cares.
Once she stopped screaming nightly from colic and started sleeping through the night, we began two years of rocking her for 45 minutes and reading "Goodnight, Moon" so much that I can still recite most of it without even thinking hard. We got cereal in her after three weeks of rejection, and then finally got her to walk two weeks before her first birthday because I was having none of the comments about how lazy she was while everyone was there celebrating her birthday. Guess if I hadn't carried her everywhere it might have helped.
After her biting phase, cutting teeth, adjusting to her new little brother, and a well documented and quite hysterical aversion to school pictures, we got into the meat of her training...kindergarten. Later, five elementary teachers suggested that she might be a victim of the dreaded "Attention Deficit Disorder" before we finally got her tested and medicated. She made it through mean girls, boyfriends, cheerleading tryouts, high school, learning to drive and choosing a college pretty much intact. Looking back, I see what a miracle that was.
And boy has it been a ride.
But nothing prepares you for that whole "letting go" thing on the other side. And it is probably the part that I have handled the least gracefully. I've wanted to jerk a knot in males who act like children when they are closer to being men than boys. I've wanted to speak my piece about how something should be when I know that the decision is not mine to make. I've held back doing the things that are easy for me but harder for kids to adjust to such as making appointments and figuring out how to get a part time job. I've met young men that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up...not because they are bad guys...but because they are so obviously not Mr. Right...for her. And through all of that...I've been managing to keep my children speaking to me.
So, imagine my surprise at being confronted this week with a female houseguest that I laid eyes on one time in three days. She came in at all hours of the night and pretty much did her own thing while she was here. She wasn't driving...and I don't think she was whooping it up all over Montgomery. I mean, even if you want to whoop it up all over Montgomery...it's just far more difficult to do than it should be. Or so I've been told. But her behavior was just downright tacky.
I've had to keep from saying the words, "Excuse me, but does my house look like a Best Western to you?" to this young lady. A young lady whose mother would die a thousand deaths if she had an inkling that her child had come to my house and acted like we don't mind her coming in "whenever". Whenever turned out to be no earlier than 1:45 a.m. And what do you do with this? I mean, I could go all "gonzo"...call her mother, pitch a fit, confront her about it...but I swore that off after I texted one of Jill's friends who was being a jerk and we needed to know if the date was on or off. But, alas, it wasn't my battle...and I came off looking like a stressed out, hovering, crazy old bat...which I suppose was pretty much spot on. (Come to think of it...he was a houseguest here at the Mixon Best Western too...)
So, here are a few rules that I think that teenagers should understand and try to live by. And before you give me advice...believe me...I know that I am an adult, this is my home and that I should have spoken my mind. I will in the future. But this just caught me so off guard, that I've been sitting here all caught up in this "what the..." moment.
1. If you are a guest in someone's home...you should be in before midnight unless accompanied by someone who actually lives in the house. And NO, the dog coming in with you from outside does not count.
2. If you are under 21, you should not discuss how you talked to a couple of gang members in a Waffle House at 3 a.m. when you were out of your mind drunk and were surprised at how cool they were. Come to think about it, I really don't want to hear about it if you are over 21 either.
3. I do not need to know who is a "ho" or the who, what, where, when and how of any of your extracurricular activities. I'd really, really, really rather not know.
4. I am really not interested in how broke you are when you can manage to entertain me with your exploits involving alcohol, tattoos, or both. Especially when you are whining that your parents don't give you any money while you are sitting on your butt at home not trying to find a job.
5. Your brushes with the law are none of my business.
6. If your parents are crazy, I probably don't need the details. If it's that bad...we'll get a licensed professional or law enforcement involved.
7. Please don't call me from jail. Although I will pick you up from any location in Montgomery County if you "accidentally" drink something...I am in no way going to feel obligated to bail your sorry rear end out of jail.
8. Yes, I can proofread your paper for you...but I'd appreciate it if it is legible and you have at least attempted to string words together.
Oh, there are more...but most of these are some of the actual discussions I've had with various kids over the past six years...and most of the time kids who were not my own.
No, motherhood is not for sissies...but it is wonderful. There are times when I look at the kids who are actually growing into great, normal adults and I think about what a process the whole thing is from start to finish. And my bumper sticker suggestion? I just want one that says "Mother." That one word pretty much sums it up.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Bewitched
Light years ago, there were four channels on television...ABC, CBS, NBC and PBS. Because I grew up approximately an hour and fifteen minutes from Atlanta, sometime in junior high school we got WTBS - Channel 17. It was Ted Turner's cable network, and it ran movies and reruns of programs including The Beverly Hillbillies, I Dream of Jeannie, Gilligan's Island and Bewitched. Within a few years, there was an explosion of cable options...but I remember when...
In fact, one summer, I got into "Lillias, Yoga and You" on PBS out of complete and total boredom. I was thirteen. Had I known then what I know now...I'd have paid closer attention and would be slim and teaching yoga somewhere right now.
I also remember watching until the national anthem was played and then being devastated that I had to go read or something instead being the little night owl that I was. I don't hear any station go off the air anymore. Now they just fill the time with infomercials and heinous crime shows.
I used to be quite the TV hound when bored, and can still tell you the Friday night lineup from sometime in the early 1970s including The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Room 222, The Odd Couple and Love American Style. Stupid shows...all of them. But that was my sad little life at the time. Later on, football games replaced my Friday night television watching. I've never looked back...
But then and now, I am always captivated by "Bewitched". I didn't know anyone named Samantha, Endora, or Tabitha...nor did I know anyone who had so many nutty relatives who was clearly not a Southerner. The relatives got on my nerves, but Elizabeth Montgomery was always so put together that I just bought that she was the "black sheep" of her family for being normal much like Marilyn was in "The Addams Family."
I didn't even mind the interchangable husbands...both named Dick in real life but neither of which I particularly liked a whole lot. I was more partial to Dick Sargent...primarily because he wasn't as annoying as Dick York but I couldn't see her settling for either one of them. Someone like Gerard Butler? Yes. These losers? Absolutely not.
But what I really loved...was her clean house. And that she chose a nice, normal existence (such that it was) over the alternative. She seemed to be really and truly okay with it. The fact that she wanted to do her own housecleaning meant that she was a little touched. That one thing alone probably sealed her as a shoo-in for that Lizzie Borden role that my mother has never forgiven Elizabeth Montgomery for...since she could obviously do crazy. I only know one person who keeps a house like Samantha Stevens did. ONE. I like to go there because it is the house I'd like to live in if I weren't so hopelessly domestically challenged.
I think now about what I would change if I could just wiggle my nose and make things jump in line. First to go? The extra weight, the junk in the bedroom that refuses to stay straight, and President Obama would be back in Chicago working as a community organizer. I'd have the driveway in front of the house fixed, a new puppy (potty trained of course) and I'd have Merry Maids in every day. I'd have the dogs groomed, my hair perfectly coiffed, and I'd be traveling...DAILY...without the hassles.
And that's just for starters.
But I'm old enough to have realized that if you make one change...then there are consequences that follow. And where Samantha could figure out away to tie up all of the loose ends (in 30 minutes no less), I just don't think I have that in me. Which would mean that someone would try to have me committed. There are days that I might qualify as it is without the nose wiggle.
So, I'll just imagine a life without hassles or messes, dust or drama, and I'll appreciate when things actually work out right. Sometimes they do when we least expect it or in spite of our best efforts.
Plus, I've tried to imagine my life as Samantha...and it is quite comical. Rememeber how Sam would be surrounded by monkeys tearing up her living room while Aunt Clara was trying to remember what she did to get them there in the first place?
Believe me...had they been monkeys in my living room, they would have been leaving monkey bunk everywhere and throwing it on the walls...or it would be mating season. Aunt Clara would be menopausal and mean as a snake instead of just cute and bumbling. Uncle Arthur would be having issues with his new husband and there would not be enough alcohol in the state of Alabama for me to have the ability to deal with the likes of Gladys Kravitz. And Serena? She'd have her own reality show along with the other skanks. I won't even visualize issues with Tabitha and Adam...especially because Tabitha had that whole nose wiggle thing going on as well...and she looked like T-R-O-U-B-L-E standing in that playpen back in the day as it was.
Oh well, my bedroom is a mess, my driveway needs regraveling, and I'm overweight. Big whoop. At least I am conforted by the thought that there are no monkeys in my living room. Not today anyway. And for this...I am grateful.
In fact, one summer, I got into "Lillias, Yoga and You" on PBS out of complete and total boredom. I was thirteen. Had I known then what I know now...I'd have paid closer attention and would be slim and teaching yoga somewhere right now.
I also remember watching until the national anthem was played and then being devastated that I had to go read or something instead being the little night owl that I was. I don't hear any station go off the air anymore. Now they just fill the time with infomercials and heinous crime shows.
I used to be quite the TV hound when bored, and can still tell you the Friday night lineup from sometime in the early 1970s including The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Room 222, The Odd Couple and Love American Style. Stupid shows...all of them. But that was my sad little life at the time. Later on, football games replaced my Friday night television watching. I've never looked back...
But then and now, I am always captivated by "Bewitched". I didn't know anyone named Samantha, Endora, or Tabitha...nor did I know anyone who had so many nutty relatives who was clearly not a Southerner. The relatives got on my nerves, but Elizabeth Montgomery was always so put together that I just bought that she was the "black sheep" of her family for being normal much like Marilyn was in "The Addams Family."
I didn't even mind the interchangable husbands...both named Dick in real life but neither of which I particularly liked a whole lot. I was more partial to Dick Sargent...primarily because he wasn't as annoying as Dick York but I couldn't see her settling for either one of them. Someone like Gerard Butler? Yes. These losers? Absolutely not.
But what I really loved...was her clean house. And that she chose a nice, normal existence (such that it was) over the alternative. She seemed to be really and truly okay with it. The fact that she wanted to do her own housecleaning meant that she was a little touched. That one thing alone probably sealed her as a shoo-in for that Lizzie Borden role that my mother has never forgiven Elizabeth Montgomery for...since she could obviously do crazy. I only know one person who keeps a house like Samantha Stevens did. ONE. I like to go there because it is the house I'd like to live in if I weren't so hopelessly domestically challenged.
I think now about what I would change if I could just wiggle my nose and make things jump in line. First to go? The extra weight, the junk in the bedroom that refuses to stay straight, and President Obama would be back in Chicago working as a community organizer. I'd have the driveway in front of the house fixed, a new puppy (potty trained of course) and I'd have Merry Maids in every day. I'd have the dogs groomed, my hair perfectly coiffed, and I'd be traveling...DAILY...without the hassles.
And that's just for starters.
But I'm old enough to have realized that if you make one change...then there are consequences that follow. And where Samantha could figure out away to tie up all of the loose ends (in 30 minutes no less), I just don't think I have that in me. Which would mean that someone would try to have me committed. There are days that I might qualify as it is without the nose wiggle.
So, I'll just imagine a life without hassles or messes, dust or drama, and I'll appreciate when things actually work out right. Sometimes they do when we least expect it or in spite of our best efforts.
Plus, I've tried to imagine my life as Samantha...and it is quite comical. Rememeber how Sam would be surrounded by monkeys tearing up her living room while Aunt Clara was trying to remember what she did to get them there in the first place?
Believe me...had they been monkeys in my living room, they would have been leaving monkey bunk everywhere and throwing it on the walls...or it would be mating season. Aunt Clara would be menopausal and mean as a snake instead of just cute and bumbling. Uncle Arthur would be having issues with his new husband and there would not be enough alcohol in the state of Alabama for me to have the ability to deal with the likes of Gladys Kravitz. And Serena? She'd have her own reality show along with the other skanks. I won't even visualize issues with Tabitha and Adam...especially because Tabitha had that whole nose wiggle thing going on as well...and she looked like T-R-O-U-B-L-E standing in that playpen back in the day as it was.
Oh well, my bedroom is a mess, my driveway needs regraveling, and I'm overweight. Big whoop. At least I am conforted by the thought that there are no monkeys in my living room. Not today anyway. And for this...I am grateful.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Crossroads
This weekend we are at a crossroads. Our daughter, Jill, did not perform as she had hoped in her accounting class, and she is now concerned about the need to change her major from business to something else. But what else? That's the big question on the sign at the crossroads where we find ourselves now standing.
I say "ourselves" because it is her Daddy and I who are funding the four year training course otherwise known as college. And we, like most parents these days, are finding that the money tree outside is more like the money branch or the money seedling than anything else. Oh, we have paid private school tuition for the better part of the last two decades, and you'd think that this outlay would prepare us for the money pit that is also known as college. And that is where you would be wrong.
So, I did what every good hovering, panicked, running on fumes in the financial arena does when presented with information of this nature and I started looking at potential occupations for my little precious. Granted, she is going to do exactly the same thing that I am doing and it will be her decision, but I couldn't stand the suspense of not knowing just how close to the brink of disaster we'd be if she decided to change horses in midstream. The answer - thankfully - is "not too bad". Most of what she has taken to date has been either a general studies class or could cross up for something else (ie economics can count in the same category as psychology.)
Now I am waiting for her to ask the burning question...and that is "what do you think I should do?" And to this there is no correct answer. This is that grand crossroads where you have to accept that you may train them up in the way that they should go...but there comes a point where they have to believe in themselves and trot off in a direction for better or worse.
I have always been fascinated by that bible verse by the way...Proverbs 22:6. I've always thought that it meant with regard to a Christian upbringing, but I think it may be more than that. I somehow believe that it means that we - as parents - are to help discover and encourage the natural talents and abilities which God infused into the little beings in our care. We are to look for their passions and temperaments as well as their natural abilities to steer them toward something that will eventually allow them to support themselves while giving them the ability to be used by God for kingdom work at the same time. I should have gone into an English or journalism major...but I settled on business. What I now do is write for a living...at a bank. Interesting.
With Jill, I see a beautiful, organized, efficient girl. She loves her family, friends and animals. She can memorize anything...and is literal, honest, and able to express herself. She hates being the center of attention (although she is beautiful and doesn't like being ignored either), will not sing in public (although she adores music), and manages her money well (she goes directly to the sale rack). She is not interested in fame, following a dream, or seeing the world. She will make a wonderful wife one day as she isn't spoiled in a negative way and she is one of the most loyal people I know. As a mother...she will be patient and will provide the perfect combination of stability, reliability and love that children need to feel grounded.
She would be content to be the center of someone's world, raise children, and figure it all out in her own time. But you know...sometimes you have to figure it out now and trust that the pieces will fall into place later on. We'll see if she is she will stay in the business school, move to education, or even public relations. I have no idea which will best suit her...but God does.
Funny how we make our plans sometimes and we carry on until we get to a crossroads. Perhaps it is a serious disappointment, the realization that Plan A is not in the cards, or because someone has told us that there are limited funds and time is running out. It may be a layoff, a family change, or a move to a new locale. And when we get to the fork in the road...it is then that we decide to look up.
We are currently praying that Jill will make the choice that will take her not only in the direction of her dreams...as undisclosed as they appear to be right now...but in the direction that will lead her to God's best instead of having to watch her loop back around to it after spending some time in the desert. Time is precious...and I don't want her wasting any of that treasure.
This weekend...you'll find us sitting on a bench just outside the crossroads. It isn't my favorite spot, but perhaps one day, it will make perfect sense that we decided to dwell here awhile. But ultimately, I will have to leave her on the bench to wrestle this tiger alone. And from what I know of my girl...she will be victorious. She'd better be...the money tree is looking a little pekid...
I say "ourselves" because it is her Daddy and I who are funding the four year training course otherwise known as college. And we, like most parents these days, are finding that the money tree outside is more like the money branch or the money seedling than anything else. Oh, we have paid private school tuition for the better part of the last two decades, and you'd think that this outlay would prepare us for the money pit that is also known as college. And that is where you would be wrong.
So, I did what every good hovering, panicked, running on fumes in the financial arena does when presented with information of this nature and I started looking at potential occupations for my little precious. Granted, she is going to do exactly the same thing that I am doing and it will be her decision, but I couldn't stand the suspense of not knowing just how close to the brink of disaster we'd be if she decided to change horses in midstream. The answer - thankfully - is "not too bad". Most of what she has taken to date has been either a general studies class or could cross up for something else (ie economics can count in the same category as psychology.)
Now I am waiting for her to ask the burning question...and that is "what do you think I should do?" And to this there is no correct answer. This is that grand crossroads where you have to accept that you may train them up in the way that they should go...but there comes a point where they have to believe in themselves and trot off in a direction for better or worse.
I have always been fascinated by that bible verse by the way...Proverbs 22:6. I've always thought that it meant with regard to a Christian upbringing, but I think it may be more than that. I somehow believe that it means that we - as parents - are to help discover and encourage the natural talents and abilities which God infused into the little beings in our care. We are to look for their passions and temperaments as well as their natural abilities to steer them toward something that will eventually allow them to support themselves while giving them the ability to be used by God for kingdom work at the same time. I should have gone into an English or journalism major...but I settled on business. What I now do is write for a living...at a bank. Interesting.
With Jill, I see a beautiful, organized, efficient girl. She loves her family, friends and animals. She can memorize anything...and is literal, honest, and able to express herself. She hates being the center of attention (although she is beautiful and doesn't like being ignored either), will not sing in public (although she adores music), and manages her money well (she goes directly to the sale rack). She is not interested in fame, following a dream, or seeing the world. She will make a wonderful wife one day as she isn't spoiled in a negative way and she is one of the most loyal people I know. As a mother...she will be patient and will provide the perfect combination of stability, reliability and love that children need to feel grounded.
She would be content to be the center of someone's world, raise children, and figure it all out in her own time. But you know...sometimes you have to figure it out now and trust that the pieces will fall into place later on. We'll see if she is she will stay in the business school, move to education, or even public relations. I have no idea which will best suit her...but God does.
Funny how we make our plans sometimes and we carry on until we get to a crossroads. Perhaps it is a serious disappointment, the realization that Plan A is not in the cards, or because someone has told us that there are limited funds and time is running out. It may be a layoff, a family change, or a move to a new locale. And when we get to the fork in the road...it is then that we decide to look up.
We are currently praying that Jill will make the choice that will take her not only in the direction of her dreams...as undisclosed as they appear to be right now...but in the direction that will lead her to God's best instead of having to watch her loop back around to it after spending some time in the desert. Time is precious...and I don't want her wasting any of that treasure.
This weekend...you'll find us sitting on a bench just outside the crossroads. It isn't my favorite spot, but perhaps one day, it will make perfect sense that we decided to dwell here awhile. But ultimately, I will have to leave her on the bench to wrestle this tiger alone. And from what I know of my girl...she will be victorious. She'd better be...the money tree is looking a little pekid...
Friday, January 1, 2010
Tim Tebow
I am experiencing a virtual feast of college football today on television because it is New Year's Day. After experiencing some fairly severe withdrawal in the weeks after the completion of the season but before I was fully into Christmas activity...I'm feeling like a starving woman at a buffet. I've watched three games today with a fourth one on tap for later on tonight.
The last game will be the final college game for Tim Tebow. I have been a fan of his since his freshman year when I saw him play in concert with another quarterback who had the full time job. Tim could just run it in to the endzone and so they'd swap him in when they needed him. The Florida Gators won the National Championship that year.
I didn't really know that much about him at the time...I just remember thinking that he was one of those top tier players that I'd never forget...along the lines of Hershel Walker, Emmitt Smith, Bo Jackson, and Peyton Manning. There are others who have been wonderful...and I can remember them when I hear their names, but they don't hit the top layer for me. I feel the same way about Mark Ingram - and it's a good thing too with Tebow graduating and with Jill attending the University of Alabama and all.
Tim Tebow put his heart out and walked his talk. I'm sure he isn't perfect, but I think that he is too smart to dishonor God and his family by turning up in Playgirl, in a dating relationship with a skank, or doing a keg stand in Vegas. He might...it happens...but I somehow think that there are bigger plans for this young man than a worldly sellout for something temporal and cheap.
Some people have accused Tim of being too "in your face" with his faith and for wearing it too proudly. They laughed while he cried after losing to Alabama in the SEC Championship Game. I didn't laugh. I respect the kid. I respect that his family has kept him grounded and that he isn't waiting on the world to hand him something. Rumor has it that he drives an old beater car. I kind of like that about him. Because when he actually does have money one day...he'll know what it was like on the other side. Plus, let's not forget that second National Championship and the Heisman Trophy win as a sophomore and the nominations his junior and senior years. That just doesn't happen in the real world...three nominations and a win? Awesome.
So, in about thirty minutes I will sit here and watch my "boy" Tebow play his last game. I will do so with the greatest respect for his God-given abilities and his consistency in being a force for good in this world. If everyone was less cynical and more like him, the world would be a far better place. He's a gifted football player, and I love that about him...but what speaks even more loudly to me is that a 22 year old kid has his priorities straight. He may play in the NFL or he may not...and it doesn't really matter either way. He'll be a winner in life by just being who he is for these points in time...and for that I am grateful as a fan old enough to be the boy's mama.
I am reminded tonight how fast it goes. How in two short years my daughter will (or better be) planning to graduate from college, and Brian will be on his first Christmas break as a freshman. The boys on the field tonight are the age of my oldest child or a year or two ahead. That thought alone puts it all in perspective for me when they make mistakes. They are kids. In the gazillion dollar enterprise that is college football...we forget that sometimes. Tim Tebow made it look easy.
It won't be easy to say goodbye. It is my hope that I'll just be watching him on Sunday afternoons instead. All I know is that whoever gets him...and I'm fairly convinced that at least one NFL team will be in love with his leadership ability...will be getting a treasure.
So, thanks Tim for being the class act that you always have been. I wish you a win tonight...and the best in life. You deserve it.
The last game will be the final college game for Tim Tebow. I have been a fan of his since his freshman year when I saw him play in concert with another quarterback who had the full time job. Tim could just run it in to the endzone and so they'd swap him in when they needed him. The Florida Gators won the National Championship that year.
I didn't really know that much about him at the time...I just remember thinking that he was one of those top tier players that I'd never forget...along the lines of Hershel Walker, Emmitt Smith, Bo Jackson, and Peyton Manning. There are others who have been wonderful...and I can remember them when I hear their names, but they don't hit the top layer for me. I feel the same way about Mark Ingram - and it's a good thing too with Tebow graduating and with Jill attending the University of Alabama and all.
Tim Tebow put his heart out and walked his talk. I'm sure he isn't perfect, but I think that he is too smart to dishonor God and his family by turning up in Playgirl, in a dating relationship with a skank, or doing a keg stand in Vegas. He might...it happens...but I somehow think that there are bigger plans for this young man than a worldly sellout for something temporal and cheap.
Some people have accused Tim of being too "in your face" with his faith and for wearing it too proudly. They laughed while he cried after losing to Alabama in the SEC Championship Game. I didn't laugh. I respect the kid. I respect that his family has kept him grounded and that he isn't waiting on the world to hand him something. Rumor has it that he drives an old beater car. I kind of like that about him. Because when he actually does have money one day...he'll know what it was like on the other side. Plus, let's not forget that second National Championship and the Heisman Trophy win as a sophomore and the nominations his junior and senior years. That just doesn't happen in the real world...three nominations and a win? Awesome.
So, in about thirty minutes I will sit here and watch my "boy" Tebow play his last game. I will do so with the greatest respect for his God-given abilities and his consistency in being a force for good in this world. If everyone was less cynical and more like him, the world would be a far better place. He's a gifted football player, and I love that about him...but what speaks even more loudly to me is that a 22 year old kid has his priorities straight. He may play in the NFL or he may not...and it doesn't really matter either way. He'll be a winner in life by just being who he is for these points in time...and for that I am grateful as a fan old enough to be the boy's mama.
I am reminded tonight how fast it goes. How in two short years my daughter will (or better be) planning to graduate from college, and Brian will be on his first Christmas break as a freshman. The boys on the field tonight are the age of my oldest child or a year or two ahead. That thought alone puts it all in perspective for me when they make mistakes. They are kids. In the gazillion dollar enterprise that is college football...we forget that sometimes. Tim Tebow made it look easy.
It won't be easy to say goodbye. It is my hope that I'll just be watching him on Sunday afternoons instead. All I know is that whoever gets him...and I'm fairly convinced that at least one NFL team will be in love with his leadership ability...will be getting a treasure.
So, thanks Tim for being the class act that you always have been. I wish you a win tonight...and the best in life. You deserve it.
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