A chapter ended last night. I wasn't given an opportunity for any "closing remarks" and there were two things prominent on my mind so I'm making my own opportunity here and now.
First, I'd like to thank Jack Hudak for taking the time five years ago to talk to me about an opening on the school board. A member was relocating out of the area, creating a vacancy. Jack encouraged me to consider applying, which I did. At the time, I was completely unfamiliar with the inner workings of a school. As my children would be entering their learning career within a short time, I thought it a great opportunity to get some schooling myself of what lie ahead for them as students. I finished the remaining term of the previous board member and subsequently served another term.
For the reason I originally served, I accomplished my goal: I was introduced to the way a school functions. I got an inside education on education. There was a lot to learn and I can't say I walked away knowing it all. I have had a great deal of admiration and respect for the gentlemen I served alongside; their knowledge, experience, and recall for prior school board actions was phenomenal.
I have seen our school make tremendous strides to reach its potential. And I've had the privilege of being a part of that.
Secondly, I presume to know how others might feel about me; I have no idea how accurate or errant my presumptions may be and I may be surprised at the truth. I recently came across a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "You wouldn't worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do." Eleanor was a smart gal. Even so, this is one of the thoughts swimming in my mind since I learned I lost the election: I take the loss personally. Perhaps in a large community where a candidate is afforded some anonymity, it might not be such a big deal. In a community the size of Big Creek, however, where everyone pretty much knows everyone, there is no anonymity. And so, to quote a line from You've Got Mail, "it may not be personal to [you], but it's personal to me."
Someone asked me if I will miss being on the school board. As they offered, I have mixed feelings. No, I didn't always enjoy the meetings; some of the stuff is just plain boring, I'm not gonna lie! But the opportunity to vote on critical issues that have positive results for our children's learning experience - yes, I will miss those moments. That's what serving on the school board of trustees is all about. I sincerely wish the new board of trustees much success and hope there will continue to be a cohesive move forward for Big Creek School. Thank you!
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Far, Far Away
I'm not sure when it happened. Or why. Or how. I'm only sure that it happened.
There are seasons in relationships when distance grows. That can be a healthy thing.... it can also be a troubling thing. This relationship, this time, is a more troubling thing.
I don't sit with my friend. I don't talk with my friend. I haven't spent time with my friend in, well, I don't know how long. Oh, I think about my friend, but rarely go beyond that. I don't seek my friend's counsel, solace, encouragement, help, or even company. Why? Well, you see, I've been busy. They've been busy. My children demand my time and attention. I'm working. I'm tired. I'm fed up. I fall short. I feel inadequate. I need "me" time, quiet time. Just me. How's that working for you, self?
Not so good. I feel dry, disconnected... far, far away.
In my head, I have allowed myself to adopt an "I can do it myself" approach to life. In my heart, though, I know this causes unnecessary hardship. So, what holds me back from reconnecting with my friend?
Pride and independence are my stumbling blocks. Misalignment of priorities. Wanting to please and appease those calling on me for fulfillment.
But I know my friend sees beyond my stubbornness, sees beyond my struggles, conflict, distraction and insecurities. My friend is there, waiting for me to call. Waiting for me to say I need some advice, need a shoulder, need you. Whenever you're ready, my friend says, I'm there for you. Anytime, any place.
Who is your friend? Mine is Jesus. And He is never far, far away. Call. He'll answer.
There are seasons in relationships when distance grows. That can be a healthy thing.... it can also be a troubling thing. This relationship, this time, is a more troubling thing.
I don't sit with my friend. I don't talk with my friend. I haven't spent time with my friend in, well, I don't know how long. Oh, I think about my friend, but rarely go beyond that. I don't seek my friend's counsel, solace, encouragement, help, or even company. Why? Well, you see, I've been busy. They've been busy. My children demand my time and attention. I'm working. I'm tired. I'm fed up. I fall short. I feel inadequate. I need "me" time, quiet time. Just me. How's that working for you, self?
Not so good. I feel dry, disconnected... far, far away.
In my head, I have allowed myself to adopt an "I can do it myself" approach to life. In my heart, though, I know this causes unnecessary hardship. So, what holds me back from reconnecting with my friend?
Pride and independence are my stumbling blocks. Misalignment of priorities. Wanting to please and appease those calling on me for fulfillment.
But I know my friend sees beyond my stubbornness, sees beyond my struggles, conflict, distraction and insecurities. My friend is there, waiting for me to call. Waiting for me to say I need some advice, need a shoulder, need you. Whenever you're ready, my friend says, I'm there for you. Anytime, any place.
Who is your friend? Mine is Jesus. And He is never far, far away. Call. He'll answer.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Failure
Fail·ure
[feyl-yer]
yər
noun
1. an act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful; lack of success: His effort ended in failure.
2. nonperformance of something due, required, or expected: a failure to do what one has promised; a failure to appear.
Relationships, parenting, finances, employment, housekeeping. Yup, that about covers it.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Nothing Less Than Loved
Just about 20 years ago, my mom took her mom on a trip to the Midwest. Grandma wanted to visit family and Missouri. Mom and Grandma had a great relationship and so, despite not being much of a road-tripper, Mom took her on this adventure..
Not too long after they returned, Mom wasn't feeling well. She had some discomfort in her abdomen, which persisted and eventually propelled her to see her doctor. Gall bladder trouble was the diagnosis and it needed to be removed. Once in surgery, however, a very different diagnosis became apparent: Mom had hepatoma, primary cancer of the liver. There are only two ways to have gotten it - alcohol or blood transfusion. Since Mom wasn't a drinker, they figured she contracted it when she had a hysterectomy some 25 years earlier. The doctor said it was inoperable and untreatable. Basically, she was sent home to die. She was given 6 months; she lasted 5 1/2. She was only 51.
My mom was my supporter, encourager, teacher, mediator, and friend. She was there for me when I couldn't balance my checkbook (again), when I had a cooking question, when I needed help moving, when I learned I was pregnant (and when I miscarried), when I asked for advice (and when I didn't!), when I went through my first divorce, bought my first house on my own, and so much more. I learned from her, laughed with her, leaned on her, and loved her. To say I miss her is an understatement. No, she was not perfect - no mom is. I'm sure there were days I didn't like her, and no doubt plenty of days I didn't score points with her! But I have no recollection of her making me feel anything less than loved.
How I wistfully wish I could celebrate this day with her. How I wish I could ask her about being a better mom, or just say "Thank you!" for her being such a great one. I hope she knew how I loved, respected and admired her. For those of you who still have your moms, most particularly those with good relationships, savor and treasure your time with them. Consider yourselves tremendously blessed to have access to them - to be able to hear their voice, their laugh, see their smile and sparkly eyes.
Nearly 20 years... How much you've missed. How much I've missed you.
In loving memory to my mom, Peggy.
Not too long after they returned, Mom wasn't feeling well. She had some discomfort in her abdomen, which persisted and eventually propelled her to see her doctor. Gall bladder trouble was the diagnosis and it needed to be removed. Once in surgery, however, a very different diagnosis became apparent: Mom had hepatoma, primary cancer of the liver. There are only two ways to have gotten it - alcohol or blood transfusion. Since Mom wasn't a drinker, they figured she contracted it when she had a hysterectomy some 25 years earlier. The doctor said it was inoperable and untreatable. Basically, she was sent home to die. She was given 6 months; she lasted 5 1/2. She was only 51.
My mom was my supporter, encourager, teacher, mediator, and friend. She was there for me when I couldn't balance my checkbook (again), when I had a cooking question, when I needed help moving, when I learned I was pregnant (and when I miscarried), when I asked for advice (and when I didn't!), when I went through my first divorce, bought my first house on my own, and so much more. I learned from her, laughed with her, leaned on her, and loved her. To say I miss her is an understatement. No, she was not perfect - no mom is. I'm sure there were days I didn't like her, and no doubt plenty of days I didn't score points with her! But I have no recollection of her making me feel anything less than loved.
How I wistfully wish I could celebrate this day with her. How I wish I could ask her about being a better mom, or just say "Thank you!" for her being such a great one. I hope she knew how I loved, respected and admired her. For those of you who still have your moms, most particularly those with good relationships, savor and treasure your time with them. Consider yourselves tremendously blessed to have access to them - to be able to hear their voice, their laugh, see their smile and sparkly eyes.
Nearly 20 years... How much you've missed. How much I've missed you.
In loving memory to my mom, Peggy.
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