The Peter Pan Movement

Sometimes I pressure myself to write.  I end up throwing up my hands and my tablet with creative exhaustion!  I fight it but I don't do well with obligation.  I do have something on my mind. I'm not sure why or what I want to say about it but I will try to share it with you. Don't expect a conclusion to be drawn or a philosophical ending that plucks out a melody on the old heart strings.  I am writing directionless.  

Today we attended a baby shower for my granddaughter that is due on February 21st.  She seems so far away but I know when she gets here we will have a lot of time to hold her, teach her, listen to her giggle and see her grow.  I have three other grandchildren.  They are all beautiful but sometimes I get too busy.  Too busy to play in the leaves, to work puzzles, to sing silly songs.  Then as I throw back the covers and get ready to say my prayers a squeaky little voice in my head screams, "you could have stopped long enough to work one little puzzle."

Now my youngest child is 19 years old and though he and the state of Texas consider that to be an adult, I ain't done raising him ju st yet.  I would like to be walking the stage to take ownership of a quartz trophy for mother of the year but I'm not preparing the acceptance speech just yet. I learn something new about parenting everyday.  I even learn and relearn things about my own kids every week.  Just when I think I have a grasp on today, the sun goes down and I start over again. I have made some mistakes. I pray that one day they will forgive me for rushing around trying to make sure the clothes were washed instead of sitting down to watching a Disney flick, for going to the grocery store instead of Chuck E. Cheese, for raking up a pile of leaves and not letting them plow through them like a bowling ball hitting the pens.  I pray.  I pray that my best was good enough. I pray that all the advice I gave was received in love. I pray that they forgive me for the junk that cluttered up my thoughts and my evenings at home.   

In the bathroom that was used by all of my boys as they were growing up there is a small sign with a quote from E. E. Cummings; "it takes courage to grow up to be who you really are".  Not by accident but strategic placement, the sign hangs where it can be seen as they would brush their teeth or shave in the morning. One thing I always want for my boys is honesty in their lives; to live genuine.  

And joy.  I want them to have happiness that stems from living a honest life, that bubbles up from the center of a full heart. What mother would want anything less for her children. 

At a recent Christmas party I struggled to hear the soft words spoken by a coworkers wife. Her Cuban accent and tone of her voice was mild. She smiled sweetly as she spoke and I listened politely though I found myself eager to quiz her on the details. She recited the story she has probably told many times during her very colorful and painful lifetime. It was a movement; powerful and purposeful.  A movement that separated children from parents and sent them thousands of miles from everything and everyone they had ever known to live with strangers, foreigners, and volunteers. It was a sacrifice. It was attempt to protect and preserve and survive. As many as 15,000 Cuban children, most of them were boys in their early teenage years, adjusted quickly to foster care.  Some struggled with diet, authority, separation.  

One of the others listening waited until a pause in her story to ask, "what did you think on the day Fidel Castro died?"  Her smile changed. As if it were a burden of disappointment.  

"We sat on the back porch and popped open a bottle of champagne!"  

http://www.pedropan.org/sites/default/files/Cuba'sChildreninExile.pdf

Many details of The Pedro Pan Movement can be found on Pedropan.org It's a humbling read. 

As a parent, I am ashamed of how whiny I have been. Ashamed of the times I felt sorry for myself because my kids wanted for things I couldn't give them; ashamed of the little moments I have taken for granted; ashamed of the times I didn't stop and absorb all the hugs a little boy could give; ashamed of many selfish days.  

The Five Year Plan

The five year plan

I like it when Facebook pushes a memory on me by showing me a post I created a year or two or 5 ago. Sometimes they hit me harder than others. It's not always obvious to see subtle changes from yesterday or last week but if you grab a freeze frame from last year you see a metamorphosis; evolutionin a non theological manner.  

Sometimes when I have nothing better to do I wonder what we would do differently today if we could see accurately around the sun a few times into next year?  Constant, graphic and bold television advertisements warn of what five years of nicotine and tar can do to a healthy lung and quality of life yet more and more people of all ages suck butt every year.  We are continually told to avoid long exposures to the UV rays of the sun because of the aging and carcinogenic tendencies yet we grab the Oakleys and a beach towel to make our way to the coast like a cockroach scatters with a flick of the light switch.  

It would be interesting to have an iPhone app that would take your personal stats, habits and interests, filter them through an algorithmic formula that takes into account your level of risks taking, your shoe size, and your zodiac sign to produce a simple index that would precisely and accurately predict who you would be in five years.  I know how I would react to that!  I would be filtering that equation to create the best "future Dawn" without terminating my favorite bad habits. Like filtering a Craigslist search, I would fine tune that filter to show the best and worse case scenarios.  Who am I five years up the road if I walk away from only one of my most harmful vices but start walking up two flights of stairs on the third Tuesday of months with 31 days....mathematically manipulated future me!  

What if we had an app where we could snap a selfie and the attach the characters we want to be in five years? By the use of watershed algorithmic concepts, a road map or a Pinterest-like recipe would be generated complete with instructions, warnings, notes, and potential pitfalls to avoid in order to meet the new and improved you five years down the road?

Like this: envision my selfie here!

I would like to be more honest and trustworthy.  I think we all could use a little more integrity.  I would like to improve my perception of self worth and increase my self esteem and self confidence.  I need to improve punctuality and vocabulary while using sarcasm more sparingly.  I would like to have better control of my emotions during times when I am angry or nervous or happy.  I need to smile more and show more interest in others. I need less procrastination and more just do it. In addition to being a better person I would like to be at least 2 pants sizes smaller with whiter teeth, no sun spots, wrinkles, or gray hairs.  

I think I just cracked my iPhone screen. No wait, that was just my selfie cracking.  

Truth is we dismiss warnings and advice and good wholesome instructions daily to live in the moment. During this time when many are resolving to live better, healthier and more productive lives think beyond the resolution and see where you want to be five years down the road. Do I want to see growth in my spiritual life? Do I want more friends? A better job? Do I want to feel more accomplished? More valued at home or work or school?  

You don't need to Pinterest a recipe for that! Here's a simple suggestion. Write your goals out like a baptist prayer request list, fold it, and put it in your pocket. Carry it with you. Each time you feel that folded piece of paper you will remember the goals you set, the reward for your efforts, and the you that you want to be sooner rather than later. Each time you hand realizes the nearly wadded note you will have to own the moment those goals were important enough to scribble into list formation.

No-fly list

No fly list: 

On more than one occasion I have been unjustly accused of not having a 'filter'; implying that words fall from my thoughts and out my mouth without resistances. Oddly enough I thought I did a pretty fair job of holding some clever verbiage in my gray matter even though I'm sure it would have been hilarious if it had slipped carelessly into the conversation.  Either way, I can conclude at least two, possibly three thoughts about the words we utter. 

Our words matter: At any airport across the nation I often see signage indicating that TSA does not take kindly to jokes especially those related to explosives or weapons. I've not attempted to humor them with my interrupting cow knock, knock joke but I am sure they would find a mannerless Holstein irresistibly chuckle worthy. Even so I simply smile as I consider it and continuing removing my laptop from my bag, my tennis shoes from my feet, and everything from my pockets.  The words we choose and when we use them has significance and impact to others regardless what you think or what you meant or how much you apologize. I am not saying that is fair. I am saying that it is true. TSA doesn't think it's amusing in the least to casually speak of bombs in your carry on and to be quite frank, I prefer not to hear the person in the boarding line whisper under their breathe, "I hope I don't have to sit with her."  
I once heard a lady from the church say that trying to unsay something is like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube. I think it is worse than that. I think it's like hitting someone in the face with a baseball bat then trying to take the violence and intent back. And if that isn't enough, try to unbruise the eye socket and push the blood from the flesh back into the vessel that has been damaged.

Words hurt: Toothpaste doesn't hurt. I have never been hit with the bat but on more than one occasion I stood proudly in my Red Bird uniform with a bat on my right shoulder and took a blow to the face from what was labeled a soft ball. It stings. Remember 'stick and stones can break my bones but words can never heard me?' That was 1970's grade school response to what we now call bullying. And though we often refer to the tongue as sharp, when it comes to penetrating your emotions, it more like being stabbed with a spoon or a butter knife at best. Half of the pain from words is the memory that sticks with you years beyond the original conversation. I can not for the life of me remember who ran against Rick Perry in the last governors race, I can't remember the birth date of my mother-in-law of 29+ years but I remember in the 9th grade when the cutest boy in high school told me I needed to start doing something more girl-like with my hair. That's what it feels like to be stabbed with a spoon. 

Words heal: Wouldn't it be awesome if when a doctor had to deliver the unfavorable diagnosis of breast cancer he could say, "well, there's good news and then there is bad news. The bad news, you have breast cancer. The good news, I just need you to chat a few little rhyming words and you'll be good as new!"  Words don't heal breast cancer or take the grief from death but they can start a healing process. Once when I was younger I miscarried a baby at 4+ months. The baby was due on Christmas Day in 1993; no relevance to that it just slipped through the filter. I went in for a sonogram and was sent directly back to the OB/GYN. It was a rough day. I remember the doctor reaching up and taking my hand. He said, "you'll heal."  There was no miraculous healing but through his compassionate words for me as a human, a mother, and hurting soul he began to doctor the wounds of my heart. A week later, while I was silently and privately attempting to recover, my cousin called. To be honest, I really didn't want to talk about this situation simply because it hurt and acknowledged pain was not my idea of small talk. She had the history to support her words as she had been through many miscarriages.  Calmly she called me by my name and said, "hug the son you have."  The healing continued. 

What an awesome tool we have in the spoken word. What an awesome responsibility we have to be silent.  Oh, to be better at them both.

Living the Hallmark Christmas!

If you are like me you have spent at least a moment or two of this very busy season watching a Christmas movie. While the grandkids were over we watched the old Rudolph movie narrated by the legendary Burl Ives. One night during a much needed downtime we sat in our recliners to watch a feel good, restore hope in humanity and family Christmas movie. By Netflix we were saturated with options; white Christmas, blue Christmas; lost Christmas, found Christmas; home for Christmas, alone for Christmas; Christmas past, Christmas future. After scrolling through the titles we randomly chose one entitled "Christmas Angels".

I guess for me the attraction to Christmas cinema is the happy ending. I'm a sucker for a happy ending even if it is predictably sappy. Christmas Angels definitely fit the bill; a family in turmoil and jeopardy of splitting up, unhappy marriage, workaholic dad, fussing children, mom trying to bridge the gaps. They take a Christmas trip to a mountain cabin to reconnect but find the cabin can not fix any of their issues. Suddenly as they are about to lose all hope a family stranded by a snow storm appears at their door. Of course they invite them into their warm cabin. Long story short, who rescued who? Happy ending with a twist, the stranded family had been in a car wreck on the mountains edge and were dead but glamorized to be Angels. Thus the title Christmas Angels. It was a cute story and I enjoyed sitting still while it played as much as I enjoyed the storyline.

 In reality our lives are not always as Hallmark as a Christmas flic. We run nonstop through the holiday season. Like OJ Simpson in the airport we approach hurdles and obstacles full speed. Jumping and dodging, we try to be everything to everyone, provide the best Christmas experience, replay the favorite childhood Christmas, buy the best gifts, try new recipes, attend parties with friends, programs at church, and recitals at school. It can be stressful. Then add logistics. I need to be every where for everyone. I can't get to point A from point B because I need to stop by point c by noon. Juggling the hours of the post office, the mall, the appointments, the groceries in the backseat plus I still need to get to work on time. Stressful doesn't seem like a strong enough word.

 Then one Sunday afternoon just before Christmas while we are trying to get to CVS to pick up a script a 1990 Mercedes in front of us starts billowing white smoke from under the hood. The car pulls quickly to the shoulder of the road. We turn around on the highway to assist. It's a young man, mid 20's, with no real mechanical know how and a broken thermostat housing. It's not likely that the small town we are headed to will have the part in stock but we offer to give him a ride into town to see. It's the small town thing to do, right?

About Andrew: he is 25 and a graduate ofUniversity of Texas. He majored in government and worked for Ted Cruzs office on the day that Cruz announced his candidacy for US president. He lived In Houston was headed to St. Louis to meet a friend before heading to Baltimore, or was it Boston, to visit with the friends mother. Then back to St. Louis before heading to Wisconsin to spend Christmas with his parents. He dad was a Pentecostal preacher in Wisconsin but he pastored a church Dalhart, Texas for many years and that is where Andrew and his sisters grew up. He recently started a web design company and didn't have a credit card to his name. He played guitar, mostly jazz, but his sisters both played piano. He bought the 1990 E-190 Mercedes with only 75,000 miles on it and had made the cross country trek before. He dreaded calling his father to let him know he was stranded and gave the impression that an "I told you so" or "what were you thinking?" Speech was likely to be coming down the pipes.

As Andrew first climbed in the back of my car he noted the King James Bible laying beside him on the seat. He commented on it and asked that guy I live with if he was a pastor. It seemed like an odd question at first and we were unsure if he asked because he was offended or comforted by the bible. He then explained he was a pastors son and very familiar. It seemed that he thought that the only people that would travel with a bible in their cars were pastors. Not the case. We often leave the church with the bible in the backseat and leave it there all day or more.

 I could seriously bore you with all of the details but in short, Carthage Texas didn't have the thermostat housing in stock but they found some type of compound to possibly patch the hole to get him a little farther down the road. They applied the compound but it needed to set up for an hour. In the meantime we needed to get church so we took Andrew along. He came to our home a good 20 miles from where his car was before we started to church. A polite young man that stood to shake hands with my son and my mother; a polite young stranger we had picked up on the side of the road. 
Hallmark writes best selling movies about this and I told him so. I explained the recent Christmas movie and inquired about his life status, "you're not dead are you?"

 The Mercedes could not be fixed that night but was driven into the local shop. He talked about renting a car to continue his journey, staying in a hotel until he could get the part for the car or have the car looked at. A quick text from Stacey indicated that Andrew would be staying the night with us. At this point I'm sure you are less concerned with the status of the car, the repairs, and the friend Andrew was to meet in St. Louis. You are likely rereading that to make sure you understood correctly. Yes, you read that correctly. I said we picked up a 25 year old stranger on the side of the road, gave him a ride, fed him, took him to church, back to town, and to our house where he stayed the night.

Are we crazy? Pause here and let's think about the answer to that before we spit it into cyber eternity. What kind of crazy are we talking about? Don't get me wrong. I'm not telling you all of this to impress you or make myself and my family seem like super heroes. I just need to type it out so that it can be real. Maybe we are crazy. If one if my sons told me he was going to a perfect strangers house to spend the night because his car broke down I might be less than comfortable.

What Andrew brought to the Christmas season:
1. A distraction. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in me, my problems, my failures; what ifs and how comes ooze from my soul like snot from a two year old in the springtime. It's not pretty. It's not healthy. I needed to take a step back, refocus, breath in and breath out with true appreciation for the abundance I have.

 2. A detour. There are many paths we can take to get to where we are going. All roads may lead to Rome but "there's a million ways to get to San Antoine" (Michael Hearne). The problem isn't finding a way, it's finding the right way. And it's not finding the right way in hindsight but projecting the outcomes and predicting the failures, charting a course. And yes, making a U turn, rerouting or taking a detour when things don't seem to be working out the right way.

 3. A decision. There is no way to say this nicely so I will just apologize in advance. That guy I live with has never been assertive or decisive or bold in his decisions. This is not a new development and I don't really consider it a failure. It's a personality trait. It's part of what makes him who he is. I don't look at it as a fault, anymore, though I did for years. I now know that we all have weaknesses and character traits that others don't like or can't explain. I finally decided that it is this marginally weak trait is what allows him to excel at so many other things. Never once during the 24 hours we had Andrew in our company did I have to say, "should we stop?" "What do we do with him now?" "will he be staying the night?" Without arrogance or pride but with confidence that guy I live with stepped up.

 You may not see this in a Hallmark Christmas movie next year but if you ever meet Andrew I hope he leaves you feeling blessed!