My "people"

Going back to school.  New class schedule, new teachers, new school supplies.  The graceful dance of locating old and adding new friends.  Maybe not so graceful but it is a fascinating illumination of our inherent human desire to find and flock with others who help us feel like we "fit".

I was fortunate to be asked to volunteer in the middle school office on the first day of school and wow,  I learned more there than during an entire semester of college sociology!  Hovering parents, terrifying their kids with their worry, gawky and uncomfortable kids who had lost their schedules, kids with medication to turn in, secretly hoping no one saw.

I saw giggly, happy reunions of cute girls in brand new clothes, hugging and jumping and jumping and hugging.  (I'm still nauseous.)  I saw boy-men casually acknowledging summer facial hair accumulation.  (one girl too, but I think her accumulation was unintentional.) I watched my son's friends happily greet him by nickname.  They even greeted me, one high fived!  I did no jumping or hugging and think I avoided being embarrassing.  I watched teachers welcome kids by name and seem genuinely happy to see them.  I read the hopeful and unsure faces of the new kids, who had yet to find a friend.  It was a whole melting pot of potential. Nine months of opportunity to forge life shaping relationships.  (I hope they learn stuff too.)

The desire to find and flock with people who "get us" doesn't end in middle school. I'm 42 and it is at least as important now as it was then.  Its a comfort level, a mutual understanding of each other, a confidence that the other person has your best interest at heart.  You don't have to have the same view of the world, just the ability to respect and try to understand mine.  Conversations should be some about you and some about me.  Not every time, no score keeping, and if you're in a crisis, you get the floor for as long as you need it and you'd do the same for me.  There should be trust that you'd drag me from a burning building if necessary and I'd do the same for you.  (Which explains why I try to choose very strong and agile friends or hang out with them two at a time.)

I believe most of us have a heart need to find "our people".  In my case those are the people I call when I find success, whether silly or grand and they are genuinely, giddily happy for me with no thought about how my success reflects on them.  The people I text when my feelings get hurt because they'll know what to say and will remind me of who I am when I lose focus.  The people I call to temporarily remove my children for a "time out" from my presence before regrettable actions occur.  The people who help nudge me to think more creatively, challenge me to love more broadly, risk telling me I'm wrong and cajole me into forgiving when the hurt still hurts.  And they can do those things for me because they are "my people".

These days my tribe of people is as varied and colorful as the BIG box of Crayons.  (You know, the one with the sharpener you always wanted but had more crayons than were requested on the supply list?)  I flock to colorful people.  Surprise!  In the past couple of years several new, wonderfully colorful personalities have joined me in the Crayon box.  Some are colorful in appearance, some are colorful in thought, some in light and dark shades of experience.  We all nestle together quite nicely with our different color combinations and contributions.  Some are deep, challenging thinkers, some are bold and inspiring, some are sage and wise, some are all of those things with a little fun thrown in.  They all contribute something essential to my tribe of people and I am honored by the beautiful colors each adds to my rainbow life.

As I watched the middle school scene yesterday, I thought about the crew I ran with during my years at Five Oaks Junior High.  They were a wonderfully varied crew, they added immense wealth to my life back then and continue still.  They were my early "people" and a great gift.

As the year begins, I pray that each of those middle schoolers finds their tribe, their soul feeding "people" and they set about adding rich and life giving color to each others lives.

Waves

I love vacation!  We have just returned from a week in Hawaii for a wedding.  (It's good to have discerning friends who invite you to their honeymoon!)

It is amazing to be able to swim in the ocean an not fear Oregon coast hypothermia.  It was wonderful to introduce the boys to snorkeling and boogie boarding and watch them fling themselves into the waves with abandon.

There was a man on the beach with us who may have been a shaved Kodiak bear.  He was like a slab of stone, straight up and down stocky with head shape to match, skin the color of a Hershey bar.  This guy, maybe 55, would barrel into the waves and THEY would get out of the way.  As I was waist deep, attempting to balance in the water I would see him turn straight on and head butt the oncoming wave with a confident, well timed dive just under the curl .  He would dive in and come out standing, unruffled on the other side.

While watching this bear-man I also saw a number of other very sunburned beach goers who had the obvious stamp of tourist, from their streaky sunscreen and beach bags to their tentative strokes in the water.  I watched tourist after tourist head into the surf and try to hold their ground during these oncoming waves.  They would try to out run the wave or try to stand firm, digging their toes into the sand as it approached, or try to jump over it.  I watched again and again as Midwestern Mike and Chicago Charlie got violently rolled by these oncoming crests, tumbled head over heels and come up having ingested well more than a pleasant gulp.

In watching this play out again and again I realized I was watching gravitational life lessons.  There are waves in life, they keep coming, sometimes in quick succession and sometimes there is a moment of stillness before the next.  You know they are approaching YOU, so the life lesson is in how you approach THEM.   In the face of each wave, Bear-man squared off and flung himself into each, letting it cover him.  His willingness to surrender to the weight of the water left him standing (dripping) but standing comfortably, on the other side.  Midwestern Mike tried to control his body during each wave.  Tried to remain upright, keep the water out of his eyes, keep his sunglasses dry, making sure he had his pasty gut sucked in.  The oncoming surf saw all that "control", grabbed him and body slammed him to the ground.

So in the end, being willing to get soaked, giving up control for a minute and risk going into the wave   left the Bear-man having had much more fun and in a better position on the other side.

I wonder how many of us are trying to hold in our gut and keep the water spots off our sunglasses as we weather our daily waves.  I like to control my position, standing firmly planted where I think I want to be, fighting for stability.  A false and fleeting sense of stability.  Maybe risking a good dunking is just what I need?  Maybe there are things under the water or on the other side of the wave that I miss while trying to control the immense ocean of life?  

Maybe I need more research time in the Pacific Islands?

A whisper of a voice

There is much in scripture that unnerves me.  Today the concept of “be still and know that I am God” is crackling around in my head with a distinct lack of stillness or serenity.  For a high energy girl like me, the idea of being still is tough.  If I am still I am sleeping.  My body is rarely still, my mind – never, my hair even moves with a mind of its own. 

I don’t know what this “be still and know that I am God” means.  YET, I think it was written with me in mind.  In the midst of so many things that bend my nerves and crackle around seeking clarity in my brain, the idea of hunkering down in forced stillness and letting God order the things in my brain sounds like a much needed vacation for a whirling dervish like me. 

God and I have been negotiating about some heavy duty topics lately.  I’ve recently realized that, as I do with my patient husband, when I have something to say to God, I gear up and spill 1000 words per minute, spilling and spilling and spilling until I feel like I have expressed my thought in a well defended, articulate and unsinkable manner.   (In my defense, my husband IS a professional arguer and it does me little good to approach “the bench” with namby pamby half baked language!) 

Turns out, often neither God nor Josh can get a word in edgewise with all my unsinkable and speedily articulate brain crackling.  I am well gifted to present impassioned arm waving and powerful monologues.  I think it might well be very frightening to the uninitiated.  I can hold my own and stand my ground perfectly well when given ample space for my 6 foot wing span.     It turns out I am much less gifted at the being still and listening part. 

This month I am pretty sure God raised his voice loud enough to tell me to sit down and shut my mouth.  I am in a really high burn spin at the moment.  Lots of muddy places where I would like clarity.  Lots of emotional stress and insecurity.  Lots of impassioned negotiations with God about which way is up.  Today His voice was raised just to get my attention but once my head was turned and my mouth closed he dropped back down to a deliberate whisper. 

I think there is a reason that his voice comes so often like a quiet breeze.  For during your most chaotic and unsettled time,  you have to stop spinning, lean in really closely and  sit still before you can hear the full benefit of His peace filled tone.  

There is rest and fresh air in stillness and serenity.  I could use a fair bit of both.       

being heard

I'm thinking about Diana Nyad today. She is the endurance swimmer who is going to swim for 60 hours to cross the span between Cuba and Florida in shark infested waters.  She has been training by swimming for over 12 hours a day.  12 hours a day!  She is almost 62 years old and says she is in better shape, frame of mind and more prepared than she was when she first attempted this, and did not succeed, in 1978.  Back when she was 29!

What is making her do this?  She said in an interview that she has been "listening to herself" over the past 10 years and could no longer ignore the little voice that was telling her that, after all these years, she was ready.

That makes me think about listening.  When people share their stories with me do they feel heard?  How long does it take me to actually "hear" what they are telling me?  I think I am often hesitant to actually listen to myself.  I wonder why?  A painful message?  My heart knows that I need to be nudged out into the unknown?  I am committing to listen more closely.

How effectively do you listen to yourself?  What has been nagging you that you need to hear?

Middle school geek and really pretty okay with it

It is 9:15 and my children are still asleep.  Yesterday they didn't wander up until 10:30!  Really boys?  10:30?  They haven't been staying up extremely late and we haven't been training for a marathon during the day.  What's up with that?  Is it possible that their little bodies are preparing for the stress of starting middle school and 2nd grade so they are sleep loading all summer?

I have been thinking about the similar way I approach life.  How I mentally psyche myself up for anticipated challenges or difficulty.  I know most people likely play this mental game differently.  I like to think through all the angles, anticipate all the different scenarios and how I will handle each.  God and I usually have some significant conversations about the best way to tackle things and after I have thrashed through it and gotten myself intensely wound up, he reminds me that he has already worked it out for me.  (and I carb load, but then I do that all the time....just in case.)  

What do you do?  How do you approach a new or challenging situation that makes your heart beat just a little faster?  Do you remember when  you started middle school?  Were you terrified or did  you just walk right in like you already owned the place?  Did your fears come true?  Was it easier than you anticipated?  

I was a geek.  Big time.  I made a fabric cover for my trapper keeper notebook.  It was yellow quilted fabric and I think I even embroidered some hearts on it somewhere.  (hearts?  Really Tanya?)  Oh Yeah!  Tanya is ready to ROCK and ROLL!  Not only was I gawky with hip length hair and HUGE bangs but I could sew my own smarmy yellow notebook cover.  Look out world.  My sister practically dive tackled me when she saw it.  (she was a big 9th grader at my school)  She gently informed me that I might not have increased my hip quotient with that yellow, quilted monstrosity.  (Thanks for the insider intel Rene')  

Things improved from there.  I continued to be and still am a pretty huge geek.  That's fine with me and I am less concerned about making a fool of myself these days!  How did you fare in your formative years?  What did you learn about yourself?  Who did you learn from?  I'd love to hear your tales as we take this step into middle school.

cheerleaders

I was a cheerleader in ninth grade.  There it is.  I said it and now everyone knows.  I am not anti cheerleader, really just anti ME as a cheerleader.  I don't follow team sports, I am not terribly perky and am far from having shampoo commercial perfect hair.  But I was captain of the cheerleaders in ninth grade.  Full disclosure: that was the year that they changed the boundaries for my jr. high and it happened that all the popular, beautiful, athletic, shampoo perfect cheerleader type kids got sucked out to a different school leaving behind the normal kids like me.

Back then sum total of my football knowledge could have fit inside a thimble.  Yes, we regularly cheered D E F E N S E when the ball was going our way.  But I learned the purpose of our job.  We encouraged, we were spirited, we brought levity and we ALWAYS supported and nudged our horrible football team to be their best.  (remember, all the athletes went to the OTHER school.)

I have been thinking about the role of cheerleaders in our lives.  No, not the Dallas Cowboy girls with jump around in "skirts" which normal people would consider a belt.  I mean the people in our lives who encourage, add spirit and ALWAYS support.  When I think of my "cheerleaders" a few specific faces come to mind.

Those faces belong to the rare people in my life who have showed me what selfless friendship is about.  They cheered my successes with total gleeful abandon.  My good fortune was their good fortune independent of what was happening in their own story.  No competition just raw encouragement. They nudged me to stretch and reach for professional milestones even while they were struggling, unappreciated in their own jobs.  They insightfully anticipated what was on my mind and coaxed it out in conversation so they could encourage me to stretch life to all four corners even if their lives were currently stagnant.

I have learned so much from those supportive faces.  You have regularly surprised me by your lack of self protection, your sincere desire to boost me up on your shoulders and resist comparisons and competition.

I appreciate the spirit your selfless cheerleading has left in me.  There is definitely a great need in the world for people who are able to look outside of themselves and whole heartedly cheer other people on.  People who will sincerely shout their support and lend spirited energy to encourage, rally and motivate.  

Clapping and leaping in the air is helpful too.

Grudge free grace.

I am not a good forgiver.  I find it really tempting to hold a grudge against people who have "wronged me".  You know, heinous crimes.  Things like not appreciating me for the help I give, minimizing me to elevate themselves, acting like jerks or crossing the line and jabbing too hard.  Yeah, my scale of "wrongs" is pretty light.  I have had some legitimate hardships but really nothing to complain about and certainly nothing worthy of grudge carrying.  I know better, yet, I carry.

I had the honor of spending 3 hours today with two survivors of child sex trafficking.  Middle aged women, both far along their journey of healing and wholeness yet scarred both physically and mentally in ways that will never fully mend.  They told me stories of unfathomable abuse, of being bought and sold, of evil and brokenness at the hands of relatives and people who should have protected rather than crushed.  THEY know something of actual heinous crimes.  

I was mesmerized by their stories of God's redemption, of his healing and recovery.  It felt natural to follow the thread of their lives and cheer them on.

Then one of them began talking about her pimps, how no one ever talks about how they got to be who they are.  How they were very likely abused as well, how they are repeating trauma done to them.  This woman knew the stories of the men who had sold her and she felt compassion for them.  She talked about how we vilify and convict them and give them no further thought when we should really consider ministering to their pain and consider that God wants to redeem them too.

Wait, what?

I want to hate them.  I want to help the girls they victimize and let the bad guys rot.

Sitting in front of me was a scarred survivor and she, without a grudge, wants to minister to the "bad guys" and invite them to share the grace she has found.

I didn't expect to see God right there in a coffee shop on east Burnside.  I prayed this morning that he would allow me to be his hands and feet today but he decided to use someone else's grudge-free grace to show Him to me.  



 

100 distractions in Starbucks

The kids are farmed out this week.  G1 is at Church camp.  This is year 3 for him and he is a veteran.  It is history repeating itself.  I grew up there, 3rd - 12th grade.  Camper and counselor.  It shaped my personality in a really profound way.  I pray the same for him.  (and I smirk and warn him to stay away from any long legged, ponytailed, freckled, older woman who laughs at his jokes.  "You could end up MARRIED!"  Which makes him roll his eyes at his long legged, freckled Mother who still thinks his Dad is pretty funny.)  


G2 is at gymnastics camp every morning this week.  He is a humming bird of activity.  You can see an aura of energy crackling around him at all times.  He is either darting, leaping, dancing or flipping all the time.  And if he seems still, his eyes are dancing.  I am pretty sure that watching him actually burns MY calories.   Summer is his best season as there is little requirement to sit still behind a desk.  We'll need to be better about finding him a happy medium next year.  We practiced spelling words last year while doing jumping jacks, math facts in between sit ups.  He is a man of action and I know that will serve him well as an adult.  Less so in a school environment that requires still and quiet reflection.  It's all about finding the appropriate time and place.  That's a work in progress.


I'm in Starbucks researching the Oregon Department of Human Services Interstate Compact on the Placement of Children - Child Welfare Policy II-C.1.  Next up... Indian Child Welfare regulations.  I am working with Door to Grace on the application for our license to become a child caring agency so that we can open the shelter for trafficked girls.  It's a great organization, a great goal, God led and survivor informed and there are so many details to be worked through in completing our application.  Fortunately my list is growing shorter and I get to work with some really amazing, intelligent and faithful people.  Next week I see a demonstration on Equine Assisted psychotherapy as we are considering using it in our programming!   


The guy next to me is interviewing for a job.  He's nervous and the interviewer is cold and not making it easy on him.  He is overusing the word "you know".  A pet peeve of mine.  And he is wearing scuffed shoes.  You can tell so much about a man by his shoes.  (they don't have to be expensive, just well cared for)  Doubt he's getting the job.


Four women in a book club on the other side.  Interesting book, one of them talks REALLY loudly and I think the other 3 find her tiresome.  The conversation totally changed the moment she stepped into the ladies room.  Women are so predictable that way.


A three year old boy keeps flirting with me and zooming by and touching my leopard printed shoe, to his exhausted Mother's chagrin.  She just asked me if I would watch him while she ducked to the ladies room with her 5 year old girl.  Man! I remember those days.  Take your time Mama.  Me and your little "ball of energy" will be chillin out here.  


Starbucks is such a great incubator for sociological observation.  Such a broad demographic.  So many specialized consumables.  All walks of life.  So many people relating to each other.  I am the only singular individual in here (and I am writing words that will be read by at least one other person.)  Most of the folks in here are in conversation, being relational.       



There is so much that is great about the advent of the coffee shop on every corner.  It brings people together (it also makes them eat more but that is another topic all together.)  


With so many areas of our lives that leave us isolated, I am encouraged to see Grandmothers bragging, employees gathering, book groups gabbing, couples snuggling, baristas that remember names and an adorable 3 year old boy who knows a good shoe when he sees it!


   

Remaining quirky

My heart broke about 20 different times on Friday.  I can't get it out of my head.  .

I volunteered for both the morning and afternoon sessions of field day at my school.  Kindergarten - second grade in the morning and 3rd - 5th in the afternoon.  Yep, I'm a sucker and can't say no to those sweet faced boys when they beg me to be there.  

You likely know the drill.  The kids get partnered up and then spend the next 2.5 hours scrambling from one activity station to the next, complete the event and move on.  My morning activity was "noodle fencing" where you assume a fencing pose (enguard!) with one hand behind your back and one hand holding the 5 foot swimming noodle.  The object is to see how many times you can touch your opponents knees in 30 seconds.  My job, as the responsible parent, was to keep the thing from turning into a full on noodle brawl.  (50% successful.  They may or may not invite me back.  I only whacked the kids who deserved it!)  

In any group of people there are outliers, oddballs, the people/kids who just can't be categorized.  Elementary school is an incubator of weird behaviors.   On Friday one kid would only sing the words he wanted to communicate.  One kid, in thick coke bottle glasses, so happy at his high score at my afternoon game, stopped playing all the other games and loitered next to me for two hours to make everyone knew he had the high score and no one else could top it.  One girl, after being gently touched on the knee, decided to lie down, spread eagle in the fencing arena until the game was over.  

I was completely amused at all of those behaviors.  Each one of those kids has a burgeoning personality filled with uniqueness and they are trying to figure out how to grow into full sized, charismatic and interesting adults.  

Unfortunately many of those uniquenesses are not appreciated by their 8 year old peers.  That is the heartbreaking part.  I saw situation after situation unfold in front of me where two would gang up on one.  Time and again a group of three would come to my game and the two BFF's would play first and instead of waiting for the third to have a turn, would sneak away in a deliberate ditch.  I observed numerous matter of fact interactions where one person would lay down the law to the person with "lesser" social standing.  (insert nasal/whiny tone) "No Jenny, I am the one who makes the choices about which games we go to.  You KNOW that."  Usually the "lesser" person would cast down their eyes in a practiced manner and go along with the decree.  

When does this happen?  When do kids adopt the "Lord of the flies" mentality?  Why do we decide that the kids who can dominate on the football field and hit a baseball are better than the rest of us?  How does the bossy, prissy girl with the sparkly shoe laces get to decide who's "in" and who's "out" and change her mind every other day breaking the hearts of enumerable girls on playgrounds across the land?  

I know some of it is natural social dynamics and they are working through human nature but it is heartbreaking to watch.  I love those unique kids.  I love the unexpected things they say and their back door thought processes. 

It makes me sad that uniqueness makes those kids targets in our society.  Standing out and being unusual makes those kids vulnerable to the kids who desperately want to blend in and make everyone look the same.

I know the pendulum swings back and forth throughout our lives but these elementary years shape who we become.  I want to grab up each of those amazing and quirky kids and remind them that it is their quirks that will make them successful in the future.  Hold on, your risk taking fashion sense will help you become an innovative leader.  Hold on, your charismatic desire to speak with a spot on British accent is going to make you a great public speaker.  Your ability to stand apart from the crowd will be valued in the future as you are selected out of a pool of 1000 for the job you want.  I know it doesn't seem valued now but HOLD ON.

I want to tell the amoeba of homogeneous children to be brave and step away from the pack.  Risk staying true to themselves.  Risk figuring out who you are.  Risk befriending the quirky kid.  At least stop abusing him.  

He just might become the best friend you ever have.  

        

Blowing the roof off

I like to sing.  I don't really know what I am doing but I think I can carry a tune without offending others or making them go flat.  I have had many great opportunities in my life to sing with incredibly talented people who have graciously and generously taught me much about being a musician.  I could list them here but they would be embarrassed and deny it.

My voice is naturally voluminous.  I grew up racing at swim meets and I think I must have elephant sized lungs from so much time spent underwater.  My unabashed volume used to embarrass my sister at church.  She would bug her eyes out and tell me that "EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU!" in a hissing, reproachful whisper.  I guess I assumed that God was way up in the sky and I should used my outside voice so he could hear me.

When Josh and I moved to Eugene in 1997 the church invited us to join their praise team.  We sat around Randy and Beth Wray's antique kitchen table and practiced every Saturday night.  The Wrays, the Comptons and the Caseys.  Their kids ran around naked and crazy and Josh and I wondered why the parents had so little control.  (ha!  We no longer wonder.)  Most of us were only marginal musicians, we couldn't sight read and we sang from our hearts.  Tim Casey would pull bass notes from the bottom of his toes and Beth would quietly help us find the right notes.  They quickly became our family as we tapped out timing and worked through discordant notes .

We joined the Westside praise team in 2001 when we moved to Portland.  We had to try out which made me nervous.  I sang my Harding Omega Phi club hymn by heart.  I was sure they would decline my audition.

It has been an honor to sing with this group for a decade.  We practice every Sunday night.  We stumble through new songs, delight when songs come together with our unique acapella sound.  Cheer at each other's success and laugh when we can't clap and sing at the same time.  We love the music and support each other, regularly breaking out in remarkably tight harmony on random show tunes before dissolving in laughter.  It is a humbly, faithful group of flawed people who love God, each other and the congregation we serve.  Most of us are convinced we are not talented enough to be there week to week but are honored to be invited back because we have so much fun.

Make no mistake, the people I get to sing with are amazingly talented!  Many could make a living with their pipes if they wanted to.  God has gifted most of those folks with an amazing array of musical talents.  The fact that they share them on a weekly basis with me and with Westside is a gift.  I love it when new singers join us at practice because I want them to feel the fun we have.  

But the music is not the best thing about these people.  We talk about prayer requests after practice and I am often touched by the requests that surface.  Profound parenting struggles are mentioned, physical decline of parents and loved ones tearfully spoken, prayers for broken relationships requested, praise for new jobs are offered.  Updates from prior requests are reviewed, post prayer follow up conversations move to the hallway.  I am blown away by the realization of how much these people care about each other, trust each other and willingly carry each others burdens.

The singing feeds us but is secondary.  I am surrounded by a wonderful group of people who are being transformed by our Creator.  And they can blow the roof off when we are all in tune!

My almost 6th grader

It's June 2011 and this tiny boy has 8 days left of elementary school.  What happened?  Just yesterday (or 8 years ago in Mom time) he needed me to zip up his coat (back when he actually WORE one) and today he is recording and overlaying original tracks on Garage Band with his Dad's Ipad.  

I sure do love that amazing kid!

Nature or nurture work ethic

Yes, I am still on the nature or nurture debate.

I have the pleasure of working and serving alongside a wide array of people on a regular basis.  Everyone has a varied working style, organizational approach and what I call "burn level".    You know, how hot do they burn, how long can they sustain focused work, how fast do they naturally move, how many things can they juggle at once, etc.  Burn level.

Where did you learn your burn level?  I know some seasoned adults who "burn" at an almost imperceptible flicker and some very young adolescents who burn like a bonfire for hour upon hour.  Some adults cannot sustain a simple hands on job for more than 5 minutes at a time yet some 12 year olds will get in and haul loads of bark dust all afternoon (okay, uncommon but I've seen it more than once!).  Where does that "get er done" attitude come from and why does it seem to hit some and miss others?

Make no mistake, I am not limiting my delving to purely hands on hard labor here.  Is it a work style issue?  If  I make you crunch numbers you can last 30 seconds but if I ask you to landscape my yard you will work for hours?  I can drive a truck cross country on a 45 hour stretch but make me sit in a meeting and I will go crazy?  You'll happily suit up for hours in a sterile fab but you just can't seem to get around to cleaning the toothpaste out of the sink.

Is it as simple as preference for one activity over another or are there just some people who are wired for hard work and deep focus and some that just never learned to "buckle down", (as my Grandmother would say)?  Are there some people who just naturally assume responsibility and some who will run from it no matter how old they grow and no matter the job?

Why do the folks who enthusiastically work hard and jump in with a "can do" positive attitude seem old fashioned or a throwback to a historic generation?  Will my generation be known for having service people on speed dial and paying others to do our work?  Are we teaching our children to work hard enough?  That responsibility is responsibility whether a high profile, "important" job or a menial but necessary one?  How much is enough?

Which part is genetic and which part is learned or allowed?

Where did your work ethic come from and why did you adopt it?

Adorned in Grace II

For those of you who read my previous post about the Adorned in Grace grand opening, I did not give quite enough enthusiasm about the event.  I stopped by the store on Saturday and was totally blown away!  It is a shockingly perfect and pretty location, required no build out and was filled with amazingly modern and stunningly beautiful bridal gowns and formal dresses of all kinds. Standing in the middle of the store I could see dozens of dresses that I would happily wear.  The WHOLE operation is staffed by volunteers. They need sales people, stock room help and donations of more beautiful dresses, accessories and shoes.  (http://adornedingrace.blogspot.com/)

Their proceeds go to support Door to Grace which is in the process of building a shelter for children rescued from sexual exploitation in Portland.  (doortograce.org)

This is a worthwhile endeavor.  Donate, volunteer and shop.

Adorned in Grace grand opening!!

I volunteer with an organization called Door to Grace.  Thus far I have not blogged much about it here because it is a very serious topic and I have yet to find the words to talk about it here.    (doortograce.org)

However, there is a group of people who felt called to raise funds for Door to Grace and so they started a resale store in East Portland.  The store is a great success. This year they've hosted a grand fashion show and raised thousands of dollars to donate to DTG to help us build a shelter for children rescued from sex trafficking in Portland.  (Gear up, I will be writing about it soon.)

These folks began praying for an opportunity to expand to a space on the west side.  Almost immediately their prayers were answered when a space in the Raleigh Hills Fred Meyer complex was donated to them.  DONATED TO THEM!!  Now they have two stores.  Tomorrow is the grand opening and I wanted to invite you.

Adorned in Grace

Selling bridal and formalwear to raise awareness and funds to provide support
and safe shelter to children and teens victimized by human trafficking
June 4 store hours: 10-5

The ribbon cutting ceremony will be at 11 am

at the new Westside Location!

4949 SW 76th Avenue, Ptld

On the South side of the Raleigh Hills Fred Meyer Marketplace, facing Scholls Ferry Road

http://adornedingrace.blogspot.com/

They are also looking for volunteer retail sales associates.  

See you there.

...and the 2011 Most Valuable School Volunteer goes to...

Someone else...

I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that I forgot to sign myself out of the elementary school volunteer database yesterday. I have been accruing volunteer hours all night long!

Thank goodness...I am sure I needed more. It is important that I keep my name up there on the "Top 5 most dedicated and loving parent volunteers" list.

I've been thinking about the ways we measure ourselves as parents. I am pretty sure school volunteering is high on the lists of many. The more you love your kids the more time you spend helping at school, right? Seriously??

One of my good friends is an employed parent. She works hard all day at a tiring job, regularly commutes to the coast and back in a single day, oh and ALSO parents her two kids. They play sports just like mine do, they do homework just like everyone else, they likely even make their beds on occasion. She feels guilty that she doesn't volunteer more.

Where do we draw the line with this parenting guilt thing?

Here it is my friends - There is always something MORE to be done and YOU don't ALWAYS have to be the one to save the day. (Just a little insight into my own personal mantra for reformed super heroes.) Who's with me? Can I get a whoop whoop?

Should you try to contribute to your little darling's education? YES, of course!

Should you try to be available for appropriate volunteer contributions? YES

Should you try to apply your special skills and talents to the benefit of your child's school? Yes.

Should you feel incredibly guilty when you fail to win the Most Valuable Volunteer award? NO

Should we measure ourselves against other people's volunteer hours? NO, of course!

NO, OF COURSE! Then why do we do that to ourselves and each other? Why do we play that comparison game? Why are we so often so harsh with ourselves AND other people?

Some people absolutely LIVE to volunteer at school. Some people get energy from time spent with hundreds of wriggly 5 - 11 year olds. If that is you then GREAT. (I personally really love to laminate and introduce children to dangerous tools but I think there is a 12 step program for that.)

I want to live a life of service. I want to be a person who doesn't care about getting great kudos for the work I do. I want to have an encouraging impact on everyone I encounter. Often I want to do that at my kids school. It's an amazing and fun place. The walls there are almost as colorful as my own house! Where else can you go from go from xylophones to juggling to sustainable architecture to art supplies to organic gardening to math facts to grilled cheese sandwiches to hundreds of wonderful books in just a few steps?

BUT there are times when I want to live outside of school. Does that mean I love my kids less than the folks who spend more hours sitting in tiny little chairs than I do? Am I somehow less dedicated to my children's success? Make no mistake, I am incredibly grateful to the folks who spend countless hours donating time. Volunteers make the wheels turn, stand in the gap when budget cuts gouge.

I just want us to take a page from the kindergarten play-book and "use nice language with ourselves and others. Play nicely and appreciate others for our unique contributions." It is not the quantity of the hours spent but the quality. It is the heart and the motivation behind why you are there.

Donate your time deliberately. Go ahead and stretch your comfort zones and try something new. Maybe riding a bus full of screaming 1st graders, bound for the Metro transfer station is more fun than you'd think? Decide where you fit best and make yourself useful. Feel free to say no when you need to and respect others when they need to do the same. Stop measuring yourself against other people and believing you've come up short.

What do we tell our kids? Make YOUR best effort. Teachers don't allow students to compare report cards. Why should we?

Quote of the week

One of my favorite people just said these words to me in response to my angst about a prevailing life situation. I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair in a public place and all of my stress fell away.

"Don't try to win over the haters. You're not the jackass whisperer!"

(the speaker wishes to remain uncredited because she doesn't want her Mother to know she said jackass even though it IS in the Bible.)

Expressions of affection

Two of my wonderful friends gave me gifts last week. Separately, they both gave me a package of beautifully printed purple paper napkins. Totally weird gift right? Turns out they both know me and know I LOVE fancy purple napkins. (yep, I'm the weird one.) They both knew that I'd had a whacked out week and showed their support. Slam dunk. One million friend points to both of them.

I have received hundreds of similar beautiful expressions of love and support over the years. Some took significant effort. When my Williamsburg house burned, before I even returned to the scene, my dear friend sifted through the rubble, found my beloved sewing machine (a gift from my Grandmother), cleaned it up and presented it to me as a symbol of encouragement and hope.

Beautifully sensitive. She knew me and it likely only took a second to sleuth out what I needed.

A couple of years ago my Father in Law died of cancer. I am certain it was not the easiest time to be my friend. On the day he died, I came home and my whole house was clean. Even my toaster oven! We had a temporary house mate at the time and she knew me. I'd be going in a hundred directions over the upcoming days and she stepped in and lifted part of the load. (Then she made me a mix CD of comforting songs. So sensitive and sweet! I listened to it yesterday and it inspired this post.)

I am not a Costco fan and my neighbor knows it. Whenever she goes, she calls to see what she can pick up for me. Another friend, for my 40th birthday had a portrait made of Wonder Woman and put my own face in it so I could know how she sees me. My Dad showed up one day with a screw driver with a Purple Heart wood handle he turned on his lathe and custom fitted to my hand. And the list of beautiful expressions goes on and on.

Each of these people have used their unique gifts and sensitivities to show their affection and support for me. Many of the gestures are small but mighty. Some of them are giant displays. All of them communicate a powerful message of love.

I wondered yesterday, as I was belting out a song from my comforting mix CD, about my own expressions to other people. What am I communicating to other people about my affection and support for them? How do I express my insights into them? Am I showing them the place they hold in my heart? Reaching in when they need a lift? Helping them know they are a part of my family?

I wonder who might need their own package of lovely printed napkins?

But I'm a girl.

I don't think I am qualified to parent these kids.

I am a girl.

I sew.

I like to create all kinds of art. I like to talk and delve deeply into my and others emotions. I love to appreciate things that are beautiful. I like to have tea with friends and can do so for several hours at a time. I like to paint my fingernails. I form relationships relatively easily and like to gather people around, preferably with an elegant glass of Zinfandel.

God, in his infinite humor, gave me two sons. What was he thinking? They don't even like TEA!

I know how I was in school. I know how it was for me to make friends. My first day in first grade, entering Beaver Acres about a month after school had started. I was really shy (true story!) I had hip length wavy hair and big brown eyes over a sprinkling of freckles. At free play time in our classroom, alone, I sheepishly went over to a stacking table where there were yellow and red blocks to help with counting. Almost immediately another brown eyed, long haired girl named Linda Moeller came and asked if she could play. BAM!!, elementary school best friend LOCKED IN. We walked to school every day, played Wonder Woman on bikes or roller skates every day after school. Those were powerful years and the game had a powerful impact as we both grew up to be 5'10" amazons who shouldn't be messed with! She is still just as fun and good as she was back then. A really good quality person sent to me on my first day of school. (and returned to me about 5 years ago in Java Nation. I'd recognize that booming voice anywhere!)

I assumed that is what everyone did.

That's not how my sons roll.

They both have very different relational styles but neither is anything like I was. Why is that? Is it a boy thing? Neither has a best friend. They both have several friends of varying closeness but neither has a gang, a crew of good, tightly connected and loyal buddies like I had. One has more tendency toward that than the other but it causes me to wonder. And wonder. And wonder. (see paragraph 1)

I know God is protecting them, lifting them up and redeeming their Mother's shortcomings. (hallelujah!) I just know that I loved my gang of sweet, crazy, smart friends and it really enriched my life. I also know that there are many ways to experience a rich life. So once again while I am so busily trying to teach my kids a fundamental lesson about how to make and hold friends, they have sat me down to teach ME that they are their own people. They are NOT me.

There are many appropriate ways to walk through life. Many ways to form relationships. Many different ways to experience the world. And I am trusting that God will help me to help them find THEIR way.

I guess I can teach someone else to sew and enjoy hoarding creative resources while drinking Earl Grey. God clearly gave me these testosterone pumping, bewildering, unpredictable BOY hooligans so I could learn powerful lessons about the diverse alternatives to crafting a successful life.

It's surprising how well you can throw a football while holding a cup of tea....

Things you can't say to your wife

Heavy stuff Tanya! I thought I was going to be delving into light topics like which direction the forks go in the dish washer. Suddenly we are talking about abused children. What in the world? Sorry for the bait and switch. I don't really have a plan here. I did warn you that this blog would be a peek into my mind which in the span of 3o seconds can combine yelling at a squirrel to stop eating my tulips to grappling with the injustices of the world, all while singing "The Pirates who Don't do Anything". It's a circus in here.

How about something funny? I have just become aware of Tim Hawkins. Hilarious comedian. I don't generally love comedy shows but this song cracked me up. Check out this song called "Things you can't say to your wife" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK2OakMoW_c (I need to figure out how to make that prettier and where are the interesting pictures Tanya? Remember I am new at this. Baby blogger alert.)

Why is it that there is a whole list of things you can't say to your wife? We all laugh at them because they are universally horrifying, everyone knows them and yet it is funny because men still say them. Is there a list of things you can't say to your husband? Where is that list? Are women just crushing men right and left with insensitive comments, making them feel stupid and bald, diminishing their lawn mowing and grill-master skills and not knowing it? Do men just not care what we think? Have they tuned us out and truly don't care if their butt looks big in those jeans? How is that possible?

Maybe I will compose a light ballad of things you can't say to your husband. Please weigh in with taboo topics and tune suggestions.

Survivors

I spent this past weekend with survivors of human trafficking.

I am nearing the end of a 6 month intensive training program with an organization called Door To Grace in Portland. It was jaggedly emotional and invasive to my heart. At the end of Saturday I was so overwhelmed and outraged, I sat in my car and cried. And it was not the first time.

Saturday I listened to a beautiful, articulate, 25 year old woman with a twinkling laugh talk about how there was not one year between the ages of 6 and 18 that she was not physically or sexually abused. At 12, when she finally got the courage to tell a "friend" about the abuse at home, that "friend" sold her to a pimp for $50 in drugs and her life only darkened from there. How can you come back from that? Is it possible to become whole again?

I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about "pimp" culture. Heard brutal words used to describe and diminish the underage girls who are being bought and sold to finance fancy cars and expensive champagne. Some of these pimps are treated like gods on the streets of their neighborhoods and held up as the ideal for masculinity while the girls they have destroyed are silent and hidden human sacrifices.

It is hard to know how to reach into this darkness. It is estimated that there are at least 1000 children being sold on the streets of Portland. How do we begin to stop the systematic pillaging of innocence in the defenseless children of our world?

I don't have any of these answers. Thankfully it is not up to me. I know that God can redeem the hearts and minds of these beautiful children and make them whole. HE will reach into those dark places and bring light.

So if God will do all of that then what should I do? I think Augustine had it figured out when he said " What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.”

I know God will lead this effort but this seems like a perfect place to start.