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!