One little question . . . and a bunch of hope.

You know how it feels when you hear something and you know, somewhere deep inside, that you won't ever forget hearing it?  I had that experience yesterday, and I'm delighted about it.  It's a bit of a life changer, I do believe.

The last few weeks I've participated in a parent class/discussion at my kids' school.  It has been a good experience, with  meaningful conversations and much to consider when I leave the group.  I'm thankful and grateful to know that the folks around me are just guessing at this 'life' thing, too.  It feels better knowing I'm not the only one who is hypothesizing in child-rearing and life and relationships and all of the other things that get tricky.

The class has been helpful in making a few things more concrete, and I like that.  Maybe because I taught kindergarten for years or maybe because my brain just needs assistance, I like pictures - I like lists - I like simple ways I can remember difficult things.

Yesterday I heard a question in a completely different way.  "What do you want to be when you grow up?" was the question.  Just plain ole' that.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

The belief of the instructor is that that very question may be the most important one we can ask our children, and maybe anyone.

Why?  I wondered the same thing.  What's the big deal?  The big deal is that the question offers the answerer hope that they will grow up and that there is something bigger to live for.

I love it - I really do.  We can ask that one little question and change things?  Well, I believe so.  I guess it doesn't much matter whether the answer is a cowgirl fairy go-go dancer princess or a medieval knight who fights fires on the weekends.  The point is that it matters, that there is a future, that you have a vision.  I'm all over this thing, folks.  I'm taking it on the road.

I'm thinking back over long past conversations with my kids and the trillions of kids I've known.  I'm remembering their various answers to the age-old question.  (I've been smiling a lot during this thinking.)  I remember asking the question when my girls were tiny, and I'll never forget their answers.  Emma wanted to be a cashier at Kroger and she wanted Daddy to be her bagboy.  Molly wanted to be a doctor and she wanted me to be the 'sticker lady' at her office.  Their answers have changed 1,567 times since then.  Molly realized she didn't like blood or needles and Emma realized the life of a cashier seemed tough.  That's not the point.  The point was that those little tiny souls knew way back when that folks cared about them, that they would grow and grow and grow and they had a vision of the future.

I sit here now, wondering about the simple ways I could change things - you could change things - if we but wondered, alone and with others, about what we want to be when we grow up?  I wonder at the ways I could offer hope to those who need some and the ways I might help someone formulate a vision when it's needed.  Sometimes we need a vision, a big and bright one, for way in the future.  Other times, I realize we all might just need help with the next five minutes or so.

I'm liking this newly attained tool.  I'm liking how it makes me think, how it slapped me in the face, woke me up and said, "Look at things with new eyes!"

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Here's hoping . . .

I got some incredible advice when I became a teacher and learned much over the (almost) fifteen years that I taught.  I loved that time in my life, and I continue to be thankful for what I learned from the kids and my peers.  I remember one particular conversation with my friend Joy, and I have never forgotten the intensity with which she shared her words.  She explained to me that each time she saw a child walk toward her, tap her or ask a question, she tried to look at that child with the love and acceptance she hoped her own children's teachers were giving to them.

That sounds easy; but on those rainy, tiring days in the middle of the year, it can be harder said than done.  I never forgot that, though, and I tried to keep it in the forefront of my mind each day.  When I had my own kids, I found myself wishing and praying with everything I had, that my children's teachers would do the same.  And they always have.  Each year starts with that anxious feeling, those hopes that my child's teachers will love them and appreciate them - and each year, my children have been loved and cared for by special people.  I am thankful to them, to be sure.

This year, though, I find myself with a different wish, a completely new, fervent prayer.  It's different now.  They are older, and I'm hopeful about something new.  I want them to have teachers who care, and I want them to learn and grow.  I want something else even more, though.  As the mother of three children who has just dropped them off in a new school, in a new town, where they know almost no one - I pray for another student to look at them with acceptance and appreciation.

I wish my old friend, Joy, could have a little chit chat with all of the kids at their new school.  I wish she could remind each of them of how it feels to be an outsider.  I wish someone could give me (and more importantly) my children, the assurance that they will be looked at with kind eyes, open arms and friendly faces.  I can't do it for them, but I would if I could.

Chances are good that things will work out.  That I know.  And, though I would like to run through the school halls carrying a banner listing the wonderful qualities about my kids, there is nothing at all I can do to get them through this day, this week, this awkward time.  I'll coach and I'll pray and I'll worry.  But that's all I can do.  Tough stuff it is, and I'll be glad when their friends are running in and out of the house, tracking mud through the kitchen and eating all of the 'good' snacks.

For now, I'll be thankful for the amazing and loving teachers my children have had and will have; and I'll be praying that a handful of brave pre-teens cross the line and invite them into this new life.

The lesson from Bear's bank . . .

At Christmas, Bear (my eight year old son) received one of those money jar bank thingies that tallies your coin total as you add each piece of change.  He loved it immediately!  He loves the size - it's bigger than many I've seen - and he digs watching his grand total go up and up, as he scavenges our home, pocket, car and seat cushions for spare coins.  He has become quite adept at expert coin recovery.

His excitement is palpable.  We have all become his little assistants; all of us quick to dash over to him with found coins.  The spare change from pockets that once spent a night or two in a little pile on the counter, no longer stops there.  The coins go into his bank - period.

And now we all find ourselves thinking, "I'll give this little pile of coins to Bear" or "You can just give the spare change to him."  His eagerness has even manifested in gifts of coin bags from afar - my father often comes in and hands him a heavy zip-loc, full of coins.  His zest for the savings project has made us all part of the team!

Bear's bank has had me thinking.  I've had a bit of a 'If you build it, they will come' kind of eye-opening.  A few days ago, as I reached for a pile of change, thinking I'd give them to the coin jar project, I thought about how easily and effectively his whole plan was working.  I began to consider how and why Bear got us so eager to help.  It got me wondering how his set-up has worked out.

He is authentically excited about what he is doing.  He let us all know what he wanted.  We know it is good for him to fill his jar and get the money into his savings account over at the bank.  He has made it easy for us to help and he is thankful when we do.  He didn't beg us for the money, but we got caught up in his excitement.

Bear's bank is a good analogy for me.  It's a picture I can hold in my mind for wishes and dreams.  I can think about his little, plastic counting bank and remember that it is okay to ask for help - that it makes sense to share big projects with those around me.  The bank is helping me remember to set things up so that success is fun and measurable, little by little.  I like watching my son and his fun project.  It makes me hopeful about dreams to come.  

Pictures of Hope

I know that if you don't have anything good to say you shouldn't say anything at all, as I use that phrase quite often with my three kids. Usually when you hear that something frustrating is going on. That's not how it came to me today, though. My mind has spent the better part of the day attempting to figure out words for times when words just won't do the job. Today I thought of "not saying anything at all" because the words I wanted did not come. My brain never thought them up.

As I sit in my den, a fire going in the fireplace, Sadie balled up in a pile of old blankets and my family all safe within earshot; a dear friend is saying good-bye to the love of her life, best friend, awesome husband, father of four adult children and soul mate. Today she gathered her family together for their circle to be broken. Today she realized that the race was over. There aren't any good words for that.

And then it seemed that wherever I went today I heard another sad story, another race lost too soon, another tragedy. Three different friends said to me today, "It just seems like there are too many bad things happening right now." Agreed. It's always hard to come up with the right words when 'bad things happen to good people' and always will be. Not much to say when the world gets kicked out from under someone. Nothing we can do to make it right. My brain just kept reminding me of that today and explaining to me over and over again that there was nothing to 'blog' about on this particular day. "Maybe this is THE day to reach people with the perfect message" I explained to my brain. "Yeah, right" my brain sarcastically screamed back, "you don't have the words."

My brain was right. I don't have the words to make things right. I have faith, I have hope, but not words. Sometimes we're just stuck in the bad until glimmers of the good come back. . . and then I realized that glimmers of the good was what I had! "A picture is worth a thousand words" right? I researched the origin of that phrase and found that it was originally on a streetcar advertisement. Apparently the literal translation of the 'Chinese Proverb' was A Picture's Meaning Can Express Ten Thousand Words. Over the years the actual message was that words and pictures work together to give meaning. Okay, I decided, I know what I wish I could say with words, and I have plenty of pictures. I want to give a message of hope, glimmers of hope, until the good comes back.

Here are but a few faces full of hope (and joy and laughter and faith and love). May this small picture express ten thousand words of hope, a message of love to all who suffer with sadness on this night. The good will come back . . . look at these faces.