Exciting news

So...I've got some pretty exciting news to share.

Starting last week, I began blogging for a local family magazine called Growing up in the Valley.  This young company is family owned and highlights activities in the area devoted to families.  Make sure to check out the magazine here.

I've titled my blog...

While the gig is unpaid, I'm excited to get some exposure but most importantly, to keep writing!  I've been looking for a creative outlet for some time, something that doesn't take a lot of stuff.  I enjoy crafting and creating art, but my small living space (and budget) don't really allow me to collect much.  

Here's an excerpt from my first posting - 

I’ve lived in this town my whole life.  That’s 26 years of familiar streets and faces.  Being purposeful about the way I spend my time, and reflecting on the little things that present themselves each day, gives this city a magic I long thought was lost.  When I travel, it’s easy to marvel at the simplest of tasks, to see the new and exciting.  But to seek out the small within the familiar can often be a challenge. 

I want to notice and document the tiny gifts I’m given amidst the frenzied life I all too often find myself in.  Hours and days are lost in the quick pace our culture encourages, and it all can become mundane quickly if we don’t open our eyes to the small things that make up the bigger picture. 

I responded to Growing Up In The Valley when I heard they were looking for bloggers because I believe I have a unique view on the world.  Usually, it isn’t hard for me to notice the little gifts I am presented with each day.  But as life picks up increasing speed sometimes I forget to look.  I want to foster a habit of being aware and open to the tiny treasures that are too often overlooked.  Regardless of the haphazard construction of our “nests”, they are beautiful and each twig is carefully placed exactly where it needs to be.  Sometimes appreciation just means taking a step back, seeing how the small pieces fit together and create the big picture.

So there ya go.  Check it out every Saturday (and maybe more).  I will continue to write here and hope you will join me on this new adventure!

Rushing Into Stillness

I have felt the stress of busyness lately.  The weekend left no room for rest, and I started the week strung high on adrenaline.  There's a countdown to the end of this week.  A countdown to rest, to a break from the routine.  

I unexpectedly found a break this evening, returning home to my parents house to assess the meaning of a bright orange light on my dashboard.  The additional bonus was grabbing a sleeping bag to cover me while I sleep outside the door of 12 or so of my female students as we celebrate the end of the semester with a lock in.  

Guiding the car up the gravel driveway, feeling every inch of its quarter-mile length, I notice a bright light on the horizon.  I stop, thinking briefly that it's a neighbor's Christmas lights.  But my parents have no neighbors.  It's only once I fully stop, and even reverse a bit, do I see the source of the light.  The moon.

I hurry the rest of the way up the hill, put the car in park, and head to the back deck.  The night is still.  A type of stillness that I grew up with but that, lately, has escaped me.  The weight of silence is familiar yet foreign, the night seems poised somewhere between surrender and expectation.

The moon hangs low, bright and full.  I feel the weight of it and it glows a color that isn't quite gold but isn't quite yellow.  I have no name for the color and my inability to capture its beauty leaves me wanting.

There is no wind, the only sounds come from the occasional bark of a distant dog or the whoosh of a car.  The trees, bent by the wind, stand like old soldiers, keeping watch over the rising moon.  Their dark forms break up the horizon.  Even the sky is a consistent shade of indigo, scattered with stars.

The air is cool and clean.  I find not much other than my hands are chilled, a blessing as usually I am quick to be cold.  Just the act of breathing is renewing, and I feel somehow less burdened by life.  I watch as blinking planes carry people to far off places and think about my own upcoming adventure.

I am looking forward to being able to live in the moment, a task that somehow seems easier when one is outside of things familiar.  I have been keeping my eyes open for the small things, and have had a few returns on my investment.  But still I wonder - what am I missing in the daily living, not because I fail to look but because I fail to truly pay attention?

Liquid Sunshine

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."  -Roger Miller

                              "Being soaked alone is cold.  Being soaked with your best friend is an                                     adventure." -Emily Wing Smith, Back When You Were Easier to Love

The red canvas of my shoes is stiff and unforgiving as I pick them up, two fingers at the heel, and put them in my closet.

Yesterday I helped a dear friend of mine ship a few boxes of her life to Texas.  She is preparing to move this weekend, driving over a series of days to return home.  I rode the relatively short distance to her house with my windows half way down, watching the fog in the mountains.  The day was gray but warm, as if it took no notice of the date on the calendar.  My heart was light, in spite of the overwhelmingly long to-do list that loomed over me, and my free hand was keeping time to the music on the window frame.

I had known the day was coming.  Our relationship is unique and my life has been intertwined with Beks for a few years; we are alike in more ways than not.  I knew this little town couldn't hold her big heart forever.  She recently settled into the idea of moving and I never doubted her decision - it's time.  The last month has been full of excitement and preparation and bittersweet conversations as I know she'll only be around for a bit longer.

I arrived at her house about 9am, accompanied by a light sprinkle.  In the midst of packing tape, address labels and sharpie markers, little attention was paid to the weather.  Not long before we had prepared to load the cars, a loud clap of thunder drew our attention outside - a full blown rainstorm, blowing in suddenly, wasting no time with pleasantries.

Because of other obligations we couldn't wait long to move our packing party to the post office.  Despite the weather, we took multiple trips across wet grass and pavement, balancing boxes and tugging on doors, running and laughing, trying not to fall on wet leaves and concrete floors.  We both emerged soaking wet, tracking in leaves, water running down our faces and changing the color of our clothes.  I'll admit, I had to fight the urge to stomp through the little rivers that appeared down the sides of the streets, and I marveled at the movement of the water as it collected and spilled around the tires of parked cars.  What is it about rain that encourages the child within us to be silly, to laugh and dance?

I will likely not see Beks again before she leaves, but I couldn't think of a better way to send her off.  As we left the post office and the rain began to let up (of course!), tears made new trails on our already wet faces as we hugged and said goodbye.  I know it's not really goodbye - you can never say goodbye to someone who has left such an imprint on your heart - but rather "see you later".

I am the luckiest

I have spent my morning lingering over coffee, curled on the couch reading for hours.  There was a half marathon in town today that ran though my neighborhood so I decided to delay any outings.  To sit and be has been so refreshing.

Even now, sitting on the couch I glance out the window and see bright and clear blue sky.  The green of the tall evergreens is stark against the blue.  The sun streams in, brightening the side of the house across the street.  Never before has it seemed so white, the trim of the windows so bold.  The tree outside my window waves a few leftover leaves at me, wind whistles under the roof of the porch like a swarm of insects.  The day looks warm, but I am not fooled - 50 degrees is still cold in my book.

Like this morning, yesterday truly was a day of small things.

I got some things done at the office, donning comfy clothes [cause it's Friday] and a second cup of coffee.  I was able to finish up a few projects I had going and, while things are always going on and up in the air, I ended my office time feeling satisfied.

I got to spend the afternoon with my [mostly] sweet students, laughing and eating crunchy noodles from atop a plastic bag, listening as small voices joined together to thank God before they began eating.

We danced through traffic, arms waving about our heads and our bodies bouncing in the seats, on our way to the bank for them to deposit their money.  Upon parking the van I see a familiar face making her way into the bank.  Honking gets me 10 minutes with my old college roommate, catching up with my van of students looking on and growing restless.  While they were waiting to go in, everyone stood outside in a parking space playing Simon Says and eating suckers.  We were barely in the car when it started to sprinkle.

As I drove a few of my students home, I got asked some pretty heavy questions.  What is cancer?  What is HIV?  How do you get them?  Why did Chris Brown hit Rihanna?  Is he in jail?  It's amazing the things 4th and 5th graders bring up, and I find the perspective of my ELL students to be the most interesting.  [Over Halloween, the big concern was poisoned candy, where it came from, how it got poisoned and why].  Although things can be hard to explain, and I certainly don't want to give answers that cause too much distress, I feel honored to be a part of the conversation.

As soon as I got home, I checked movie times and made the quick decision to go see a movie.  I had asked a few friends to join me earlier in the week but we couldn't all get together.  I saw About Time, and was actually glad that I saw it alone.  It's refreshing, sometimes, to do things alone.  After the movie was over, I chatted with another lady who had also come alone.  We talked outside the theatre for at least a half hour.

The drive home was quiet and warm for this time of year.  The moon was hanging low, bigger than I've seen in a while.  Almost perfectly round except for a sliver at the top, covered by a dark, thin cloud.  I tried to find a good spot to grab a picture, but couldn't; it would have never looked like the real thing anyway.

I've been trying to pay attention to the small things.  I want to be a noticer.  An appreciator.  It's got to be a habit; too much get lost in the daily grind.  The only want to make a habit is to practice, I suppose.

Knee Deep

I'm feeling knee deep in various projects.  I'm working on individualized SOL folders for my [28] students, plus the daily operations of our program.  I'm tutoring a second grader twice a week, trying to make homework interesting.  I'm seeking out opportunities to write.  I'm leading preschool play dates.  I'm delving head first into books, something I haven't done for quite some time.  I'm preparing for another [short] trip out of the country.  I'm meeting friends for dinner, teaching Sunday school, chatting with Jesus over coffee and coming to some realizations about myself and what I want.

My life is full.

I spend a good portion of my evenings contemplating worksheet ideas for my students, researching projects, drinking tea, reading and learning from others.  My students are not too happy about our new academic focus and really, who can blame them?  I'm still fumbling along blindly - I have no formal education or experience as an educator.  I get that they've sat in school all day and sometimes the last place they want to be is with me in after school, particularly the middle school students.  This project is in its infancy and worksheets are the go-to.  Hormones are raging and attitudes are sharp, and some days I feel like I spend more time defending than anything else.  There are days I feel incredibly overwhelmed and inadequate.  Is this really how it's supposed to go?

Despite the busy, the insufficient, the push back, I see the gift.  I see the small and the lovely, the special and cherished.  It comes wrapped in laughter as I tutor, causing us to lose all focus.  It comes in the face of a preschooler as he sticks is hand in paint and proudly smooshes it onto his paper.  It comes in strangers helping me load boxes of food to feed my students.  It comes in motivation and in falling exhausted into bed each evening.  It comes in the quiet and in the noise.

In light of that idea, I'm contemplating a shift on the blog.  Perhaps a new web address and title will roll out soon, providing a place for intentional reflection on the gifts I receive each day.

And boy, are those gifts abundant!