Tripped up by my Own Metaphor

It is difficult to describe my love for college basketball.  My family has survived it for many years now.  My children's most vivid spring break memories are those of running to airport sports bars to find out a score during March Madness.  This was, of course, prior to smart phones and laptops.  I have a favorite team, which shall remain nameless as not to alienate some readers, but it doesn't have to be my team playing.  I'll watch any team play.  I love the game.  A good offense will score points but often it comes down to a strong defense to win.  Defense is key, keep the other guy from scoring.  Defense- we make signs to encourage teams to have good defense.  It's a negative connotation in some ways.  A good defense will shut down a team, will keep them from scoring. 

This week I will defend my dissertation.  I will offer up a defense to my research.  I will be a defender.  I will keep the other guys from scoring.  I will be on the defensive.  Yep, that's how I've been seeing it.  It's been scaring me to death.  What if those in attendance throw up a trick shot and I can't block it?  What if they ask a question and I foul them when deflecting it? 

I've been tripped up by my own metaphor.

Today as I prepared and reviewed my presentation and crammed the last bits of knowledge into my head I realized I had to flip the metaphor or I am going to make myself ill over this.  I have to call it something besides a "defense".  So now I am going to tell you that on Tuesday morning I am going to celebrate and share my dissertation.

I am going to celebrate and share the amazing things I learned from five preservice teachers willing to share their lives with me for more than a year.  I am going to celebrate and share the amazing things I learned about myself as a teacher.  I am going to celebrate and share the first 150 page paper I've ever written in my life, complete with figures, tables, a table of contents, and near flawless (after many revisions) APA formatting.  I am going to celebrate and share what I've learned on this journey. There are questions I may not be able to answer and that's okay.  This is not an end to learning- it's a mere stop along the way. 

Because my dissertation is all about metaphor I will also most likely share how I've changed my approach to this presentation.  My research demonstrated how powerful our metaphors are in our lives.  Today I realized how powerful mine was for this event. 

On a completely different note.  Our family has experienced a metaphor for irony named Jack, our beloved eleven year old Jack Russell Terrier.  I adore Jack but he is no doubt my husband's dog.  When my husband would return from surgery or be ill from chemo it was Jack who comforted him.  When my husband was in the hospital it was Jack who mourned his absence and placed himself directly on the bed each night to fill the void.  My husband has battled colon cancer.... twice... and survived.  Some of this strength came from Jack.  Jack had great empathy for Brett and was so in tune to his illness.  Friday we learned that Jack has a mass in his colon.  Brett will now be Jack's support as we learn what the future holds.  Now, that, my friends, is irony at its finest.  It will be a privilege to care for Jack and spoil him rotten until his end of days.  I'm convinced that we will spoil him rotten and he will in turn live to be twenty or so just to enjoy it.  Whatever happens we will return the favor in glorious style for as long as we can.

Wearing a Mask

Lately I feel like I've been going through life wearing different masks.  It's been an exciting time in our family.  We have been waiting anxiously for that first post-chemo scan.  My husband had it last week and, for all intents and purposes, it was clear.  No sign of cancer.  None.  Wow, my husband has been battling stage IV cancer for nearly four years.  No sign of disease.  It was difficult to digest what the doctor was saying.  I am a glass half empty type of person and I find I'm always waiting for the other shoe to fall.  Though I wasn't truly expecting to hear bad news I was secretly preparing myself for it- just in case.  Those are the times I curse my human flesh and lack of faith.  I have a difficult time just letting go and trusting.  I pretend to do so.  I put on the mask of faith.  I tell people I'm believing and trusting.  I try to live each day as if I am believing and trusting.  Behind the mask I'm terrified and always making a plan B.  I often try to go behind God and plan for what He may not deliver.  I am convinced He laughs at me.  How ridiculous does that sound?  How ridiculous is that?  Yet, I do it all the time.  God will answer these prayers for health--- but, if He doesn't here's what I'll do.  It's exhausting.

I recently received an unexpected honor.  I was humbled.  But, receiving this honor meant giving a speech.  I don't give speeches.  I talk in front of adults all the time but I don't give speeches.  Then, the speech topic was about all that I've learned as a leader.  A leader? I started the speech by saying that I have been known to lead people astray from time to time.  I gave my speech and talked about those who have been leaders in my life and how I've tried to follow their example.  I talked about the qualities of leadership- leaders must never forget what it feels like to follow, must have the integrity to admit when they're wrong, must listen...  The speech miraculously went quite well.  They provided a podium to obscure my shaking which was quite thoughtful.  The whole time I'm giving this speech and accepting this award there are things going on in my life that did not make me feel like much of a leader.  I was struggling with issues in day to day life that made me feel like I put on the mask of a leader.  I felt like a fraud and wrestled with this for days up to the speech and days after.  One of my students was in the audience smiling every time I made eye contact and I realized that she saw me as a leader.  That realization both made my heart soar and gave me a sick feeling in the pit of the stomach.  Teachers have an awesome responsibility to their students.  There are moments in life when that really hits me and I'm reminded that teachers are teaching every second of the day. 

My son just signed a letter of intent to play college baseball.  It is a long time dream realized.  It is in a place none of us would have ever guessed he'd go and yet it is the perfect place for him.  He'll be with a coach that will be that leader for him.  God orchestrated this whole scenario and the way it all fell into place is another blog post and a remarkable story from start to finish.  I put on my mask recently of being proud of him and happy for him and excited for the new journey.  Behind the mask- a heartbroken mother facing an empty nest knowing that her son is becoming an adult and will be 9 hours away next year on his own.  It is funny how encouraging your children to pursue their dreams means your own dreams change.  How many times I wanted to say "No"-  it's too far away, we'd never see you, it's cold there...  But, when he truly asked my opinion I had to be honest- I don't think you'll find a better fit and I think you should trust this one and go with it.  My heart cracked with each word. 

Do you have those people you can be truly authentic with in your life?  Do you have people that allow you to remove the masks and be real and honest and gritty?  I pray you do.  I have a few and I'm so thankful for them.  They are my rocks and they don't judge when I am falling apart on the inside while wearing a mask of "put together" for the world to see.  I hope I can be that friend to others.  We all need those times to drop the masks and be who we are, for better or worse.  

I heard at a conference recently that true  leaders practice an attitude of gratitude.  This is the perfect time of year to begin to count blessings.  My husband is in good health.  His hair has returned dark, thick, and curly- it was never dark or curly.  I have a beautiful family with a new addition this year in a son-in-law any mother would handpick for her daughter.  I have a warm home, enough to eat, a job that I love, two crazy dogs.  I am blessed- and that's an authentic blessed without any masks.  

Happy Thanksgiving!

Cast your cares

My husband recently had the opportunity to attend a fly fishing retreat for men who are facing cancer.  It was introduced to us by a friend who discovered the organization called "Reel Recovery".  He was accepted and drove to Colorado where he stayed in a mountain lodge for two nights and learned how to fly fish.  Brett's a fisherman.  He spent a great deal of time in his childhood fishing with his dad and he has taken our kids on fishing adventures from time to time.  He has never fly fished and has always wanted to learn how.  It's ironic that cancer gave him that gift.  He came home excited, refreshed, and peaceful.  It was a calm I hadn't seen for quite awhile.  Men are not good at talking about their feelings and fears.  Something about having the common bond of cancer and fishing allowed these twelve men to open up and share and experience beauty in life for a few days.  It really made me think of what it means to cast your cares.  When he cast that fishing line away from him he truly was casting away months of worry and anxiety and felt safe and happy.  He did not feel alone and at times when he was alone on the water it was peaceful and soothing.

I'm not good at casting my cares.  I prefer to carry them around with me and find new ones to add to my pack.  I'm a worrier and I don't like the unknown.  I need to put a picture of fly fishing up in my office at work as a reminder to "let it go" and "toss it aside".  If I do so I may find an amazing reward at the end of my line.

My son wants to play baseball beyond high school.  It's been his dream for years and he is working very hard to make it a reality.  Yesterday he had a tryout at a junior college with a strong regional program.  He wanted it so badly that he was very tight and nervous and anxious and he didn't perform his best while the coaches were watching.  He is a great player but I have to agree with him that they probably didn't see what he is fully capable of giving.  He was down.  What was amazing to me is that he was invited back later to watch a practice and he definitely cast his cares.  He managed to toss the frustration of the morning out into the deepest part of the water and reel in a very positive outlook about how much he learned from the experience.  We don't know what next year holds for him.  I hope it includes an opportunity for him to continue to play the sport he loves but I am glad that he can keep learning and see the positive side of all things.  If he has learned to do that in life then he is a big step ahead of his mother.

As I walked around that campus I choked back tears.  Baseball or not, next year marks a turning point.  He'll be out of the house in some aspect.  He won't be there every day to make me laugh (that's what he does best).  He won't be there to debrief and share ideas.  He's moving on.  I decided that there is a huge difference between what I want for me and what I want for him and I'm trying to focus on what I want for him in life which means casting him out into a big body of water and knowing and trusting that what I reel in will be an amazing adult man who still takes time to make his mom laugh now and then. 

Brett said that fly fishing is definitely not as easy as it looks.  There's an art to the cast.  I am working on perfecting my cast.  I'm practicing casting my cares and releasing.  You can't hold too tightly or your line will not go to its desired destination.  I'm practicing...

In my rear view mirror; a love letter

If love is a journey then we've certainly covered many miles of hills and plains over the past twenty five years.  We've taken turns in the driver's seat and changed vehicles along the way.  We've seen dark nights and beautiful sunrises and once upon a time mountains that glowed purple in the moonlight.  I thought I'd take a moment to look in the rear view mirror.

September 3, 1983- a first date-  Tootsie-  Were we really only 15 and 16 years old?

Puppy love, break ups, make ups, break ups...

August 15, 1987- The big day.  Did we have a clue what we were getting ourselves into?

Our atlas pages go in this order:  Wheatland, Laramie, Saratoga, Grand Canyon, Farmington, Eau Claire, Laramie.

1987-  The loss of a brother- our first storm to weather.  Little did we know how much our future son would be like him!

1992- Life as we know it changed in an instant when the nurse put her in your arms.  You were afraid to hold her until that dreadful moment when the nurse advised to treat her like a football.  From then on you rarely put her down.

1995- We were just crazy enough to do it again. What a beautiful baby boy.  Our family was complete.

Jobs secured and changed, moving trucks, goodbyes to special friends- hello to new ones...

Trips with the kids, volleyball games, baseball games

Life cruised along until the car came to a screeching halt in 2009.  Cancer...

To say life changed overnight is not even close to representing what happened.  Our whole lives were turned upside down and we quickly learned what was important.

Our bank account took a hit but our memory account has grown exponentially.  

So, here we are.  Twenty five years later. We'll celebrate by marking the end of chemo.  We will jump back in the car and hit the road- anticipating bumps.  The only thing that has changed is that we will no longer count the miles ahead.  Instead we'll savor each leg of the journey as a gift and make memories as we go. 

Thanks for making the drive with me.  Thanks for sharing the view.  Thanks for not kicking me out of the car from time to time.  Thanks for making the stops along the way to rest and stretch and get reoriented.  I wouldn't have chosen any other driving partner!

Happy 25th!

Teetering

In the past few years I have felt secure in the fact that I had discovered the secret of life- balance.  Life is a series of ups and downs, you take the good with the bad.  I view life as a scale- save and spend, add to one side and take from the other, try to maintain the balance.  For the most part this metaphor has guided me in decisions and through trials.  

Today my heart is heavy and I am not seeing a scale but a see saw and I'm teetering somewhere near the middle seeking balance.  A mother sent her 18 year old son to the movies and he was killed.  There he is in his baseball uniform swinging for the fence on the t.v. screen and my heart aches.  My daughter climbed into a vehicle full of her rugby family to say what is most likely a goodbye to a dear friend who is a mere 21 years old. Her mother is keeping vigil praying for a miracle.  My heart aches.  Things are hitting too close to home. 

How do you find balance?  How do you ache for a mother who lost her son and celebrate the blessing that you can call yours after a good game and laugh with him?  How do you shed tears for a mother losing her daughter while celebrating the blessing that yours stopped by for a hug this morning?  How can you be sad and happy at the same time?  How do you watch people die from cancer and know that pain and fear and continue to celebrate that your spouse is cheating death?  

I still believe that life is about balance.  I still cling to hope and faith and know there is a reason for every season and it is not mine to question.  I also find myself thankful, as strangely as that sounds, for these painful reminders of the absolute precious gift of having time with those we love.   I am thankful that today I cry in pain for mothers who have lost children and tomorrow I will celebrate with one of my favorite mothers in the marriage of her beautiful child.  I am truly happy that both sides of the scale can be filled.

But, today I shed some tears and ache and teeter.

My Own Private Metaphor

The boy struggled.  There was a lot of pressure.  Some didn't believe in him- at times he didn't believe in himself.  So much he wanted, so much he wanted to prove,  so many disappointments and near misses.  Heartbreak breeds character and his grew.  His parents heard what a great kid he is and how proud they should be of him.  And they were.  But, they, too, dreamed of his break out moment- of that defining moment when he owned what he was capable of and got to taste just a little bit of victory over fear and anxiety and frustration.  

His coach grew tired of the "Put me in" and did just that.  He took the mound and his mother sat in the car and watched him play on the radio, feeling every pitch.  Her confidence in him never wavered but her heart couldn't watch.  Baseball is such an up and down game.  One day you're on top, one day you're striking out.  To an outsider lacking true passion for the game it can feel very cruel.  

His father watched from the fence also feeling every pitch and smiling, knowing the boy was doing well.  

It wasn't until the top of the last inning that his father realized the boy was throwing a no hitter.  The boy himself hadn't realized it- just remained focused on getting that win.  As the last pitch was thrown, the last out made, the announcer congratulated the boy and it hit him.  His father ran to him and both were overcome with emotion.  They embraced.

To the outsider this was simply that; an embrace, a congratulations, a celebration of the boy's first no hitter.

To me it was a metaphor.  It was one I will cherish.  The boy running to his father, the father running to the boy-  both realizing that the boy had thrown his first no hitter-

both realizing that the father was there to see it...

 

Fire and Rain

-And with these our Hells and our Heavens so few inches apart,

We must be awfully small

and not as strong as we think we are-

Rich Mullins

There is a fire raging in nearby Colorado.  It is destroying homes and wilderness.  It is filling the air with smoke and ash.  It is making the sky dark.  It is threatening the lives of those who choose to fight it back and protect us.  I understand why we say fires are raging- this fire has a fury- it rages across the pine beetle infested mountains and foothills.  When I awoke this morning miles away the winds had shifted and the smoke burned my throat.  This fire is strong.  It is powerful.

Yesterday as we drove home through the canyon that runs parallel to the active fire there was this beautiful juxtaposition.  On one side was a huge smoke plume and gray skies and haze.  On the other side was a storm building with the evidence of rain falling, the sun providing backlight. It was beautiful and peaceful.  There came a point where the two met and my mind wandered.  What is it like in that spot where the rain meets fire?  Where is that exact point where the two connect?  Then I realized it is exactly where I am standing in life, between my Hells and Heavens.

My life right now is a meeting of fire and rain.  I'm standing in the middle turning in circles being burned and quenched, often in the very same instance.  My daughter got married last weekend.  The day could not have been more beautiful. The wedding was a celebration of her and a new son and a new branch of the family.  It was a gathering of friends from near and far.  It was a rejoicing in God's greatest gift- and the greatest of these is love.  It was a beautiful peaceful rain.  My baby girl got married last weekend.  She will never truly come home again.  She will never again inhabit that messy bedroom downstairs or tumble up the stairs in the morning trying to be grumpy and end up showering me with laughter.  My mind has been full of memories- fixing her  hair, fixing her scrapes and bruises, fixing her favorite meal.  Now someone else will be doing the fixing.  I'm the back up.  This is as it should be- and she picked well, I would have selected him for her myself-  but there is a sense of loneliness and sadness in the midst of so much joy.   There is a bit of fire I'm fighting back as I settle in to the new normal.  

My son is growing up.  He is amazing.  I watch him and I am so proud of the man he is becoming.  Lately he's had to make some tough choices and he's gone through some struggles and he's handled them with such grace.  He is my gentle summer rain.  It is every mother's wish to raise a child to become a giving, caring, responsible, thoughtful, independent adult.  But, when you do your job well you are setting the stage for them to leave.  It's rain meeting fire.  It creates this beautiful and painful middle ground.

There are other fires and rains meeting in my life.  Tumor markers go up and tests are ordered yet my husband is alive and well today and we are lucky enough to truly enjoy each others' company in this now very quiet house.  Cancer is a fire, choosing to find the blessings that lie beneath it is rainfall.  

Pine cones only release their seeds under the pressure and heat of fire.  Fire creates new growth.  Rain allows this growth to create beauty all around us.  This fire and rain in my life is creating beauty.  I have to allow the pain and joy to coexist if this is to happen.

I was given a precious gift recently- a bowl of amazing rocks.  Rocks are not harmed by fire.  Rocks withstand the heat and pressure and the rains come and wash them clean. The rocks have been a symbol to me lately and I held one tightly as I cleaned my daughter's empty room and when I pondered next week's tests and results.  The rocks remind me that this fire will not consume me, and the giver is a gift in my life.  She is a rock for me when I feel I may crumble.  She stands at the point where fire meets rain daily and she knows the beauty and pain.  

We are small and not as strong as we think we are.  I believe that is why God provided friends and rocks and weddings and daughters and sons and fire and rain.  He knew I would need all of these things to make my way in this life and I am thankful for them- even when I don't want to be. The fires rage on but I am choosing today to face the rain and receive its soothing.