There's a backpack in my basement. I dont like it. It was on a tremendous after-season sale. It's nice looking: black with gray and red trim, a few pickets to hide things in, and those neat-looking but pointless bungee cords on the front. (Seriously, I've never seen anyone use that feature. Ever.) If I were a kid I would love it. I'm pretty sure that my kid will love it. Therein lies the problem. It's for him to pack his books, crayons, and the like and go to school. I know that Nathan will enjoy both the backpack and going to school. And I'm having a hard time dealing with it.
My friend talked me into buying the backpack on Black Friday because it was only two dollars. She bought the other three for her two children because, apparently, children are pretty tough on backpacks and they break in the middle of the year forcing desperate parents to pay full price for a new one. Not having prior experience in this area, I took her word for it. This will be my first year to send a child to school. Forget him being ready, I don't think that I am.
Thousands of parents across the country are counting the days until school starts again and I act as though I'm sending him to a concentration camp. My sentiments are being very unreasonable, I know that. And it's fun to see them grow and learn new things. But I'm sad that this innocent phase in his life is soon to be over. Soon he'll have homework and after-school activities. His time will be scheduled more by his school day than by family activities. I love coming home for lunch and seeing my boys. I dread not having him there.
Starting school is the end of a wonderful phase of his life but also the beginning of another wonderful one. Truthfully, I wouldn't want him to stay home forever. This is the beginning of his really really growing up, and there's actually a part (small!) that's excited to see what will happen next.
There's a backpack in the basement. I'm dealing with it.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
What's in an attitude?
It was just one of those days where nothing was going right. I was ok, but scurrying to get things accomplished. She wasn't helping... Her negativity had increased to the point where the only thing to do was be very blunt with her. She usually chose to ignore me and complain anyway, but at least I had done what I could... As I came all but sprinting into the gym, I looked up to see her being pushed out of the doors. Before I could even form an apology for keeping her waiting, she spat out, "well, it's about time!" I grabbed the handles to her wheelchair, leaned over and asked, "do you think you could say something nice? Anything?" behind me I heard a combination of a gasp and a giggle from a coworker.
What is in an attitude? Can you control it? That day I remembered the words of a book I had read, called The Hiding Place. Corrie Ten Boom and her family had been captured by the Nazis for the "crime" of helping the Jews escape from Holland. Let's repeat this, she was captured by the Gestapo for saving the lives of people who's only crime was to be born the wrong race. She had been separated from all but her sister. The two of them were placed in the notorious Ravensbruck death camp in Germany. Yet the two of them decided to maintain a good attitude despite their surroundings. Living in bug-infested straw, malnutrition, inadequate clothing against the winter, and daily beatings, the two women chose to maintain positivity rather than complaining about their circumstances. In her biography, Corrie describes that she arrived at her decision realizing that the Nazis had taken away everything and controlled everything about her life at that point. They could not, however, control her relationship with God and her attitude. She could choose to be content and there was nothing that her tormentors could do about it. She even chose forgiveness against her tormentors. Shortly before her death, Betsie stated, "There is no pit so deep that God's love is deeper still."
No matter what, my Father calls me to have a positive attitude. He asks me to choose to trust in Him instead of getting mired in with my circumstances. Happy back to work after a nice holiday weekend everyone, here's a thought to start out your day:
"Happiness isn't something that depends on our surroundings...It's something we make inside ourselves."
— Corrie Ten Boom
What is in an attitude? Can you control it? That day I remembered the words of a book I had read, called The Hiding Place. Corrie Ten Boom and her family had been captured by the Nazis for the "crime" of helping the Jews escape from Holland. Let's repeat this, she was captured by the Gestapo for saving the lives of people who's only crime was to be born the wrong race. She had been separated from all but her sister. The two of them were placed in the notorious Ravensbruck death camp in Germany. Yet the two of them decided to maintain a good attitude despite their surroundings. Living in bug-infested straw, malnutrition, inadequate clothing against the winter, and daily beatings, the two women chose to maintain positivity rather than complaining about their circumstances. In her biography, Corrie describes that she arrived at her decision realizing that the Nazis had taken away everything and controlled everything about her life at that point. They could not, however, control her relationship with God and her attitude. She could choose to be content and there was nothing that her tormentors could do about it. She even chose forgiveness against her tormentors. Shortly before her death, Betsie stated, "There is no pit so deep that God's love is deeper still."
No matter what, my Father calls me to have a positive attitude. He asks me to choose to trust in Him instead of getting mired in with my circumstances. Happy back to work after a nice holiday weekend everyone, here's a thought to start out your day:
"Happiness isn't something that depends on our surroundings...It's something we make inside ourselves."
— Corrie Ten Boom
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Heads Up
Don't you love how God created the world to echo His spiritual truths? I was with several friends and we were discussing some of the pitfalls that we were encountering with in our walk with Christ. One woman stated how God reminds her to get her eyes off the problem and onto Him, to hold her head up and follow God. Then it hit me.We walk better spiritually when we keep our heads up in the same manner as when we quit watching the floor while we physically walk.
This is a truth that I tell my patients every day. Every. Single. Day. I quip with lame jokes like, "You don't need to give your nose a head-start to the floor." and "You're not a gorilla, you're a human." Dance instructors will tell you that watching your feet does not help you with your dance steps, instead it hinders and confuses. Keep your head up to improve your balance and safety. Keep your head up to communicate with your Savior.
Lift Up Your Face.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Treasure
Take that, Coronado! Ponce de Leon, you got nothin' on me!!! Forget the fountain of youth and the city of gold. I have something worth way more than their treasures, and longer lasting. I have an amazing God. A God who does not give us unreachable dreams, empty hopes, or wild goose chases. He does not ask us to find some amazing discovery to be remember in eternity. He sent His Son to be the most amazing treasure the world has ever known. To be remembering, all we have to do is choose to follow Him.
On May 7, I was reminded again of just how incredible He is. That morning I got up at 4:45 am. (Yep, that's in the morning!) My dear, long-suffering husband even slept in Landon's room so that I would have the best night's sleep possible. Also, my alarm not waking him up might have played sightly into the situation... I downed 2 Aleve, a potassium/calcium tablet, and choked down a protein bar for breakfast while I unsuccessfully tried to drink a G3. (Grabbed by accident instead of a G2. Do NOT make this same mistake! Ever. Nasty. Still shudder when I think about it.) I vaselined every skin surface that I remotely thought might rub against other skin, fabric, headphone wires, etc. Pinned my bib on my T-shirt and made certain to grab the medicine kit as well as my iPhone, armband, and headphones. Necessities, you know!
I met the other ladies and climbed into the back seat of the vehicle we were carpooling in. Massaging and taping the sudden shin-splints of one of my friends helped relieve my nervousness, but I couldn't get out of the back of my mind what I was about to try to accomplish. The closer the car came to Indianapolis, the faster my butterflies flew until I was glad that I was unable to finish the entire power bar. A gargantuan task of 13.1 miles loomed ahead of me. We parked the cars and split up with our partners to head to the corrals. And suddenly it happened, my nervousness melted away into excitement. The old feeling I used to get before a volleyball game reappeared. With the help of my friends I had trained and felt ready.
That wonderful feeling lasted until about mile 8. My combination of walking and running had worked pretty well and my partner and I had been keeping a decently steady pace of 13-minute miles. Then came the Brickyard. The race brochures makes sure to emphasize that runners get to race on the actual track that the Indianapolis is run on. True. How historical it is. True. How it's wonderful and the highlight of the race. FALSE!!! They lie like dogs!!! It was dreadful. Now I know why humans run on a 400m track, because 2 1/2 miles is way too long. I kept running and running and felt like I wasn't getting anywhere. Also, due to the bowl shape, there is no breeze whatsoever. The only good part was the 12 or so high-school cheerleading teams dressed up in different themes supporting the runners. The worst part was that I lost my partner somewhere between miles 6 and 8. Alone in a crowd of 30,000. After exiting the track, the next mile marker seemed like it never came. I didn't want to give up, but I was having a hard time starting to run after every walk. So I prayed. My prayer wasn't to finish in under 3 hours, I'd stopped caring so much about that. First, I thanked Him for this opportunity and the chance to push myself, thanking Him for my friends that were with me somewhere on the course. I thanked Him for helping me make the journey to start towards a healthier lifestyle and the chance to teach my children about the principle of stewardship. I even thanked Him for the cheering strangers on the sideline that came out in the rain. The crowd, by the way, was amazing. Then my prayers moved on into claiming promises, for I know He keeps His. Like crazy I asked for the strength to finish what He had asked me to start. He kept my legs moving and I was able to run the last mile. 3:11. This is literally the longest that I have ever run. For that matter, it's the longest I've ever run without a rest break!!!
People that overly-spiritualize things drive me crazy. I mean, really, dinner mints with praying hands on them aren't any better than those that you buy at Kroger. It certainly doesn't make your candy any healthier! But this journey was way more than physical, it was a spiritual, faith-building, bruising, and uplifting journey. Along the way I rediscovered that the God that I serve sometimes uses physical illustrations for spiritual purposes. I learned that, with His strength, I can do so much more than I think I can. With Him, I can silence the voices that run inside my head, seeking to distract me. With Him, I can keep on trucking long after the point where I would have quit. And a bonus: once upon a time there was an extremely competitive blond girl who never gave up and attacked problems. Somewhere in the University of Real Life her drive and determination got shifted from sports to academics and career and family, and she started using the deadly phrase, "I can't." Worst was the fact that she felt that getting in shape again and taking care of herself was hopeless. At the end of the race I found myself planning for next year's race and setting a goal time. 2:45. There, I've said it out loud. Then I found myself on the internet researching others to run. It was then that I realized that the competitive blond girl was back, more mature, darker hair, and happier than ever to be running. God restores. He's amazing. He's my treasure.
On May 7, I was reminded again of just how incredible He is. That morning I got up at 4:45 am. (Yep, that's in the morning!) My dear, long-suffering husband even slept in Landon's room so that I would have the best night's sleep possible. Also, my alarm not waking him up might have played sightly into the situation... I downed 2 Aleve, a potassium/calcium tablet, and choked down a protein bar for breakfast while I unsuccessfully tried to drink a G3. (Grabbed by accident instead of a G2. Do NOT make this same mistake! Ever. Nasty. Still shudder when I think about it.) I vaselined every skin surface that I remotely thought might rub against other skin, fabric, headphone wires, etc. Pinned my bib on my T-shirt and made certain to grab the medicine kit as well as my iPhone, armband, and headphones. Necessities, you know!
I met the other ladies and climbed into the back seat of the vehicle we were carpooling in. Massaging and taping the sudden shin-splints of one of my friends helped relieve my nervousness, but I couldn't get out of the back of my mind what I was about to try to accomplish. The closer the car came to Indianapolis, the faster my butterflies flew until I was glad that I was unable to finish the entire power bar. A gargantuan task of 13.1 miles loomed ahead of me. We parked the cars and split up with our partners to head to the corrals. And suddenly it happened, my nervousness melted away into excitement. The old feeling I used to get before a volleyball game reappeared. With the help of my friends I had trained and felt ready.
That wonderful feeling lasted until about mile 8. My combination of walking and running had worked pretty well and my partner and I had been keeping a decently steady pace of 13-minute miles. Then came the Brickyard. The race brochures makes sure to emphasize that runners get to race on the actual track that the Indianapolis is run on. True. How historical it is. True. How it's wonderful and the highlight of the race. FALSE!!! They lie like dogs!!! It was dreadful. Now I know why humans run on a 400m track, because 2 1/2 miles is way too long. I kept running and running and felt like I wasn't getting anywhere. Also, due to the bowl shape, there is no breeze whatsoever. The only good part was the 12 or so high-school cheerleading teams dressed up in different themes supporting the runners. The worst part was that I lost my partner somewhere between miles 6 and 8. Alone in a crowd of 30,000. After exiting the track, the next mile marker seemed like it never came. I didn't want to give up, but I was having a hard time starting to run after every walk. So I prayed. My prayer wasn't to finish in under 3 hours, I'd stopped caring so much about that. First, I thanked Him for this opportunity and the chance to push myself, thanking Him for my friends that were with me somewhere on the course. I thanked Him for helping me make the journey to start towards a healthier lifestyle and the chance to teach my children about the principle of stewardship. I even thanked Him for the cheering strangers on the sideline that came out in the rain. The crowd, by the way, was amazing. Then my prayers moved on into claiming promises, for I know He keeps His. Like crazy I asked for the strength to finish what He had asked me to start. He kept my legs moving and I was able to run the last mile. 3:11. This is literally the longest that I have ever run. For that matter, it's the longest I've ever run without a rest break!!!
People that overly-spiritualize things drive me crazy. I mean, really, dinner mints with praying hands on them aren't any better than those that you buy at Kroger. It certainly doesn't make your candy any healthier! But this journey was way more than physical, it was a spiritual, faith-building, bruising, and uplifting journey. Along the way I rediscovered that the God that I serve sometimes uses physical illustrations for spiritual purposes. I learned that, with His strength, I can do so much more than I think I can. With Him, I can silence the voices that run inside my head, seeking to distract me. With Him, I can keep on trucking long after the point where I would have quit. And a bonus: once upon a time there was an extremely competitive blond girl who never gave up and attacked problems. Somewhere in the University of Real Life her drive and determination got shifted from sports to academics and career and family, and she started using the deadly phrase, "I can't." Worst was the fact that she felt that getting in shape again and taking care of herself was hopeless. At the end of the race I found myself planning for next year's race and setting a goal time. 2:45. There, I've said it out loud. Then I found myself on the internet researching others to run. It was then that I realized that the competitive blond girl was back, more mature, darker hair, and happier than ever to be running. God restores. He's amazing. He's my treasure.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
He is Faithful
Back in December I had a difficult choice to make. I had been offered a job at my PRN (part time as needed) and wasn't sure whether or not I should accept it. The health insurance is literally double. Not kidding. Sure it came with a slight pay raise, but was it enough to even out double the insurance? Also, it was my PRN. It was convenient being a 5 minute walk from my house. I could work 6 hours on saturday and still be home before the kids got up from their naps. But if I worked there, where would I go if caseload were low or we had unexpected expenses and I needed extra hours? Having the responsibility of providing for my family sometimes really stresses me out.
I prayed a lot and talked with my husband, family, friends, and coworkers. I really wanted to work close to home and regain those ten lost hours I wasted weekly in the car. Ryan and I crunched and crunched the budget numbers and came to the conclusion that we didn't know if it would work. He particularly was a little nervous of what would happen if I gave up my PRN. The cry of my heart was to have more time with my boys. I miss them and they're growing up so quickly. Finally, Ryan and I made the decision to accept the position in my hometown. How could I not with two little sets of arms (and a big set) waiting to hug me sooner every evening?
I am happy to report that most of the weeks since I have accepted my new position I have gotten my full 40 hours at a minimum. Many weeks I even have all the overtime I can handle or have to turn it down to spend time with my family. Now that the price of gas has skyrocketed, a 5 minute walk is a definite bonus! The icing on the cake is that I have been able to lose 10 pounds. I walk home for lunch 3-4 days a week and get so many more hugs and kisses from my boys! When talking to a former coworker, she rejoiced with me when I reported all of this. "You choose to honor God by putting your family before your job. He took care of the rest." He has!!! Ryan and I didn't know the outcome, but we stepped out on faith and knew that the Father would provide for us. And I still have a PRN job. My former boss has asked me to do work a couple hours a week at a facility close by. It's so amazing what a wonderful God we serve! When the numbers don't add up, He makes it work anyway.
P.S. For those of you out there who are geeks, PRN is short for pro re nata, "as the circumstance arises."
I prayed a lot and talked with my husband, family, friends, and coworkers. I really wanted to work close to home and regain those ten lost hours I wasted weekly in the car. Ryan and I crunched and crunched the budget numbers and came to the conclusion that we didn't know if it would work. He particularly was a little nervous of what would happen if I gave up my PRN. The cry of my heart was to have more time with my boys. I miss them and they're growing up so quickly. Finally, Ryan and I made the decision to accept the position in my hometown. How could I not with two little sets of arms (and a big set) waiting to hug me sooner every evening?
I am happy to report that most of the weeks since I have accepted my new position I have gotten my full 40 hours at a minimum. Many weeks I even have all the overtime I can handle or have to turn it down to spend time with my family. Now that the price of gas has skyrocketed, a 5 minute walk is a definite bonus! The icing on the cake is that I have been able to lose 10 pounds. I walk home for lunch 3-4 days a week and get so many more hugs and kisses from my boys! When talking to a former coworker, she rejoiced with me when I reported all of this. "You choose to honor God by putting your family before your job. He took care of the rest." He has!!! Ryan and I didn't know the outcome, but we stepped out on faith and knew that the Father would provide for us. And I still have a PRN job. My former boss has asked me to do work a couple hours a week at a facility close by. It's so amazing what a wonderful God we serve! When the numbers don't add up, He makes it work anyway.
P.S. For those of you out there who are geeks, PRN is short for pro re nata, "as the circumstance arises."
Saturday, April 9, 2011
What a Mess!
Discovered this post that I had started and never posted from last August. Here goes.
Last weekend we visited one of my favorite stores--IKEA. I was delighted to find that one of the main items on my list, rugs for the doors leading to the outside, were on clearance. The last rug wore out sometime before the birth of my three-year-old and I hadn't been able to find one that I liked in my price range. Consequently, I'm not even sure if my children know what rugs truly are. With joy I laid them on the floor and imagined the dirt clods and leaves being somewhat restricted in access to my home.
The rugs were placed on the floor after the children went to bed. The boys didn't seem to notice them until halfway through breakfast. Landon looked over with spoon in hand and pointed to the door, "Daddy, what spilled?" My husband looked around in vain for the offending liquid on the floor. Landon insisted, despite assurances to the contrary, that there was indeed something spilled on the floor. "But there's a towel on the floor!"
Last weekend we visited one of my favorite stores--IKEA. I was delighted to find that one of the main items on my list, rugs for the doors leading to the outside, were on clearance. The last rug wore out sometime before the birth of my three-year-old and I hadn't been able to find one that I liked in my price range. Consequently, I'm not even sure if my children know what rugs truly are. With joy I laid them on the floor and imagined the dirt clods and leaves being somewhat restricted in access to my home.
The rugs were placed on the floor after the children went to bed. The boys didn't seem to notice them until halfway through breakfast. Landon looked over with spoon in hand and pointed to the door, "Daddy, what spilled?" My husband looked around in vain for the offending liquid on the floor. Landon insisted, despite assurances to the contrary, that there was indeed something spilled on the floor. "But there's a towel on the floor!"
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
so you think your patient can dance
Yesterday I danced with a patient in therapy. It started out as simply as great opportunity to work with a patient. I had finished with one and noticed the next patient on my list in the main room in the dance sponsored by activities. Great! I don't have to chase her down and it shouldn't be too difficult to get some movement out of her. What that time turned into was more than I had anticipated.
She agreed eagerly. As I knelt beside her to remove her foot pedals, she reached for my hand. "Did I ever tell you about the time that I danced with Fred Astaire?" Apparently she was a background dancer in one of his movies when she was a teenager. Her eyes shining, she took several minutes to tell me about the perfection that he expected and how much she learned from the experience. It was obvious how much she treasured that opportunity. As I reached for her hands, she stood up and eagerly started tapping her feet. I'll be brutally honest and say that both of my feet are left. It's true--I can't dance. That sad fact, however, doesn't stop me from trying and I was more than willing to make a fool of myself for the sake of... well... her, the experience, the therapy. It didn't matter that I have never been able to dance and that she is no longer able to fly about the room. (although she still has really good timing!)
She looked up at me, eyes gleaming. The only time her eyes left mine were to smile at other people. For a few minutes she was reconnected to the person she used to be and the life she used to have. I'm definitely no Fred Astaire, but dancing with me brought those memories to life. For that short time the reality of living in a nursing facility rolled back a bit and she was again doing something that she dearly loved. I don't have any idea how long it had been since she had danced.
I had no clue that the afternoon meant so much to her until today when I talked to the OT who treated her afterwards. Apparently that was all she talked about yesterday. Who knew the Hokie Pokie and a couple of slow dances could mean so much? These are the moments that make me internally shout, "I LOVE MY JOB!!!" Therapy that gives a person back their life.
And so we danced.
She agreed eagerly. As I knelt beside her to remove her foot pedals, she reached for my hand. "Did I ever tell you about the time that I danced with Fred Astaire?" Apparently she was a background dancer in one of his movies when she was a teenager. Her eyes shining, she took several minutes to tell me about the perfection that he expected and how much she learned from the experience. It was obvious how much she treasured that opportunity. As I reached for her hands, she stood up and eagerly started tapping her feet. I'll be brutally honest and say that both of my feet are left. It's true--I can't dance. That sad fact, however, doesn't stop me from trying and I was more than willing to make a fool of myself for the sake of... well... her, the experience, the therapy. It didn't matter that I have never been able to dance and that she is no longer able to fly about the room. (although she still has really good timing!)
She looked up at me, eyes gleaming. The only time her eyes left mine were to smile at other people. For a few minutes she was reconnected to the person she used to be and the life she used to have. I'm definitely no Fred Astaire, but dancing with me brought those memories to life. For that short time the reality of living in a nursing facility rolled back a bit and she was again doing something that she dearly loved. I don't have any idea how long it had been since she had danced.
I had no clue that the afternoon meant so much to her until today when I talked to the OT who treated her afterwards. Apparently that was all she talked about yesterday. Who knew the Hokie Pokie and a couple of slow dances could mean so much? These are the moments that make me internally shout, "I LOVE MY JOB!!!" Therapy that gives a person back their life.
And so we danced.
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