The Small Stuff

When you're a girl from the flat lands of Kansas, it's easy to get distracted by the majesty of the mountains. Practically as soon as the "Leaving Kansas" sign disappeared from our rear view mirror, I peered toward the horizon, squinting my eyes to see if I could glimpse the mountains in the distance.

It's not that I wanted to leave Kansas forever, but the sign did just welcome me to Colorful Colorado, after all. For this Sunflower Girl, the mountains are a novelty, a different kind of beauty than the sunsets that stretch for eternity and beyond outside my front door. Kansas is equally beautiful: It's just a different kind of beautiful.

It's hard to miss the beauty in the "big" things ... the mountains, the sunrises, the birthdays, the weddings, the anniversaries, the reunions, and all the firsts and the lasts.

But sometimes, in our haste to look forward to the next "big thing," we miss the myriad of small things that make up all those big moments.

I had already been thinking about this when I happened across a beautiful blog about this very thing. Emily at Chatting at the Sky, who was saying goodbye to her father-in-law, said it so eloquently.

With the magnificence of the towering mountains, it might have been easy to miss the yellow blanket of wildflowers stretching across a mountain meadow.

I might have walked right past purple flowers whose heads bowed under the weight of morning dew.

I might not have crossed the road to see the spikes of red hiding in a sea of green.

I may have seen only the rushing water of a river instead of pondering the petals of flowers nourished by the underflow.


I might have walked past a the fence row of wildflowers in my haste to begin a walk on a 2-mile trail.

I could have ignored the little flowers as I looked at the clouds teetering on the mountaintops in the distance.

And isn't that what we are prone to do in our everyday lives? We are so busy. We are so hurried. We are so frazzled. We are so consumed with checking things off the to-do list that we fail to appreciate the little blessings that God sends our way each and every day.

So, today, I will cherish the small things ... the tomato fresh from the vine, a favorite song on the radio, a phone call, the touch of a hand, the compliment I don't think I deserve, the email from a friend, the smell of freshly-turned earth on an early morning walk, a cool house on a hot day ... Small blessings abound, if we just pause to look for them. And after all, the bigger picture is composed of nothing more than the small stuff.

***

A clarification: The photos were taken in Grand Teton National Park, not Colorado. But I'm glad the photos of the wildflowers reminded some of my Facebook friends of their Colorado landscapes, too. During our 3,255 miles, we saw and experienced the mountains of Colorado (from a distance), Wyoming, Utah and Idaho. Beautiful!

Roots and Wings

If Facebook is any barometer, it was graduation weekend for lots of families. I personally know people who collected their bachelor's degrees, master's degrees and even one who wrapped up a doctorate.

Next weekend, more high school graduates will walk across the stage, collect their diplomas and run headlong into the next phase of their lives.

Good parents give their children roots and wings
- roots to know where home is,
and wings to fly away and exercise what's been taught them.

-Jonas Salk

On Mother's Day weekend, we visited Jill and Eric in Omaha. As always, it was fun be together and to see where our "little girl" is putting down roots and building a new life with a pretty great guy.

The broken big toe slowed me down a bit, but it wasn't something that a heating pad couldn't solve.

I will have to say that we didn't get our money's worth at the Henry Doorly Zoo because of my temporary handicap. But we did get to go in one of my favorite exhibits, the Butterfly House. My family's gift for me on Mother's Day? Their patience and their quest to be the best butterfly scouts in the place.

"We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty."
- Maya Angelou

Life changes. Little girls grow up. Little boys move away and pursue their own dreams. It's quite a journey. As babies, they reflexively grasp your fingers in their tiny hands. And the letting go begins in increments ... even as early as they quit holding on to your outstretched hands and awkwardly toddle away.

It requires some scraped knees, broken hearts, teenage angst and a little healthy rebellion. It's all part of the journey. And that's a beautiful thing.

Another Man's Trash

One man's trash is another man's treasure, so the saying goes.

But sometimes it's just trash.

Why do people feel the need to use country roads as a dumping ground? I am amazed at the amount of trash I see scattered along the roads.

My most interesting find on a recent walk was a half-eaten PopTart. First of all, I was surprised the toaster pastry remained intact after a flying trip from a car window. But what does that say about its viability as a breakfast selection? Is it a metaphor for the rock it makes in the eater's stomach?

At least the PopTart was biodegradable. However, I did notice that no creature came and ate it. It was still there the next day, a little worse for wear, but still unconsumed. Perhaps the creatures are wiser than we are.

The closest McDonald's is 35 miles away, but I still see the paper bag remnants of a fast food meal. There are pop cans, water bottles, plastic sacks and more along the ditches.

But the old saying did come true for us one time. The best "trash" we ever found was Mindy.

Don't get me wrong: I am certainly not advocating anyone take an unwanted pet to the country and leave it there to fend for itself.

A landlord found Mindy and asked if we wanted a dog. Mindy had obviously had a rough life up to that point. She shied away from men for quite sometime.

But she and a little boy named Brent became best of buddies.

When Brent left home for college, I had to promise I'd pet his dogs - Mindy and Ralph - every day. It was one of the hardest phone calls I had to make to Brent to tell him that Mindy had died.

She definitely ended up as treasure to our family. But, much as I loved Mindy, I wish people would keep their trash to themselves. Have we become too lazy to pick up and be responsible for ourselves?

My aversion to the trash heap along the roadside reminds me of an old public service announcement. Maybe it wouldn't hurt for us to run it again.

Tickling the Ivories

(I wanted to bring this dala horse in downtown Lindsborg home!
It's my kind of horse of course!)

I am running a marathon today. Unfortunately, I won't be burning many calories as I race from one piano bench to another down a hallway at Central Christian Schools in Hutchinson.

But the "race" couldn't be for a better cause. The Heart of the Plains league middle school music festival gives students a chance to make music.

We celebrate grand feats on the gridiron or the basketball court. But too often, we don't find the same fervor for the arts.

My mind is cluttered with key signatures and dynamic markings that drift through my consciousness as surely as "visions of sugarplums" danced through the heads of Clement Clark Moore's central characters.

Why have I done this for 16 years now? The answer is in the music. I hope I share my love for the music and give the students a tip or two that will make a solo more than black notes on a white page.

Yesterday, my friend and a former band instructor at Stafford Middle/High School shared a link on his Facebook status that demonstrates this very message. Both Tony and Kelly Ballard are among the teachers for whom I've accompanied through the years. It couldn't have been better timing to see this vivid demonstration of what musicality truly means.



I'm playing 30 different accompaniments today - mostly vocal and instrumental solos, a couple of ensembles and two choir numbers. We've been practicing since January. I hope I've done just a little bit to help the kids realize it's more than just singing or playing the right notes.

For me, it's way more than that. Some of these students have a lot of God-given ability. Some are not as blessed, but they work so hard and want it so badly.

So, even though the music has center stage today, it becomes a lot more to me. My time on the piano bench is more about being a cheerleader, an encourager, a person who cares for an uncertain adolescent (and isn't their parent or their teacher, but someone who chooses to be there.)

So, if you wouldn't mind, say a prayer for the kids today. Pray that they will overcome the nerves and just remember the music.

Music is what feelings sound like. ~Author Unknown

(And, while you're at it, say a prayer for Mr. Gill and me, too!)

Window to the Past

The old joke is that today's newspaper becomes the lining on the bottom of the birdcage. These days, many people don't even get newsprint on their fingers reading the news.

I still love curling up in my recliner and opening my daily edition of The Hutchinson News and the weekly version of The Stafford Courier, though I also read several other newspapers online.

Even though my son loves the written word, he says he and his contemporaries will likely not subscribe to newspapers that arrive on their doorstep or in their mailbox.

And even for those who read the black and white words on a page, the daily newspaper goes into the recycling pile and is cast aside beside the coffee grounds.

So it was quite a treat to find that a Lindsborg artist studio/museum had a framed copy of one of my Hutchinson News features on the wall.

It was at the Red Barn Studio, which is run by the Raymer Society for the Arts. The museum preserves and promotes the work and memory of Lester Raymer (1907 - 1991), a Lindsborg artist who did paintings, prints, ceramics, metalwork, woodcarving, stitchery and more in the Red Barn Studio.

I interviewed Raymer and his wife, Ramona, at the Birger Sandzen Museum in 1982, so I hadn't been to his studio before. The long-ago feature was about Raymer's Christmas-time exhibit there, which featured the handmade toys the artist gave to his wife. All told, Raymer made 53 toys during a 30-year period.

As I recall, Ramona was the more vocal of the two. While Lester idly went around the room twirling knobs on the intricate toys, she was the public relations guru, touting her husband's talent.
But last Friday, his studio spoke for him. From the outdoor spaces he created to the candlesticks made from pitchforks or the chandelier fashioned from a barrel stave, his artistic look at life shined through.

I would have been on the job a little more than 16 months when I interviewed Raymer. In typical fashion, I looked at the feature posted on the wall and told Randy I should have done better. That fresh-faced 25-year-old reporter could have learned a thing or two from 53-year-old me. Maybe the older and wiser me would have been able to draw him out.

I think I would have had better luck to interview him in his own space, a place that provides a window on his creative mind.

And I was struck by something else. The museum has preserved this little tableau. It's an artist's palette still stained from years of creativity and work and an unfinished painting of a rooster. It's the scene Raymer left behind on the day he died.

And isn't that what we all hope for? We hope and pray that we'll continue to do the work that we've been called to do until our dying breath. Farmers want to keep planting and harvesting seeds. Teachers find a way to keep teaching, even if they no longer stand in front of a classroom. Mothers still mother though their children have babies of their own. Writers still write, even though their work may no longer be found on yellowed newsprint but is typed and released into cyberspace.

And we all hope the work we do and the lives we touch will still make a difference long after we're gone.

By George!

When George Washington was a teenager, he discovered a booklet of 110 maxims describing how a well-mannered person should behave.

The book was The Young Man’s Companion published in London in 1664. It included a list of rules for proper social behavior that had been developed by French Jesuits almost a century earlier.

The 14-year-old George Washington spent hours filling the pages of a notebook with copies of these rules, many of which he modified to better fit his own view of proper behavior. He entitled his writings, the Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior In Company and Conversation.

George's first maxim was:

Every Action done in Company, ought to be with Some Sign of Respect, to those that are Present.

By George! Washington's notion of manners and civility may seem quaint and old-fashioned. But should manners and etiquette go completely out of style?

I don't think so.

Bad behavior is all around us. We are bombarded with tactless, nasty and cruel remarks on the internet, daytime talk shows, dating games, courtroom shows and reality programming. We've become immune to it. It's become the norm.

If we care about the world we're making for our children and our children's children, we need to be less tolerant of mean-spirited, discourteous and impolite remarks.

It's up to us to do a better job of teaching and modeling civility.

President's Day was celebrated yesterday. But today - February 22 - is truly George Washington's birthday. My Grandma Leonard shared this birthday with the Father of our Country. If she were still living, she would have been 100 years old today.

My grandma and me when I was 5 weeks old

I grew up with parents and grandparents who taught me right from wrong and did their best to guide me on a path to become a good person and good citizen.

So, on this birthday shared by Washington and my Grandma, may I remember those lessons ... and model them, too.

As Washington said in his 110th maxim:

Labour to keep alive in your Breast that little Spark of Celestial fire Called Conscience.

I had seen this video, entitled Get Service before. But a friend posted it on Facebook yesterday (thanks Sarah!) and it made me think about George Washington's model for living. (I promise it's better than the view of the guy's head in the teaser might indicate.)

Reflection

“Perhaps our eyes need to be washed by our tears once in a while, so that we can see Life with a clearer view again.”

Alex Tan

One of my bridesmaids died a couple of weeks ago. I met Denise at K-State. She was also a home economics and mass communications major, so we had lots of classes together. She was a farmer's daughter, just like me. She loved to write, just like me.

Thirty years ago, we were obviously good friends, since I asked her to be in my wedding.

But, through the years, we lost touch. And I regret it.

Regret is an odd emotion because it comes only upon reflection. Regret lacks immediacy, and so its power seldom influences events when it could do some good.

William O'Rourke

She moved to Germany for awhile and the Christmas card I mailed her came back as undeliverable.

She moved back to the States after a divorce. Then she got multiple sclerosis about the same time I was having children.

And in my busyness, I lost track of her. Her parents didn't move. I could have found the address if only I'd pursued it.

I went to her funeral. And as I sat in the sanctuary, I vowed I'd do better. I'd be a better friend.

In this Facebook world, it's easy to click the "Like" button on a friend's status and think you're making a connection. It's easier to zip off an email than actually call and talk to someone. And I have parents in Sunday School class tell me that the younger generation may very well be texting the person they are sitting next to - literally.

But this isn't about the younger, techo-savvy generation. This is about me.

I must do better. Life is too short. I've had way too many reminders of that recently. Little Elise was back in the PICU at Kansas City's Children's Mercy Hospital for a couple of weeks with problems breathing (though she was able to go home a couple of days ago. Praise the Lord!). But another family we know is just starting the cancer fight with their 7-year-old boy at Children's Mercy.

It's not fair. And it doesn't make sense. And I don't like it. And I can't see how anything good can possibly come from all the pain.

But I still have to trust. And I still have to do better.

As Elise's mom, Kelly, says:

"Even though we knew it before, a lesson we have learned from this journey is that time is precious and finite. LOVE YOUR FAMILY! Take the time now, today, to tell the people in your life how much they mean to you!

It's true for family. And it's true for friends. I am your cautionary tale today. Don't wait until it's too late to reconnect.

Oh, Be Careful!

Do you know that old Sunday School song, "Oh Be Careful"?

It's the one that reminds us:

"Oh, be careful little tongue what you say ...
Oh, be careful little feet where you go ...
Oh, be careful little hands what you do ...

For the Father up above
Is looking down in love
So be careful little tongue what you say." (And so on.)

I had one of those moments during our road trip. On our second travel day, we had decided to take a break mid-afternoon and walk outside instead of on a motel treadmill. I was all for that.

So we stopped at a rest area somewhere in Tennessee. I don't remember where exactly.

We were walking around the rest area, and I saw a guy with his camera. He was taking a photo of a sculpture.

I thought to myself, "Oh the poor guy! It must be a really bad vacation if he has to take photos of rest area sculptures."

I didn't say it out loud. But I sure thought it.

And then, as we walked further, I saw a cemetery on a hill.

And I had to explore.

And then I had to go get my camera.

And then I became that person taking photos at a rest area.

I then confessed to my traveling companion about my thoughts about the poor guy taking photos at the rest area.

"Oh, be careful little tongue what you say.
Oh, be careful little mind what you think." (That would be a good verse to add, I think.)

It should be my theme song.

And then, just to top it all off, I took photos of the sculpture, too.

It was, after all, called Marking Time.

One Sweet Song

I love the brightly colored piano they've added to the decor at Cool Beans, a restaurant at the depot in Hutchinson.

And, as we start 2011, I think it's a good reminder:

Life is one sweet song.
So start the music.

The music of 2011 is cued up and ready to go. But it's up to us to decide whether the music is a dirge or a dance tune.

My sister sent me an email about attitude. Though I'm usually one to clear out my in box promptly, I've saved this one. It's a good reminder to me. I hope you will take it to heart, too:

***

There once was a woman who woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and noticed she had only three hairs on her head.

'Well,' she said, 'I think I'll braid my hair today.'
So she did, and she had a wonderful day.

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head.

'H-M-M,' she said, 'I think I'll part my hair down the middle today.'
So she did, and she had a grand day.

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only one hair on her head.

'Well,' she said, 'today I'm going to wear my hair in a ponytail.'

So she did, and she had a fun, fun day.

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn't a single hair on her head.
'YAY!' she exclaimed. 'I don't have to fix my hair today!'

Attitude is everything.

Be kinder than necessary,

for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Live simply,

Love generously,

Care deeply,

Speak kindly,

and pray continually.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...

It's about learning to dance in the rain.

***

And that's my prayer for you as you begin 2011. Let the music begin!

Hustle and Hurry

Advent candle - Stafford United Methodist Church - 2010

For many of us, sadly, the spirit of Christmas is "hurry." And yet, eventually, the hour comes when the rushing ends and the race against the calendar mercifully comes to a close. It is only now perhaps that we truly recognize the spirit of Christmas. It is not a matter of days or weeks, but of centuries - twenty of them now since that holy night in Bethlehem. Regarded in this manner, the pre-Christmas rush may do us greater service than we realize. With all its temporal confusion, it may just help us to see that by contrast, Christmas itself is eternal.

- Burton Hills

I still don't have everything done on my to-do list. And Christmas will come anyway.

Sometimes, I worship the to-do list instead of the season. Sad, but true, I'm afraid.

But the things that have most blessed me this holiday season don't have a thing to do with my to-do list.

I could have gotten more holiday goodies made if I'd stayed home last Sunday afternoon. But, instead, we went to a concert at the Great Bend First United Methodist Church. I heard beautiful Christmas music played by organist Brad Shirer and pianist Jenny Allford.

If I'd stayed home, I wouldn't have heard their collaboration on well-known songs of Christmas, like "O Holy Night!" and "Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus."

After the concert, Jenny admitted their program hasn't varied much in the past 15 years. But she says she came to a realization: While she was practicing, the words of those old, familiar songs danced through her head.

It was the same for the audience. And it truly was a Joy to the World moment - over and over again.

If I had stayed home and worked on my voluminous to-do list, I wouldn't have been blessed by the beautiful stained glass windows of their sanctuary ...

Or the glow of candlelight through jewel-tone glass ...

Or a sanctuary bathed in a rosy glow from a skylight and the twinkle of hundreds of lights.

I wouldn't have heard one of my favorite Christmas hymns, "There's a Song in the Air." It's a carol from my childhood days at Byers United Methodist Church, but it often gets lost in the plethora of the more popular "Away in the Manger" and "Silent Night." I love those, too, but what a treat (and how appropriate) to hear:

There's a song in the air
There's a star in the sky
There's a mother's sweet prayer
And a baby's low cry
And the star reigns its fire while the beautiful sing
For the manger in Bethlehem
Cradles a King!

But I didn't have to go to another church to feel the spirit of Christmas. I could have stayed home last Sunday morning. I could have slept in or I could have crossed more things off my list.

But then I would have missed the beauty of heavy frost in the crisp December air as we drove to Stafford for church ...

I would have missed the lighting of the fourth Advent candle. I would have missed the choir anthem. I would have missed the fellowship with my friends.

While I was writing this, I got an email from a friend. And it was another confirmation of what I know in my heart:

"When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.... Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over."

Jill and Eric arrived last night. Brent got here Tuesday night. And I'm reminding myself that it's more important to "be" instead of "do." Play a game instead of making one more snack we don't need. Sit and talk instead of worrying about whether there are bows on the presents. The kids didn't pack their white gloves, so if the dusting didn't get done, nobody will notice anyway.

Hear the music of life. That's my prayer for you today, too!

The Dance of Life

(This was taken with the panorama mode on my new camera. I still have some work to do in figuring out how to use this feature. But, for the most part, it captured a beautiful rainbow in this photo taken September 8, 2010.)


It was another Message from God via Facebook:

On this day, God wants you to know
that this world was made for you.
Enjoy it, explore it, experience it.
Don't hold back. It is God's gift to you.
Don't be a wallflower in the dance of life.

I have a couple of Facebook friends - a mother and son (thanks Jane & Mike) - who occasionally post Messages from God as their status.

And even though these messages are winding their way through cyberspace to hundreds of people, it often feels they are directly aimed at me.

Yesterday I was busy, busy, busy. I spent much of the day sequestered in the basement working on the Stafford Main Street newsletter, my KFRM Central Kansas reports, my blog and other assorted projects. I made several trips to the field to help move vehicles and take meals.

I crossed several things off the to-do list, but the list is never ending. It seems to multiple as quickly as dandelions after a brisk Kansas wind.

I walked outside, but it was more about getting it done than enjoying the view. I was trudging along, kicking up the dust from a gravel road and depositing it in my socks. With my brain moving 90 miles an hour and my feet steadily pounding away at 4 miles an hour or so, I walked with purpose.

But did I walk with joy? Did I walk with eyes wide open?

And I have to admit: No, I did not.

But I should have. I know there are people who want to walk, but their bodies don't let them.

There are people who would love to witness the vivid colors of seasons in Kansas, but their eyes can't see them, due either to a physical ailment or a weary heart.

Sometimes beauty happens where you least expect it. Sometimes we have to look a little harder to find it. When we were in San Francisco back in 2007, we toured the prison at Alcatraz Island.

There was nothing beautiful about the buildings, which had served as a federal prison for years and were covered with graffiti. But while there, I took one of my all-time favorite photos.

In the midst of all the ugliness, there was a calla lily, framing a view of the ocean.

At the K-State football game last week, I was struck by another irony. It was a typical college football game day atmosphere, full of laughter, music, families and fun.

But on the north end of the stadium, the huge American flag hung at half-mast. It was September 11th. There was a moment of silence to remember those who lost their lives on 9-11 and the troops who have fought the war on terrorism since then. A group of young recruits took their oaths to serve their country in front of a stadium filled with 50,000-plus people.

There was another goosebump moment when the team ran onto the field, following linebacker Brian Hertzog, who had the privilege of carrying the American flag that day.

With the huge Stars and Stripes gently rippling in the background, we listened to the same Ceremony of Allegiance that we hear every game day.

But on September 11th, the words seemed to have more weight:

"We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."

Instead of singing "The Star-Spangled Banner" by rote, the familiar tune struck a new chord.

The opportunity for appreciating all we have comes each and every day. Sometimes, the appreciation is buried under a voluminous to-do list, a weary body, a tired spirit.

But then there's the Message:

God wants you to know

This world was made for you.
Enjoy it, explore it, experience it.
Don't hold back. It is God's gift to you.
Don't be a wallflower in the dance of life.

***

Dear Lord,

Today, instead of being a wallflower, help me to be a sunflower, helping to shine Your light in this world.

Help me to never forget the joy in the dance of life and to give thanks in everything.


Amen!