Hug the Mountain

For countless years I have joined the throngs of good-hearted, well-meaning folks who go pink during the month of October. My aunt, for whom I was named, was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was a child, my first cousin was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was a young adult, and a very dear friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in my 50s. Two of those three precious ladies, oddly the two younger gals, died as a direct result of their cancer. Sadly, I have stood together in prayer with far too many women who were also met with the same devastating diagnosis. I have championed the fight against breast cancer, wearing the ribbons, making donations, walking in walks, sporting something pink every day of the month of every October, and even spearheading a memorial golf tournament. I felt as though those were tiny, little things I could do as I felt overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness for women I dearly loved.

This year, with October upon us, I have tried . . . I really have tried, but I just haven’t been able to jump on the pink bandwagon. I am distracted. I don’t wonder why. I know why. You see, this past summer, my 32-year-old daughter, Alex, was diagnosed with uterine cancer. She was on a work trip to Pittsburgh and received a call from a doctor in her OB/GYN’s office (her doc was out of town). He told her she had uterine cancer and needed to have a hysterectomy right away. She called me, crying hysterically. I just remember fighting back the tears and pushing down the lump in my throat saying, “Come home.” I just kept repeating, “Come home.” I found out days later that she had called her big brother, Will, first and asked him if she should fly home to give us some really bad news or call us from Pittsburgh. As I understand it, his response was, “Mom will kill you if you don’t call her and tell her now,” and before they hung up he said something akin to, “And you’re not hanging up without telling me what’s going on.” Sibling love and support . . . there really is nothing like it. Alex called the airline, changed her flight, and came home the next day, a Wednesday. On Friday, we saw the gynecologic oncologist and on the following Tuesday she underwent a total hysterectomy. One week, to the day, after receiving the devastating news, she was in a surgery that changed her life forever.

Every spare minute we had, we researched uterine cancer, we spoke with friends and family in the medical community, and we tried to arm ourselves with as much information as we could soak in to ready ourselves for this fight. We saw Alex’s regular OB/GYN, who was back in town and shocked at the news. We saw a fertility specialist to discuss the possibility of freezing eggs. We discussed genetic testing, as every doctor we saw said this type of cancer usually presents in post-menopausal women. In fact, three different OB/GYN doctors said they had never had a patient as young as Alex with uterine cancer, thus the reason for genetic testing. Alex was also seen at a major cancer center for a second opinion and we were told the same thing. What does this have to do with pink October? It’s about awareness. It’s about information. It’s about education. Where is the support for all the other cancers? Awareness, information, education, and support equate to donations, which equate to research for a cure. We need that for ALL cancers.

Gynecologic cancers include uterine/endometrial, ovarian, vulvar, cervical, and vaginal cancers. The awareness ribbon color for all gynecologic cancers is purple, except in New Zealand where it is silver. However, purple is also the awareness ribbon color for all general cancers, testicular cancer, and pancreatic cancer. The awareness ribbon color for uterine/endometrial cancer is peach, except in Australia where it is silver. The awareness ribbon color for ovarian cancer is teal and for cervical cancer it is white and teal. It’s all a bit confusing, isn’t it? It seems much easier to jump on the pink bandwagon.

It’s sad (but true), often times we don’t throw ourselves into something until or unless it affects us personally. I don’t think that’s because we don’t care. I think it’s because life is about prioritizing. We can’t be passionate about every cause that’s out there, so we have to prioritize our time, efforts, and resources accordingly. Alex’s recent diagnosis has caused me to reassess my efforts of support. I think that’s what mothers do. We support our children in their dreams and through their heartache. Our support adjusts to their needs. I will not stop supporting pink October and the efforts to raise awareness of and support for breast cancer research. I will continue in memory of those I love who were taken too soon by this horrific disease and for those who are still fighting it every day of their lives. But, I have turned my concerted efforts to raising awareness for the gynecologic cancers, specifically, uterine cancer. So peach shirts, ribbons, walks, and blog posts it is. I will add, however, I believe the mightiest weapon in this fight has always been and continues to be prayer and the color of prayer is peace. The color of prayer is faith. The color of prayer is love. My prayers continue . . .  

Has your child ever said, “I’m dumb” or “I feel stupid” when reacting to a particular experience or comparing herself to others? Experts weigh in as to how we should respond to these statements because such feelings can damage a child’s self esteem and adversely impact learning. Bob Cunningham states, “Kids with positive self-esteem feel confident and capable. They value themselves and their abilities. They’re proud of the things they can do and want to try their best,” and isn’t that what we all want for our children? Helping children change their mindset so they don’t feel defeated and are not willing to give up is essential in developing a healthy self-esteem. So, how do we do that when they don’t feel smart?

We begin by recognizing and acknowledging their strengths and helping them use those strengths to develop areas that may need a little more attention. The specific strengths, or intelligences, identified by Dr. Howard Gardner go beyond the conventional linguistic and logical strengths that are tested in our schools today. Gardner has identified eight intelligences that meet specific criteria to be considered an intelligence. He proposes we each possess these eight intelligences from birth and that we can grow and develop all eight intelligences. Gardner’s broadened definition of intelligence, as being multi-dimensional and fluid, rather than a fixed entity or a number on a standardized test, gives great hope and encouragement to parents and teachers, especially if their children/students are not conventional learners!

Help your child find his strengths, bolster his self-esteem, and put him on a path to effective learning by introducing him to Gardner’s Theory of Multiple Intelligences. In my SMART Parts series for young children, I am committed to helping children grow a strong, healthy sense of self so they know they are smart and will be motivated to continue wanting to learn. These are books they can read or parents/teachers can read to/with them. The books introduce Gardner’s theory through colorful illustrations and developmentally appropriate stories. The first book, Ellie Rae Discovers Eight Ways to be SMART, finds Ellie Rae watching her friends play ball and she recognizes in each of them a special strength she calls their “SMART part.” Each character represents a different intelligence. Each subsequent book focuses on one character and delves a little deeper into that intelligence or SMART part, still through age-appropriate stories and illustrations.

I’m a career teacher and I have a passion for the education and welfare of young children. I have seen MI teaching/learning work wonders with children who were falling through the cracks in traditional classrooms. Every child should feel she is smart in order to lay a firm foundation for future growth and development. Here’s to all children, everywhere, feeling secure in their self-worth and knowing they are SMART in their own special way!

At this moment in time I have a friend who is battling Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a friend who is battling Pancreatic Cancer, a friend who just lost her husband to cancer, another friend who lost her husband to cancer earlier this year, a friend whose granddaughter was diagnosed with Leukemia last week, a friend who is still dealing with the devastating side effects long after chemo treatments for breast cancer have stopped, and a friend who had a benign brain tumor removed three days ago. I pray for each of them daily. I am heartbroken when I think about the low, low valleys through which they are walking, especially because I’m miles away from all but one of them. Yet I am comforted in knowing they all have a strong faith life and believe God is in control. Some of them have a good prognosis, others are faced with the reality that their earthly journey is nearing an end, and two have been forced to begin a new normal without their life partners. All of them realize their lives have been changed forever.

So, I pray. I believe in the power of prayer. I believe God will either calm the storm or He will calm His child and that gives me peace and I know it brings my friends peace. Sometimes that means we are privileged to witness a miracle, other times that means we suffer heartbreak, yet we are able to continue to put one foot in front of the other and live the life God intended for us, only by His grace. It brings to mind the old hymn, Master, the Tempest is Raging, lyrics by Mary Ann Baker. Ms. Baker wrote the text in 1874 at the request of Dr. H. R. Palmer, who wrote the music that same year. Ms. Baker had endured great personal heartache and hardship, which is masterfully reflected in her lyrics.

Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o’ershadowed with blackness.
No shelter or help is nigh.
Carest thou not that we perish?
How canst thou lie asleep
When each moment so madly is threat’ning
A grave in the angry deep?

(Chorus)
The winds and the waves shall obey thy will:
Peace, be still.
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea
Or demons or men or whatever it be,
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean and earth and skies.
They all shall sweetly obey thy will:
Peace, be still; peace, be still.
They all shall sweetly obey thy will:
Peace, peace, be still.

Master, with anguish of spirit
I bow in my grief today.
The depths of my sad heart are troubled.
Oh, waken and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of anguish
Sweep o’er my sinking soul,
And I perish! I perish! dear Master.
Oh, hasten and take control!

(Chorus)

Master, the terror is over.
The elements sweetly rest.
Earth’s sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
And heaven’s within my breast.
Linger, O blessed Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more,
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor
And rest on the blissful shore.

(Chorus)

As a child, I remember sitting beside my Dad in the church pew, singing this hymn. His strong, low voice resonated with the bass echo, “Peace, be still; peace, be still.” I felt at peace then and I have felt at peace throughout my life, because I saw Jesus’ peace flow through my Dad in his daily journey through life. My Dad modeled for me the perfect peace that Jesus can bring to our lives, despite our circumstances. I saw it in him every day. He endured so much heartache, so much physical and emotional pain, yet he felt his heavenly Father’s perfect peace. He prayed fervently and he prayed without ceasing (1 Thessalonians 5:17).

I’m so grateful he lived his life as a prayer warrior, believing in the power of prayer. He modeled that for me and that has sustained me through some very difficult times in my life. And so, there isn’t a lot I can do for my friends who are suffering, but what I can do is love them and pray for them and that is more powerful than anything. Peace, be still; peace, be still.

I’ve always had a fondness for porches. Growing up in northern Indiana, I remember playing with my siblings out on the porch, usually only if it was raining because if the weather was nice, we were running up and down the sidewalks, playing in the yard, or riding our bikes. But the porch was always there as a retreat, so we wouldn’t have to go inside if the weather turned ugly. The grownups in our family spent a lot of time on the porch, as well, so when they were out there, we always found somewhere else to be. My Dad’s mother, my “Bigmama”, shelled peas on the porch. I remember her scooping them up in her apron to take them inside. My “Bigpapa” would sit beside her, a silent partner in the shelling, but I imagine he always looked forward to enjoying those peas. My Mother’s mother and step-father, my “Grandma and Grandpa”, sat on the porch and watched the traffic go by. My Grandpa would sometimes water the front lawn with the garden hose, sitting on the knee wall. I often wondered what he was thinking about, as he appeared to be a million miles away, watching the water soak deep into the ground. I remember both sets of grandparents sitting on the porch to watch the rain, even thunder storms. I didn’t really understand their fascination at the time, but I do now.

Both my paternal and maternal grandparents had metal gliders on their porches. We loved those gliders and would pile up in them. I’m sure we pushed the gliding capabilities to their limit. Siblings, cousins, and friends would rush to see how many would fit and, somehow, we always found room for everyone. My maternal grandparents were smokers and my Dad would often refer to the “little lights on the porch” we could see as we drove passed their house on the way home from church services. It was too late to stop on school nights, but he always honked the horn and we all waved.

Since I’ve been married and living in Florida, we’ve never really had a porch. The houses we’ve lived in have had more of a stoop outside the front door, barely room for a potted plant and certainly not big enough for a chair. I imagine that’s because of the sweltering heat and the need for air conditioning. Time spent in the sun is usually reserved for the beach or those who don’t have a choice, due to employment, at least when summer is at its peak. I guess that’s why I’m so excited about the house we live in now, in Tallahassee. We’re farther north in the state and we actually have a bit of a change in seasons . . . certainly much more so than Central Florida. We even have a fireplace!

I’ve missed many things about Indiana, my friends and family, basketball (It seems the Midwest is more into basketball and the South more into football – I like both, but miss those fast-paced games!), looking out at the fresh-fallen snow, riding snowmobiles (many thanks to the Ryan family for those memories), and so much more . . . but, I especially miss my time spent on the porch. I guess maybe that’s why it’s been important to me to revisit my porch time, the older I get. Precious memories are made, friendships are born, bonds are strengthened, and oftentimes, much needed soul searching, revelations, and “ah-ha moments” surprise us, while visiting on the porch.

Our current house came with a double rocker on the front porch. It is well worn with a good bit of the paint already chipped off, but I don’t think that wear is from use. I think, rather, it’s from the bright afternoon sun that beats down on it every day. That sun has done a number on our wooden front door, as well. The first year we lived here, my family gave me two wooden rocking chairs for Christmas and those set on the opposite side of the porch as the double rocker. Lots of room for everyone! I’m grateful for dear neighbors who feel comfortable enough to take time out of their busy schedules to join us on the porch, every now and then. We have enjoyed hot coffee, tasty wine (stronger libations for some), and yummy snacks on the porch. But, what I’ve enjoyed the most is our conversation and shared bursts of uncontrollable laughter. I love seeing how much alike we are and I love developing a deeper understanding of and appreciation for what makes us different. The day after one couple sat with us on the porch for hours, laughing and talking, another neighbor said, “It sounded like you were having a good time last night. Next time, how about coming over and knocking on our door so we can join you!” Just what I wanted to hear! It wasn’t long before that couple joined us on the porch, treating us to some of their favorite wine and some amazing smoked gouda/crackers! We learned a lot about each other and we laughed a lot that night, too. It’s as though sweet music filled the air with each burst of unbridled laughter!

I can’t help but think, if we took the time to join one another on the porch from time to time, perhaps our thoughts would be kinder, our words would be sweeter, our hearts would be gentler, and our lives would be richer . . . no doubt, this world would be a better place in which to live. Come on over, my friends. You’re always welcome on the porch!

For quite some time I have been frustrated by what appears to be an ever-increasing disregard for paying attention to detail. I see it in my students’ assignments, store clerks, correspondence from companies, employers’ reviews, etc. At first I thought maybe it was just my OCD that made it so glaring for me, but the more it happens, the more I believe it is a trend . . . a very dangerous one. That may seem like a melodramatic statement, but consider the risk when prescription bottles are mislabeled.  It’s very telling when attorney practices set aside resources for pharmacy mislabeling mistakes alone. A simple typo can wreak havoc on a company’s finances. Don’t take my word for it; check out The High Cost of Small Mistakes: The Most Expensive Typos of All Time by Cameron Fennell.

When I mark spelling or grammatical mistakes on student assignments, oftentimes their response is, “This isn’t an English class! Why are you marking that wrong?” Most of them get it when I say, “You are studying to be a TEACHER. Everything you do in the classroom is modeling for your students. If you expect them to learn how to spell and to use proper grammar in writing, you must model it for them every day and in all that you do.” However, sadly, some of them continue to plead their case until I say, “This is not negotiable.”

Today I received some correspondence from a company regarding my retirement from the university system. Once again, the funds had been transferred to yet another company and they were notifying me of the transfer (i.e. You now have a zero balance with us because we put your money somewhere else). Look closely at this picture. Check out the date. Seriously??? It says the money was transferred (past tense) on August 8, 2107. Hmmmm . . . . This is an official document! I’m just at a loss, truly.

My take on this (for whatever it is worth and that’s probably not even 2 cents but it helps to get it off my chest) is that we, as a society . . . parents in particular . . . have stopped expecting excellence from our children. We went through a time when we were more concerned about their feelings than we were about their development of life skills that would sustain them (and their communities). I believe we went overboard not wanting our children to cry, to hurt, to know failure (everyone gets a trophy). It may have begun as a noble cause and honestly I believe feelings are important. We want our children to be empathetic, loving, and caring, but the fallout from expecting less is damaging. It’s damaging to our children, personally, and to our society, collectively. We stopped setting expectations to which they could rise. We stopped demanding they repeat a task because they hadn’t completed it correctly the first time. Instead we gave them an “A for effort.” Instead of figuring out the cause for bad grades, we took them for ice cream to make them feel better. Scholarly research even shows great benefits toward academic success when parents expect excellence. This may seem harsh, especially from someone who has dedicated her career to the health, education, and welfare of young children, but I believe because I have seen it from all sides over the course of many years, I have a unique perspective. I am convinced society’s trend toward not paying attention to detail is directly connected to our lack of expectations for our children.

Allow me to share a personal story with you. When my daughter was about 10 years old, she was washing dishes. She was in a hurry and wasn’t rinsing the dishes thoroughly, putting them in the dish drainer with soap suds on them. I pointed that out to her and told her she needed to rinse all of the dishes again. She had a meltdown and began to cry, telling me it wasn’t a big deal and I was being too hard on her (Clearly, she just wanted to be done with it so she could go outside and play). I calmly explained to her that it was my job, as her mother, to teach her the correct way to do things. If I didn’t, I wasn’t doing my job and that was unacceptable to me. I explained that the soapy dishes would have a film on them and asked, “How would you like it if your milk tasted soapy?” I told her I wanted her to grow up with the skills she needed to take care of herself and proper dish washing was one of those skills. I guess it made sense to her, because she stopped crying, re-rinsed all the dishes and went about her day, unscathed. I had to stop what I was doing and seize what I like to call a “teachable moment”, but it was well worth it. Could it be we are just too busy and involved in so many other things, we don’t always take the time to clarify expectations for our children in order to help them grow and develop? I will say, the best result of these few moments together is that my daughter is now an adult, owns a home, supports herself, and is a vibrant and productive member of society. She is also very empathetic, loving, and caring.  Score 2 for the daughter, 0 for the trend.

The good news is, this trend is fixable! It isn’t a terminal disease that offers no hope. We can change the trend. We can begin expecting children (of all ages) to spell correctly, use proper grammar, check and double check assignments/tasks, repeat a task until the outcome is a success and work to do their best in everything they do. Children will rise to our level of expectations. I believe that and it is vital to the health and well being of our society because those children grow into adults who check your groceries at the store, cash you out at the bank, prepare your legal documents, deliver your babies, fill your prescriptions, teach your children, sign your paychecks, report the news, are elected to office, make the laws . . .

I pulled the last sheet of paper towel off the roll this morning and stopped my breakfast-making to go to the pantry and get another roll. That one simple, mindless act conjured up a memory that stays with me to this day. . . I was visiting a family member several years ago and I sat and watched as she made coffee for us. After spilling a little water on the counter, she reached for the paper towel holder and saw the roll was empty. UGH. The expression on her face was one of frustration, but also a bit of sadness. I said, “I’ll get one out of the pantry” and started in that direction. She replied, “There aren’t any more.” At that moment she walked over to the table where I was sitting and fell into the chair beside me with a look of total defeat. Now, I knew this person well enough to know this wasn’t about running out of paper towels. And so the unveiling of her realization began . . .

She opened with, “I would just LOVE to have a spare ANYTHING so when I run out, I can just go get another. I don’t need a full pantry, just enough to tide me over to the next trip to the grocery. Most people have that, don’t they? You have that, don’t you?” She wasn’t complaining or feeling sorry for herself. She was simply sharing her state of being and trying to make sense of it. She went on to say she only had enough money each time she went to the grocery to buy what she needed. There was never enough money to buy two of anything, so she could have a spare. Still, she wasn’t complaining. She was opening up . . . more and more each moment we sat there. She was questioning her life, her choices, her mistakes. She was wondering how in the world did she end up where she was. She overflowed with gratitude as she counted the many blessings in her life, but she always came back to that empty pantry. She sat in complete confusion as to how she landed in that place.

I think about that day every time I refill my paper towel dispenser, toilet paper holder, salt shaker, cereal container, cookie jar . . . I think about it every time. Every time. I think about the choices that lead us and guide us and the mistakes that change us and detour us. I think about the many, many people who never saw the angst on her face or heard the longing in her voice when she opened up to me that day. The many people who figured her pantry was full, like theirs . . .  the pantry in her house and the pantry in her heart. Both empty. Who knew?

My Dad was one who could see into other people’s pantries. After my Mom was killed by a drunk driver, my Dad began a ministry to stock the pantries of those who shared that same angst on their faces and that same longing in their voices. It was called The Good Samaritan House. He was particular about who was able to come in and get groceries . . . he picked out the scammers right away. He could see the empty pantries on the faces of those who needed food. He could hear the empty pantries as they longed to be filled. He saw both the empty house pantries and the empty heart pantries. He knew. Discernment. He had it. I only saw my Dad really angry twice in my life. Once when we were at a high school football game and the guy behind us shouted, “Break his leg when you tackle him! Get him out of the game!” My Dad came off the bleachers like a stone from a slingshot and verbally put that guy in his place. “You don’t EVER wish harm on another person in a ball game! It’s a game. It’s a sport. You don’t ever wish someone harm!” The other time was when one of those scammers came into The Good Samaritan House and he had found out this person was single, no family and made it a practice to go around to every other ministry in town, telling fabricated hard luck stories and then would turn around and SELL the food!! That guy couldn’t get out of the door fast enough when Dad refused him food and exposed his greed. Dad couldn’t stand by and see someone hurting and he wouldn’t tolerate someone taking advantage of his efforts to help those in need. There were many times he gave, when he really didn’t have it to give and that’s when it became clear to me that my Mother saw the empty pantries, too, or she wouldn’t have been able to accept and encourage my Dad’s generosity and selfless actions.

That family member with the empty pantry? My Mom and Dad saw her empty pantry and worked to keep it well stocked. Now she’s living in her heavenly mansion, which I’m sure has a pantry that looks a lot like the one in the picture. My Dad is living in his heavenly mansion, as well, and no doubt he is one of the chief pantry stockers, in word and deed. My Mom, too, is living in her heavenly mansion and I imagine she’s Dad’s most valued assistant in pantry stocking. And I am grateful every day for my full pantry and for the memories that fill me up with gratitude for having known and loved them all.