Wonder

Always be on the lookout for a sense of wonder. 

~ E. B. White

There are moments that I have to wonder if I am dreaming, so full of wonder is my life now. 

Years ago I found myself in a marriage that had fallen in shatters to the floor, preparing for a move back to familiar territory in the Midwest. I knew the marriage was over, but I also knew I wasn't in a position to raise my young son so far away from family, in a location that would have been difficult to support us economically. A day came, in preparing for the move with my then-husband, that a voice came into my mind, "There will be a place for you at the college." It was clear and wondrous, this voice.

I followed the leadings of that direction. Once we were settled in, Derrick returned to school, resume updated, I started looking for a job that I knew I would need in order to position myself for the freedom from that marriage. The first time I used the Internet for a job search. I looked, not nearly as surprised as I should have been, to see a job posted at my alma mater. Straight to the college I went, handed to give the director of personnel my resume in person. A few days later, October 8, 1999, I had my interview, was offered the job and never looked back. For years I thought that job was the place for me at the college. I thought that was the life saving message received.  That wasn't the end of the story.

The Universe is full of wonder. We simply have to be open enough to receive the messages and to step into wonder with faith we are doing the right thing.

The wonder for me is that now, all these years later, I have returned to the town of my alma mater. The third time I've come to this small town. The first as a student, the second as an employee and mother of a young son. Both, times of great healing and personal growth. I worked in a department that fully supported one other. One of the best work teams I've ever been privileged enough to be a part of. We accomplished great things together. As part of fulfilling my personal dream, I decided to resume classes again while working there so I could become an elementary school teacher. That I did, teaching in Indianapolis in an urban environment since then.

Seems the Universe wanted me back here in this place. In a fairy story style way. Someone I knew from those days of working and I lost track of each other for years. Our lives were meant to be lived as they were. But life changes struck us both. We reacquainted ourselves this summer. The friendship planted in dormant soil so very long ago quickly sprouted into a strong relationship. Even though an observer might think this has all moved quickly, we felt it was clear that this was simply meant to be.

When we reconnected, T was living in Pennsylvania. Our beginning email/telephone/Skype exchanges led to eventual visits from him to Indiana. There was never a doubt for either of us that we were meant to be together. Serendipitously, at the same time, he was recruited back to this town in the same position he held those years ago.

So . . . wonder of wonders, on January 1st T and I were married! I am certain I am in the place the Universe wanted me to be!

Standing by the Edge of the Pond

Standing on the edge of the small pond, looking down the bank. I lean against a strong fallen limb, which seems perfectly placed for that exact purpose. Close by there is an inlet from the river, so there is a current that moves the fallen leaves across the top. We’ve just emerged from a wooded section of the 100 acre park. We’ve walked together under the ancient, huge trees where sometimes the pond peeked through and was sometimes hidden. Cool enough for long sleeves, warm enough that no jacket is required. The sun sometimes shines through a blue sky and sometimes hides behind the clouds blowing by.   

We pause to enjoy the moment of the early autumn afternoon. The sun sparkles on the water top. Precious time spent together. No need to even say to each other what the moment means, though we express it with gratitude just to be sure. Grateful that we both understand the need to be in nature like this without the need to convince or explain why.

I see a sandhill crane. Still as stone on the other side of the pond. At first I don’t see it, but my eye always looks for them at the lake, so I automatically watch now and spot it. Turns its head slowly so that it is obvious it is hunting for a fish in the water or a frog in the reed. The epitome of patience, this crane. Reminding me of days and years I thought I would never have the patience to make it to this very moment.

It is too early in the season yet for many of the leaves to have turned or fallen. There are a few. Watching those few leaves in the water, I am reminded of the flow of the river of life. Riding it gently, taking us right where we belong. I wonder how many times in the past I’ve struggled and struggled, only to allow myself to be overwhelmed by the current below and taken under the water. Miraculously, not to be drowned in the angst of the struggle but saved in order that I can now gently flow in the beauty of this fall afternoon.

Dreaded Test Day

My class has been counting down to the ISTEP test since I started working with them in December. As with anything, it seemed so far off then. So many other important things to take care of and consider before the test arrived. Now, the day is here. Yikes!

This class has come so far. Yet I'm concerned. Is it far enough? Have we accomplished enough in this time span?

They've been through a lot this year. The entire school has. We started the year with a new to the school principal and assistant principal. Because we knew who was coming last year, much of the staff bailed to other schools in the district. We lost a lot of good teachers. The principal decided to hire a bunch of new teachers, many of whom were Teach For America teachers. Good thought, I guess. But the reality of teaching in an urban school is not the stuff of TV movies and fairy tails. Most of those teachers simply couldn't hack it and left. The only TFA teachers that now remain are teachers that were trained in the education discipline in college and decided to go with TFA for the perks, etc. The ones that left did damage of trust and lost instructional time to the classes they influenced while here.

Count my class as one of those. The woman who originally had my class just couldn't take it. The students sensed her fear of controlling a classroom. She thought she could reach them by being a friend. Or something. She simply walked out - middle of the day - with certain expletives, just not able to stand another minute. Another teacher took the class sometime in October. From the get-go she was wishy washy about classroom management. I remember going into her class one day, simply because the noise was so loud as I was passing by that I couldn't believe it. I just walked in, said, "Give me five," and the class immediately quieted, shamed to have been caught by me. Many of the students have known me from going into their classes in first & second grade or at least seeing me in the halls and such. Anyway, that woman would call in sick more than she would be present. She walked out sometime in November, again middle of the day with expletives.

Thankfully, the bad first principal of the year left sometime in September. Speculation is all we have, but one Monday afternoon at dismissal time we got an email from him wishing us well, but that he wouldn't be back. No love lost on anyone's part, in my opinion. Thankfully the first thing the next morning our new principal was introduced. Her first assignment as a principal after being an assistant for several years in the district.

Toward the end of November, following a morning staff meeting, the principal said she couldn't keep a sub in the room, no one was picking up the job, and there wasn't a viable candidate for the position in the HR pool. By this point the kiddos had been split into other classes throughout the building for at least a week. She wasn't sure what the result for the class would be. I'd been thinking about them. Remembering, the way they immediately turned off their nonsence when I went into their classroom. So I went to the principal and told her she'd have to find a sped teacher to replace me, but that I would take the class for her. She grabbed me in a hug, said, "Are you sure? You're an answer to a prayer!" So I switched from sped with first & second to being a gen ed teacher in third. Haven't regretted that move for a minute of the year. Even though it has been tremendous work to prepare for them each day.

Pre-data results show an increase in their work from the time I started working with them. Still, this is the real deal today. Hope they got me sleep than me last night!

My Marine

"Every morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most." ~ Siddhartha Gautama

What a whirlwind of a couple of weeks! Off to San Diego last week for Derrick's graduation from boot camp as an official Marine. His father, my sister, her husband and I were all there to join in the celebration. I can't even begin to dissect  the feelings and emotions I have!

The one thing I am is exceptionally proud of my son. He grabbed onto a goal several years ago and worked, waited, and never doubted his path. He was so certain. Other people could have given up, or at least become overwhelmingly discouraged. But not Derrick. He always knew he'd make it.

Make it he did! The days in San Diego were amazing. Seeing him after so many months with only letters to communicate. Seeing the entire company on the parade deck, marching in precision. Meeting his friends and knowing he is in good hands. The leadership we observed. I'm thankful of where he's been and where he's going.

Each day is a new day. Derrick has so many adventures in his days ahead.

Little Things

Enjoy the little things,

for one day you may look back and

realize they were the big things.

Four artifacts. Old pieces, family pieces. I feel they connect me through years with women I love and my heritage. All are simple sewing tools. The basic items that a seamstress needs to complete a task.

The first is a simple sewing thimble. Sterling silver, misshapen, I found it in an antique stand years ago. I’ve always used a thimble, can’t hold a needle without one, as a matter of fact. As I slipped it on my middle finger, it seemed as though someone had purposely shaped it to fit my particular, one-of-a-kind, finger.


The next is a thimble, but not a simple one. Housed in a leather case, sitting on a velvet lined pedestal. A gold thimble! Shinny bright and engraved with my great-grandmother’s name, Mrs. C. F. Showalter. I never met her; only know her through stories shared by my mother, aunt, and grandma. She lived with them at home until my mother was about five. An Irish woman, deeply spiritual in a magical type of way. I’ve seen her stitches. Fitting for someone who sewed with a golden thimble. Fine satin stitches made with silken thread that simply glows. The piece I’m thinking about has vivid purples, gold, and green. A thread painting of thistle flowers on linen. Exquisite stitching.



Great-grandmother's golden thimble



These next two pieces belonged to my grandmother. A seam ruler and thread scissors. I learned much about sewing by observing Grandma. She was never without her current knitting project. In fact, she did teach me to knit. I wish I knew all the stitches she was capable of making. What I learned about sewing though, has served me well. She taught me that measuring must be precise and equal. Hide the loose ends of every thread. Use the point of the scissor to turn a sharp corner. NEVER use thread or fabric scissors on paper. These pieces are also silver. Well worn due to use over the years. The scissor is much sharper than any newer pair I’ve ever tried. I’ve had plastic/metal seam rulers that either bend or break.

Simple sewing tools

I like to think of the similarities I have of these women. I’m told I bear significant physical resemblance to my great-grandmother. Grandma used to turn my pieces over to examine the back. She never failed to remark how nice it looked, even on the back. “Just like Mama,” she’d compliment me. When I bake something special for someone, I’m nearly always reminded of Grandma. Her specialties were fudge, chocolate cake, and caramels. She’d make them with the person to eat them in mind, as an act of blessing. I often do the same as I prepare a meal or make a treat to share.



The differences can’t help but come to mind, however. I would never be known as a Mrs. of the man’s name. Even when married, I kept my maiden name as my own part of the wedded name, unable to toss that part of myself away. Of course, she lived in a much different time and world than me. I don’t always have the courage to stand up for what I truly believe in the way Grandma did. In fact, sometimes I’m not even always sure what my stance is on a particular issue, too able to see both sides of the story.



These artifacts remind me of my connection to these special women. I think my interest in sewing as an art form is a gift from both of them. As I either sew or create something else I feel the connection through them to my spirituality. I hope I can continue to grow in both my artistic and spirituality as a way of expressing my gratitude to the legacy they gave me.


Just as Grandma taught me sewing, along with cooking, caring for animals, and the ways of being a lady, by example, she taught me from a very early age about God and spirituality as a way of living life. She took me with her to the Sunday school class she taught. I remember literally sitting on her knee as she led the teenagers in the lesson. Her study time during the day was sacred, not to be interrupted. She would, however invite me in to share that special time with her. A beautiful example, as it was a daily discipline, done not out of duty, but love.

Sunny Departure

"One day you will ask me which is more important? My life or yours? I will say mine and you will walk away not knowing that you are my life." ~ Khalil Gibran

Saturday was spent in the warm sunshine, watching Derrick as he prepares for his departure to Boot Camp with the Marines in one week. For as long as we’ve waited for this day, I find my breath catches every time I think about it. Which is always.

This is what he’s wanted for years. I am happy for him, reaching this goal. Proud of his choices. Proud of the way he’s pursued his dream, kept his sense of determination and optimism throughout the process of it all.

The stark realization that this is what it is like to be a mother. I raised him for the purpose of letting him go to pursue his own life’s path. I should be as happy as can be. And I am. But the emotions overtake me in waves. Because my life’s purpose all these years has been Derrick.

So I’m left wondering, what now? Just me and the cats for the rest of my life? My life is full of other things, too. My work as a teacher. My alter life as an artist. My family and friends. All that means so much to me, more than I could ever express in words. There are moments I wonder if I’ll even survive this, as if all life will be totally sucked out of me, as if a vacuum has swept my heart away.

I know other mothers survive the departure of their children leaving them. Isn’t that the way the world has always worked? Maybe I feel this so intensely because I’ve been a single mother for so long. It has been just the two of us for the most part all these years.

Realistically, I know I’ll make it. Especially when I think about the other things I’ve overcome in my life. And this is a good thing. I would never take a dream away from someone, especially someone I love so much. The feelings I have seem selfish when I think about it with my head.

 

 

Really, I am so proud of Derrick. The sunburn on my shoulders from Saturday hurt, but I know that will heal oh so much quicker than the heartache of his departure.

When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. - Helen Keller -

Door Ways

My little feet are running through the kitchen, through the back porch. I give the door a push and I jump over the step, into the backyard. The door immediately slams shut with a double bounce, so I hear it two times. Out I go, calling, “Grandpa? Where’s Grandpa?” A sense memory, complete with the smells of the garden, the sound of the door, the feel of the air on my skin, my heart filled with love. Now, this is but an echo of memory.

Doors are often transitions from one part of life to another. Once you go through the doorway, nothing is the same as before. Once you were out, now you are in. It is different. Sometimes you choose to go through the door into the beyond. Leaving behind what no longer works. Sometimes we stop to wonder at the difference. We say to ourselves, “That was then. This is now. Nothing is the same.”

We don’t always recognize the symbolic doors we pass through until sometime later. I think back to doors I’ve walked through. Leaving old jobs and colleagues behind. Walking out the door of marriage and a life ever altered for myself and my son. Walking through a school door and into a new career as a teacher. Doorways that I didn’t recognize as ended friendships. Thankfully finding new doors into fulfilling and healthy friendships.

I think of the doors that my son has already passed through. Doors that he will open without me in the days and years to come. Knowing my door, wherever it may be, will always welcome him home to me again. Yes, the door to my years as a single mother is starting to close as Derrick prepares to leave home in the upcoming months.

What doors I don’t yet recognize will open for me? One thing is certain, the door to my home now will be much quieter without the comings and goings of Derrick and his friends.

As I ready myself to enter new doorways, I think back to Grandpa’s door and do my best to realize that I’m always where I’m meant to be.

 When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.

– The Sound of Music