Not what I expected

 
Everyone said the recovery from shoulder surgery would hurt. 
Everyone. 

Not just some. Not a few. Not even most. 
Nope, everyone. 

So, why am I so surprised that after five weeks, my shoulder still hurts and therapy makes me what to throw up? I thought it'd be different.

I thought it would be different ...... for me. After all, I've run half marathons; surely it will be different. I've taken care of myself for 15 years, alone and independent; surely it will be different. I raised two kids through college nearly by myself; surely it will be different. Bring it on because I'm ready. 

This is not what I expected. 

And, because it isn't, I've had to change what I think, change how I do things, change how I look at the world and how I interact with it. 

 The unexpected will do that to you. 

With my right arm unusable, I've learned to trust my left to carry the load. I didn't think it was up for it when I first began. It was weak, awkward. I hadn't really paid much attention to it. Yet, when I learned to rely on it, something happened. It came through for me. Sure, it wasn't good at first, but I'd never asked it to wash dishes alone before. After learning what didn't work, we soon figured out what did. And then we did it again, then again, with lots of tasks and challenges. 

And, so it is with the people in our lives. We learn to expect what we expect without ever imagining that it might be different... that life might be different. 

Start looking at life differently. You might just find it's not what you expected; it's better. 

Read more at:  http://likemylife.homestead.com/creamoftartar.html

Photo credit: Heroes are made every day when we do what isn't expected; photo by JudyMae @ Carmi

Matter to someone

In an episode of Star Trek, the crew members of the Enterprise were thrown back in time, picking up an Air Force pilot from the mid-twentieth century along the way. When it was time to return to their own time, Captain Kirk debated whether to keep the man on board or risk returning him to the past with all he had seen.

Spock checked the history files and deduced the man would make no contributions to the world . . . his life was insignificant . . . nothing he had done--or would ever do--mattered to the way the rest of the world would unfold.

In short, he would not be missed; the world would go on unchanged if he did not return. 

How many of us are living just like that man? If Scotty beamed us up right now, would the world be any different without us?

It's awfully easy to be insignificant. It's safe. If we never reach out to anyone, then no one talks about us, no one hurts us, no one takes advantage of us. We stay in our little world and tend to our own things. We believe we have little to offer the world, so we don't try. We're content to let others be the heroes.

I recently sent an email to a pastor I had while I was a teen-ager in Iroquois. Its one-line message was simple. It read, "You will never know the impact you have had on my life."

He did no great thing for me, only little things with great kindness. That is really all we can ask of ourselves. I will not be the one to cure cancer, but I know my writings have eased the pain of chemotherapy for at least one person. To me, that's just as good.

Matter to someone.
Lift somone's burden.
Bring joy to the sad.
Comfort another's grief.

And when you're gone, let the world say that your life mattered.

"Don't wait for some magic gift. Share what you are, dare to be vulnerable, and you will find people who count you among their deepest friends." Let God Love You

photo credit: Wil Bingman, Star Trek Enterprise at The Smithsonian 

Living a life triumphantly unnoticed

I've struggled what to blog to note Wil's 18th birthday. I want a story that is uniquely Wil. As most moms have learned, you can raise your kids exactly alike; yet they still turn out to be different. So it has been with my two kids, and it seemed that what came easily for Jen, Wil sometimes struggled with. I recall vividly the night of Jen's eighth grade sports night where she came home loaded down with awards. It was the same day Wil found out he didn't make the cut for Little League (or one of those competitive baseball divisions). Still, as Jenny's biggest fan, he hid any disappointment he might have felt as he supported her triumphs.

I believe that is one of Wil's most endearing qualities; to be comfortable in his own skin, to not need fuss or attention or recognition, to work with no thought of reward. To be a Michael Collins.

In 1969, the Columbia Missourian newspaper interviewed Michael Collins, the third astronaut joining Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong, after their historic trip to the moon.


"While the world breathlessly watched and listened for the moon walk by Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, Mike Collins cruised in orbit overhead. His job was to undertake emergency action if something went wrong, or to pick them up from the lunar module for the return to Earth if everything went right.


"His great achievement -- his fondest hope -- is to be triumphantly unnoticed."


It is easy to become discouraged when the lion's share of the attention falls on one or two. Some folks seem made for attention. They thrive on it, work better in the midst of it. But all the attention in the world wouldn't have helped Neil Armstrong get back to earth if Michael Collins had decided to grab a little attention of his own and fly on home without him.

We need the Michael Collins in this world.

We need the Neil Armstrong's too, but too often, while the Armstrong's are retelling their stories to whomever will listen, the Collins' of the world are still out there plugging along, doing their work, "triumphantly unnoticed."

Sometimes we forget that.
Sometimes we forget how important the little things we do are to people. I teach nutrition to children every Wednesday and Thursday, and every time I walk into their classroom, little children run up, hug my belly and tell me how happy they are to see me.

Am I changing the world? No.
Am I changing theirs? Yes, and you can bet they change mine every Wednesday and Thursday.

I'll never be famous.
I will never be Neil Armstrong, and that's okay.

Wil's choice to join the military is just another example of the way he's lived his life all along, but his unselfish actions will never go unnoticed by his loving mother.  There is no greater compliment I hear than when people say "Wil's a good kid."

Happy Birthday to my Good Kid!

A salute to Gumby, unsung hero

At Christmas, Wil lamented that I never read to him as a child. I was shocked and hurt. No one likes to have their motherhood challenged. I remember spending hours talking with the children before bedtime. It was after reading today's obituary of Art Clokey, creator of Gumby, that I realized why Wil doesn't remembered having books read to him. It's because instead of reading books, I made up stories, new and different adventures each night.

That's what Art Clokey did with his children, and the stories he told them became many of the 233 adventures of Gumby we enjoyed on television.

Childhood lost. I was Gumby for Halloween when I was six. My sister was the beautiful bride. Since this picture, my sister has been a bride three times. Me, well, there are days I certainly feel like Gumby.

To me, Gumby was the ultimate defender of the little guy. Gumbyworld.com says that Gumby's focus was on doing "what is right and good. Because of his faith in following his heart, everything always works out for him in the end, whether that means a triumph or learning a lesson."

Gumby was a hero. Heroes, they're the people who made us who we are today. They may be the leader we patterned our lives after, the beacon who steered us to our career, the spiritual leader who crafted our moral inner self, or the cheerleader who never gave up on us.

Heroes. If there are fewer today than in our younger days, it is only because we have demanded too much from them. We have come to expect perfection, not only from our heroes, but from our business associates, our political leaders, our neighbors, our teachers, our friends, ourselves.

Maybe the problem in today's world is you can literally find out just about everything there is to know about a person. Knowing everything includes knowing the less than hero-like qualities in each of us. We all have them, so the longer you look, the more you know and the less heroic they become.

The ordination ceremony in the United Methodist Church used to (and maybe still does) include a question to all incoming preachers: "Are you striving for perfection?" One year, a preacher-to-be replied, "No," to which the bishop responded, "I didn't say 'are you going to reach perfection,' but, 'Are you striving for it?'"

True heroes strive for perfection, acknowledge they'll never reach it and forgive others when they fall short of it.

True heroes act like Gumby. Rest in peace Art Clokey.