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.

Promises to myself

The new year is always a good time for resolutions. I prefer to call them promises, promises I make to myself. Unlike many, though, my promises have remained the same for years, and I use the new year to remind me to be more kind to myself. Here they are if you also need reminding as well.

I will not let small, simple minds make me doubt my own worth or capabilties
I will not look to others for my strength.
I will not allow the size of my worries to determine the depth of my joys.
I will not throw away my belief in the goodness of humankind because of the cruelty of a few humans.
I will not expect miracles, but I will accept them.
I will not expect my children to act, think, respond or love like adults.
I will not cry in sorrow, only for joy.
I will not try to get even; who wants to be equal to an idiot.
I will not allow money to dictate my decisions.
I will not allow my problems to be an excuse for not helping others.

I will look upon the morning sunrise as if it were the last one I'd see for eternity.
I will believe in fairness, knowing it rarely, if ever, happens.
I will remind myself how lucky I am to have children who wear jeans to church (because at least they're going), who leave dirty clothes on the floor (because at least they came home that night) and who tell me I'm not being fair (because at least they asked for permission first).

I will do without and realize how much better I am without it.
I will marvel at how the world works and chuckle at those who think they discovered why.
I will remind my children that perfection is not their mother's desire.

And, I will look at this list whenever the world causes me to forget.

Photo credit: Jenny Mae Bingman

Going nowhere fast

I visited my sister in northern Illinois, and it didn't take me long to remember what driving in the city was like. The children and I were taking a leisurely pace, looking here and there.

The people behind us were not interested in anything except getting around us. One after another, they whipped around us, hurrying, it seemed, to merely beat us to the next stop light.

They were working so hard at getting nowhere.

Later I tried to make a left-hand turn out of the grocery store parking lot and cross four lanes of traffic. I couldn't. While I waited, drivers behind me honked their horns, impatient with my patience.

So, instead of going left (the direction I wanted to go), I had to turn right and drive in the wrong direction until I found another stop light where I could turn left, find another parking lot, turn around and head back to the light. Only then could I finally go the direction I wanted to go.

We laughed about how much time we wasted going the wrong way . . . and how long it took us to get right back where we started.

Another life lesson--it's hard to cross traffic.

It's hard to be an individual and ignore the honking from behind while you wait for your moment to cross. It's easier to give up all together and go the other way, the wrong way. Only trouble is, some of us never turn around. Years slip into the next and you're still heading in the wrong direction.

If you ever hope to get to where you really want to be, ignore the well-intentioned "honks" of your friends and family who try to tell you what you should or shouldn't do or how you should or shouldn't feel. Only you know the direction you want to go, and only you know when it's safe to cross.

When the moment's just right, floor it. Don't think . . . you've thought long enough. Don't worry . . . you know the way is clear. Don't give up . . . it's worth the effort.

Go the direction you were born to go.

photo credit: Picture Perfect Photography

In search of one moment in time

 

 Photo by Wil Bingman 

"At what point will I be content?" my dearest friend asked.

We talked about dreams and plans and fate and dumb luck, all the while wondering when each of us would be able to say, "This is where I want to be."

Maybe we're reaching for something we'll never achieve. Maybe we're never meant to be totally content. Maybe it's that unsettled feeling which keeps us striving each day; maybe that's what makes us get out of bed each morning and do it all one more time, a little better than the day before.

Maybe.
Or, maybe, contentment comes from making the most of where we are that day. Maybe that peace we're looking for is what we feel each night before we drift to sleep when we realize we lived the day the best we could. It may not have been great, may not have even been good, but it was our best effort.

Maybe.
Or, maybe, if we're lucky, there will be a point where everything lines up; where good is good and always good and always right there at your side.

I hope.
A firefighter from the Champaign, IL area spoke at a state 4-H awards ceremony and he said it much better than I ever could. "We are all moving toward that one moment in time where you're more than you thought you could ever be."

That's what I want. I want to be more than I ever thought I could be, and, more importantly, recognize the moment when I get there.

I want more contentment than I ever thought I would have.
I want to love more than I ever thought I could and be loved more than I ever dreamed possible.
I want more laughter than tears.
I want comfort without extravagance.
I want more friendships than one lifetime can fill.

In "The Bridges of Madison County," Clint Eastwood turned to the woman he loved and said, "It just seems like everything I've done up to this point in my life has led me here." That was his "one moment."

I wait for that one moment in time when I say "here is where I wanted to be; here is where I was meant to be; here is where I feel content; here is the place where all the twists of my life have taken me . . .  and it is a good place to be."