Pioneers: The first purpose-driven lives

I am a morning person. I meant to write a post on this topic yesterday and never got around to it. I'm so glad I didn't. I woke up this morning, started a pot of coffee (Savannah Seduction from the Paula Deen collection - you should try it), and looked out the back door. It's been mercifully cool here the past two days, and this morning the temperature was just low enough to pull a swirling mist out of the lake. The wind was blowing gently, pushing water toward our dock and causing the tall reeds on the far shore to sway. The same breeze permeated the branches of the oak trees, putting a million leaves in motion and even sending some fluttering to the ground and water beneath. Generally speaking, my backyard was on par with a scene from a Nicholas Sparks movie.

I opened up our day care yesterday morning. We open at 6:30, which means I was up at five and out the door by six. The drive into town got me thinking on this subject: As much as I love to sleep, I love a quiet, still morning that much more. There is a confounding mixture of peace and majesty right before the sun comes up that I love to be a part of. Add to it the aroma of strong coffee and I'm blissfully happy.

I have mostly fond memories of the wee morning hours. Growing up, our family vacations always commenced in the pre-dawn darkness. Likewise, our Christmas mornings have never seen the light of the sun. Even while working long summer days at the National Interagency Fire Center after my first year of college, the 6:30 a.m. clock-in time was met with laughter and in the company of one of my best friends.

There's more to it than positive associations, though. Mornings are filled with possibility. Everything is new. Those are qualities not shared by other times of the day. Historically speaking, mornings were most important – the entire day’s success pivoted on what was accomplished before the sun was even up. Failure to literally seize the day resulted in catastrophe and waste on a farm or other primitive place of commerce.

Every branch of my father's family tree made the trek from the eastern United States to the mountains of Idaho in the late 1800's. His maternal grandfather lost his first wife and three children along the way. Harsh winters can last eight months in that already rugged country, which was at that time (and now, come to think of it) sparsely populated. Nevertheless, my ancestors hacked out homes, started families, and became successful founding citizens of what would become our nation's 43rd state (1890). I consider my day's productivity to be wrecked if the Internet is running slowly.

In spite of that fault, I do hope my a.m.-adeptness is something passed down from my pioneer ancestors. On childhood camping trips I would wake in the tent or camper that was damp with dew. I would smell the fire right before recognizing its crackling sound mixed in with clanging pots and pans. My dad would already be up working on his "Mountain Man Breakfast." Stepping out into the crisp and pure mountain air of Idaho - you have no idea - you literally feel your lungs being cleansed. The rustle of pine needles underfoot, the burble of a meandering stream nearby, the call of birds, the smell of coffee percolating in a tin pot, and the sight of distant rocky peaks that tell you just how small you are. This is purely my assumption, but those have to be the small joys cherished by the hard workers I came from.

I sit back and picture a great-grandfather stepping outside a cabin of rough-hewn timber. It's early, their body is sore, but they have a hot be it meager breakfast in their stomach. They look to the east and see the faint promise of sunshine making its way up the backside of what I believe to be the most perfect landform created by God. They button another button on a coat or pull gloves onto chapped hands and then take a deep breath and start out. Inside they have a knowledge that whatever they accomplish that day, little or much, it's that much more done and it's a measure of work they can be proud of because they started early and with purpose.

Clever Title

Accomplishment: Something that has been achieved successfully.

Today is my 27th birthday. I'm in full swing analytical mode looking back over the 23 years I remember well. I've succeeded at a lot of things, I have failed at others. I ran my first 5K race this past weekend. It was something I had wanted to do for some time, and I feel really great about having done it. I finished college, a degree hangs on my office wall. I attempted to adopt children and backed out. I tried to buy a house, several actually, and never made it to closing. I've written a book, but haven't had it published. I could continue to list successes, near successes, and failures, but no more is necessary to make my point.

Above my bed hangs a sign: “Blessed is the life that finds joy in the journey.” Life's mixture of attempts, missed chances, triumphs, and let downs are what make up a lifetime of rich memories. They are what make a person. Forced experience never ends up being all that rewarding or memorable, but a chance encounter, an unexpected experience, a stolen laugh, the unmerited opportunity to be a light for another soul, those make up the well-woven tapestry of a life.

When Krystal, Rebekah, Cynthia, and I were in New York in January, it wasn’t the expertly planned and executed moments that were the most enjoyable. Instead, a second trip to Junior’s for cheesecake and a table full of diabetic coma-inducing desserts in Little Italy are my favored memories … and it’s merely a coincidence that they happen to revolve around food.

1 Peter 2:9: But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness and into his wonderful light.

When push comes to shove, every accomplishment and every moment of life are gifts from above. We are allowed to have them because of his grace. We are a “chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God” for the sole purpose of glorifying him. I live in the light! And not because I found it on my own. He led me to it, and when I stray into darkness, he plugs in a nightlight for me. How can I not live my life for his glory?

I dub myself an overachiever, and I am a person satisfied by work well done. I have goals and plans, among them are running a full marathon, publishing books, marrying a man who loves me, having children of my own and adopting more, making a home, growing a school, and seeing the world. But before any of these, I have the goal of molding and shaping a life that is in keeping with the commands and will of my Lord.

The most comfortable clothes I own are the ones that are stained and frayed, and have been in a dresser drawer for a quarter or more of my existence. Similarly, the people I most enjoy being with are the ones that have been walking beside me, and I by them, through the food fights and mountain tops of life. In this vein, I hope that the accomplishments I treasure most are the ones that point to Him. Like paint-splattered jeans and old friends, they might not look like much, but they mean a lot to me, and one other person.

Spiritual Geography

“It's in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ and got our hopes up, he had his eye on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone.” Ephesians 1:11

Mountains and valleys, friends. Mountains and valleys. Every human has both. Looking back over a few of the valleys I've been in, I see an image of myself with a shovel in my hand. Do we dig our own at times?

I've always considered myself to be an "up by the bootstraps" kind of gal. However, when I really hold a light close, I see that I have occasionally managed to kick myself while I was down. Who needs enemies when you have yourself? How do I manage to do this? I have several favored methods, but here is a prize-winning example.

When presented with an opportunity I often jump to the most preposterous negative circumstance I can imagine and will let it intimidate me. I am proud to say, I do usually go through with said opportunity, but not without a lot of unnecessary anxiety. A hilarious example of this occurred just this past weekend. I was looking for a 5K and found a trail run in Austin. I haven't trained for trail running (yet), so it was a poor choice anyway, but ahead of determining that, I was actually wasting brain cells worrying about mountain lions. That's right. Mountain lions. There have been four attacks in 100 years, none of them fatal, in this particular park in the Austin area. Pretty slim odds, right? Doesn't matter, my mind left all actual logic behind and was 1,000 miles ahead fashioning a weapon out of a fallen pine branch to protect myself from the feline beast, which is sure to uncharacteristically show up and choose to attack me out of 300 runners. If I were ready for trail running, I would have talked myself down and gone to this race. But, why do I even go looking for these fears?

I find the worst valleys are the ones where we have forgotten the truth in Ephesians 1:11. My mountain lion fear was not a valley, but it is an instance where I took my eyes off Jesus. Peter did that once, too.

I know myself pretty well. God knows me better, which is why I should listen to Him more, and others less. When I feel myself on the slippery edge and can look down and see a descent in front of me, it’s never His voice I’m hearing, it’s usually not my own, either. Instead it is the imagined, or real, judgment from others. Their thoughts on my choices, my plans, my actions – the perceived disapproval of others is how my journey through a declivity of self pity always begins.

I stumbled on the above scripture in Ephesians a few days ago and began writing this post. I couldn't finish it ... until now. I stumbled on more scripture a few minutes ago that I feel complete the thought. 1 Thessalonians 5:16 says: "Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

Always be joyful - God's given you joy. Exercise it. No matter what's going on, if you know Him, you've got a reason to be joyful.

Pray continually - Even in the rare event that you and everybody around you is experiencing a blissfully perfect life, somebody somewhere doesn't know Him. Pray for that person.

Give thanks in ALL circumstances - This one is hard, but when things are looking glum, when you feel the cold fist of a bad mood, the best thing to do is start praising him. Count your blessings, not your sorrows. (I borrowed that from a church sign.)

It's safe to say that the next time I find myself in a valley, or on my way down to one, if I'll utilize these tools instead of that old shovel, things will get better a lot quicker.

Rebuttal to myself

I never intended for the blog I wrote earlier today to be negative in any way. Nevertheless, I think it was, and I wasn't comfortable leaving it up for the whole universe, or my 10 followers to read. If you already have ...

I'll write a regular-length post in the next few days. In the meantime, let it suffice to say that I am blessed beyond measure. I love my family - I could praise God forever over the wonderful people He's given me to love. Most importantly, I walk in grace, holding the hand of a Father who loves me more than I can even begin to comprehend. It's not my plans or goals that count - when I start letting those (me) steer the boat too much, I have to step back and surrender my will once more. Oddly enough, after I do, the clouds part and I'm back to being me, hanging out with my best friend.

Hindsight and Touchstones

When I was a kid I went to sleep with every stuffed animal I owned piled up on the bed around me because I didn't want any of their feelings to be hurt. I had my favorites, but none of the animals needed to know that. It was best if they all felt equally loved. I also remember a new refrigerator being delivered to our home, and the old one being hauled off. I felt terrible for the old refrigerator.

Of course, I grew out of that mindset, but even as an adult it has at times been hard to let go of "things." I feel disloyal when I trade in a vehicle that's been loyal to get me around safely for a new, shiny model. I even felt bad getting rid of my old Dell laptop in exchange for the fabulous MacBook Pro I am currently typing on. That old laptop was with me through many of my life's biggest moments. It was with me at the University of Idaho and rode with me in the old Chevy Cavalier when I moved to Texas for good. I completed my final semester's projects on it, and it was at home waiting while I walked across the stage at Stephen F. Austin to accept the diploma we had earned together. Why do we form attachments to the inanimate?

Naturally, the answer is in the emotions and memories attached to the objects, not the objects themselves. I keep a wooden box of mementos from an old boyfriend in my closet, not because I care about a macramé bracelet he made for me, and not because I harbor feelings for him ten, wait eleven, years later. The contents of that box are artifacts from my life at that point in time. I might open it up once a year, and every time I do a certain smell hits my nose and I am instantly taken back - to high school hallways, a theater class, and a house off Maple Grove in Boise, Idaho. Memories like those are vivid, and they keep me grounded. Every person needs touchstones in life to show them where they were; I believe that makes it easier to stay focused on where we're going.

The year I spent alone in Idaho forever changed me. I lived in the panhandle college town of Moscow, my parents and sister were in Texas, and my childhood home was in Boise. Whenever I made the 300-mile jaunt down Highway 55 to the City of Trees I always visited my house. Before it sold, I would still go inside. I would walk into our den and remember slumber parties with my best friend, whose name is also Rachel. Every Saturday for probably three years we slept on the two couches in that room. I would walk to my old bedroom. The holes from the tacks that secured posters and other relics of my youth were spackled and painted over, but every memory was crystal clear. I would leave the house and remember the excitement I felt two years before taking the same steps toward the limo that would deliver me to my senior prom. That was my past, and the tangible structure tied to the memories involved sat empty on Sandhurst. There were remembrances plenty, but my future was 1,800 miles away in Texas. The vacant house I visited every few months that year was the touchstone that revealed to me where I needed to go.

When some "thing" must go, or must change, how can we hold on to the essence wrapped up in it? If I were to throw away the wooden box on a shelf in my closet, how would I recall so vividly the memories stored inside it? By remembering the person, or the people, not the "things." By looking forward to making more memories down the road. By using lessons learned as the touchstone for growth and guidance in the future.

I wrote my first book on the Dell. But I'll write my second one on the MacBook. I grew up in a house on Sandhurst. I'll grow old in the one I choose a little time from now.

Major Minors

At times, when goals still seem so far from being met, it's easy to think you haven't accomplished much. I'm not talking about a pity party, although I still have those. It's more of a drill sergeant-type self lecture: "Allen! You have got to pick it up!" or "Do not make this mistake again!"

Fortunately, when I have those moments, it's never too long before some positive little memory from the past floats to the surface. I may run across someone who brings it to mind, I may be going through student records and recall an occurrence, or it may just come to me in a silent moment. It's not important how it arrives, but that it does.

Our church is small. Our ministries are big. We aren't a Latin-instructing preschool, or an Ivy League preparatory high school, but we do change lives for the better - always with His help.

A memory came to mind today while I was thinking about needing new floors in the commons area, and tricking myself into believing that my students are somehow disadvantaged by the mustard shade of linoleum that is there at present. Suddenly, I remembered a single mother who was at a crossroads I hope I never stand at. She was on her own with a 10-month-old, and she had to be honest about something in order to enroll her child in our day care center. I could tell she was cringing inside because she was expecting to be judged.

I believe God allows each and every one of us to experience things for the express purpose of having the right mindset to handle some event in the future. I am so grateful He did that for me. Otherwise, today I would cringe at how I handled that woman's confession. Instead, because of what His grace did for me, I was able to look her in the eye and offer reassurance, and care for her baby while she earned a living. Our facilities might not be as shiny and new as my human self would like them to be, but that day God was able to use our day care ministry to make a difference in two lives.

Since having that remembrance early this morning, my day has been peppered with recollections. Some have made me laugh, and some have brought tears to my eyes. All of them have shown me that my God is a composer, a weaver, a master artist.

I love music that incorporates minor chords. The sharp change from a bright, full chord, to the one that seems slightly incomplete gives me chills. When I play, I love to hold out a suspended chord. Even though I'm seemingly in control of what I'm creating, my ear waits at point for the resolve.

When we step off track. When we lose our way completely. When we take something complete and full and choose to change it. In those instances, I believe God just sees that He's going to have a little more interesting finished piece. He'll use the minor chords of our own creation to do something beautiful and unexpected further down the road.

The school house rocks

The air is filled with possibility. It has to do with a looming school year start. I love the line in "You've Got Mail" where Meg Ryan talks about New York City in the fall and says it makes her want a bouquet of sharpened pencils. She also mentions loving the smell of Scotch tape. I also love the scent of sharpened pencils and Scotch tape, and New York, even when it smells bad. As well, I love "You've Got Mail" and watch it every single time it's on TBS. Every time. But, that's another post.

There's an unmatchable motivational factor involved with an approaching school year. This has always been true for me. In elementary school it started whenever mom and I went back-to-school shopping. When new clothes and shoes went on layaway, my stomach swelled with butterflies, and I would thereafter ask her to take me to the school every day so I could see if the class lists were posted yet. They never were posted before the third week of August, but I'd ask anyway. Once the lists were posted and I knew who my teacher was, it was time to go school supply shopping. Oh, the weight of importance I placed on Lisa Frank pocket folders! Unicorn or dolphin? It was a decision of some magnitude. I would pack and repack my backpack in preparation for the first day. About two weeks before the first day, my clothes would be brought home and I would begin the process of selecting an outfit for the first day.

The excitement continued in similar fashion all the way through junior high, high school, and college, but once I finished with school it dissipated. Working for a newspaper, and then an architecture firm, I saw the same people every day of every month. Then, I chucked it all and decided to become a freelance writer and teacher. And today, I find myself excited once again. I'm not picking out outfits or practice-packing my purse, but I did clean my office. The supercharge behind me these days is all about the potential of this year. It's my second full year as administrator and I think I finally have my feet under me, I fully own the position. Some staff members have left, and we have new people in place. Some students have graduated or moved, and we have a crowd of new ones coming in. I'm downright anxious to see how all this new blood will reshape our school.

I can't say enough what a privilege it is to work where I do among my family and closest friends. More than that, I'm blessed beyond measure to have, at the very top of my to-do list, the responsibility of teaching young people about the love of Jesus. Didn't go to college for that one, but it's an acquired skill.

Some years ago, when I was working for the paper, I wrote a blog on my MySpace page titled "Back To School Blues." At that time I was down because I realized there were certain milestones and rites of passage gone forever. I would never buy gear for a dorm room again, not for myself. I found myself borderline depressed because I had graduated and found a job and my life was nothing like I had imagined it would be. I had worked hard (I use that term loosely) for four years to get a good job - it had been my goal and motivator. Now I had a job, and it was a total let down. The most disheartening part was there was no change on the horizon. No end of semester, no new classes, no graduation. I was supposed to sit at that desk for 40 years.

Well, that didn't work out. I changed desks a few months later. I entered a new job, a better job, and I tried to reinvent myself. I failed. The people I worked with were wonderful. The job was wonderful - a pretty easy gig. But it still wasn't right. Then, I wound up where I am now, in a position no way related to my education, save the writing I do. And, it's perfect. It may not be the most prestigious or glamorous of positions, I wipe noses and change diapers here and there. But, I have an awesome long-term goal - one that has very little to do with me.