"Every day should be a day we allow God to work on us, but there are some days that we need to be totally gutted and rebuilt. Today is one of those days."
I wrote that before leaving for church on Sunday. I then left and went to prepare a Sunday school lesson. Ironically, or eerily depending on how you look at it, I taught my kids about Zacchaeus and how he changed after meeting Jesus. I came home that afternoon and tried to complete this post using Zacchaeus as an example and couldn't make the pieces fit. Finally, at 5 a.m. on Wednesday, I seem to be on the path to finishing it. I guess I needed more than one workday.
If any of you work in ministry, you know it's not a bed of roses all the time. Foolishly, I sometimes think it should be. As a freelance writer, I write about many very large churches and get to know members of their staff. I trick myself into thinking that the day-to-day work lives of these individuals must be easier than mine because they work for these massive, well-organized ministries. Then, I read Acts chapter 6. Even the first church was disorganized and chaotic. In spite of eager and fervent workers and a number that increased daily (two things I very much want and need for our ministries), there were many problems. Problems with people. How 'bout that?
I began my workday on Sunday, and over the past three days God has illuminated many things to me. It took more than one day for Him to get me to a place where I would hear it, absorb it, and begin to work on it. I didn't even realize that the recurring struggles of my day job were such a weight on me until I read in Acts this morning. But as soon as I did, I instantly felt relief because God showed it to me, and now we can work on it together.
I continued in Acts and read about Stephen, the first martyr. In the seventh chapter, Stephen recounts the history of the Israelites. No matter how many times I read or reflect on this portion of Biblical history, I am always amazed at the long-reaching plan of God. What began as a somewhat dubious promise to a childless Abraham was completed over generations in Isaac, Jacob and Joseph. In the lives of just those four individuals are trials I can't begin to list. Trials I've never endured, but every one a component in God's ultimate plan for His chosen ones. Isaac was almost killed at the hand of his father; Jacob was swindled into marrying the wrong woman; Joseph was sold into slavery by his own brothers ... and all of these events had their place. Joseph's presence in Egypt laid the foundation for Moses to arise and deliver the Israelites out of captivity.
I read all that this morning and rested. God always ties it up with a neat bow at the end. Something that happens today might be a precursor to an event ten or two hundred years down the road.
I am making a conscious pledge to have workdays more often. God is a wise father who knows exactly how much we can handle at one time. I didn't learn every rule of English in one day (still haven't perfected them all). It was a process that lasted many years and required many forms of teaching. I can't expect learning to be a good ... everything ... to be any different. I believe God measures out the wisdom, instruction, and guidance we need as we need it, and as we ask for it. Asking is the key (James 1:5). And, when that wisdom hits you on the head at 5 o’clock on a Wednesday morning, don't be overwhelmed by it -- trust in the strength you have in Him. (Philippians 4: 13).
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
September Thoughts
It is now the third week of school, therefore the honeymoon is officially over, the gloves are off, et al. Nevertheless, as my students settle in and begin to show their true personalities, I’m overcome with how much joy they bring me. I am so grateful for all the lives that are a part of my life. Below are a few laughable examples of why I don’t mind the sound of my alarm clock … most days.
I have assigned my high school students the task of recreating the constitutional framer of their choice’s journal during the time of the Constitutional Convention. One such student shared their work so far with me yesterday. I learned that Thomas Jefferson not only had an alarm clock, but also rode to the convention in a taxi. The following day, he ate cereal and borrowed a suit from a neighbor, naturally, since he forgot to drop his own suit off at the dry cleaner’s. No complaints – the student is making a noble and imaginative effort.
At lunch Tuesday, I confiscated a switchblade comb from an elementary student. Before I realized it was a comb, visions of a crumpled bleeding body on the floor of our lunchroom aged me a few years. The owner of this novelty item crossed my path again later in the day when he left his classroom and appeared to be choking. I was immediately concerned, but soon discovered he was breathless with laughter, and also noticed he was carrying his chair. I got distracted, but went to investigate a few minutes later. I assumed he had been sent to the hallway because he was misbehaving in class. However, I couldn’t find him in the hallway. Soon, I heard stifled laughter, and found this young man behind the door in a dark bathroom. He was sitting in his chair with books open - accomplishing nothing as it was dark - but quite pleased with his cleverness.
We enrolled four siblings this year, one is in the elementary class, but the other three are mine, and they are magnificent. I wish I could clone them. However, the endearing mischievous nature of my veteran students is starting to rub off on them. This was evidenced by the oldest boy in the family repeatedly setting the alarm clock on another student’s desk. I couldn’t get mad, because it was funny – especially when the student whose desk it was couldn’t begin to comprehend why or how that radio was coming on all by itself.
Finally, a student came running into my office at lunch time on Thursday (I love that they are undaunted by the “principal’s office”) to inform me that he decided to change his name to whatever country his finger landed on when he rolled the globe. Unfortunately, that country was Iran. I counseled him against this decision.
Do I often want to beat my head against a wall after I’ve gone over the same instructions 15 times? Yes. But, a long time ago I asked God to put love in my heart for the young people I work with, and He’s done just that. At the end of the day, whatever mishap, mistake, or misunderstanding may have occurred, I count it all joy. I have the privilege of showing them how to get it right tomorrow … for the 16th time.
I have assigned my high school students the task of recreating the constitutional framer of their choice’s journal during the time of the Constitutional Convention. One such student shared their work so far with me yesterday. I learned that Thomas Jefferson not only had an alarm clock, but also rode to the convention in a taxi. The following day, he ate cereal and borrowed a suit from a neighbor, naturally, since he forgot to drop his own suit off at the dry cleaner’s. No complaints – the student is making a noble and imaginative effort.
At lunch Tuesday, I confiscated a switchblade comb from an elementary student. Before I realized it was a comb, visions of a crumpled bleeding body on the floor of our lunchroom aged me a few years. The owner of this novelty item crossed my path again later in the day when he left his classroom and appeared to be choking. I was immediately concerned, but soon discovered he was breathless with laughter, and also noticed he was carrying his chair. I got distracted, but went to investigate a few minutes later. I assumed he had been sent to the hallway because he was misbehaving in class. However, I couldn’t find him in the hallway. Soon, I heard stifled laughter, and found this young man behind the door in a dark bathroom. He was sitting in his chair with books open - accomplishing nothing as it was dark - but quite pleased with his cleverness.
We enrolled four siblings this year, one is in the elementary class, but the other three are mine, and they are magnificent. I wish I could clone them. However, the endearing mischievous nature of my veteran students is starting to rub off on them. This was evidenced by the oldest boy in the family repeatedly setting the alarm clock on another student’s desk. I couldn’t get mad, because it was funny – especially when the student whose desk it was couldn’t begin to comprehend why or how that radio was coming on all by itself.
Finally, a student came running into my office at lunch time on Thursday (I love that they are undaunted by the “principal’s office”) to inform me that he decided to change his name to whatever country his finger landed on when he rolled the globe. Unfortunately, that country was Iran. I counseled him against this decision.
Do I often want to beat my head against a wall after I’ve gone over the same instructions 15 times? Yes. But, a long time ago I asked God to put love in my heart for the young people I work with, and He’s done just that. At the end of the day, whatever mishap, mistake, or misunderstanding may have occurred, I count it all joy. I have the privilege of showing them how to get it right tomorrow … for the 16th time.
Friday, August 6, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Blessed toes
I am currently writing an article on a church with an amazing emphasis on being the Body of Christ, which really should be the emphasis of every church if you get to thinking about it. In my interview with the pastor, he exmeplified his ministry by saying that the toes aren't the most gratifying part of the body, but somebody has to play the part. If toes are so unimportant, why does it hurt SO BAD when you stub them?
This is a side story, but I walked into the solid-wood base of a chair last night and immediately found myself curled into the fetal position on the floor with tears in my eyes and dirty words on the tip of my tongue. I was certain one or two of my toes were broken, which concerned me, because I need my toes fully functional. If I'm not mistaken, the toes provide balance, and thus, the ability to walk? (Toe experts feel free to comment.) My point is: The smallest, most seemingly insignifcant parts, sometimes play incredible roles, and when they are hurt, every other part feels it and reacts (cue mental image of Rachel on the floor writhing in pain and contemplating x-ray trip).
I work really hard, every day. It seems I spend a lot of time doing things for other people, and solving problems created by others instead of "doing something constructive." In actuality, I must do things for others, because they are constantly doing stuff for me, so I can in fact, do something constructive for at least some amount of time every day. It is a cycle. Just by showing up every morning, daycare staff is in place to care for children and run the center so I don't have to. I may have to get them latex gloves, bring paper towels, remove a child for "level 2" discipline, and a whole bunch of other tasks that may at the moment irritate me, but in the end, I'm helping them do their job, so they can in turn allow me to do mine. I didn't just realize this cycle existed, I've always known it was there. However, I don't believe I have fully appreciated it, or the people involved in it.
If I went to work Monday and no one else arrived, I would be up the creek. Not only would I not be able to do my "job" I would be unable to run the center in a safe and legal manner. I would also undoubtedly lose my mind caring for 50+ children all alone. That scenario would never actually occur, but you get my point. Child care workers may be some of the most overworked and under appreciated people there are. To society at large, they may appear to be the "toes" but in the body of my work life, they are the part that provides balance and allows me to walk. So if I haven't said it lately - I appreciate the Calvary Way Daycare staff.
This is a side story, but I walked into the solid-wood base of a chair last night and immediately found myself curled into the fetal position on the floor with tears in my eyes and dirty words on the tip of my tongue. I was certain one or two of my toes were broken, which concerned me, because I need my toes fully functional. If I'm not mistaken, the toes provide balance, and thus, the ability to walk? (Toe experts feel free to comment.) My point is: The smallest, most seemingly insignifcant parts, sometimes play incredible roles, and when they are hurt, every other part feels it and reacts (cue mental image of Rachel on the floor writhing in pain and contemplating x-ray trip).
I work really hard, every day. It seems I spend a lot of time doing things for other people, and solving problems created by others instead of "doing something constructive." In actuality, I must do things for others, because they are constantly doing stuff for me, so I can in fact, do something constructive for at least some amount of time every day. It is a cycle. Just by showing up every morning, daycare staff is in place to care for children and run the center so I don't have to. I may have to get them latex gloves, bring paper towels, remove a child for "level 2" discipline, and a whole bunch of other tasks that may at the moment irritate me, but in the end, I'm helping them do their job, so they can in turn allow me to do mine. I didn't just realize this cycle existed, I've always known it was there. However, I don't believe I have fully appreciated it, or the people involved in it.
If I went to work Monday and no one else arrived, I would be up the creek. Not only would I not be able to do my "job" I would be unable to run the center in a safe and legal manner. I would also undoubtedly lose my mind caring for 50+ children all alone. That scenario would never actually occur, but you get my point. Child care workers may be some of the most overworked and under appreciated people there are. To society at large, they may appear to be the "toes" but in the body of my work life, they are the part that provides balance and allows me to walk. So if I haven't said it lately - I appreciate the Calvary Way Daycare staff.
Monday, June 22, 2009
When work isn't work
Imagine being on vacation, but having to work. It's not that hard to visualize. I think most of us have had a working vacation at some point. I for one never went home for Thanksgiving or Spring Break while in college without the building blocks of a project or the outline for a paper in tow. Now, I carry writing assignments along with me. On the surface, I find that irritating, not because of the writing itself, but because of the leg work I have to get out of the way before I actually get down to doing what I love. . .the writing.
I carted along two articles on my family vacation to Tennessee a few weeks ago. Thanks to decent time management skills and an extremely stressful pre-vacation week, the articles were finished before we departed and all I had to worry about on the trip was making minor changes as fact checks came back from the people I'd interviewed. However, that experience has shown me that most of my free time is spent writing, preparing to write, editing what I've already written, or figuring out who I can write for next. In other words, I leave one job and come home to another one. But it doesn't feel that way. Yes, there are days that I would rather go home and numb my mind over with several hours of television, and I'll admit that I've given into that temptation more than once (especially when there are Jon & Kate Plus 8 marathons). I have to let my mind rest at some point. But, it generally doesn't happen two days in a row, or really, more than once a week, because it is not what I love. It is not what truly relaxes me. My writing does, and I am not at peace at the end of the day unless I have contributed something to that part of my life. Whether I write a blog, edit a section of the book, write a new section, research an agent, tweak my query letters, or work on a current assignment for a magazine or other client, I have to do something writing related, every day, or I'm just not happy. It is my release, my touchstone.
I believe God wired me that way. I believe He wants me to be a writer more than I do at times (dee-ta-dee). He has blessed this part of my life more than I ever could have imagined. He must be in it, because new writers don't find the work I've found on their own right out of the shoot. He always planned it, and He chose for me to have various and sundry experiences along the way to train me for it, to develop relationships and skills that would help me build this career. When I look back on all He has put in place, all He has allowed, I am overwhelmed by His awesome ability, His goodness, and His plan.
I know this is Him. When I am discouraged, something always happens to encourage me. For example, while on vacation, we stayed with my aunt and uncle in Mississippi and visited their church. I spoke to their pastor and pastor's wife about my book briefly a few months ago when they were here for my cousin's wedding, but have thought little about the conversation since then. I wouldn't say I was down about the book when I left on the trip, but it had been put on the back burner, and let's face it - getting fiction published is never easy. At the close of the Sunday evening service we were a part of, the pastor of this church stood before his congregation and praised my writing work and expressed how excited he and his wife were about my upcoming book. Prior to that, his wife had asked me about the progress and requested a copy. Those two experiences catapulted me back into the publishing endeavor. I was reminded that I am capable, that I am doing more than most attempt to do, and most importantly, that God has blessed me with a talent and I have to do all that I can to ensure He receives glory from it.
When I am lazy, something always comes along to motivate me. I will be in the middle of a lethargic and pitiful Saturday afternoon, watching a worthless movie I've seen 15 times, and all of a sudden a writer character will be introduced, or a scene will call to mind the quintessential writer's life. I am always imagining a cabin tucked in the mountains, or a cottage on the beach, some kind of retreat where I will stay while writing my 21st best seller. No matter the place, I am always in a sweater, with a cup of coffee, and I own a Grand Waggoneer. This is MY vision. Don't judge me! The point is, while I'm watching a movie or TV, or reading a book, a subtle, unexpected motivator always creeps in and I am reminded that "there is no someday." And, the cherry on top is: when I finally turn off the TV and put my butt in the chair, the chair I'm sitting in right now, I have a lot more fun and am far more relaxed than I was doing the other fruitless activity.
I carted along two articles on my family vacation to Tennessee a few weeks ago. Thanks to decent time management skills and an extremely stressful pre-vacation week, the articles were finished before we departed and all I had to worry about on the trip was making minor changes as fact checks came back from the people I'd interviewed. However, that experience has shown me that most of my free time is spent writing, preparing to write, editing what I've already written, or figuring out who I can write for next. In other words, I leave one job and come home to another one. But it doesn't feel that way. Yes, there are days that I would rather go home and numb my mind over with several hours of television, and I'll admit that I've given into that temptation more than once (especially when there are Jon & Kate Plus 8 marathons). I have to let my mind rest at some point. But, it generally doesn't happen two days in a row, or really, more than once a week, because it is not what I love. It is not what truly relaxes me. My writing does, and I am not at peace at the end of the day unless I have contributed something to that part of my life. Whether I write a blog, edit a section of the book, write a new section, research an agent, tweak my query letters, or work on a current assignment for a magazine or other client, I have to do something writing related, every day, or I'm just not happy. It is my release, my touchstone.
I believe God wired me that way. I believe He wants me to be a writer more than I do at times (dee-ta-dee). He has blessed this part of my life more than I ever could have imagined. He must be in it, because new writers don't find the work I've found on their own right out of the shoot. He always planned it, and He chose for me to have various and sundry experiences along the way to train me for it, to develop relationships and skills that would help me build this career. When I look back on all He has put in place, all He has allowed, I am overwhelmed by His awesome ability, His goodness, and His plan.
I know this is Him. When I am discouraged, something always happens to encourage me. For example, while on vacation, we stayed with my aunt and uncle in Mississippi and visited their church. I spoke to their pastor and pastor's wife about my book briefly a few months ago when they were here for my cousin's wedding, but have thought little about the conversation since then. I wouldn't say I was down about the book when I left on the trip, but it had been put on the back burner, and let's face it - getting fiction published is never easy. At the close of the Sunday evening service we were a part of, the pastor of this church stood before his congregation and praised my writing work and expressed how excited he and his wife were about my upcoming book. Prior to that, his wife had asked me about the progress and requested a copy. Those two experiences catapulted me back into the publishing endeavor. I was reminded that I am capable, that I am doing more than most attempt to do, and most importantly, that God has blessed me with a talent and I have to do all that I can to ensure He receives glory from it.
When I am lazy, something always comes along to motivate me. I will be in the middle of a lethargic and pitiful Saturday afternoon, watching a worthless movie I've seen 15 times, and all of a sudden a writer character will be introduced, or a scene will call to mind the quintessential writer's life. I am always imagining a cabin tucked in the mountains, or a cottage on the beach, some kind of retreat where I will stay while writing my 21st best seller. No matter the place, I am always in a sweater, with a cup of coffee, and I own a Grand Waggoneer. This is MY vision. Don't judge me! The point is, while I'm watching a movie or TV, or reading a book, a subtle, unexpected motivator always creeps in and I am reminded that "there is no someday." And, the cherry on top is: when I finally turn off the TV and put my butt in the chair, the chair I'm sitting in right now, I have a lot more fun and am far more relaxed than I was doing the other fruitless activity.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Clutter
Goodness, it's been almost a week since I posted. I've been down with a demon sinus infection, but still working, planning, and doing a bunch of other things. Being sick has catapulted me into a wariness of sorts concerning my trip, which begins in four days. I don't know about you, but when I'm sick, I don't want to be anywhere but home. I was like that in college. Even after being away from "home" for more than a year, when my throat began to ache, I instantly longed for my parent's house. So, having been ill these past few days, it has been impossible to fathom being anywhere but my cozy, comfortable, familiar home.
The sickness (or the medication I'm on to get rid of it) has made me so foggy, I can't think straight about anything, although things have improved greatly today. The aches and pains and fatigue have closed in on me and pushed away my desire and ability to do other, more important things, which brings me to my topic and today's title, clutter.
I look at my desk right now and it is covered in various stacks. Each of those stacks is a project I'm working on. I know the deadline and requirements for each, some are big, some small, but what they all have in common is their cluttering up of my life. This is my desk at the school, so I can shuffle things around and limp through my days. At home however, it doesn't work that way. Most of my writing is done at home, from a small red desk under the window in my bedroom, save this blog that I usually eek out during a lunch break. The red desk is the birthplace of “The Hatpin Killer”, it is where articles on architecture, construction, church sound systems, bridal sizes, and ski resorts are created, and it must be a clutter-free environment. For whatever reason I cannot sit down with the intention of writing anything (good) with the same stacks around that I allow at the school. This means laundry must be folded, hung and put away, the bed must me made, the books and DVDs must be straight on the shelf, the floor must be vacuumed, my stack of bills must be neat (and preferably paid) and the desk itself must be free of STACKS!
Why is this so? I don't know. Again, the stacks on my desk at the school don't bother me so much. Maybe it's because I have more space in that office than I do in the home office. Maybe the need for neatness at home is just subconscious procrastination. “I have to do this load of clothes before I can get started.” I have to change the sheets before I can read over that interview.” Maybe I'll never know, but I do know this, once the room is clean, I can always sit down and get busy with an article, whatever the topic may be.
The same goes for mental clutter. There is nothing worse than having an article due while I have some pressing personal issue on my mind. In fact, it’s dang near impossible to churn out anything but oatmeal-like dribble. This is why I become a peacekeeper when I’m on deadline, I clear my life of the possibility of personal drama.
As I write, the medicine is finally doing its job and I feel the fogginess lifting for good and I’m looking forward to a clutterless, unclouded day. Ironically, it’s supposed to rain cats and dogs tomorrow.
The sickness (or the medication I'm on to get rid of it) has made me so foggy, I can't think straight about anything, although things have improved greatly today. The aches and pains and fatigue have closed in on me and pushed away my desire and ability to do other, more important things, which brings me to my topic and today's title, clutter.
I look at my desk right now and it is covered in various stacks. Each of those stacks is a project I'm working on. I know the deadline and requirements for each, some are big, some small, but what they all have in common is their cluttering up of my life. This is my desk at the school, so I can shuffle things around and limp through my days. At home however, it doesn't work that way. Most of my writing is done at home, from a small red desk under the window in my bedroom, save this blog that I usually eek out during a lunch break. The red desk is the birthplace of “The Hatpin Killer”, it is where articles on architecture, construction, church sound systems, bridal sizes, and ski resorts are created, and it must be a clutter-free environment. For whatever reason I cannot sit down with the intention of writing anything (good) with the same stacks around that I allow at the school. This means laundry must be folded, hung and put away, the bed must me made, the books and DVDs must be straight on the shelf, the floor must be vacuumed, my stack of bills must be neat (and preferably paid) and the desk itself must be free of STACKS!
Why is this so? I don't know. Again, the stacks on my desk at the school don't bother me so much. Maybe it's because I have more space in that office than I do in the home office. Maybe the need for neatness at home is just subconscious procrastination. “I have to do this load of clothes before I can get started.” I have to change the sheets before I can read over that interview.” Maybe I'll never know, but I do know this, once the room is clean, I can always sit down and get busy with an article, whatever the topic may be.
The same goes for mental clutter. There is nothing worse than having an article due while I have some pressing personal issue on my mind. In fact, it’s dang near impossible to churn out anything but oatmeal-like dribble. This is why I become a peacekeeper when I’m on deadline, I clear my life of the possibility of personal drama.
As I write, the medicine is finally doing its job and I feel the fogginess lifting for good and I’m looking forward to a clutterless, unclouded day. Ironically, it’s supposed to rain cats and dogs tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Job Description
Today, I spent 25 minutes in Game Stop. Prior to today, I’m not sure I’ve spent 25 seconds in any kind of video game store. Our school has an academic and good behavior incentive program called A-Privilege. Good grades and no serious disciplinary issues for a two-month period will earn a student two months of “privilege.” The two months is topped off with a day away from school, on which we treat our students to lunch and an outing. Sometimes it’s bowling or miniature golf; today it was a day at the mall in Tyler, and consequently, Game Stop.
I wound up in Game Stop because of one very special student. Seeing him every day reminds me why I do what I do for a third of the salary I am “eligible” for given my education and background. This student was enrolled at the academy the year I began working there again. He was completely beaten down by his peers from public school, to the point that just about anything would drive him to tears. Self esteem was non-existent and his brilliance and bright personality were dull and unnoticeable. At first, he was withdrawn and shy, untrusting, but after time he blossomed. By the end of the year he was friends with everyone and he returned this year with a smile on his face, full of summer stories, which he excitedly shared with fellow students, teachers, and anyone else that he could find. He is proof that God can heal anyone, that a loving, Christian environment IS the answer.
When this student found out I would be accompanying them on their outing today in place of the pastor, he asked if I would be in his group. Students his age are not required to have a chaperone, but he wanted me with him, so I agreed. We arrived at the mall and he ran ahead with his friends (friends in plural, something he didn’t have a short time ago), but when I came through the entrance he was waiting.
“Ms. Rachel, let’s form our group.”
So away we went…to Game Stop. The jargon amazed me. I stood by and watched as he knowingly traded games and asked about new games, specific versions, upcoming release dates, and the methods of downloading cheat codes. He moved with confidence, secure in his right to be himself. That’s how he behaves in the classroom, too. His personality is wonderful – he’s a little different, but so was John the Baptist. It is a blessing to me every time I see one of our older boys, one with a souped up pick-up or a starting spot on our basketball team, walk by this student and acknowledge him and show him kindness. That’s just the way it is at Calvary Way. My students are wonderful. They didn’t all start out that way, but they are educated in a place where the presence of God dwells, and where prayer goes on almost constantly.
This student is not our only success story. We have many. Some have come from broken and abusive homes, others deny God and His existence daily. Whatever their issues when they come, we always see improvement, maybe not as much as we want as humans, but some. When I think of it spiritually I know that the seed has been planted, the change may not come in my lifetime, but the work has been started and God will give the increase.
As I write this, the after school group is sitting outside my office singing “Open the Eyes of My Heart.” They’ve been in public school all day, an institution that has unabashedly turned its back on God. They have removed every trace of Him from what they teach. But God finds a way, and those same students come here in the afternoon and willingly, excitedly, and openly glorify God. Not because it is required, but because they want to, because their simple heartfelt praise makes them feel good.
I may never publish a book or travel the world, or even have anybody but family and a few close friends read this blog. But I’m in God’s will. When I wake up in the morning and come to work, I am helping a young person find their way. Many of them have experienced and endured things I’ve never dreamt of, and only one person can help them overcome the obstacles life has cruelly thrown in their path. It's my job to make sure they get introduced.
I wound up in Game Stop because of one very special student. Seeing him every day reminds me why I do what I do for a third of the salary I am “eligible” for given my education and background. This student was enrolled at the academy the year I began working there again. He was completely beaten down by his peers from public school, to the point that just about anything would drive him to tears. Self esteem was non-existent and his brilliance and bright personality were dull and unnoticeable. At first, he was withdrawn and shy, untrusting, but after time he blossomed. By the end of the year he was friends with everyone and he returned this year with a smile on his face, full of summer stories, which he excitedly shared with fellow students, teachers, and anyone else that he could find. He is proof that God can heal anyone, that a loving, Christian environment IS the answer.
When this student found out I would be accompanying them on their outing today in place of the pastor, he asked if I would be in his group. Students his age are not required to have a chaperone, but he wanted me with him, so I agreed. We arrived at the mall and he ran ahead with his friends (friends in plural, something he didn’t have a short time ago), but when I came through the entrance he was waiting.
“Ms. Rachel, let’s form our group.”
So away we went…to Game Stop. The jargon amazed me. I stood by and watched as he knowingly traded games and asked about new games, specific versions, upcoming release dates, and the methods of downloading cheat codes. He moved with confidence, secure in his right to be himself. That’s how he behaves in the classroom, too. His personality is wonderful – he’s a little different, but so was John the Baptist. It is a blessing to me every time I see one of our older boys, one with a souped up pick-up or a starting spot on our basketball team, walk by this student and acknowledge him and show him kindness. That’s just the way it is at Calvary Way. My students are wonderful. They didn’t all start out that way, but they are educated in a place where the presence of God dwells, and where prayer goes on almost constantly.
This student is not our only success story. We have many. Some have come from broken and abusive homes, others deny God and His existence daily. Whatever their issues when they come, we always see improvement, maybe not as much as we want as humans, but some. When I think of it spiritually I know that the seed has been planted, the change may not come in my lifetime, but the work has been started and God will give the increase.
As I write this, the after school group is sitting outside my office singing “Open the Eyes of My Heart.” They’ve been in public school all day, an institution that has unabashedly turned its back on God. They have removed every trace of Him from what they teach. But God finds a way, and those same students come here in the afternoon and willingly, excitedly, and openly glorify God. Not because it is required, but because they want to, because their simple heartfelt praise makes them feel good.
I may never publish a book or travel the world, or even have anybody but family and a few close friends read this blog. But I’m in God’s will. When I wake up in the morning and come to work, I am helping a young person find their way. Many of them have experienced and endured things I’ve never dreamt of, and only one person can help them overcome the obstacles life has cruelly thrown in their path. It's my job to make sure they get introduced.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Getting off the multi-tasking
Since junior high, I've challenged myself to see just how much I can accomplish all at once. Seventh grade is when I discovered I could shave my legs and wash my face while I let my conditioner set for three minutes. Years later I would study notecards while driving back and forth to school. Not safe, but productive.
Multi-tasking. It was an epidemic about 15 years ago. Oprah talked about it and it snowballed into efficiency reform. I'm good at it, it's the chief reason I'm able to get so much done in 24 hours. I also love it, if I could multi-task while sleeping, well, I would. However, my need to constantly be marking something off my to-do list is starting to take its toll.
While driving to work this morning, I flipped on the radio. It was tuned to a Christian station, and instead of enjoying the song and taking the opportunity to meditate on God and spiritually prepare for my day, I automatically thought to myself, "I need to print this lead sheet and learn the song." (I am the keyboard player at my church.) This thought quickly turned into guilt for not having had prasie & worship rehearsal in several weeks, and soon I was stressed out, I had that feeling in my stomach of worry - the kind I get when a writing deadline is looming, and the words I'm staring at on the screen are not quite article quality. When I realized what I was doing to myself, I made a conscious effort to stop. It worked, in this instance. Most often, the matter is slightly more serious. Work-work, and writing-work have to get done at some point and I can't help but think about those tasks constantly when they are unfinished and incomplete.
Sadly, the past few "vacations" I've taken have either revolved around work, or I've had a writing deadline, meaning my laptop came along with me. A constant reminder that I could not completely unwind and relax. My trip to New Orleans was really for the purpose of researching my book, which is set in the Crescent City. A recent trip to Houston was to attend a conference hosted by the magazine for which I am a regular contributor. I enjoyed both of these trips and found time to do fun things, but nevertheless, I didn't get a "break" from everything, which is what is truly recuperative about a vacation.
My standard days are much the same. When I step from the shower and walk back into my bedroom to get ready, I turn cell phone, television and computer on, thus opening myself wide up for stress. I often work through lunch instead of being social. In the evenings, I won't allow myself to rest until I've done some writing and engaged in some form of exercise. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've actually tried to pray while doing crunches.
Case in point, it's time I learn to relax and disconnect guilt free, and that means I don't have to multi-task 24 hours a day. It's alright to not be accomplishing something. This new initiative will commence tonight, during The Office.
Multi-tasking. It was an epidemic about 15 years ago. Oprah talked about it and it snowballed into efficiency reform. I'm good at it, it's the chief reason I'm able to get so much done in 24 hours. I also love it, if I could multi-task while sleeping, well, I would. However, my need to constantly be marking something off my to-do list is starting to take its toll.
While driving to work this morning, I flipped on the radio. It was tuned to a Christian station, and instead of enjoying the song and taking the opportunity to meditate on God and spiritually prepare for my day, I automatically thought to myself, "I need to print this lead sheet and learn the song." (I am the keyboard player at my church.) This thought quickly turned into guilt for not having had prasie & worship rehearsal in several weeks, and soon I was stressed out, I had that feeling in my stomach of worry - the kind I get when a writing deadline is looming, and the words I'm staring at on the screen are not quite article quality. When I realized what I was doing to myself, I made a conscious effort to stop. It worked, in this instance. Most often, the matter is slightly more serious. Work-work, and writing-work have to get done at some point and I can't help but think about those tasks constantly when they are unfinished and incomplete.
Sadly, the past few "vacations" I've taken have either revolved around work, or I've had a writing deadline, meaning my laptop came along with me. A constant reminder that I could not completely unwind and relax. My trip to New Orleans was really for the purpose of researching my book, which is set in the Crescent City. A recent trip to Houston was to attend a conference hosted by the magazine for which I am a regular contributor. I enjoyed both of these trips and found time to do fun things, but nevertheless, I didn't get a "break" from everything, which is what is truly recuperative about a vacation.
My standard days are much the same. When I step from the shower and walk back into my bedroom to get ready, I turn cell phone, television and computer on, thus opening myself wide up for stress. I often work through lunch instead of being social. In the evenings, I won't allow myself to rest until I've done some writing and engaged in some form of exercise. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've actually tried to pray while doing crunches.
Case in point, it's time I learn to relax and disconnect guilt free, and that means I don't have to multi-task 24 hours a day. It's alright to not be accomplishing something. This new initiative will commence tonight, during The Office.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Monday, Monday
Holy cow! This day has already been insane. I miss the crisp, clearly defined seasons of the Northwest. Let me explain...I started my day on the assumption that this afternoon would be a sunny (dry) 69 degrees, and therefore straightened my hair. Then, what do I hear, the pitter patter of rain on the roof top. I put my hair in a clip - doesn't look good. I put my hair in a ponytail - also does not look good, and (here's where the Type A kicks in) slightly unprofessional, I think. Hair goes back down.
Meanwhile, I have an article due next week that I desperately needed to send out for fact checking this morning. So in between hairstyles, I was trying to upload the article and hunt down e-mail addresses for an architect, pastor and contractor.
On to the wardrobe malfunctions!! EVERY ITEM OF CLOTHING I PUT ON HAD SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT. It is now more than ten minutes past my standard departure time. I am never late. (Another Type A characteristic.)
In the car, driving to work. Get behind the slowest person ON the planet. Get to work 15v minutes late - after receiving at least one text message that a staff member was out sick, making this the 134th day in a row that we've had absenteeism in either our school or daycare (that's another post). (Yes, I like to use parentheses.)
Nevertheless, I am keeping a smile on my face because I never know who might be watching to see how I react. I love my life, challenges and all. I love the people I work with, even when they get sick. I am truly honored to fill the role that I do, so much that I cant' quite come up with the words to describe it. I'll work on that and tell you later.
Meanwhile, I have an article due next week that I desperately needed to send out for fact checking this morning. So in between hairstyles, I was trying to upload the article and hunt down e-mail addresses for an architect, pastor and contractor.
On to the wardrobe malfunctions!! EVERY ITEM OF CLOTHING I PUT ON HAD SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT. It is now more than ten minutes past my standard departure time. I am never late. (Another Type A characteristic.)
In the car, driving to work. Get behind the slowest person ON the planet. Get to work 15v minutes late - after receiving at least one text message that a staff member was out sick, making this the 134th day in a row that we've had absenteeism in either our school or daycare (that's another post). (Yes, I like to use parentheses.)
Nevertheless, I am keeping a smile on my face because I never know who might be watching to see how I react. I love my life, challenges and all. I love the people I work with, even when they get sick. I am truly honored to fill the role that I do, so much that I cant' quite come up with the words to describe it. I'll work on that and tell you later.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Hello again
The title of this post is also the title of a Shelley Long movie. If you haven't seen it, Netflix it immediately. Long chokes on a Chinese chicken ball and comes back to life, only to find a cheating husband. It's quite good, with just the sort of Seinfeld-like randomness I enjoy.
On to the matter at hand. It's been about 18 months since I last posted to this blog, and it's time I get started again. I have a completed novel saved on the very computer I write from today. This novel is the primary reason I haven't posted for a year and a half. I am planning to query agents about the book this week. It's been "finished" since before Christmas, but I have procrastinated because I fear rejection. I have been editing and editing, knowing perfection is what it will take to get it published, but I fear I will start picking it to death. So, to the hands of an agent it shall go and hopefully this person will fall in love with it and decide to represent me. However, all I've heard lately is how the publishing industry is tightening its belt and only accepting truly extraordinary work, therefore literary agents are becoming much more scrutinizing concerning the work they will take on. True to form, I am worried.
On to the matter at hand. It's been about 18 months since I last posted to this blog, and it's time I get started again. I have a completed novel saved on the very computer I write from today. This novel is the primary reason I haven't posted for a year and a half. I am planning to query agents about the book this week. It's been "finished" since before Christmas, but I have procrastinated because I fear rejection. I have been editing and editing, knowing perfection is what it will take to get it published, but I fear I will start picking it to death. So, to the hands of an agent it shall go and hopefully this person will fall in love with it and decide to represent me. However, all I've heard lately is how the publishing industry is tightening its belt and only accepting truly extraordinary work, therefore literary agents are becoming much more scrutinizing concerning the work they will take on. True to form, I am worried.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Cold, cold-calling
It’s funny how the mind wanders. I have an hour-long commute. I listen to a morning show on the way to work, but it advertises a lot during morning drive time, so I’ve come up with lots of ways to keep myself entertained during commercial breaks. But, sometimes I just let my mind roam free, working through the day ahead, or trying to forget the day shrinking behind me in the rearview mirror – yes, at times I simply prefer to be left in silence with my thoughts
This morning I found myself singing, humming and/or “ooohhhing” all the parts – including guitar – of “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner. It’s a challenge, even for a well-trained musician like myself. Now, the meat of this tale is why I was singing it in the first place – we’ll get to that later. Honestly, it just popped into my head, but I believe there is a reason for everything. I haven’t heard the song in a while, but it was a college favorite. I was a Pi Phi, my best friend was a Kappa. Our sororities intermingled a lot anyway, but Molly and I were generally together at some point on the weekends at one party or another, and of course on all school holidays spent at home in Boise. My house song was “Shook me all night long” by ACDC (one of the reasons I pledged Pi Phi) and Molly’s, or the Kappa’s, was, you guessed it, “Cold as Ice.” Whenever either song came over the speakers at a Frat party or off-campus kegger, all members of the respective sorority were required to run out and shake it while squealing, “Oh my God – that’s our SONG!!!!!” While dancing, every girl sang along and did air-guitar solos. Remarkably, the Kappas, some of them obliterated, could actually organize themselves into a circular chorus line at the end of their song. My girls were not as talented.
Now the reason, I believe, the song was in my head this morning requires even more background. One task associated with my present occupation is traveling to different corners of our region to make contacts. They aren’t sales calls, per se, more like “relationship establishing.” For the most part I enjoy this part of my job, it breaks up the monotony. But, every now and then, someone is just rude, and it slaughters my confidence and sense of purpose. Some of the visits I made were follow-ups, others were cold-calls, meaning the person has never seen me and I’ve never seen them, I’m just walking in off the street with a business card, brochure and a smile, and a really nice pen, which can double as a weapon. Usually, people are cordial, even if they don’t require our services anytime in the next decade. They still say ‘thank you’ and take the pen and literature, promising to call us in the year 2025 when they are ready to embark on a project. Others show promise and tell me they’re planning a project in the next six months and THAT is what keeps me trucking on.
I walked into an establishment yesterday, smiling, approached the receptionist/secretary, made eye contact, and I was met with nothing. I waited for a “Can I help you?” or any kind of simple salutation. None came, and the silence grew more awkward with each passing millisecond. Finally, I introduced myself and explained whom I worked for and the purpose of my visit. She replied with a ‘no’ to every question and explained they had just completed a project. So, I thanked her, was complimentary of their beautiful building and made my exit. It’s not as if I asked to hold her baby or borrow her car. I don’t know, perhaps she was having a bad day. What’s that saying about never judging people because you don’t know what they’re going through? So, it’s not a big deal. I only shared the story to explain why I believed “Cold as Ice” was running through my head this morning – apparently, my brain was still processing yesterday’s events. Funny to me, maybe not to you – maybe I should consider psychology as a future profession.
This morning I found myself singing, humming and/or “ooohhhing” all the parts – including guitar – of “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner. It’s a challenge, even for a well-trained musician like myself. Now, the meat of this tale is why I was singing it in the first place – we’ll get to that later. Honestly, it just popped into my head, but I believe there is a reason for everything. I haven’t heard the song in a while, but it was a college favorite. I was a Pi Phi, my best friend was a Kappa. Our sororities intermingled a lot anyway, but Molly and I were generally together at some point on the weekends at one party or another, and of course on all school holidays spent at home in Boise. My house song was “Shook me all night long” by ACDC (one of the reasons I pledged Pi Phi) and Molly’s, or the Kappa’s, was, you guessed it, “Cold as Ice.” Whenever either song came over the speakers at a Frat party or off-campus kegger, all members of the respective sorority were required to run out and shake it while squealing, “Oh my God – that’s our SONG!!!!!” While dancing, every girl sang along and did air-guitar solos. Remarkably, the Kappas, some of them obliterated, could actually organize themselves into a circular chorus line at the end of their song. My girls were not as talented.
Now the reason, I believe, the song was in my head this morning requires even more background. One task associated with my present occupation is traveling to different corners of our region to make contacts. They aren’t sales calls, per se, more like “relationship establishing.” For the most part I enjoy this part of my job, it breaks up the monotony. But, every now and then, someone is just rude, and it slaughters my confidence and sense of purpose. Some of the visits I made were follow-ups, others were cold-calls, meaning the person has never seen me and I’ve never seen them, I’m just walking in off the street with a business card, brochure and a smile, and a really nice pen, which can double as a weapon. Usually, people are cordial, even if they don’t require our services anytime in the next decade. They still say ‘thank you’ and take the pen and literature, promising to call us in the year 2025 when they are ready to embark on a project. Others show promise and tell me they’re planning a project in the next six months and THAT is what keeps me trucking on.
I walked into an establishment yesterday, smiling, approached the receptionist/secretary, made eye contact, and I was met with nothing. I waited for a “Can I help you?” or any kind of simple salutation. None came, and the silence grew more awkward with each passing millisecond. Finally, I introduced myself and explained whom I worked for and the purpose of my visit. She replied with a ‘no’ to every question and explained they had just completed a project. So, I thanked her, was complimentary of their beautiful building and made my exit. It’s not as if I asked to hold her baby or borrow her car. I don’t know, perhaps she was having a bad day. What’s that saying about never judging people because you don’t know what they’re going through? So, it’s not a big deal. I only shared the story to explain why I believed “Cold as Ice” was running through my head this morning – apparently, my brain was still processing yesterday’s events. Funny to me, maybe not to you – maybe I should consider psychology as a future profession.
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