10 million miles

What’s the best thing we can do to prepare our children for emergencies, hard times, or struggles that they might have to navigate alone?

More important than teaching them to tie knots, eat wild plants, or dial 911 is teaching them to listen for God’s guidance in all of life’s circumstances.

I’ve always admired a friend’s story about how, when she was 10 year old, she escaped from a terribly abusive situation simply by listening to God’s voice and doing what he said, one step at a time.

I want my children to have the skill of listening to God finely tuned and well practiced for all occasions – good and bad. May they know what He sounds like and trust where He leads them.

So, we teach our children to pray about everything. We treat their spiritual leanings tenderly and encourage them to listen to God’s written Word as well as to His Spirit. We show them when “God told me to…” might *not* be Him – especially when it doesn’t line up with Scripture. We affirm them when, “I really feel like God is telling me…” could be right. All of life is about listening for His voice and knowing Him better and better.

I recently discovered a book that beautifully illustrates the power of listening to God, specifically to escape danger: Moses: When Harriet Tubman Led Her People to Freedom. Beautiful and encouraging to every Christian.

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me…” John 10:27

“…this tastes just like my dad’s toothbrush!”

- One of Vivienne’s friends, after sampling a Thin Mint cookie

To me, I’m fast.

I can usually do things quickly and well-enough.

I can think fast (most of the time); talk fast; walk fast.

In fact, when I was 26 weeks pregnant in my Aqua-Mom class, I water-walked so fast, I could have won a trophy. (It was only later that I realized the other ladies were not in a race. They were enjoying the relaxation, the socialization, the peace and quiet. Oops. Sorry for the wake!)

So, surround me by a culture that prizes FAST, and you’ll understand why, somewhere in my subconscious, I’ve assumed people who are SLOW are wrong.

Really. Morally wrong.  My confession is that I have subconsciously assumed – once or twice – that if someone is slower than me, she is morally wrong. (Terrible, I know.)

As if she is making a deliberate choice to drag her feet, pause, and produce less stuff.

It’s only recently that I’ve acknowledged that SLOW – in and of itself – is not wrong.

In fact, SLOW is not a moral issue at all. (Of course, in other contexts it is. Being slow-to-obey is wrong. Being slow-to-anger is right. But, for right now, I’m just talking about the tempo of a person’s life.)

In fact, compared to you or Apollo Ohno, even I might be SLOW.

Think about how this plays out in the business world:

The standard of virtue in most offices is set by the guy who works the fastest, thinks the fastest, and produces so much stuff in one week’s time, that he proves you right: he never sleeps. For his company, Fast Worker is the standard of success. He is the “A+”. Unintentionally of course, every other worker is expected to perform at his level. The further they are from his pace, the lower their grade-point-average; the more vulnerable their job security; and the more frustrating they are to the faster workers.

But the secret is that Fast Worker is just fast, that’s all. He was created to be fast. He worked on FAST his whole life, so he’s really good at it now. He got prizes! prizes! prizes! for being fast because everyone from his soccer coach to his typing teacher liked his speedy ways. Of course, there’s always someone faster who is ready to tip the scales. And there are always millions of someones slower who are overlooked by an inaccurate assessment of excellence.

Other people are simply not as fast. They are, dare I say, created to be slower. They have been slow their whole life and are really good at it now. They never got prizes, until they discovered the few golden opportunities in life that allow for slow and steady work – like life-long hobbies, friendships, and woodworking. They’re just as intelligent, and just as valuable. While the fast workers are busy whizzing by, snapping fingers at the slackers, the slow workers learn the value of patience, of doing something right the first time, of sticking around to get to the bottom of something, and of seeing something through to the end.

How does it affect a classroom?

How does it affect a church?

How does it affect a family?

Today, take a deep breath and hug someone slow.

(Who knows? You might just choose to hug me!)

A good conversation is like… two artists who are supposed to create one picture together, so they blend paints, offer unique touches, and work to represent both artists together.

A bad conversation is like… two artists who are supposed to create one picture together, but at least one of whom only cares about painting her own.

So here’s how the metaphor looks in my head when a conversation goes badly:

Two artists, quite different, sit on either side of a blank canvas.

Paint pots sit expectantly beside each artist.

One artist drops an opening dash of paint onto the white space and, with determination, begins creating an image that has been in her mind all day long. “Let’s see, here, I wanted some daisies here, some Black-eyed-Susans there; some tiny little houses in the distance; a large sweeping meadow boarded in peonies…”

The other artist watches. Maybe she “ooo’s”; maybe she “ah’s”. But as time ticks on, she glances at her own paints to make sure they are not drying out.

Artist #1 finally remembers that this is to be a joint project, so she asks for Artist #2 to add some orange.

Artist #2, enthused about this opportunity to participate, mixes up the perfect autumn orange to accent some of the peonies. She carefully adds a tiny accent to one flower.

Artist #1 is quite satisfied with the contribution. (It took long enough, and besides that shade of orange reminds her of all of the orange she wanted to add!)

So, there she is sweeping large brush strokes of green and gold. She looks over the painting and remembers, Oh, yes, I remember now, I did have something else I needed from Artist #2. “Do you have any blue?”

Ooo, a question, a question for me! Artist #2 readies her paintbrush. She adds a bit of blue to the sky, anticipating the swirl of blues, whites, and grays she’ll add to beautify the sky.

“That’s good.” replies Artist #1, satisfied with the blue blop and failing to wonder if Artist #2 has more to offer.

So, our dear Artist #2 finishes the sky with her own paints. Her own technique. Her own image.

Artist #1 walks away feeling quite happy that she got her image out on paper.

Artist #2? Well, she’s starting to wonder if she’s an artist at all.

*****

I’ve been a bad conversationalist many times. Laziness, lack of creativity, and exhaustion have proved me to be a bail-out artist who doesn’t add much. Enthusiasm, selfishness, and a soap-box have proved me to be the “Artist #1 paint-hog” who adds too much.

But don’t we all love when we strike that unspoken agreement with someone so that we each contribute, wonder, and develop within the other person’s art until we’ve created a masterpiece together?

Don’t we love that mutual agreement of getting up from opposite sides of the canvas to sit side-by-side so that we can see from the same angle?

Isn’t it so satisfying to enter someone else’s story and help them to develop it, untangle it, and work it out completely? Ah, the reward of asking good questions – the ageless who?, what?, where?, when?, how? – so that, if she wants to, Artist #2 is encouraged to keep on creating, too.

Isn’t it so satisfying when someone else enters our story and sharpens our techniques, asks for greater depth, and believes in our ability to feel valid emotions, express valuable thoughts, and to have hidden treasure that is worth digging for?

We both walk away from conversations like that feeling like masterpieces. Because, well, we helped to create one.

Have you ever read a picture book by Deborah Hopkinson?

I’m telling ya, go to Amazon.com with $20 in hand and you won’t know where to begin.

Hopkinson writes perfect little stories that are based on a moment in history, but explode into a whole universe of dialect, imagery, and good plot.

She always chooses a different artist, so all of the books are unique and enriching.

My favorite? Apples to Oregon: Being the (Slightly) True Narrative of How a Brave Pioneer Father Apples, Peaches, Pears, Plums, Grapes and Cherries (and Children) Across the Plains.  I throw on a nice thick accent and dive right into the adventure of hauling plants across the country.

Viv’s favorite? Fannie in the Kitchen: the Whole Story From Soup to Nuts of How Fannie Farmer Invented Recipes with Precise Measurements.

I can’t answer for the whole collection, but we’ve read a handful so far and don’t plan on stopping any time soon! Join us!

…because sometimes,

in the middle of winter,

when the snow just keeps coming and coming,

one of us begs to put on a bathing suit and,

smelling of last year’s chlorine and sunblock,

reminds the rest of the family that spring is on its way;

that seasons give way to seasons;

and that today is a good one to hope.

…a sweet newborn unveils her fashionista ways… I can only imagine what the next few years will bring.

Lia – sweet, oh so sweet – and unfailingly fancy – Happy Birthday!

(Please note, all wardrobe selections are her choosing entirely. I’m just her wardrobe assistant. At this point, I almost trust her taste implicitly. After all, she has the confidence – and the patent leathers – to carry it off!)

While I was  researching some ideas to compliment our tornado-watching-Wizard-of-Oz-reading, I came across FEMA’s site for Kids. It’s not the most impressive site in the world, but it provides a handful of helpful resources, like this downloadable coloring book and a page of games.

Through this site, I discovered Ready Kids and Sesame Street’s “Let’s Get Ready” episodes and downloads. Fantastic! I love the positive, upbeat way these resources help kids  – and parents – think about preparation.

Of course, along the same lines, Viv loved listening to this precious 911 call from a 5-year old girl who saved her father’s life by remaining calm and obedient. A great way to brush up on that important 3-digit number. You’ll love it, too!

You know, I must say, I even surprised myself with this new-found Bristletry talent. Please, no autographs.

Bunkbeds

A Vanity

Refrigerator

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

From our Valentine’s Party to yours…