Formerly streetless in Seattle…
Just a week ago, I was in a Seattle apartment icing a painful bruise to my shin bone, barely able … Continue reading Formerly streetless in Seattle…
Category: inspiration
It’s Facebook official…
This is what my daughter posted to make the announcement of her first pregnancy Facebook official: Since she posted it … Continue reading It’s Facebook official…
Sara: Don’t call Mom at work…
I made the mistake of calling my mother. I was on my lunch break from work; she was safely ensconced in … Continue reading Sara: Don’t call Mom at work…
The power of a T-shirt…
I am not a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination, but I do prefer to dress fashionably — in … Continue reading The power of a T-shirt…
A blog by any other name…
My infant son left the hospital as “No Name Dagen.” “I have to see the baby before I can name … Continue reading A blog by any other name…
The circle of praise…
My son just got offered a promotion. It would mean working more hours in a congested city away from those he loves, but he is proud of the offer and should be. In his case, a promotion means a significant raise and a leadership role in his profession. It is a vote of confidence, a round of applause, a hat’s off, and any other idiom that means “good job!” His company is offering him praise in a tangible way.
And a chance to get his parents’ affirmation.
He called both my husband and me to give us the news individually. He then visited us at home and gave us more details. It was THE topic of conversation through the weekend. Why? In addition to our advice, my son wanted our praise.
Likewise, my youngest son, knowing that his older brother was coming to visit, casually placed his last two trophies earned on the coffee table. In May, he had been awarded “Best Pitcher” from the varsity baseball coach; the next day he was named “Best Actor” for his role as the Beast in “Beauty and the Beast.”
He has since graduated from high school and begun college, but he thought enough of those accolades to get them from his bedroom and place them conspicuously in the family room where they were sure to be seen.
When his older brother didn’t seem to notice them anyway, my youngest son pointed them out.
“Did you see my trophies?” he asked, as he lifted them for his brother’s inspection while explaining their significance.
“You graduated, right?” the older one said, as if the significance of these trophies had diminished with the passing of a few months.
My youngest had just wanted his brother’s affirmation. I’m not sure he got it.
This week at work, the Marketing Associate began sending emails to celebrate the number of inventions that our office had licensed or optioned. My job is creating marketing campaigns for those inventions, and I was curious as to whether our marketing campaigns had influenced the various companies’ decisions to purchase the licenses to market our inventors’ ideas. Part of my desire to know is just good business: Does marketing make a difference? Is the paper campaign effective or are we attracting more potential licensees via our online efforts and social media?
But part of me wanted credit. I wanted at least the personal knowledge that my efforts had contributed to the numbers marking our company’s success. I wanted praise.
Continue reading “The circle of praise…”
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Sara Beara, not Yogi Berra…
Sara Beara.
That may be the first time I have typed that term of endearment, occasionally bestowed on me (and likely many other Saras or Sarahs the world over). But it never stuck. One of my nephews, when he was learning to talk, called me “S’ra,” which his mother then affectionately used for me at times. One of my nieces called me “ReeRa” before she could pronounce my name. But no nickname ever stuck.
Certainly no nickname that included “Yogi.”
That was reserved for baseball player Yogi Berra (and the cartoon character Yogi Bear, which led to a defamation lawsuit against creators Hanna-Barbera, later dropped when the producers declared the name similarity a coincidence. I have a niece named Hannah Barbara, just in case the producers want to file a suit against her.)
Yogi Berra, who played for the New York Yankees for nearly two decades, was born Lawrence Peter Berra but was nicknamed Yogi because he sat like a yogi while waiting to bat or after losing a game. Many consider him to be the best catcher ever, and he also had amazing stats out in the field and at bat. After playing ball from 1946-1965 and spending time coaching, Berra was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1972. Since Yogi played his last game of baseball before I was born, I admit I was more familiar with Yogi Bear than Yogi Berra, but my Bing commercial moment during yoga class this week — and the subsequent search that followed — has left me fascinated with this player.
This was my computer search engine overloaded brain at work during yoga (and, yes, I know I am supposed to be “completely present” and a mere spectator of those thoughts when practicing yoga). My train of thought:
- I hate yoga. Why? Because whatever we do on one side, we will do to the other. It’s like the Golden Rule for exercise. “Do unto the left side what you did unto the right.” I personally hate knowing that something difficult on the right side has to be repeated on the left. “It’s like deja vu all over again.” Who said that?
- [Breathe and focus, Sara. That is the key to yoga.] I hate yoga. Yoga. Yogi. Yogi Bear. Yogi Berra. Sara Beara. Nicknames. Sara Yogi Beara. Like never ever. Was Yogi Berra his real name? Yogi Berra. Yogi Bear. “Hey, now, Boo Boo…”
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Four eyes or why I see clearly…
“How many pairs do you have now?” my friend Connie asked me.
(She hadn’t noticed I was wearing a new pair of glasses until I mentioned them.)
I had gotten this pair the day before in the mail. The mail, you ask? Yes. I “tried on glasses” via a website, where I uploaded my photo, looked intently at frame specs (ha! see what I did there?), and made a decision — after deliberating for two months.
This is the fifth — and, my husband hopes, last — pair of glasses I have ordered online for my current prescription. Five. For me. In just over one year. I know, it sounds rather ridiculous that a person would need that many glasses. Four should be enough, right? The everyday pair, the polarized sunglasses, and a pair of reading (computer) glasses for home and a pair for work.
It’s just that the pair I originally chose for everyday use kept stretching out of shape and threatening to fall off my face if I looked down or sweated, which I make a practice of doing, apparently. I wanted a pair of beautiful, light, strong, hypoallergenic stainless steel frames that would flatter my face and hold up to the wear and tear my klutzy self likely will deal them.
I think I got them.
Actually, I know I got them. I have been wearing them.
My first full day with the glasses, I walked the stairs at work — which I do often to relieve my back from the torment of sitting in front of a computer all day — and then slipped outside to walk for a few minutes, smiling because I was so silly.
“Did you just go outside and walk after climbing the stairs?” the receptionist asked me when I returned. He was utterly amazed, of course, at my physical prowess.
I then confessed the purpose of my mini jaunt to the outside world: I just wanted to test my photochromatic lenses. The lenses are so clear when I’m inside I was afraid the manufacturer had made a mistake and sent me regular lenses. But to my delight, they turned dark outside in the sunlight (I took them off in the sun to check; I wanted to see their darkness rather than just see through their darkness) and became clear swiftly when I returned inside.
Amazing technology. I am not going to throw away my polarized sunglasses, mind you, but I will keep them in my car instead of my purse, trusting the photochromatic lenses to get me to and from the parking lot. No more awkward transitioning from one pair of glasses to another when walking from sunlight into store light. No more awkward wearing of sunglasses in the grocery store because I forgot my regular glasses in the car.
When I first started wearing glasses, I could see without them. Now, twenty years later, not so much. Just last week I had to have a friend open my locker at the health club when I returned from the shower, sans eyeglasses, because I couldn’t see the numbers on the combination lock. As much as I hate wearing glasses, I love being able to see.
Just this week I read a blog post by Alicia Bruxvoort in which she admitted rifling through her craft supply closet and using her hot glue gun to attach “googly eyes” and “wobbly watchers” to the salsa jar and the milk jug, tissue box, egg carton, and tubes of toothpaste. She wasn’t pulling a prank on her family; she was merely reminding herself that God was watching.
For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him” (2 Chronicles 16:9).
Continue reading “Four eyes or why I see clearly…”
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Confessions of a former school teacher…
Driving to work today — the first day of school — I saw the school maintenance man and his son, a high school senior, wheeling their way to the campus. Ken and Matthew didn’t see me, but I was acutely aware of their car, having seen it day in and day out for years, usually traveling the same roads to the same destination. At the traffic light, their little brown Honda turned left; I went straight, heading miles away from the sweet school that has played such a role in my life as a teacher.
School is starting without me. I am a teacher no more. Today’s encounter was a poignant reminder that I am not returning to the classroom, that school is going on without me, that “my” students now belong to another teacher, that I am no longer an integral part of daily life at the Academy. But like our cars on the road, the feeling quickly passed, noticed only by me.
Let me be honest. I am glad I am not returning to the classroom.
This summer, summer break was summer break, not an extensive planning period for the upcoming school year. When I cleaned my classroom and left it for the last time, I didn’t cart home books so I could plan afresh all summer. I didn’t go through the usual cycle of relief, regret, and resolve, the theme of previous summers. For years, my summer would begin with relief that the year was completed. I could clean house, weed, blog, regroup to my heart’s content. Then I would reflect on the school year just completed and begin the regret phase. Instead of focusing on the successes, I would peer intently at the hopes that didn’t become reality. I would experience regret that I hadn’t accomplished all I hoped — instilling in my students a love of reading and writing and seeking truth, and, more important, a passion to protect reading and writing and the pursuit of truth because of what it means in our Christian lives. And then I would resolve — to do things differently, to find that magical secret or system or sequence that would make those high hopes reality.
There is something idealistic about preparing lesson plans in the absence of students. On paper, on my computer, on my course website, I planned a great curriculum woven with creativity and skillful classroom management — the best of all possible classrooms. And then the students would arrive. As Robert Burns said in his poem “To a Mouse,” “The best laid plans of mice and men/Often go awry.”
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Love makes the worship go ’round…
Once was a time when I attended church for the singing. As I matured, I learned to love the sermons as much as the singing, but a few weeks ago, I realized that I now to go church despite the music. I had attended our church’s “Old Fogey” service (i.e. hymns and old praise music vs. the more contemporary songs) despite my young years and fell in love with the depth of the lyrics. Several months ago, the hymn service, poorly attended, was canceled. I had to attend the services with what some jokingly referred to as the 7-11 songs — 7 lines repeated 11 times.
“They simply aren’t deep,” I thought. “They don’t focus on all the attributes of God and Jesus — mostly just love with a little creation, forgiveness, and salvation thrown in.”
The music seemed to focus on different ways to express God’s love for us and seemed rather repetitive. “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever” was not just a song, it was the theme for every service… Singing of God’s love forever and ever and ever… To that apparent lack of depth I added more complaints: The lead singer sang so high I had to either sing like a nightingale or drop an octave and sing like a man; I didn’t have an ear to harmonize. So I considered solutions — such as arriving late each Sunday to purposely miss the singing. It didn’t seem to be a good choice.
In the midst of my discontent, I considered that songs aren’t the only form of worship, and as I rethought worship, I realized that my purest form of worship hadn’t necessarily ever been associated with singing at church, as much as I have often loved it. I worship God when I open my heart to Him — whether I am seeking Him in desperation, joying in an acute awareness of His presence, awing over how well He knows me, reflecting on His incredible goodness, laughing at His sense of humor, seeing Him in His amazing creation, glorifying Him intentionally or by simply attempting to do what He has called me to do and be. It is when I give Him my all, when I acknowledge that He is my all, when I allow Him to speak through me, to use me, to guide my thoughts and my behaviors — and my writings. Often my blog posts are a product of this personal worship, evidence to me that worship is so much more than a song.
So with this conviction, I entertained being content with my discontent. I felt my worship was rich, after all, even when not set to music.
Continue reading “Love makes the worship go ’round…”
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When work is like the Christian life…
“Well, if I don’t get eaten by an alligator, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
That was the marketing associate’s attempt at humor when we discussed her abbreviated schedule on Friday. She was just directing a photo shoot in the morning — but it was at a local lake known for its alligator population, thus her comment. I countered her humor in kind, knowing there was no real danger from the alligators.
“No, you can’t get eaten by an alligator,” I protested. “I don’t know enough yet.”
“Yes, you do!” she responded, cheerfully, not offended at all by my selfish reasoning. “So that settles it. You know enough, so if I get eaten by an alligator, everything’s OK.”
“No,” I disagreed.
I completely disagreed. As a newbie, I view my trainer and supervisor as “an ever present help in time of trouble,” and I was anticipating working without her presence with less than enthusiasm. She would be gone Friday morning and then the whole of the following week.
“I don’t know enough,” I pressed. “The more I know, the more I realize I don’t know.”
And with that thought quickly followed another, though unexpressed.
“My work life is so much like the Christian life.”
Over the weeks, my supervisor had praised me numerous times for the job I was doing. More than once she’d greeted me enthusiastically with “I’m so glad you’re here,” almost as if she were surprised I’d returned for more. The interns I supervised seemed to be warming up to me. My colleagues in the office were slowly introducing themselves, some saying they’d heard I’d jumped right in and was doing well. I loved what I was doing, and I’d been growing more and more confident in my position as a technical editor the past three weeks — even to the point of believing that I had some ideas that could make operations run more smoothly.
But that particular day had been tougher than usual at work for me — good overall, but with enough reminders that I am not yet perfect at what I do. It was just a moment (or two, or three) in which I saw I didn’t know everything or do everything perfectly. So by 5 p.m., I was ready to call it a day. Not a bad day. Certainly, a productive day. But a day that made me a little uncomfortable with myself and more dependent on following the Standard Operational Procedures (SOP) manual. In fact, it was a day in which work was a lot like the Christian life. (And I know I’m saying that as if it were a bad thing.)
I was beginning to understand that the more I know about my job, the more I realize I don’t know. Wisely, my boss didn’t just hand me the entire workload I will eventually carry. She gave me training; she handed me the printed manuals; she gave me space to read those manuals and get my bearings; she walked me through processes; and she let me set out on my own. Sometimes I asked a lot of questions, sometimes I timidly ventured into new territory, and sometimes I plunged ahead, thinking I knew what to do — only to find out I didn’t know as much as I thought I did.
The Christian life is like that.
Continue reading “When work is like the Christian life…”
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Surprised by work…
What surprised me about my first day of work was not what it entailed but the “when.”
I had long entertained the desire to work for my alma mater, and by the time my final year of teaching ended this spring, I already had numerous applications in the university’s system, all positions for which I was qualified. One job, in particular, caught my attention because it seemed to require every aspect of my eclectic background — an ability to understand technology and science, an ability to write and edit, and an ability to work with upper level students. I had taught middle and high school students Algebra and English for 15 years, often using technology to do so, but I had come into teaching through my journalism background, and I came into journalism through my passion for science and my desire to communicate environmental issues to the general public.
Within the job description was this detail: “translate highly technical information and scientific jargon into descriptions the general public can understand,” and I felt as if I were reading my own words. A large part of the job included acting as a writing coach to a dozen or so interns, mostly upper level undergraduates or law students. I believed that this position was a fit for me — but I had thought that about numerous job descriptions without much result.
As weeks passed after submitting my application, I wasn’t overly hopeful and was having communications with a couple other businesses that were displaying interest. Those potential employers scheduled a series of phone interviews, and I had just completed one of them when my cell phone rang again. It was the university’s Office of Technology Licensing.
Thirty minutes later, I had a paper filled with scribbled information and a smile on my face. I had been completely honest, completely myself; I had answered questions and then asked my own. I liked the voice on the other end of the phone, and the voice seemed to like me. I hung up with a face-to-face job interview scheduled three days later.
The interview was nothing short of miraculous. As a teacher, I enjoyed the knowledge that I was making a difference in the lives of my students every day, and the thought of doing just “any old job to earn a buck and benefits” didn’t excite me at all. (See “Why I teach…” for more insight.) On top of my own efforts to make a positive impact while teaching, I had worked with my seniors on their Capstone Projects, projects in which they had to change the world in some way. In the interview, I realized that making the world a better place was the vision statement for this office at the university. Changing the world in some way every day would be my job.
So when the director asked me why I wanted the position, I honestly (and, perhaps naively) said,
“This job is like my fairy-tale ending. It is the culmination of everything I have done so far — the science, the journalism, the teaching, and even my desire to change the world. That has been the goal of my seniors’ Capstone Projects, and now it can be my daily goal, too.”
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A teacher’s lament…
It’s the calm after the storm. Exams are taken. Yearbooks are signed. Ceremonies and celebrations applauded. The countdown completed. The … Continue reading A teacher’s lament…
Streamlined and frantic free…
My eyes popped open at the sound of my husband’s alarm. 5:15 a.m. What? Panicked, I looked at my own … Continue reading Streamlined and frantic free…
This Is How to Be a Winner Even When You Lose
The definition of winning is much broader than the number on a visible or unseen scoreboard. What’s more, Charlie Sheen is NOT the epitome of the term Continue reading This Is How to Be a Winner Even When You Lose
Despite My Best Efforts, I Wasn’t Prepared for This
To calm me and them, I began the class with prayer, and I’m pretty sure God took over from there. Continue reading Despite My Best Efforts, I Wasn’t Prepared for This
All Things Work Together 