I've heard it said, "the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." I'm assuming this applies to figurative, not literal journeys, as well. To the "journey" of let's say homeschooling, more specifically and immediately the choosing of a curriculum. The speaker, it seems, is trying to assuage any sense of panic felt by the traveler about to embark upon a long, overwhelming journey, one like, let's say, choosing the right curriculum for your dear first grader. It appears the traveler for whom this advice was written knew, at least, which path to take. The thousand miles were a straight shot toward a specific destination. He didn't even mention needing a map; just put one foot in front of the other and keep walking toward the definitive destination. Hmmm....my journey doesn't seem to have a clear path and therein lies the dilemma.
I'd like to pick this wise sojourner's brain to see if he had any advice for what to do when the direction in which to take that single step is rather ambiguous. If the decision to homeschool Anna were a difficult one, the choice of which curriculum to use and how to approach homeschooling is herculean. It's like I'm standing on a circle, ready to set out on my homeschooling journey, and with each slight turn around the circle a possible path lies before me. No step is necessarily one in the wrong direction; they are all good paths, but which one is the best, if there even is a best, or like the past 70 NCAA College Football Champions, is this, too, a mythical title. I'm the kind of girl who likes simplicity. I get so overwhelmed by the 20 page menus at Cheesecake Factory and TGIFriday's that I avoid both eateries. I prefer the one page menu that offers three appetizer choices, three entree choices, and three dessert choices, so you can imagine my apprehension as I memorize each detail of Cathy Duffy's 100 Top Picks for Homeschool Curriculum in a desperate attempt to find the one perfect curriculum for my A. As a professional educator, I'm baffled and breathing a huge sigh of relief that I was never chosen to be on a textbook committee.
Of course, I'm not lamenting the freedom of choice nor the plethora of choice. That's one of the attributes that attracted me to homeschooling in the first place. As someone who, when teaching, couldn't find the ideal writing curriculum, just created my own, I wasn't ready for the numerous, viable options in homeschool curriculum. And, since first grade phonics and math are out of my comfort zone, perhaps I don't feel overly confident in choosing or creating the right curriculum. I, after all, specialize in middle and high school reading and writing instruction. Since Cathy's done such a great job of narrowing my choices to the top 100, I could just write my options on strips of paper and draw them from a hat, or I could flip a coin, or maybe, I could create a bracket, but what would the playoff criteria be. Oh, it's too much.
I'm leaning toward choosing one based on the best title. Take, for instance, Happy Phonics. How could you go wrong with this phonics program, which according to Duffy, works well with Explode the Code, another catchy title? Maybe, she could write another book titled, Choosing Curriculum Without Exploding Your Brain. Those are just the phonics options; I have yet to study math. As in most choices I make, I realize I am most likely overanalyzing this one, as well, especially since the few selections I am seriously considering have come highly recommended.
While this process is overwhelming, it is also exciting. I have the opportunity to carefully analyze my daughter and son's learning styles and pair them with a curriculum that best fits the particular nuances of each of my children's own educational dispositions. Because I know them better than anyone, and I understand learning and education, I relish the opportunity to create a learning plan that fits my children's unique personalities. How exciting! That possibility eclipses any apprehension about finding a mythical, one-size-fits-all curriculum, which is one reason we left traditional schooling in the first place. So, as I pray about finding the curriculum that is right for my children, I will trust the Holy Spirit to lead me to the path that best fits our family, just like He led us through the first fork in the road and put us on the offbeaten path to homeschooling. I will confidently take the next step and continue to place one foot in front of the other, trusting God's guidance on this journey, which may mean I forge a completely new path!
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
A's Got Talent
"Mommy, I don't have any talent."
"What?" I respond, hoping my question will buy time to think of an appropriate response.
A flings herself dramatically onto her bed, buries her head in her pillow, and sighs with such exasperation, I notice the ceiling fan begin to spin. "I don't have any talent," comes the muffled reply.
I'm dumbfounded. At her age, I'm sure I'd never heard the word talent uttered, probably didn't know what it was and if I had, didn't care. Perhaps if I had thought more seriously about my own talents at six, my mom and dad could have saved thousands on wasted gymnastics lessons. I ponder A's sudden outburst. Acting might be on her list of serious talent considerations....
"Of course, you have talent. What makes you think you don't?"
"On America's Got Talent, there was a six-year-old girl who could dance...."
That's debatable, I think, but respond, "Honey, that doesn't mean you don't have talent. You can sing, dance, paint. You have lots of talents."
"But I could never go on a TV show with my talents." Tears drip down her sweet cheeks. I catch one on my forefinger and pat her on the head, seriously searching for the right words, fighting the urge to simply exclaim, "that's ridiculous" because this epiphany has clearly upset her.
"Sweetheart, talents aren't meant to be performed for fame. They are God's gifts to us to use in His service." Realizing, this might be a hard sell, I grab her Bible from her shelf and open up to 1 Corinthians 12 and read about how everyone has a specific role to play and explain how everyone has an important gift that's vital to fulfilling God's purpose in their lives. Pretty heavy conversation for bed time, and, of course, A is six, but I hope at least some of what I am saying resonates. My goal is for her to realize that her worth isn't measured in her ability to wow an audience.
A continues to lament her "lack" of performance talents, while I make a mental note to outlaw goofy talent shows at our house. I stroke her hair reassuringly and joke about how Mommy could audition and wow the audience by writing on stage or about how Daddy could ride his bike. After pointing out that Michael Phelps and Tyson Gay wouldn't make the America's Got Talent cut but will both probably win Olympic gold, I feel that I've adequately made my point. By this time, I would have been rolling my eyes and begging my mom to leave the room, but A simply listens. I tuck my sweet girl into her bed, turn out the lights, and walk downstairs, wondering when as a society we began transmitting the message to our children that the only talents that matter are those that bring fame, fortune, and worldly glory. While strict about television viewing, it seems that even seemingly innocuous programming can deliver a negative impact.
I mull over mine and A's conversation for several minutes and, as always, wonder if I said the right thing, too much, or not enough. What message do I send in my own life about what I value as a gift, and what do I toss away as too insignificant to contribute? I've not always valued my gifts of teaching and writing and have even joked on the blog about how I could never be Miss America because I wouldn't have a talent. Ok, there may be other reasons I would never be Miss America like the fact that I'm married.... As A and I embark upon more time together in this homeschooling journey, I see the worth in passing on even more deliberately the kind of values that I want A to cherish and hope that she'll see the immense treasure in her own unique gifts and talents, even if those talents may never secure her a spot on a nationally televised talent show. I hope she realizes that like A their impact for the kingdom is priceless.
"What?" I respond, hoping my question will buy time to think of an appropriate response.
A flings herself dramatically onto her bed, buries her head in her pillow, and sighs with such exasperation, I notice the ceiling fan begin to spin. "I don't have any talent," comes the muffled reply.
I'm dumbfounded. At her age, I'm sure I'd never heard the word talent uttered, probably didn't know what it was and if I had, didn't care. Perhaps if I had thought more seriously about my own talents at six, my mom and dad could have saved thousands on wasted gymnastics lessons. I ponder A's sudden outburst. Acting might be on her list of serious talent considerations....
"Of course, you have talent. What makes you think you don't?"
"On America's Got Talent, there was a six-year-old girl who could dance...."
That's debatable, I think, but respond, "Honey, that doesn't mean you don't have talent. You can sing, dance, paint. You have lots of talents."
"But I could never go on a TV show with my talents." Tears drip down her sweet cheeks. I catch one on my forefinger and pat her on the head, seriously searching for the right words, fighting the urge to simply exclaim, "that's ridiculous" because this epiphany has clearly upset her.
"Sweetheart, talents aren't meant to be performed for fame. They are God's gifts to us to use in His service." Realizing, this might be a hard sell, I grab her Bible from her shelf and open up to 1 Corinthians 12 and read about how everyone has a specific role to play and explain how everyone has an important gift that's vital to fulfilling God's purpose in their lives. Pretty heavy conversation for bed time, and, of course, A is six, but I hope at least some of what I am saying resonates. My goal is for her to realize that her worth isn't measured in her ability to wow an audience.
A continues to lament her "lack" of performance talents, while I make a mental note to outlaw goofy talent shows at our house. I stroke her hair reassuringly and joke about how Mommy could audition and wow the audience by writing on stage or about how Daddy could ride his bike. After pointing out that Michael Phelps and Tyson Gay wouldn't make the America's Got Talent cut but will both probably win Olympic gold, I feel that I've adequately made my point. By this time, I would have been rolling my eyes and begging my mom to leave the room, but A simply listens. I tuck my sweet girl into her bed, turn out the lights, and walk downstairs, wondering when as a society we began transmitting the message to our children that the only talents that matter are those that bring fame, fortune, and worldly glory. While strict about television viewing, it seems that even seemingly innocuous programming can deliver a negative impact.
I mull over mine and A's conversation for several minutes and, as always, wonder if I said the right thing, too much, or not enough. What message do I send in my own life about what I value as a gift, and what do I toss away as too insignificant to contribute? I've not always valued my gifts of teaching and writing and have even joked on the blog about how I could never be Miss America because I wouldn't have a talent. Ok, there may be other reasons I would never be Miss America like the fact that I'm married.... As A and I embark upon more time together in this homeschooling journey, I see the worth in passing on even more deliberately the kind of values that I want A to cherish and hope that she'll see the immense treasure in her own unique gifts and talents, even if those talents may never secure her a spot on a nationally televised talent show. I hope she realizes that like A their impact for the kingdom is priceless.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Change is Good
The parade of American flags lining neighborhood streets is a reminder that
July is already here and like June will be melt into memory faster than my
son's afternoon popsicle. With August rapidly approaching, I am reminded that
sooner than later it will be time to announce our family's pending adventure. A
is already creatively dodging the question, "Where will you be attending
school next year?" with a sweet shrug and sidelong glance cast up at Mommy
for confirmation of her next move in the conversation. This is followed by a
shrug from Mommy and an incoherent mumble of "We're homeschooling next
year."
"You're what?"
"Home..mmm.sch....mm.ooling?!"
"Oh, I see."
Depending on the receiver of this groundbreaking news, we're either met with raised eyebrows, a disapproving shake of the head, a gaping stare followed by an awkward moment of wordlessness because apparently, there are none, or a noncommittal, "That's nice." The question that has given me the most pause in answering is "Why?" "Why?" Let's see, well, hmmm, why does anyone homeschool? The reasons are, I'm sure, as varied as the parents who decide to embark on this journey. So it is for my family.
When I began my tutoring business two years ago, I didn't know the difference in an LLC and KFC except that one had excellent mashed potatoes and gravy. Both, it seemed, had a secret recipe that no one was willing to share with this novice entrepreneur. After several slow months, though, business picked up and before I knew it, I was working seven days a week for two month stretches. What began as a way to contribute to my family’s waning income in a down economy had suddenly become a full-time business competing with my favorite priority, full-time mommy-hood. While I relished the opportunity to be home full-time during the day with my toddler son, I was missing precious time with my daughter. Our afternoon routine consisted of a whirlwind rush of settling in from school, beginning homework, then Mommy rushing out the door to work as soon as my husband walked in the door. Knowing that I needed to work, not willing to put C in full-time daycare, but realizing that this arrangement was not going to work for mine and A's critical mother/daughter relationship, I was at a loss for how to change our situation. Anyone who was close to our family could see this routine was taking its toll on both A and me, yet a reasonable solution did not seem to exist until I had the opportunity to work with a delightful homeschooling family.
What struck me most about this family was how confident, self-assured, intelligent, in a single word, delightful, each of the children seemed to be. I admit I had a preconceived, unfounded vision of a homeschooling family portrait, and this family didn’t match the painting I had in mind. This encounter planted the first seed of “what if?” What if this is the solution my family has been seeking, the opportunity to be home during the day with both of my children, building relationships, learning, enjoying our life and me working in the evenings once my husband got home from work? Of course, “what if?” was immediately followed by a rush of self-doubt and self-consciousness. What would the neighbors think? Would my husband even entertain the idea? Would people think I’d finally gone off the deep end? So, I wrestled with the idea discreetly for several months; that is, unless you had access to my library record and could see the dozens of homeschooling books suddenly being checked out to my account.
“What if?” slowly began to morph into “why not,” as I began to research homeschooling and was met with a wealth of information on just how beneficial this style of education can be for families and students. I was surprised by what I learned, much of which I plan to share in the months to come, so my husband and I began discussing both the positive and negative aspects of this possibility, united in finding a solution that would work best for our family’s situation.
So….back to my original question of “Why?” Well, in a word, “Because.” Because, right now, it is what is best for my family. Because, we can. I realized through all of the research and soul-searching and prayer that I’d always been a proponent of homeschooling, and the idea was something I’d actually entertained for years. The idea of sending my six year old off to school for seven-hours-a-day, ten months a year has always been a difficult one for me to accept, and while I realize it’s been that way for parents for a hundred years, it didn’t mean that it was an arrangement that I had to accept because it was “just the way it is.” Recent Supreme Court rulings and homeschooling laws have given parents more freedom in deciding what they believe is the best educational path for their children.
As I continue to research the history of education and homeschooling, I find great freedom in understanding that, as a parent, I have the choice to decide how I want my children educated; that realization is both empowering and liberating. Of course, I understand that homeschooling isn’t for everyone nor should it be. If there is anything else this decision process has taught me, it is that each family’s ministry and place in this world is unique. The Holy Spirit gifts us each differently, and in matters that aren’t contrary to the authority of Scripture, the Holy Spirit convicts us each in a way that is unique to God’s purpose for our families. I have spent a great deal of time praying about this decision, specifically for confirmation, which has come in the form of unexepectedly being placed in the path of many homeschooling families over the past few months, of support from family and friends, and of seeing the excitement in my daughter when we discuss the upcoming school year. I've never felt convicted to give up tutoring and continue to receive affirmation that my business also serves an important ministry. The idea to homeschool has become an ideal solution for my family's unique situation.
One of my greatest fears has been that others would see my decision to homeschool as a condemnation of their choice to send their children to public or private institutions. On the contrary, as a professional educator, I encourage all families to take advantage of the freedom of choice offered to them concerning their children’s education and to fight for even more opportunity. As a business owner, failing my customers would be unacceptable; it's time to hold schools and the powers that govern them to the same accountability.
As a born-educator (my siblings and I turned the intercom system in our family home into a school network, complete with classrooms and a principal’s office), I am also giddy with excitement over the prospects that await A and me. Once the gut-wrenching decision was finally made, I immediately began discussing curriculum options with my sweet girl! We have turned the education section of 2nd and Charles into our home away from home. Learning is seamlessly being woven into the fabric of our everyday life. How cool is that! The excitement doesn’t completely assuage the moments of self-doubt or the anxiety of fielding questions, albeit well-meaning ones. So, I invite you all to join my family and me on this journey. I’ll be chronicling our adventure and addressing the changing landscape of education on my blog. I look forward to sharing the ups and downs of being a homeschooling family!
"You're what?"
"Home..mmm.sch....mm.ooling?!"
"Oh, I see."
Depending on the receiver of this groundbreaking news, we're either met with raised eyebrows, a disapproving shake of the head, a gaping stare followed by an awkward moment of wordlessness because apparently, there are none, or a noncommittal, "That's nice." The question that has given me the most pause in answering is "Why?" "Why?" Let's see, well, hmmm, why does anyone homeschool? The reasons are, I'm sure, as varied as the parents who decide to embark on this journey. So it is for my family.
When I began my tutoring business two years ago, I didn't know the difference in an LLC and KFC except that one had excellent mashed potatoes and gravy. Both, it seemed, had a secret recipe that no one was willing to share with this novice entrepreneur. After several slow months, though, business picked up and before I knew it, I was working seven days a week for two month stretches. What began as a way to contribute to my family’s waning income in a down economy had suddenly become a full-time business competing with my favorite priority, full-time mommy-hood. While I relished the opportunity to be home full-time during the day with my toddler son, I was missing precious time with my daughter. Our afternoon routine consisted of a whirlwind rush of settling in from school, beginning homework, then Mommy rushing out the door to work as soon as my husband walked in the door. Knowing that I needed to work, not willing to put C in full-time daycare, but realizing that this arrangement was not going to work for mine and A's critical mother/daughter relationship, I was at a loss for how to change our situation. Anyone who was close to our family could see this routine was taking its toll on both A and me, yet a reasonable solution did not seem to exist until I had the opportunity to work with a delightful homeschooling family.
What struck me most about this family was how confident, self-assured, intelligent, in a single word, delightful, each of the children seemed to be. I admit I had a preconceived, unfounded vision of a homeschooling family portrait, and this family didn’t match the painting I had in mind. This encounter planted the first seed of “what if?” What if this is the solution my family has been seeking, the opportunity to be home during the day with both of my children, building relationships, learning, enjoying our life and me working in the evenings once my husband got home from work? Of course, “what if?” was immediately followed by a rush of self-doubt and self-consciousness. What would the neighbors think? Would my husband even entertain the idea? Would people think I’d finally gone off the deep end? So, I wrestled with the idea discreetly for several months; that is, unless you had access to my library record and could see the dozens of homeschooling books suddenly being checked out to my account.
“What if?” slowly began to morph into “why not,” as I began to research homeschooling and was met with a wealth of information on just how beneficial this style of education can be for families and students. I was surprised by what I learned, much of which I plan to share in the months to come, so my husband and I began discussing both the positive and negative aspects of this possibility, united in finding a solution that would work best for our family’s situation.
So….back to my original question of “Why?” Well, in a word, “Because.” Because, right now, it is what is best for my family. Because, we can. I realized through all of the research and soul-searching and prayer that I’d always been a proponent of homeschooling, and the idea was something I’d actually entertained for years. The idea of sending my six year old off to school for seven-hours-a-day, ten months a year has always been a difficult one for me to accept, and while I realize it’s been that way for parents for a hundred years, it didn’t mean that it was an arrangement that I had to accept because it was “just the way it is.” Recent Supreme Court rulings and homeschooling laws have given parents more freedom in deciding what they believe is the best educational path for their children.
As I continue to research the history of education and homeschooling, I find great freedom in understanding that, as a parent, I have the choice to decide how I want my children educated; that realization is both empowering and liberating. Of course, I understand that homeschooling isn’t for everyone nor should it be. If there is anything else this decision process has taught me, it is that each family’s ministry and place in this world is unique. The Holy Spirit gifts us each differently, and in matters that aren’t contrary to the authority of Scripture, the Holy Spirit convicts us each in a way that is unique to God’s purpose for our families. I have spent a great deal of time praying about this decision, specifically for confirmation, which has come in the form of unexepectedly being placed in the path of many homeschooling families over the past few months, of support from family and friends, and of seeing the excitement in my daughter when we discuss the upcoming school year. I've never felt convicted to give up tutoring and continue to receive affirmation that my business also serves an important ministry. The idea to homeschool has become an ideal solution for my family's unique situation.
One of my greatest fears has been that others would see my decision to homeschool as a condemnation of their choice to send their children to public or private institutions. On the contrary, as a professional educator, I encourage all families to take advantage of the freedom of choice offered to them concerning their children’s education and to fight for even more opportunity. As a business owner, failing my customers would be unacceptable; it's time to hold schools and the powers that govern them to the same accountability.
As a born-educator (my siblings and I turned the intercom system in our family home into a school network, complete with classrooms and a principal’s office), I am also giddy with excitement over the prospects that await A and me. Once the gut-wrenching decision was finally made, I immediately began discussing curriculum options with my sweet girl! We have turned the education section of 2nd and Charles into our home away from home. Learning is seamlessly being woven into the fabric of our everyday life. How cool is that! The excitement doesn’t completely assuage the moments of self-doubt or the anxiety of fielding questions, albeit well-meaning ones. So, I invite you all to join my family and me on this journey. I’ll be chronicling our adventure and addressing the changing landscape of education on my blog. I look forward to sharing the ups and downs of being a homeschooling family!
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
It's in the Genes
Mommy, I don't like Easter!" A laments as we drive up the hill by her school.
What do you mean you don't like Easter? It's the most pivotal day of our faith! The day we celebrate Christ's resurrection. Out loud, I decide to try and reason with a six-year-old who is clearly not in the mood for school and is trying to find any way to avoid getting out of the car. "Why don't you like Easter? It's a wonderful day and there's the Easter egg hunt this weekend."
"I don't like Easter egg hunts," she grumbles arms crossed, kicking the back of the passenger's seat. "There's too many people and not enough eggs and what if I don't win."
Ding, ding, ding. The heart of what's bothering my little competitor. Three days until the big hunt, and she is already apprehensive about not "winning."
I clearly have no idea where this comes from. Flashback: A Trivial Pursuit board game flies through the air as people I love dearly duck in horror. I stand, suddenly bulk to twice my size, turn green, and rip my clothes in anger. I shout at my partner, cowering in the corner, "How could you miss that question. It was so simple; how could you? Everyone knows who led the Spanish Armada. You cost us the game." Okay, so maybe it didn't happen exactly that way, but you get the point. I have a competitive streak. I DO NOT LIKE TO LOSE.
I am not proud of this flaw, er, quality. In fact, I often blush in shame when my family and friends recount stories of playing games with me. Most of the time their retelling includes something about wearing helmets and face masks. I am so competitive (again, I admit this with my head hanging low) that in my youth, I refused to participate in sports or competitions where I didn't think I would succeed. I found it more to my benefit to really hone the skills in areas where I knew I'd be victorious in the outcome, which explains why I was never considered an athlete. Clumsy and awkward are usually not precursors to stellar athletic skills. When I accidentally discovered, thanks to the President's Physical Fitness test, that I had the fastest mile for a girl in my class (on that particular day), I immediately threw myself into running, training for longer and longer distances until I finally completed a marathon, too slowly for my taste, but alas, I digress.
It's taken years for me to learn to participate in activities simply for fun, and I'm not even sure it is a skill that I've mastered...ok, I am certain it is a skill that I have not mastered. Even now, when I hear of peers who are my age and skill level who have completed 5 or 10Ks with a faster time than mine, I admit, I feel that green monster start rising up a bit. I can even turn boot camp or step classes at the gym into a competition, albeit I am the only one aware that there's any competing going on. Again, not proud of that either. Now, instead of trying to participate to win or "beat" someone else, though, I try to channel that energy into becoming the best runner or competitor, there's that word again, participant that I can be.
And I am not the only parent to pass down the competition genes. My husband, who is an accomplished runner and biker, and I can turn driving to church in separate cars into a competition to see who can find the fastest way there. (We, by the way, add oodles of fun to any game night, if anyone is thinking about getting one together soon.) If you think we're the kind of parents who make "mistakes" to allow our children an opportunity to win at Chutes and Ladders or Candyland, you are mistaken.
Heaven help my daughter. I grip the wheel a bit more tightly and ponder the best response to her outburst. A verse that has been pivotal to helping me tame the competition beast has been Colossians 3:22 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men." I wholeheartedly believe that in every endeavor we should try our best, but for me, proving I'm trying my best has often been outshining the other participants.
As I've meditated on this, I've come to the conclusion that there is nothing wrong with healthy competition when it forces us to try our best and work our hardest. Where it goes awry is when you are standing at your child's little league game yelling at the coach because your child is still on the bench or lighting into a referee, while your 4-year-old chases butterflies in the outfield. (I have NEVER done either, by the way!) It goes awry, when like everything else in life, the focus is on me, self, I, and not on Christ and competing in a way that brings Him glory.
I realize that it has taken me over 30 years to come to that understanding and thirty seconds in carpool line will not be long enough to explain it to A, so I turn around, smile, and say, "Punky, I understand what you are saying, but the Easter egg hunt is a chance to have fun with your friends. It isn't about finding the most eggs or winning. It's sharing that fun with people you like." I say it and I finally believe it... A, clearly not convinced, crinkles her nose in dismay and grumbles as she gets out of the car. "I love you!" I shout as she walks away.
With three days until the hunt, I'm sure I'll have more opportunities to impart wisdom. As the passer-down of the competition DNA, I understand my little girl, and thanks to my journey, hopefully, I can help her learn the lesson a bit more quickly, so unlike her mom, people won't show up to her game nights looking ready for a game of tackle football instead of Monopoly.
What do you mean you don't like Easter? It's the most pivotal day of our faith! The day we celebrate Christ's resurrection. Out loud, I decide to try and reason with a six-year-old who is clearly not in the mood for school and is trying to find any way to avoid getting out of the car. "Why don't you like Easter? It's a wonderful day and there's the Easter egg hunt this weekend."
"I don't like Easter egg hunts," she grumbles arms crossed, kicking the back of the passenger's seat. "There's too many people and not enough eggs and what if I don't win."
Ding, ding, ding. The heart of what's bothering my little competitor. Three days until the big hunt, and she is already apprehensive about not "winning."
I clearly have no idea where this comes from. Flashback: A Trivial Pursuit board game flies through the air as people I love dearly duck in horror. I stand, suddenly bulk to twice my size, turn green, and rip my clothes in anger. I shout at my partner, cowering in the corner, "How could you miss that question. It was so simple; how could you? Everyone knows who led the Spanish Armada. You cost us the game." Okay, so maybe it didn't happen exactly that way, but you get the point. I have a competitive streak. I DO NOT LIKE TO LOSE.
I am not proud of this flaw, er, quality. In fact, I often blush in shame when my family and friends recount stories of playing games with me. Most of the time their retelling includes something about wearing helmets and face masks. I am so competitive (again, I admit this with my head hanging low) that in my youth, I refused to participate in sports or competitions where I didn't think I would succeed. I found it more to my benefit to really hone the skills in areas where I knew I'd be victorious in the outcome, which explains why I was never considered an athlete. Clumsy and awkward are usually not precursors to stellar athletic skills. When I accidentally discovered, thanks to the President's Physical Fitness test, that I had the fastest mile for a girl in my class (on that particular day), I immediately threw myself into running, training for longer and longer distances until I finally completed a marathon, too slowly for my taste, but alas, I digress.
It's taken years for me to learn to participate in activities simply for fun, and I'm not even sure it is a skill that I've mastered...ok, I am certain it is a skill that I have not mastered. Even now, when I hear of peers who are my age and skill level who have completed 5 or 10Ks with a faster time than mine, I admit, I feel that green monster start rising up a bit. I can even turn boot camp or step classes at the gym into a competition, albeit I am the only one aware that there's any competing going on. Again, not proud of that either. Now, instead of trying to participate to win or "beat" someone else, though, I try to channel that energy into becoming the best runner or competitor, there's that word again, participant that I can be.
And I am not the only parent to pass down the competition genes. My husband, who is an accomplished runner and biker, and I can turn driving to church in separate cars into a competition to see who can find the fastest way there. (We, by the way, add oodles of fun to any game night, if anyone is thinking about getting one together soon.) If you think we're the kind of parents who make "mistakes" to allow our children an opportunity to win at Chutes and Ladders or Candyland, you are mistaken.
Heaven help my daughter. I grip the wheel a bit more tightly and ponder the best response to her outburst. A verse that has been pivotal to helping me tame the competition beast has been Colossians 3:22 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men." I wholeheartedly believe that in every endeavor we should try our best, but for me, proving I'm trying my best has often been outshining the other participants.
As I've meditated on this, I've come to the conclusion that there is nothing wrong with healthy competition when it forces us to try our best and work our hardest. Where it goes awry is when you are standing at your child's little league game yelling at the coach because your child is still on the bench or lighting into a referee, while your 4-year-old chases butterflies in the outfield. (I have NEVER done either, by the way!) It goes awry, when like everything else in life, the focus is on me, self, I, and not on Christ and competing in a way that brings Him glory.
I realize that it has taken me over 30 years to come to that understanding and thirty seconds in carpool line will not be long enough to explain it to A, so I turn around, smile, and say, "Punky, I understand what you are saying, but the Easter egg hunt is a chance to have fun with your friends. It isn't about finding the most eggs or winning. It's sharing that fun with people you like." I say it and I finally believe it... A, clearly not convinced, crinkles her nose in dismay and grumbles as she gets out of the car. "I love you!" I shout as she walks away.
With three days until the hunt, I'm sure I'll have more opportunities to impart wisdom. As the passer-down of the competition DNA, I understand my little girl, and thanks to my journey, hopefully, I can help her learn the lesson a bit more quickly, so unlike her mom, people won't show up to her game nights looking ready for a game of tackle football instead of Monopoly.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Resolution Blues
While many of us spend this first day of 2012 pondering ways to improve ourselves in the new year, I tend to look back on 2011 and wonder what went wrong. As I review my list of last year's resolutions with dismay, I see that once again, I accomplished.....not one. My resolve to blog more faded as quickly as the ink on the coupon mailer in my front yard storm drain, evidence of yet another resolution gone by the wayside. Never could manage to get that thing all the way inside the front door, never mind actually cutting, organizing, then remembering the coupons. My clear-cut, specific, goal-oriented resolution to simplify, well, that one dissolved into frenzied chaos before I could manage to get the Christmas tree out the front door all while trying to avoid spilling thousands of dried pine needles. It was clearly not a banner year for resolutions.
Looking back, it's actually pretty easy to see why I failed. I mean, simplify, what does that mean exactly? Simplify what? How does anyone accomplish anything without a plan? When I reflect on the past year and look past the failed resolutions, though, I see that I achieved pursuits I didn't even have the foresight to include on my yearly list of failed attempts, I mean, New Year's resolutions. For instance, I shaved over one minute off of my mile time this year, running one in 8:45, instead of poking along at 10:00. That didn't require haphazardly scribbling down a list of well-intentioned goals at the beginning of a year, when, let's be frank, I was probably still coming down from red velvet cake and chocolate-butterscotch fudge-induced haze. It took waking up one summer day and declaring, "I am tired of being slow; today is the day I train harder and run faster," then, somewhat begrudgingly, dragging myself out of bed at 5 a.m. and hitting the treadmill, increasing my speed each week. Self-discipline and a plan.
I also notice my list of non-resolved endeavors for 2011 also includes creating and running a successful tutoring business (along with my awesome business partner, who fell in love, married, and moved away, but that's another day's tale). With no business background or knowledge, just a plan, grit, determination, and a lot of God's grace, I ran a successful business in 2011 with promise of an even better 2012. Two on a list of many: my sweet baby girl completing a successful first semester of kindergarten, my little man learning his alphabet and numbers through 20, small successes that built into quite a banner year.
And here I am again, contemplating my list of resolutions for 2012, wondering why I bother, but deep down, I know why. It's hope; it's the hope that accompanies the thrill of standing at the threshold of a new start, of a new year, of a new list of endless possibilities, including the prospect of getting it right this year, and if I fail, there's always next year. And this year, if I fail, I know from looking back, that there will be an entirely different list, one that is created in response to the day-to-day adversity that propels us to achieve without actually writing it down on January 1st. I am also reminded of Phillipians 1:6, "that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." That God himself, who could perfect us immediately, chooses to refine us through daily challenges, which include both successes and failures. So, this year, I will resolve yet again, not because I believe I'll accomplish without fail, but because I can dream and hope and know that life is a process that doesn't always require success. Perhaps it's in the failed lists of new year's past that we create new lists, real lists that truly do improve who we are and teach us what we really hope to become.
Looking back, it's actually pretty easy to see why I failed. I mean, simplify, what does that mean exactly? Simplify what? How does anyone accomplish anything without a plan? When I reflect on the past year and look past the failed resolutions, though, I see that I achieved pursuits I didn't even have the foresight to include on my yearly list of failed attempts, I mean, New Year's resolutions. For instance, I shaved over one minute off of my mile time this year, running one in 8:45, instead of poking along at 10:00. That didn't require haphazardly scribbling down a list of well-intentioned goals at the beginning of a year, when, let's be frank, I was probably still coming down from red velvet cake and chocolate-butterscotch fudge-induced haze. It took waking up one summer day and declaring, "I am tired of being slow; today is the day I train harder and run faster," then, somewhat begrudgingly, dragging myself out of bed at 5 a.m. and hitting the treadmill, increasing my speed each week. Self-discipline and a plan.
I also notice my list of non-resolved endeavors for 2011 also includes creating and running a successful tutoring business (along with my awesome business partner, who fell in love, married, and moved away, but that's another day's tale). With no business background or knowledge, just a plan, grit, determination, and a lot of God's grace, I ran a successful business in 2011 with promise of an even better 2012. Two on a list of many: my sweet baby girl completing a successful first semester of kindergarten, my little man learning his alphabet and numbers through 20, small successes that built into quite a banner year.
And here I am again, contemplating my list of resolutions for 2012, wondering why I bother, but deep down, I know why. It's hope; it's the hope that accompanies the thrill of standing at the threshold of a new start, of a new year, of a new list of endless possibilities, including the prospect of getting it right this year, and if I fail, there's always next year. And this year, if I fail, I know from looking back, that there will be an entirely different list, one that is created in response to the day-to-day adversity that propels us to achieve without actually writing it down on January 1st. I am also reminded of Phillipians 1:6, "that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." That God himself, who could perfect us immediately, chooses to refine us through daily challenges, which include both successes and failures. So, this year, I will resolve yet again, not because I believe I'll accomplish without fail, but because I can dream and hope and know that life is a process that doesn't always require success. Perhaps it's in the failed lists of new year's past that we create new lists, real lists that truly do improve who we are and teach us what we really hope to become.
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