Commencement: Conquering a Fear

Board members, faculty, staff, parents, friends and family, graduates. It is a great honor to be standing before you on this special day.

I know it is said that time flies as you get older, and I always thought that was just a sneaky way less youthful people covered themselves after forgetting something, but in my advanced age (my birthday was yesterday) and wisdom, I have found it to be true. I blinked one day, and my daughter sprouted from a preschool student to a high school student, and the same thing has happened with you, graduates.

It truly does seem like yesterday that I met some of you for the first time, as you walked into my classroom on your first day of high school. Some of you were my STAR [homeroom] students, and some were World History or Creative Writing students. I remember how large your eyes were, how some of you stared around the classroom in awe, and how attentively you listened to me explain the rules of my classroom. It didn't take long for that shine of newness to wear off and soon you showed me who you truly were: not scared, shy freshmen, but young people who were (for the most part) ready to learn and ready to become a part of Napoleon history.

Time passed, and you grew older. Some of you went on to win praise from teachers for academic achievements. Some went on to win cheers on the field or the court or the track. Some won accolades for your art. Some of you kept your brilliance to yourself, but all of you cast a glow on your four years with us, and it is with a mixture of both pride and sadness that we watch you leave.

I look out at your faces, graduates, and I see the future sitting before me. And you are just as brilliant, just as eager for that future as you were four years ago—maybe more so. I look out at you and see tomorrow's lawyers and businessmen who are very very good at persuasion, some computer engineers, a baker or two, a professional golfer who really should trust me and buy some plaid pants, a couple of guys who will make tons of money playing video games if only they can figure out how, teachers, musicians, artists, movie critics. I see cosmetologists and machinists, construction engineers and nurses. You are our future, graduates, and we are so proud of you.

For some reason, I was afforded the great honor of giving the commencement address today. In a tiny part of my heart, I can't help but wonder if you graduates are sadistic people who enjoy torture. I am pretty sure I was quite clear last year when I said, looking certain of you straight in the eye: "I do not want to give the commencement address. I do not like speaking in public." Despite that, you asked, and I could not say no.

But then another part--a larger and wiser piece of my heart--told that whimpering tiny part of me that maybe you didn't ask me out of sadism but out of something else. Maybe you asked me to speak because you liked being in my class and you wanted to hear, one more time, what I have to say to you.

So this is what I have to say: I have discovered the key to happiness, and I am here to share it with you today.

Now I am not a millionaire and I will probably never be one. And when I googled myself , I only got 192 hits (which is actually not bad! I was pretty impressed!), so I'm not really famous outside of Jackson County. Or even in it, probably.

But even though I'm not on a list in Time or People or Forbes magazines, I have found a measure of success and the secret to living a happy life. Here it is: love one another.

You probably thought it was going to be more flashy, but I really think it is that simple. Here's why: when you walked into my classroom, I showed you that I care about you. I listened to you, I helped you fix your essays and figure out your relationships, I hugged you when you needed a hug. That's love, people, the kind of love I'm talking about. And in return, most of you probably found that the vibe in room 132 was a happy one, a safe and comfortable one, where learning could happen.

Loving others makes me happy, and I have found that that sort of happiness is contagious. So, here is my advice: when you talk with people—new friends or old, family or co-workers, find a way to love them. Look for the good in others and open your arms and your minds to the possibility that learning about people and sharing in their lives is more important than talking about yourself.

When you leave this place today, if you take that philosophy with you, you'll be on the road to happiness. Because when you love others, they usually love you back, and soon you'll find that your heart is overflowing with goodwill and you can't stop smiling.

I can't share any reputable journal articles with you proving my theory about the key to happiness, and I don't have scientific data to back this up. I'm just telling you what I have found to be true. When you meet new people, listen to them. Show them you care by shutting up about yourself and letting them talk. Give lots of hugs. Smile often. Appreciate what you have and stop wishing for more. Enjoy each moment. This is how I live my life, and it has brought me great joy and the success of being content with who I am. I pray it will work for you.

Now I can't sit down before I mention a few other words of advice and encouragement. I'm a happy person, but I'm also an observant person, and aside from watching for the bake sale carts, I like to watch people. I notice things. And I've noticed a few things about you that you might want to take into consideration.

Some of you would do well to find a hobby. It is so easy to waste time, to let yourself get distracted by your phone, your facebook, your games, your whatever. But haven't you ever found yourself blinking away the haze that settles when you've lost yourself in these mindless pursuits and thought, where has the time gone? Has it really been four hours? What have I accomplished? I'm telling you, it will be a very sad day if one day you blink and it is not just four hours that have passed but four years—or more. So find something constructive to do with your time, like a job. Study for your college classes. Read a book or play an instrument. Spend time with loved ones.

Some of you would do well to take more pride in who you are. Some of you have already figured this out, but I'm talking to those of you who haven't. You have talent, you have worth, you have gifts. I have seen them. Discover what they are and be proud of them. Don't worry about what other people think of you; celebrate yourself.

Some of you would do well to stop worrying about things you can't fix. There will always be troubles in the world, and there will always be tasks that are overwhelming or people who are too demanding. There will be days when your future looks bleak and hopeless, when you go to bed at night and wonder how you can possibly please everyone and accomplish everything you need to do the next day. But you can't worry about that. Worrying accomplishes nothing positive—it only makes you feel less capable and less confident. Instead, try to set your fears aside, breathe deeply, and meet the task as best you can. Sacrifice what is impossible for what is possible and do your best with that.

As I close today, I want you to know that we all have high hopes for you. As I said earlier, from the first day I met you, I knew that you were special. That you were destined for greatness. And you have fulfilled that early promise.

But in the four years you've spent in high school, as you've learned tough lessons and faced challenges that have brought you crying to your knees, some of you may have lost a little bit of that eagerness, that bright-eyed enthusiasm you had four years ago. I challenge you to find it again. Be shining examples in the world, showing them what it means to be a graduate of Napoleon High School. Your senior year is over, and your life is before you.

Reach for it, grasp it firmly, open your heart and your eyes to love, and follow that bright vision. I can't wait to see where it takes you.

Jared's Little Brother

This Sunday in church, Clint and I had a foretaste of what it will be like when we're once more parents of an only child. Jonah was out of town with his cousins (thanks, Ric and Katie!), and Lauren was acolyting, so we just had Jared in the pew between us. Kinda cozy.
Jared was quietly drawing a happy eight-legged monster for the first part of the service, but he must have started to feel lonely because suddenly, he set the monster aside just as he was adding a lurid dollop of earwax and turned to a blank piece of paper.
Quickly, he sketched a head and two round ears, then he added a body and the limbs. "What are you drawing now," I asked, "a monkey?"
He looked at me, exasperated. "No, mom," he replied. "It's my new brother."

When you consider just how much a parent's education and imagination are clearly lacking, it's surprising there aren't more toddler uprisings.
So anyway, I am pleased to present the newest addition to our family. His name is Junior (which you can read on his hat, if you'd like. I wrote that for Jared; his super-fine motor skills aren't capable of such tiny letters yet). He might look somewhat simian, but he is most definitely human, as Jared will strongly insist. He is still pretty young, thus the orange bottle on his left, full of milk. He likes his toy rattle (which is, clearly, on his right) and he's eager to open his present (to his far left), which, you may be able to see, is a teddy bear under the red wrapping. He also has a pet ladybug which is flying overhead. His name is Charles. And in case you don't realize how much value we place on safety, you should recognize that Junior is sitting in a five-point harness car seat.
Junior was quiet in church, which made me happy, and he doesn't eat much, which makes Daddy happy. He's hanging out on our fridge currently, so feel free to stop by for a visit if you'd like to meet him. His personality is a little flat, but I think that he's far more interesting than one might expect, considering his close relation to the great apes (don't tell Jared I said that) and the fact that he was fully formed in under twenty minutes.

Evil Genius

There is an insidious plot, I fear, afoot. It starts so innocently:


You walk down the driveway to your mailbox, skipping a little because it's such a nice day. The forsythia is a golden haze, and that bush you love--the one with the pink flowers--is bursting with color. You marvel at the variety of green God created: the bold green of grass, the dark green of lilac leaves, the tender green of new leaves. You want to roll around in all of that green, to breathe it in and absorb it, but then you remember you're on a mission: you're supposed to be getting the mail, not cavorting in the new grass like a winter-crazed wood-nymph. (Although, honestly, you do feel quite nymphish indeed.)

You open the mailbox, grateful that it is early spring and the ants have not yet begun to nest in it and produce their tiny, wriggling white larvae. When that happens, of course, it's time to send the children out for the mail, for no self-respecting nymph-like mother ever stretches her hand into dark depths crawling with maggots. Nymphs may love nature, but nobody loves maggots.

What you find in your mailbox sends all blissful thoughts of spring skittering from your brain. This thing you pull from the mailbox, innocently nestled between a bill for your daughter's braces and an envelope containing a plea for a charitable donation is the full-color, slippery-paged advertisement for That Store.

You know That Store, right? The one with unbelievable sale racks? The one where you can find a birdcage necklace--with a little twirling teal bird inside? Yes, that store. And of course, the advertisment has a sticker you can peel back to reveal your savings. Of course it's tantalizing. You just may be the lucky winner of a Thirty Percent Off Coupon.

You wait until you get into the house to peel back the sticker, with each step now blind to the glory around you as you think about your son's math homework from last night in which you helped him figure out questions about probability (okay, truth time: you told him to look back at the lesson and figure it out for himself. Teach a man to fish, right?) But you're thinking about probability nonetheless and wondering what might be the probability that you'll land the Big Three-Oh.

Inside your house, all is dim, the sunlight itself seeming to have hidden its eyes in anticipation. Slowly, you slip your fingernail under the edge and then begin to lift the sticker. Then you pause. Maybe you don't want the 30 after all. For if you get it, you'll feel obliged to at least go to the store and check the sale racks. 30% off something that's already marked down 70%? It's practically free! How can you not go? But if you only get a 15, then maybe you won't feel any compulsion at all. If you only get a 15, then you can stay home, oblivious to any possible sales, convincing yourself that they probably weren't that good anyway. You will save money! Saving money is good!

You lift the sticker, hoping now, desperately hoping not to get a 30. You're lifting from the right, so the first digit you spy is a "0." Could be a 20, you whisper. I can stay home with a 20. I won't get sucked in with a 20. You shut your eyes and tear off the rest of the sticker, a painless rip like your mother used to do with band-aids on your skinned knees.

What you see is not painless at all.

Happy Mother's Day

Today in church, our pastor talked about how mothers make a sacrifice that is almost divine when they give freely of themselves for their children. He likened this sacrifice of a mother's soul to a burnt offering that, when laid freely upon the altar of motherhood, is instantly consumed by a divine fire and that the smoke then lifts up to heaven where its divine essence brings pleasure to God, Who knows most intimately the burden and delight such a sacrifice brings.

On this day, as I spend pleasant hours with my husband and children, I would like to honor my own mother, a woman whose sacrifice of self has been such a blessing in my life, and indeed to every life she has touched.

Mom, from the first moment I became cognizant of your beauty and your grace, I have loved you and sought to become more like you. You are the measure by which I judge myself, the pattern by which I seek to make myself. Thank you for showing all of us how mothering should be done.

From you, I have learned what grace I have. From you, I have learned the importance of selflessness, the value of a long hug, and the necessity of patience. Because of you, my own children have the benefit of knowing a mother who was cast (imperfectly) in your mold.

And as I teach them the things you taught me, I hope to impart a sense of your greatness in their lives so that your legacy will live on and on.

Thank you, mom, for being who you are and for making me who I am. I love you.

Snow Days

Just last week, we had two snow days in a row, which is uncommon in this part of Michigan. And to make the surprise even more exciting, those two snow days added to a 3 day weekend...so five days at home with the fam. Clearly, I couldn't sit and read the entire time, as much as I would have loved to. So, I decided to finish up some projects I'd been thinking of.


It had all started the weekend before when we had a child's birthday party and a baby shower on the same day. Because I waited till the last minute instead of being a smart gift-giver, I had to run out to our favorite toy store the night before the parties. I dropped over $45 on four books. Four books!


Guilt plagued me the entire (slushy) way home. I loved my recipients dearly, but I couldn't do it. Not for just four little books. (And you know how much I love books, right? But still: $45)


So I got out the card stock and watercolor paper, and I sketched and painted two promises: a skirt for Jared's friend and a Katy Kitty for the baby shower (you can follow the link to check out the designer's blog--and order the pattern--very fun to make!) (Arrgghh: I should've taken a picture of the cards! Ah well). I was a little worried about the copping-outedness of the gifts, but both were received with anticipation. (And I returned the books.)


Seemed a productive choice, then, to use the blessed days off to make good on those promises. So, here's the Kitty. Don't you love her shoes?


And a close up shot of her sweet face.

And this is the skirt. I had seen some Matilda Jane skirts at the Art Fair in Plymouth a few summers ago and loved the design and the mix of fabrics. So, I googled pics of Matilda Jane skirts and played around with some of the fabric remnants I had.

I knew I wanted to use the butterfly and flowers print that I used for the "apron" as it just screams little girl. The others were scraps from other projects...and I think the teal at the top is part of the kitty's skirt too.

Jared was kind enough to model the skirt for me, but for posterity's sake, he's headless. Wouldn't want to cause too much trauma. Not that he'd be the first little boy in this family to wear girls' clothes. That's another story, though.

This is pretty disturbing

I've been busy with school work lately and getting ready for my favorite holiday (Thanksgiving, of course) (which has all the glorious food and family time of Christmas but NONE of the gift-pondering and painstaking wrapping and guilty looking-over of receipts) and, of course thinking, about how I can weasel a few gifts for myself under the tree without any suspicion falling upon you know who.
In the midst of that excitement, I've neglected to post a really fantastic bedtime story I told Jared last week, but I'll do that some time soon.
But here, to tide you over, I have collected a conflagration of pictures sure to tickle your fancy. And if you have a problem with them, please send a note of outrage to (not me!) but Glenn, whose idea this was.

If you can correctly guess the genus and species of this animal, please leave a comment and your name will be entered into a drawing for $10,000,000, which Glenn has most generously volunteered to pay. (S0 thoughtful)

This fellow looks frightening, but even though his eyes hover right in the lavender color strata and his teeth look slightly vampiric, you should not fear him, for he is gentle and kind.

And this poor creature, aptly named Rudolfo, will fight to the death to defend the honor of those he loves, who are legion. We're talking stars in the sky and grains of sand here. All he needs is a drink every now and then, and once he gets that, his tongue returns to its normal size and recedes into his mouth most pleasantly.

And this one--the one standing most precociously on his hind legs--may look like the unfortunate victim of a diabolical scientific experiment, but that is grossly untrue. No, he just has stunted limbs and looks down his (albeit) tiny nose at those who assume heinous misfortune in his breeding.

There was supposed to be a picture of Bailey here, but we can't figure out how to work the SD card on our borrowed camera, so imagine another Chihuahua in the space below, one with snaggle teeth and hideous breath and a rather eager thing that likes to surprise people who are silly enough to hold him.

So, there you go. Happy Thanksgiving.

And don't forget to log your vote about the creature in the top picture!

The Boy Who Wouldn't Put His Laundry Away

Once there were two brothers named Honah and Hared, who were mostly quite obedient.
One evening, their mom asked them to put their clothes away after they had finished eating dinner and doing dishes.
There is something very important you should know about these boys. Hared was very obedient about putting his clothes away, but Honah hardly ever put his clothes away. He left them in the basket, day after day, until they made a very tall tower that reached the ceiling. Honah's mom was incredibly disappointed in him almost all the time because of it, but she made up for it by telling Hared how wonderful he was.
So, that night after dinner, the boys' mom reminded them about their job, and when they went upstairs to do it, she followed them up as silently as a ghost.
As she was walking up the stairs, she heard the sound of footsteps and slamming doors and she smiled in surprised delight. Maybe she wouldn't have to use the diabolical punishment she had devised after all.
Then she got upstairs and realized that her optimism was totally unfounded. True to form, Hared had put all his clothes away while Honah had left his in the basket. He was sitting on his bed playing with Hwirt, his Hearded Hragon.
That's when something unexpected happened.
The boys' mother took out her magic wand and pointed it out the window at a small black cloud high up in the sky. The cloud seemed to gather itself, shrinking a bit smaller, and then she pointed her wand at Honah.
In a flash, the cloud scudded across the sky toward their house. It spiralled down the chimney and swished down the hall toward the boys' room, and as it came, it spun faster and faster. By the time it reached their bedroom, it was a tormado (talk to Jared about the spelling).
The tormado swept through their room and sucked up every piece of Honah's clothes, even the clothes he was wearing. He was so embarrased that he jumped under his covers to hide. He might also have been a little afraid.
When the tormado had sucked up all of Honah's clothes, it disappeared.
Honah looked at his mom as she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. "My clothes are all gone, mom," he said.
She just nodded.
"I don't have anything to wear to school tomorrow," he complained.
She just nodded.
For the next week, Honah wore clothes made out of toilet paper, which were both convenient and a huge pain. Convenient at bathroom break, but not so easy to deal with during recess time. Good thing the school had those huge rolls, that's all Honah could think about.
A week later, the sky got dark as rain clouds gathered over Honah's hometown. There was one cloud in particular that was small and very dark. Honah thought it looked familiar; so did his mom.
When the thunder rumbled, Honah's mother told him to look out the window. In the light of a lightning flash, he saw not rain but clothes streaming down from the sky. They were his clothes. He ran outside to gather them up, and he brought them inside and put them in the washing machine. His mom helped him start it, and she showed him how to work the dryer.
And when the clothes were dry, Honah helped his mom fold them and he put them all away.