Do It Anyway

I read this today and found it very meaningful. It is so true, sadly, yet I found it very encouraging to my soul. It also put things into perspective.


People are often unreasonable, Illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, People may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, You will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, People may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, Someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, They may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, People will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, And it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, It is between you and God; It never was between you and them anyway.

Be Blessed,
-- Mother Theresa

Home on the Range

There's a park in the northern part of central Illinois called Jubilee. We used to ride horses there. I don't know how many thousands of acres are given over for horseback riding but enough that if you went too far without knowing where you were going, you could easily be lost for a couple of days.

I'd dreamed of horses ever since I can remember. My parent's joked that my first word was horse. I didn't get a horse until highschool. Until then, I'd read everything about horses I could get my hands on. I knew the name of every body part. I knew the correct side to mount on, correct sitting position, grooming techniques, you name it I'd studied it. I used to straddle the back of our couch and pretend I was riding. I practiced my technique on the back of a yellow floral loveseat.

Finally, in junior high, my parents found some people who made their living raising, training, and showing horses. They didn't give lessons but agreed to let me come out one day to ride. Ruth took me out and put me on an old, gentle mare. She told me to take some laps with her around the arena at a walk. As she stood by my mom, she exclaimed over my natural ability to sit a horse. I walked that old mare around the arena, heels down, chin up, shoulders back, and back as straight as a lance. Ruth agreed that day to start giving me lessons.

What was supposed to have been 1 to 2 hours of riding lessons turned into a full day by my second lesson. Soon I was moving up to the horses they'd been paid to train. I exercised horses, cleaned stalls and tack, fed and watered and groomed them, and swept up the sizable barn. After spending an entire day from dawn till dusk working with the horses, my mom would come pick me up. I hated leaving, wishing the day would never end.

When I started high school, my dream, actually more than I'd ever dreamed of, came true. My parents sold our home, moved to the country, and bought a horse. I rode every day despite heat, cold, or wet. I lived in the saddle and learned a lot about myself. My horse? She was my dream. Someone's former backyard pet, she'd follow me wherever I went. A beautiful buckskin (yellowish blonde color with black mane and tail) whom I'd named Lady. It was love at first site.

I never got rid of my first horse. Oh, I eventually sold Lady when I went to college and wasn't home enough to ride her. No, my first horse is still at my parent's home. It's been reupholstered, that yellow floral loveseat, but it will never be sold.

Secret Yearning

My secret desire, asside from untold wealth that is, is to be somebody special. Oh I know, everyone is special yadda yadda yadda. No, I want to be good at something. I want to be a blackbelt in Tae Kwon Do. I want to speak 20 fluent languages. I want to be a marathon runner, a gymnist, a singer.

I've been yearning after my secret desire more than usual lately. I think it goes back to still finding my new self. There are so many things I can no longer do. I haven't found new things that I can do. I miss riding horses. I used to be quite an equestrian. Horses were a passion. Now I doubt I could even mount. I used to play volleyball, raquetball, tennis, hike trails, run the mile. I can no longer do any of those things. Oh how I wish I could. I wish I could do something.....visible. It seems my whole life has faded into the background. So much so that sometimes I feel....almost nonexistant. It sounds crazy, I know. But sometimes I just wish I could do something, be somebody, that people would notice. Even something simple. Even just for a moment. That's my secret.

All The Only Right Ways

When I was little I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a mom. I never truly had any career ambitions. I didn't grow up wanting to be a nurse or a teacher or a veterinarian. All through high school, I had no concept of what I wanted to be. I didn't decide on nursing until bare weeks prior to graduation. I never visualized myself being anything. Accept a wife. And then a mom. I wasn't overeager for this to happen. I was married 3 years before our first was born. But I knew it. I'd always known it.

And then it happened. All of a sudden I was a mom. I thought I had it all mapped out. But then when it didn't happen the way I'd foreseen, it was like being in a malestrom. There were 100 ways of doing the same thing and each way claimed to be the best. Not only that, but each way claimed the other ways were wrong. I studied. And I studied. I read parenting magazines, books, and pamphlets. I heard (whether I wanted to or not) advice from almost everyone imaginable. They all said the same thing. The opposite of the other.

If only it had gone the way I planned. But my son was determined to take a different road even before he was born. I was sure though, that love could cure all my woes. Didn't people say that all kids really need is love? Well, it is impossible, impossible, to love another being more than I loved my son. But then....he did something naughty. And I still loved him, loved him as much as I ever had. My family insisted I spank him. But I couldn't do that, right? I loved him. And besides, Oprah said not to spank. Then, he was naughty again. My family insisted I spank him. Experts said don't spank him. Dr. Dobson, the christian author, said take a switch to his legs. Experts said put him in time out. Experts said talk to him on his level. Experts told me how long to put him in time out. Experts told me not to time time outs at all. People told me to do what feels right. I didn't have the experience to know what felt right.

I signed up for this thinking kids just need love and guidance. It sounds so simple. Now, I know kids need love, and lots of it. But I've also learned that that won't fix everything. But somehow, with kids 7 and 5, I still feel like I don't know what it is that does "fix" things. When I decide on a course of action, and decide to be consistent with it (another expert advice), I find that consistency doesn't work. My kids build up tolerance to consistency. Kinda like building up a tolerance to alcohol. Some things work really really well. For a while.

Sometimes I feel like I have failed miserably to be a good parent. While my kids have some excellent redeeming qualities, they can also be naughty. My son can't keep his hands to himself. And I can't seem to correct it. My sister has convinced my parents, and even me much of the time, that I'm just not a good parent. That if she were the parent, she could fix it in a jiffy.

Course, her one son barely talks to her and her other is a drug addict. Go figure.

"Secret" to Feeling Good

If I could be "known" for something, I think I would want it to be for kindness or generosity. At the same time though, I like not being known for giving. I find great pleasure in giving in secret. There are some things that make me feel really good. I'm sure many women know what I'm talking about, but getting my hair done makes me feel really good. Dressing up and wearing makeup makes me feel really good. Getting my nails done. A petticure. These things make me feel, special somehow. And special feels good.

One time in particular, I remember feeling really bummed. Someone backed out on some plans at the last minute and I was feeling particularly lonely. Second-rate. As I sat in a booth at a restaurant, having my own little pity party, I overheard a foursome at a nearby table "arguing" over who was going to pay the check. On a whim as I checked out at the register, I asked for the tickets for that table, paid the bill, and left. I watched from the window as the waitress addressed the table and explained their bills had been paid. They were all looking at each other a little bewilderedly. It really was a lot of fun. I felt a little covert missiony (my word), something rare in my life. It totally lifted my spirits. I felt like I'd just twirled off the dance floor.

I've found I get a large dose of feeling good doing small things. Letting pedestrians pass in front of me in a busy parking lot. Letting the harried mom with tired, whiney kids go ahead of me in line. Letting people know when they inadvertently cause a hold up that it's Ok, I'll survive it. Entertaining the kid in the adjacent booth so mom can eat her food. Doing things for people who don't know me, who may never see me again just gives me a good feeling. Giving in secret, it's my secret to feeling good.

Redefining Self

In life we wear many hats. I've worn countless so far. While it's true that I define myself more by the combination of hats I'm wearing than by one hat in particular, I find that there is typically one in particular that stands out among the others and lends more weight to defining who I am at that particular point in time.

Lately it seems that I've been floundering. I find myself dissatisfied but unable to pinpoint what it is exactly that I'm unhappy with. I think perhaps that one of my major hats has been set aside and I've yet to replace it. Things have changed in my life, so much so that I'm not sure I know where I am, or who I am. For so long the name of my hat has been very simple. I was a college student, a nurse, a wife, a mom. Since my surgery, I rarely wear the hat of nurse, though I still consider it part of who I am. I'm still a wife, and, marriage being a constant investment of time and work, I consider it a significant part of who I am, yet I don't think it defines me. I wear the hat of mother most often. Mom is a hat I take great pride in, care of, and is most significant in my life, yet for some reason is not what I think is my defining role. For some it is, and, admittedly, I'm surprised it's not so for me. Perhaps because I don't think I'm very good at it. Parenthood is hard and I struggle a lot. I love my kids so much that being tough on them is almost painful for me.

So what is my main hat? For now I'm not sure. It's something I need to think about.

Homeless

I did something Sunday that is bothering me. I'd taken my kids on a train trip to Chicago to attend a birthday party. My parents picked us up at the station. On the way to my sister-in-law's, I spotted a Starbucks. Having no Starbucks in my home area and having a huge penchant for mocha frappacino's, we of course, had to make a Starbuck's stop. Sitting at the bistro set in front of the store, was a homeless man. Dirty and unkempt, with worn out layered clothes, he sat slumped over sleeping soundly. My dad, daughter and I passed by to go inside. After getting my grande frappacino and slice of banana bread, we went back out to the car where my mom and son waited. I mentioned the homeless guy and mentioned I'd thought to buy him some breakfast but I hadn't, for mainly one reason. Sitting in front of him on the table in an ashtray was a cigarette. I'd figured if he could afford to buy cigarettes, he could afford to buy food. Now I'm thinking that is a pretty crappy reason for not buying him a slice of banana bread. Could it have really hurt anything that terribly bad?

It used to burn me that people would use their food stamps for food and then pull out their cash to pay for their cigarettes while their children look on. In truth, to some degree, it still does. I understand all the difficulties with quitting smoking.

Maybe that's why I didn't buy him some food because of the cigarette. That irritation with parents for buying cigarettes instead of a book for their child. A judgment to be sure. And judgments are something I try to avoid.

I should have bought the man some food. He wasn't asking for anything. But I knew he had a need. And was something I easily could have done. Besides, if I'd gotten him something, he wouldn't have to ask now would he? Oh I know there are all kinds of reasons not to help people out like that. Valid reasons too, I know, I've had a drug addict in the family so am acquainted with lots of different scenarios where helping isn't helping. I'm also vaguely familiar with the concept of professional beggars. But without knowing a person's particulars, and even sometimes knowing the particulars, there is something in my heart that tells me what is right, for me, to do. And knowing I gave a lame excuse for not helping someone in need really bothers me.