Love in My Pocket

Christmas is here. And that is a definite. It starts too early these days, if you ask me: tinsel and chubby Santas pushing out skeletons and witches in late October. My favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, no longer even exists in the world of marketing. Maybe that is why I find myself so grateful that Christmas is finally here. The excitement is too much for these kids. They are literally spinning in circles in the middle of the kitchen, painting ornaments and walls and each other, cutting out ninja-bread men cookies, decking the halls both inside and out.

Yesterday I found the baby Jesus in my coat pocket. We have a lot of manger scenes, and you never know where these characters will show up. I won’t mention where I found the Wise Man!

Their spirit is infectious. Both the children AND the manger scene characters. Can’t beat the love and the laughter in this house and the blatant, bald excitement. And I like the idea of Jesus in my pocket. He probably doesn’t appreciate the receipts and lint and random change, but when I reach in, it reminds me of my own re-birth.

I was always confused about Christmas when I was younger. I just couldn’t get a handle on Jesus being re-born and re-born year after year. (Now that I have given birth to three children, I realize that one birth is quite enough!) But recently I think I am beginning to understand. I think of this world, the dear friends who have lost jobs this year, the sad stories of friends losing loved ones. I think of the births of babies in our school family, of new relationships I have formed. I wonder what the baby in the manger long ago would think. He gets it already. It is all about the love.

I have had so much trouble missing my dad this season. I get in the car with the Christmas songs and the lights and the tears start to pour. What I wouldn’t give for him to be here sitting in his corner chair in the dark, with only the tree and his cigarette butt lighting the room. I cried at Maura’s Christmas concert the other night. Something about the innocence and the harmonies made me miss him even more. I cry in the cheese aisle at the grocery while staring at the roka blue. My eleventh Christmas without him. But somehow he is here.

I feel him in my own excitement over shopping for the kids. He always did Christmas BIG. Legend has it that he wrestled some hapless woman years ago for the perfect Cabbage Patch doll. As a mom now, I know how he felt. Always wanted the best for us, to see the magic in our eyes on Christmas. It is a great feeling to give.

I feel him in my own re-birth. He was at the first one too, a snowy night that is getting farther and farther away, and still here now as I change my life. I am building my resume as a fledgling essay writer, and pounding the pavement preparing for a marathon. He would be amazed at these developments. I know his love and pride in the twinkling lights and Christmas songs he loved so well.

I always tell my students to participate in their own lives. There is no time to stagnate, no reason to simply let things happen around you without jumping in. And this is what I mean. Look for wisdom. Feel grateful. Follow your star. Love with abandon. Grow and change and love some more. Make miracles happen. Count your blessings. Count them again. And keep the baby Jesus in your pocket.

Hitting Return

“The miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.”
-John Bingham

Just one second was all it took to hit return. And that was all it took to change my life. I feel it already and I don’t kid myself. This is big. I have been running now for almost 18 months exactly. Still a newbie. But in that time I have run a handful of 5 Ks, a fantastic 10 K fall run, a freeze-my-butt off 5 mile run–uphill, a 4 mile run for a girl with cancer, and TWO half-marathons.

And now I am headed to the big show. It might seem a little early, but I HAD to sign up today; the coupon expired! And now the date is emblazoned in my brain: May 20, 2012 is the day I will run my first marathon. I couldn’t be more nervous. And I couldn’t be more proud.

The miracle IS that I had the courage to start.

This is Just to Say

Here is what happens when you are the very sensitive child of two English teachers and you are very tired and a little bit smarmy and you move your very pink towel aside to use your Dad's towel that is hanging on the rack and your Dad has a few words to say about it and then you call upon the power of your pen. Here is the note Maura wrote and propped up on the toilet. All words have been copied as is.

Dear Dad,

Sorry about last night. I couldnen't help using it because it was so warm and comfey. Well, I can't worry about that now. Theres a big busy day ahead. Have a nice day at work!! Sorry I didn't wright this in cursive, that would have been better, I was in a hurry for bed. byby! ps. I'm talking about the towel in case you forgot it didn't make your day easier did it?

Burger (Maura's very private nickname from her Dad)

I Get To Do This

I love how the world works, how chance encounters and quick decisions that don’t even seem like decisions at the moment can shape your entire life and vision. Through a series of seemingly random events that began with a part-time writing gig last year, I have met and corresponded recently with some very strong women athletes. Not seeing myself in this category, I nevertheless have taken a mantra from their ranks. (These are women who can complete an Ironman—certainly not in my league, but wasn’t it Browning that said your reach much exceed your grasp? I don’t mind the stretch!)

And it is just one simple sentence from one busy woman in Wisconsin that has really changed my tune. “I get to do this.” Five words that can change the way I see the everyday, the miraculous, and the difficult. A little known cousin of “I HAVE to do this”, my new mantra opens doors and colors the way I look at everything. Really.

I get to do this. I scrub the dishes and greasy pans from dinner. And it makes me thankful for the food on my table and my healthy children who can eat it without fear of allergies or disease.

I get to do this. I wash load after load of clothes and I am grateful for the water piped into my house and the fact that I don’t have to haul everything to the Laundromat. Or the river.

I get to do this. I rake the leaves (and rake and rake and rake) and realize how much I love the change of seasons and the 19 solid trees in my yard that bring me shade and animals and a whole pile of fun in the fall for my kids.

I get to do this. I teach with passion and make some tough calls with adolescents on a daily basis. But I am so thankful to have a job to help my family and a job that makes a difference. Even on the days it feels like talking to cement block.

I get to do this. I wake before 5 to make it to the gym and run fast on the treadmill. This never fails to amaze me as I make my legs and lungs do things I never thought they could. And I offer up the pain for people like my paralyzed friend Scott who would give anything to be running in my place.

The list goes on and on. When I change my mindset from “I HAVE to do this” to “I GET to do this”, everything seems a blessing rather than a drudgery. I have always been an optimist, but somehow this simple mantra makes it all more clear. I am a very lucky woman and I am thankful for all I get to do!