Leadership

Leadership and responsibility go together, like salt and pepper, bacon and eggs, and peanut butter and banana. If a person has leadership qualities, it means not leading others down the wrong path. I’ve seen it in the classroom. I’ve had students say, “I’m not making them do it.” I wonder if they really believe that, or if they secretly are glad they have that power. Who knows?
I’ve lead students. My problem was I loved middle schoolers. I still do. It’s like walking into a buzz saw. The amount of energy there often left me reeling at the end of the day. What just happened? Luckily, the luxury of running three miles home to clear out the stress of it kept me going. Middle schoolers have issues involving growing up. They’re not quite sure how they fit in, and they’re trying to find how to fit. They have bigger bodies, lots of energy, and they have to operate in confining places. A recipe for disaster.
One day I had a dentist appointment after I got done driving the school bus. I settled into the chair, and when Dr. Latshaw came in, he said, “You just sit back and relax. You don’t have to worry about any responsibilities here.” That really hit me. I thought about it then, and I’ve thought about it a great deal since. I want to be a positive leader and impart wisdom to students, so with their passport to the future they can be equipped to be productive. That affects all of us. It’s a tremendous responsibility. Some days I wondered if I made any difference. But just about the time it appeared hopeless, a student would say something that proved they were listening and somehow an important point remained in their repertoire.
That’s where I had influence. But today, I still have influence with whoever I come in contact with. I am a leader whether I believe it or not. If I take a stand or express a belief, someone else is watching, waiting to see if they should follow or not. Leadership carries great responsibility, so I need to examine myself daily to make sure I’m leading in the right direction.

She looked out the window her whole life.

She looked out the window her whole life. She would rather be out there with all of them- any of them, or just out there alone. She could never remember being there, couldn’t because she never was. From the time she came home from the hospital till now she’d been in bed.

Not that she could remember first coming home from the hospital. Could anyone remember being born? Oh sure, there are stories about having birth memory, but she never conjured anything there. It wasn’t as if she’d never tried. She had all the time in the world to conjure whatever she wanted. Oh, she had the time. She had the time to imagine what it could be like or would be like out there.

She’d read about being out there. In all manner and in all applications she’d read about it. She’d seen pictures, had observed movies, and even dreamed it on occasion. Now she happened to glance out to see a child running. The sensation of running never passed through her legs, but she’d spent hours tracing it down. In bed, looking at her own legs, lifting with her hands, bending them, working the sensation through, making it fit, comparing the shape and angles to pictures, realizing what it would be. But there was never any sensation. Only the sensation of her imagination. She never got frustrated with this. It was a task, an exercise, an experiment, and she had the time.

Today she let her imagination go a bit. Again.

O.K. now just a walk, say, over there to the river bank. Should she sit down and soak her feet or wade in? No, she’d dive in and swim across. Delicious, the shocking cold water jarring her, making her gasp. She’d had cold sensation on her hands and face when she’d splashed the first morning water out of the faucet on her face. Now in the river she’d gulp air, thrashing to stay afloat. Yet she’d be warm. Thrashing, can you feel that, thrashing. How marvelous. Free, flailing freedom. Delightful.

Her mother tried to get her to go out in the chair. To be out there. Somehow she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Her personal miasma would drown her if she left her room. She had the window and her imagination. She had the time.

But her reality consists of the chair, her bed inside, and her window. Her reality is a prison. It really is sad.

Monday Blues

Monday Morning and dealing with the blues

I can look at every day as Saturday, or I can look at every day as Monday. It hit me last week on Friday that it had been a Monday Blue type of day, and it had been for a few days in a row, and I didn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t seem to snap out of it. I read my Bible, I recorded some thoughts in my journal, and I prayed, but I was strangling, choking and unable to be joyful. It doesn’t get any bluer than that. I sat around most of Saturday without any drive.

Rhonda and I went to church on Sunday. I had several people I had to touch base with, but other than that, I retreated. The message was great, and I wedged it into a slot of my brain, trying to apply it to my hopelessness. Hopeless I remained. I didn’t bother to mention anything to those in Sunday school who could have prayed for me. I didn’t say much of anything.

We came home and I retreated to the basement to ruminate. I couldn’t muster much. I called my mom and checked in with her for the week. We talked about the upcoming weddings and mostly about how she’ll get here and where we’ll all stay and stuff. I tried to verbalize my internal struggle to Rhonda later, but I couldn’t really explain it. I knew that I needed to be connected to the power source of the Holy Spirit. I knew I needed to keep my focus on God and not others or my circumstances. I still felt like there was no way out. It seemed like everything I tried ended in futility. There was no point in attempting. Everything was unsolvable. I had tasks upon tasks that had to be completed, but I had no idea where to jump in to start. It was hopeless.

I started to read a book about a missionary lady who had finished nursing school and had gotten married. She was so happy. On the rainy fifth night of her honeymoon, her husband went out to use the restrooms in their campground. He never returned, and later his body was found in the water where he had washed over the bridge. Of course she was devastated. She began grieving and blaming God. She turned away from church, her family and any chance of accepting anything from God again. Over a period of time and through the prayers of her family, she began to heal. God touched her in a meaningful way, and she accepted what He had for her to accomplish. After she was accepted into missionary service and was assigned to India, she had a successful run by throwing herself into her work there. She described herself as a workaholic. She spread herself so thin that she became distressed, depressed and completely incapacitated. She had to return to the United States to be treated. At this part of the book, I began to “snap” out of it. She had described my symptoms. She had been living like I felt. He brother invited her to visit, and he gave her a copy of Happiness is a Choice by Minirth and Meyer. They explained how depression can occur in people who are busy helping others. It happens to doctors, social service people among others.

It seemed like I had been trying to hold it all together for my family. My dad passed away in 2007, and I had to be strong for everyone during that process. Rhonda’s mom just passed away in March 2009, and we had to be strong for everyone then too. I realized that perhaps these events, along with the rest of the stuff life throws my way, had stacked up. I believe Rhonda was praying for me, and I know Jesus and the Holy Spirit are always praying for me. So my time in the Word, and my calling out to Him brought me around. I know what’s true. It’s true I’m a child of God. And it’s true He loves me. I remembered I have to choose what to believe, and it’s best to choose the truth. I choose joy, and I choose to keep my focus on God. Each morning can be the bluest Monday or a bright Saturday depending on my choice. I plan to start each day with a Good morning God. It’s another great day.