Speaking up means weighing your words

People think that speaking up for yourself means saying everything that’s on your mind. Initially, you may feel better for having vented but as you walk away you never note the effect of your words. Your recipients facial expression my reflect surprised shock, or they may even be so stunned that they are left standing in utter silence with their head hanging down. You never touched them, but the wounding from your words lingers…and wears upon you both.

I know because I’ve been that person who has coughed up a barrage of what was on my mind erroneously believing that I was valiantly speaking up for myself.
“I’ll show them!” was my stance. Yet, my insecurity, immaturity, and impulsivity were glaring. What a fool I was. Thus, after years of stuffing emotions and not being heard, verbal eruptions became my norm.

Many years have passed since my days of verbal explosions. Through growing in my Christian walk, I now know that self-expression is closely tied to self-discipline and self-control (fruits of the spirit). Speaking up from a position of strength, and love, changes everything. Not only can you set boundaries for yourself in your own life, but you can set boundaries in your relationships. Consequently, you’re well thought out words have the potential for impact rather than just exhaling in a verbal blast that does no earthly good.

When you do need to speak up for yourself remember that the louder your voice, the less likely you will be heard. Using a soft toned voice shows respect and has greater potential for better reception.

Having the quiet strength to know when to speak up for yourself can elevate you in grace and beauty and free you from self-reproach.

The pain of parting; the joy of hello

Sitting in a window seat while flying at 4,000 feet in the air aboard a Boeing 737 on Alaska Airlines, I began pondering the events of the last three weeks of my life.

In the first week, I flew from my home on the East Coast to fly out to my hometown on the West Coast to meet my sister, Lezlie. It was time for us to tackle the final clearing out of our deceased mother’s belongings from the family home that is now on the market. When that project was completed, I flew to Montana for the next two weeks to visit my three daughters, Nicole, Lesa, and Aimee and two-year old grandson, Finn. We had the best of times! And then, came my departure day. We all had long faces as I packed up my things.

A lot of thoughts run through your mind when you’re sitting on a plane. You can read, think, or strike up a conversation with a seat mate. If you choose thinking, where do your thoughts land?

For now, my thoughts have landed on our tearful good-bye. I wasn’t ready to leave. I wasn’t ready to go back to my life minus the joy of being with my family and hearing the word, “Mom” as well as Finn’s version of “Grandma”. It was music to my ears. I hadn’t been ready to say good-bye to my mom when she passed away three years ago either. But, I had to adjust. And, now, I wasn’t yet quite ready to leave my girls and sweet Finn. Our time being together was so special. I just wanted it to go on and on...

“Mom, you need to move here”, Nicole had said. Lesa, Finn’s mommy loves when I come (I stay with her to make sure that Finn knows his Grandma), and Aimee too wishes I’d move to Montana. Secretly, I think they all want me to come so I can do their mending.

I don’t have a crystal ball to see into the future and if my address is going to change anytime soon. But, as I ponder the moments with my family in my window seat, you can be sure I’m doing some serious day dreaming about life under the Montana Sky.

Luckily, another trip is planned soon. The joy of our next "hellos", and seeing the smiling faces of my daughters and grandson welcoming me helps ease the pain of parting. With that thought, I sink back into my seat and relax for the remainder of my flight knowing that I don't need a crystal ball. God holds my future and I know that His plan will be the best one for us all.

Birthday meditations

Today, I am sixty-four and I am going to enjoy every last breath before dawn tomorrow when I turn sixty-five. I don’t know the exact time of my birth so I won’t have to wait until a certain hour of the day to officially turn sixty-five. I can wake up and be sixty-five!

When I was born on June 22, 1945, neither the time of the baby’s birth nor their weight and length were listed on birth certificates. I’m sure my mom shared that with me somewhere along the way, and I likely have it jotted down on a piece of scrap paper somewhere. But, Richard Carlson, Ph.D., wrote Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and I’m taking his advice. Fiddly, if I’m going to turn sixty-five tomorrow, it’s about time I master Mr. Carlson’s charge.

Cheryl, one of my high school classmates from my hometown, Visalia, California, sent an email saying happy birthday in advance. She also wrote, “…As they say, 65 is just a number"! It made me feel hopeful. I can just sit back and relax while getting a manicure and a pedicure this afternoon and wrap my mind around Cheryl’s comments.

Sixty-four hasn’t been so bad. A lot of good things have happened this past year in spite of battling with the pull of gravity. Since my budget doesn’t allow visits for plastic surgery and looking like Joan Rivers with the upsweep eyes, I have to nip and tuck the old fashioned way; exercise and fewer calories. I can see this regime is going to be a lengthy proposition but I’ve heard perseverance has its rewards.

I am a little sad to say good-bye to sixty-four. It went too fast and I didn’t get done all that I wanted to accomplish. But, believe it or not, I’m really excited to cross over. Now I will officially be a “senior citizen” even though I don’t think of myself as being that old.

Well, the hours are passing and I’ve only a short while before the magical moment when the stroke of midnight officially declares that tomorrow is here.
Cheryl is right. Whatever your age it’s just a number.

I’m ready to welcome the ripe young age of sixty-five because, I believe, the best is yet to come! Getting older isn’t always peachy keen, but growing up and stepping out in faith is always in style no matter your age.

Instead of saying I’m getting older, I’m going to believe that I’m getting better. And, that as I turn sixty-five tomorrow God will give me the faith and the courage to deal with whatever lands on my plate as I turn the page and enter this new chapter in my life.

A Mother’s Day investment

For two days now I’ve been at my computer creating cards. Most of these creations are for Mother’s Day and need to be mailed pronto. Ever since I received a Hallmark Card Studio program as a gift several years ago I’ve enjoyed designing and creating every kind of card you could possibly conceive for the events in another’s life.

Birthday cards, anniversary cards, new baby cards including one for my daughter when she delivered my precious grandson, Finn. The milestone card created especially for my father’s 95th birthday. Sympathy cards, encouragement cards, get well cards, thinking of you cards, retirement cards, wedding cards, and of late a specially crafted congratulations card for my sister, Lezlie, whose graduation is May 5 & 6 from the University of Colorado, at Bolder, with a PhD in Music History.

Some people might ask, “What is the return on your investment in making all these cards?” In other words, how many cards do you get back? Hum… that’s an interesting question and one I have no need to ponder. But, truth be told the physical return is not high. Yet, my purpose in this venture is not procuring the typical sought after return on one’s investment. In my mind, that’s God’s business. My business is being faithful to my calling and my hearts desire to be a blessing. That's my return.

One day my dear Aunt B. said to me, “Jen, you have a little ministry with your cards. Just as I was ready to shake my head, oh, fiddly dee I don’t know about that, I thought to myself perhaps Aunt B. is right? Maybe God is using my talent to help lift the spirits of others.

It’s sort of like the imperishable qualities of a mother. It’s not our physical attributes that are prized by God and a man deserving of a Godly woman. Proverbs 31: 25 reads this way, “Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she smiles at the future.

In creating personalized greeting cards my hope is that the recipient will simply be blessed by some aspect of the card. Perhaps it’s the words written on the card specifically for that person’s need, or the embellishments, or the photos I sometimes include that speaks to their heart in a special way.

I hope your Mother’s Day mail box has a card or two or three that blesses your heart. It might be from me!

The magic at Paterson’s Great Falls

With all the rain soaking our landscape lately there’s been a growing buzz about Paterson’s Great Falls, in Paterson, New Jersey, one of the birthplaces of the industrial revolution in America. Twenty years ago after moving to the Northeast from Southern California, my family and I went on a Sunday afternoon drive and found ourselves at this natural wonder, now a national park.

I didn’t know then that Paterson was called the “Silk City” because of its lead role in silk production in the United States in the mid-19th century. Or that its history goes back to Alexander Hamilton who conceived of the first major water power system in the United States in 1791. Back in the early nineties, I had to get out my history books and even today this "Top Blonde" is still discovering the wonders of Northern New Jersey and beyond.

So, I got Madame Merlot II, my Jeep, washed and shined from the buckets of rain drops dimming her beauty. I needed a partner in crime so I called my trusty friend and co-hort, Marie Dineen. Between the two of us, we were more than capable of getting ourselves into mischief one way or another.

Marie and I set out early on a stellar pre-spring day for a photo shoot of the Great Falls. Marie grew up in Paterson which made her the perfect choice for my traveling partner. On my own, I can’t be trusted. I’ve been known to miss a turn and end up in another state! What’s worse is I didn’t even know it, but, we’ll let that saga lay dormant for now.

Traveling to Paterson was a breeze. When we arrived in the middle of town, “Cesar” and “Oscar” of the Paterson Police Department traffic division carefully guided us to our destination. Once we arrived and parked at the National Historic Landmark, we walked over to the viewing platform. I got out my camera and tri-pod and started snapping photos of the 77 foot-high falls that were nearly deafening.

While we were still at the platform viewing, a passel of pre-schoolers arrived and went scampering over to the railing to look at the falls. Accompanied by their teachers we learned that the pre-school was across the street and that they came to the Great Falls frequently. No matter. The children were in awe.

Clearly, Mother Nature has anointed the Great Falls with that extra special touch of splendor and magic. Because, after walking over to the bridge area, you become mesmerized. The roar, the mist, the double rainbow and the wonder of it all left both Marie and me breathless at the power of the churning, swirling water. It was beyond impressive especially then with all the rain water surging over the rocky ledge.

What trip to the Great Falls is complete without a stop at Libby’s Lunch? That’s just what we did to cap off our morning before journeying back home.

Though I don’t typically eat hot dogs any more, every now and then you have to break your own rule. And, a stop at Libby’s Lunch on McBride Avenue in Paterson can easily persuade such a decision. Libby’s is historical and Marie and I weren’t about to miss out! It’s been there since 1939 and is the place to be bad. Thus, we indulged in their famous hot dog topped with mustard, fresh chopped onion and the all the way sauce. Of course, you can’t consume a Libby’s hot dog without a few French fries.

Driving home Marie and I felt exhilarated and vowed to return soon. I’ve a feeling it won’t be another twenty years before my next visit to the historical awe-inspiring Great Falls of Paterson, New Jersey.

The luck of the Irish

Many years ago, I was telling my mom what a lucky lady I am. My friends, Norm and Virginia Rohrer, had mailed me my Day Runner that I’d left at their home after a visit. Norm and Virginia lived at Hume Lake near Sequoia National Park, and I lived in Southern California at that time and was lost without my organizer. That was about twenty years ago. I’m still lost without my organizer. Only now, I carry a smaller one. Thankfully I haven’t left it anywhere lately.

What does this have to do with the luck of the Irish? Everything! For, you see, going back to my conversation with mom, life is a lot about luck. Even if you’re not Irish you may find you have the luck of the Irish. Webster’s II New Riverside University Dictionary reads this way about “luck”, Good fortune or prosperity: success.

But, being “lucky” may be more of an attitude than anything else. It’s also about your perspective and what principles you stand upon.

Just Saturday, March 13, I had a very lucky experience. On the very day of one of the worst storms in the Northeast I was in New York City at NYU for a medical seminar. The wind was near hurricane force and the rain was unrelenting. I’d never seen so many broken umbrellas swept up against fences or strewn in the gutters all smashed to smithereens. I had just gotten off the bus at 42nd Street and Third Avenue and was walking over to catch the M bus down to 34th Street when my hat blew off. It whirled up and around on the current and then was blown smack under a security truck. Suddenly, a tall, able-bodied looking man with glasses and hair askew from the wind who was walking a few steps in back of me bolted into action. He knelt down on his hands and knees and reached under the security truck into black oblivion to grab my hat. When he stood back up he handed me my hat for which I profusely thanked him, and then he continued down the sidewalk. Talk about chivalry!

Yes, indeed, I would acquiesce I was lucky that there was a chivalrous gentleman close by in my moment of need. As I look over my life, fortuitousness has truly been the wind at my back.

And, so, on St. Patrick’s Day 2010, may the Luck of the Irish be with you and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Courage to grow

With the coming of spring we become motivated to clean out the cobwebs in our homes that have gathered over the winter. We grab up bouquets of daffodils already lining supermarket shelves, and at the first hint of sunlight steaming in through the windows, we rush to open them and let in the first burst of fresh air of the season.

Spring is also a prime time to refresh, refocus, and renew our minds. We may be harboring old resentments, or past hurts, and refuse taking the higher road in our relationships. We assume that the other party is wrong and we are owed apologies and the extension of an olive branch. Sometimes, we are more stubborn than a mule’s resistance to a command by a trail guide in making a move toward reconciliation.

I once read in Ann Landers about two sisters who didn’t speak to each other for over 40 years; something about an egg beater that belonged to their mother.

Call it “spring is in the air” or maybe I’m reaching the vanguard of maturity and finally growing up. Or, maybe it’s simply that I don’t want a lifetime of regrets hounding me on my deathbed. But, whatever the reason, I’m thankful for the motivation to reach out and rectify the past... while I still can.

Thus, I’ve found myself stepping out more fearlessly than in the past to speak up in love and mend a broken relationship. It's really never about whose turn it is to take the high road. It’s about doing the right thing for you.

Go ahead. Speak up and take that small step of courage. If your only motive is finding peace that defies understanding be the olive branch.