Asking for what you need

Asking for what we need is part of speaking up for ourselves. Some people can do it with perfect poise. A request rolls off their lips and they get results faster than a shooting star dancing through the night sky. Yet, some of us have had a really hard time. Someone could be stepping on our toes and pain is shooting up our leg yet we can’t get the words out to ask them to take their foot off our toes. Our leg becomes numb, yet we still can’t ask for what we need. We end up on a gurney heading for surgery with a gangrenous leg because we were never able to say, “Excuse me, you’re hurting me. Would you please remove your foot”?

My scenario is far-fetched but it has a ring of truth. Even in the 21st century, there are those of us who fight the inner battle of asking for what we need that helps sets us on the path to wholeness.

Part of my personal struggle with speaking up stemmed from a lack of understanding. I never grasped the truth that as God’ chosen child of the universe, I had rights. That if someone was violating my rights to be treated with respect and dignity that I had a right, and even a responsibility, to honor my own personhood by speaking up for myself.

“Who do you think you are?” is what we ask ourselves if we attempt speaking up about an injustice or perhaps from a conviction. “Stop making waves”, is another line we may have listened to in childhood that rears its ugly head. And so, we squelch our voice and dutifully back down only to suffer later in life from a host of maladies.
But, we are not doomed. Once we understand our significance and that we have contributions that no one else can make, we can find our voice.

Speaking up for yourself can set your spirit free. Being set free in your spirit can enable you to speak up for yourself. Which comes first? It’s speculative, but what is true is that asking for what you need is right and just.

Be the first to share your thoughts at the end of this post on speaking up for yourself. They may appear in the book I am working on about speaking up for yourself.

Valentine's Day

This Valentine’s Day is truly a gift. Here in the Northeast we’ve been buried for weeks under a blanket of snow. Today, it’s already 51 degrees. While writing this blog there are mounds of snow piled nearly to the top of the street signs outside my window. I’ve not seen this much snow since the blizzard brigade we had in 1994! We may not see the grass again until April but this whisper of what’s to come has me visualizing daffodils dancing in the wind.

Still, it’s mid-February and it is Valentine’s Day, a day that’s set aside for expressing love with hearts and flowers, chocolates and candy, gifts and dinner… and the myriad of everyday ways we show our love and appreciation. Such as doing nice things for people and perhaps smiling at a passerby. It may bring them more joy than you know.

If you’re single you might wish the florist zipping down the street would be pulling up at your door to deliver flowers. You might feel left out of the romantic loop from hearing about what your friend’s boyfriend or husband did. Or, you could do what I did a few years ago. Celebrate life!

I gathered a group of girlfriends of varied ages and physicality for roller skating at our local rink (now demolished for new housing). My cohort, Marie, and I designed inexpensively bought painter’s hats with glitter and adopted quirky names for the evening. She was “Corky” and I was “Squiggly”. We had a blast! After we rolled around the rink a few times, sustained a few falls, and laughed our heads off, we went back to Marie’s for a night of decadent deserts. We still talk about our hilarious night!

This year, though low key, love with a hint of spring is in the air. One of the things I did was write an old-fashioned romantic letter that I included in a home-made (computer) card. I’ve also lit a candle with my favorite fragrance to enjoy and put on a CD. Alison Krauss was serenading me while I was frosting on a batch of “Grandma’s Sugar Cookies”.

Our whisper of spring has brought our afternoon temperature up to 58 degrees. Though I don’t see any daffodils dancing in the wind just yet, my heart is singing because the surprise and wonder of love, family, and friends, is all around!

Take a moment to write me… I’d love to hear how you are celebrating Valentine’s Day 2011!

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.