Amy Stevens ~ Life From The Trenches

Says the teacher to the parent, “When you get home, ask her to tell you all about the stick she received in chapel.”

Each child was handed a stick. The stick presumably went hand-in-hand with the lesson taught in chapel. Object lessons come in handy when talking to three and four-year olds about abstract concepts. My Molly was one of those three-year olds armed with a stick and a valuable, new understanding of … something.

Me: “So, Molly, why did you get a stick?”

Molly: “Because I like sticks.”

Me: “Is the stick supposed to remind you of something?”

Molly: “No.”

Me: “Did your teacher tell you the stick means something?”

Molly: “It means nothing.”

Me: “Nothing at all?”

Molly: “Beavers like sticks. They come from big trees.”

Me: “Oh! Did you talk about beavers in chapel?”

Molly: “I think so.”

Me: “So what did your teachers say about sticks and beavers.”

Molly: “Something about God.”

And there we have it. Molly and I have had different variations of this conversation since chapel. They’ve pretty much gone the same way. I’ve come to two different possible conclusions:

1. It was a do-it-yourself chapel lesson. Can you imagine a do-it-yourself sermon? Everyone in the congregation would receive a stick with the instructions, “Use this stick to teach a lesson. (Wait. Did that sound violent? I meant a lesson with words – not a lesson involving the threatening use of a stick). It should be something about God.”
2. I will not know what that stick meant. Ever.

So what do you think? Any ideas? It has something to do with a stick, beavers, and (quite possibly) God.

Our furniture budget ended before we could buy a coffee table and I needed to find an inexpensive resting place for books, feet, drinks, and family-room-approved craft supplies.  To make my quest more difficult, I needed something that could survive life in the main room with two dogs, three kids, and Keith.  (Just joking, in all actuality, Keith very rarely dances or does crafts on our furniture.)  So, when I found these wicker storage cubes, I’d hit the jackpot.  They even gave me a place to store blankets. Bonus! 

I felt good.  I’d found exactly what I was looking for and spent way less than I’d planned so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if the storage cubes were ever damaged or glitterized (see above comment re Keith’s dancing and crafting).  Things were going my way and I left the store at a pretty brisk pace.  I tend to walk fast when I’m running errands because I normally have a kid to pick up somewhere.  You know how that goes …

As I quickly pushed the cart out of the store, the view in front of me was completely blocked by the two cubes.  I could see around them enough to know that there weren’t any cars coming so I aimed for the crosswalk.

I could see the cars around the cubes.  I could see the crosswalk under the cart.  But, thanks to the storage cube tower, I couldn’t see this:

Yes, I did actually go back to the store to take this picture. Don't judge.

That concrete post never saw it coming.  I walked right into it at full-speed with my cart.  The concrete didn’t give an inch.  The cart came to an instant dead stop.  The only thing that kept moving was my body as my stomach slammed into the handles of the cart taking my breath away and my shin crashed into the cart’s bottom bar.

It.  Hurt.

I did what any adult would do, I called my mom.  I informed her that I most likely have internal bleeding because of an accident.  (That normally gets a mom’s attention.) But when she heard it was a shopping cart meets stationary object accident, she seemed less concerned and more amused.  So, I called Keith to tell him the same thing.  He laughed too.  Apparently, the people in my life find internal bleeding funny. 

As I drove away with my storage cubes finally loaded in the car and my pride left at the crosswalk, I thought about how much it hurt to walk quickly into a concrete post.  And I thought about how it wasn’t just the concrete-post-meets-metal-shopping-cart-meets-flesh impact that made it so painful.  It was the suddenness of the full stop.  It was the complete shock that I was no longer moving forward.  This was starting to sound familiar to me.  How many times in the past year have I made big, life plans only to be stopped suddenly by life events?  How many times do I rush to the next step only to slam into a life-altering reality?

I learned a few things courtesy of that randomly placed concrete post.  I learned that it’s best to know what’s directly in front of you.  (Literally as well as metaphorically.)  I learned that my loved ones laugh at internal bleeding.  (Good to know.) I learned that I love a good life metaphor.  (Okay, I may have already known that one.)

The reality is that I frequently walk full-speed into life’s concrete posts. 

My plans and excitement over “next steps” slam full-speed into the winds of a storm, the unexpected words from a doctor’s mouth, the reality of passing time, or the shock of sad news.  I’m stopped in my path just as surely as I was stopped in the parking lot.

So what’s the point of this metaphor?  Where does it take me?  Stop planning for the future?  Don’t get too excited about what’s to come?  Spend more time looking out for concrete posts?  

Beware because life can hurt?

No.

I will still move forward with excitement about life.  Because the alternative is to remain at that metaphorical concrete post and tell everyone who passes by that “This post really hurt me.” 

The real story here isn’t just about the one time I walked into a concrete post.  It’s also about all the other shopping trips when I’d left that same store and walked through the parking lot successfully.  I can barely remember all those other times.  Nothing happened to make those moments memorable.  Nothing happened on those trips to make me drive away and think about things like physical pain and metaphors, human plans and God’s plans, and the abruptness of change.

Pain sharpens our experiences. 

Moments of pain are memorable.  They provide us with perspective.  The next time I go to that store and walk around that concrete post, I will remember how much it hurt when I slammed into it.   I will remember to savor my pain-free walk through the parking lot.  I’ll remember the thoughts I had in the car as I drove away with my throbbing leg and aching stomach about how quickly life can change. 

I may even become so caught up in all this remembering that I unknowingly step in the gum someone threw on the ground. 

Life’s weird. 

Pay attention in parking lots. 

Stepping on gum is like finding yourself in one of life’s sticky situations … (I know, I know.  I’ll stop now.)

Here’s where my metaphors always fail me: They’re too simplistic.  All pain is not good.  Sometimes it’s just brutal and hard and ugly.  The bruise on my leg healed in a couple of weeks; true grief and loss can leave lasting scars.  Pain is not here simply to give us perspective.  That would be too simple.  Stinking metaphors.

If my extensive time on Facebook research is correct, New Year’s Resolutions have become a bit passé. We’re supposed to embrace the moment, love who we are today, and make changes when we see the need instead of waiting for an arbitrary date.  Amen.  That all sounds wonderful. 

But I love a good start date.  And yes, I’m a big believer in embracing the here and now but sometimes I think about the future too.  (Especially as it relates to the often maligned empty nest syndrome …)Also, I love who I am today but part of what I love is my capacity to be better (including my untapped potential to wear running shoes for the actual activity of running).  I know this will shock my husband, friends, and family but I have some areas that could possibly stand some improvement. (In actuality, I suspect my loved ones would all embrace the opportunity to write my resolutions for me.   Helpful little jerks sweethearts.)

So, without further ado, I will once again choose the less-cool path and jump on the resolution bandwagon.  Below is my list of resolutions for the year 2012:

1. I will stop procrastinating.  The need for this resolution is somewhat evident in the fact that I’m writing these New Year’s resolutions on January 15.
2. I will stop being all-or-nothing when it comes to working out.  There must be a middle ground between training for a marathon and counting bathing my children as an aerobic activity.
3. I will be both more protective of and more generous with my time.
4. I will cook more whole, healthy meals.  (There are some rumors out there that I served my kids spaghetti covered with sloppy joe sauce.  I refuse to either confirm or deny.  Although, if that meal did happen you can be sure it was in a moment of I-can’t-go-back-out-to-the-store desperation.  By the way, kids love that combination … you know … theoretically.)  Our mostly-healthy but often just adequate-with-a-side-of-highly-processed diet will be going through a gradual overhaul.  I’m sure I’ll post about it from time to time … I also promise to take pictures of any protest signs the kids (or Keith) make.
5. I will remember the value of prayer.  I will also remember that, sometimes, God’s answer to prayers might be me.  The best prayers have feet on them. 
6. I will learn a skill or a technique that will make me better at what I do for a living.
7. I will write more not only because I miss it but because it helps me have perspective in my life.
8. I will remember not to store glitter and craft glue on a shelf below five feet.
9. I will be less judgmental.   Except when it’s regarding people who don’t use turn signals.  I reserve the right to judge them.
10. I will plant a garden.
11. When I feel grumpy or irritated at the world, I will talk less.
12. As a family, we will give back.  In 2011 my kids learned about the generosity of family, friends, community, and strangers.  This year we will find ways for our kids to learn about being generous themselves.  I am very fortunate to have a job that pays me to help people.  It recharges me and snaps me awake if I ever get lost in self-pity or apathy.  My kids need to feel that kind of recharge.  They need to know that they can make a powerful difference.  The secret of service to others is that we feel most alive when we reach out to other people.  I want to let my kids in on that secret.  So this year they will learn about how they can give – with time and resources.  This is a journey I hope to post about too!

This picture was taken on January 1 in front of our new tree.  (WE HAVE A TREE AGAIN!!!)  There used to be a huge, gorgeous oak where this tree stands.  But this new tree is all ours and a constant reminder of what matters – the best things in life aren’t things, houses, trees, or vehicles.  Happy 2012 from my family to yours!