Baseball. Basketball.  Doesn’t seem to matter.

“There’s no way that kid is the right age.  Can I see a birth certificate?”  Laughter from moms ensues.

I could write about 10,000 words on this subject, but I’m keeping it short and simple. I am a 5’4″ mom to two tall children.  The younger hovers at the top of the infamous growth chart; the older hasn’t been on the chart since the two month check up (the infamous well check visit where the horrified pediatrician told us he was “too big” which led to her imminent firing as pediatrician).   I’ve heard literally every comment ever contrived about the “big kid.”  But by far, the most common thing I hear in the stands at baseball, or basketball, or pretty much anything is…

“Can I see a birth certificate?”

What a clever way of making a point.  (Yeah, okay, that was sarcasm)  It takes enormous self-control not to turn to those people – including fans on our own teams commenting about the big kid on the other team – and say something sarcastic and cutting. Knowing that no one really means anything by it (as I’ve been told, repeatedly) doesn’t really help.  It’s just rude.

May I suggest something to the “average” people of the world, like myself?  We’ve fully embraced that commenting on size regarding kids on the small end of the spectrum is unacceptable and unnecessary, and rightly so.  I suggest we extend that same courtesy to kids who dwarf their peers.  Perhaps that would free us to see the other, more subtle qualities that we hope define them more than something with which they are born, and over which they have no control.  Kindness.  Intensity.  Character.  Thoughtfulness.  Loyalty.  Dedication.  Work ethic.  Spiritual depth.  Hey, maybe we could look for those things in all people…of all sizes…

And in case you don’t take my suggestion…yes, you can see a birth certificate.  It’s in my purse.  Are we good now?

My extended family is full of great qualities and not-so-good qualities, like any other family.  We do many things well.  We do some things kind of poorly.  Many of our traditions are pretty fun – over the past 30 years, our “Candy Bowl” has spawned copycats across the country (although no one can trash talk like we can – and the next generation is learning perfectly how to carry that torch).  But some traditions are more meaningful.  One thing we do beautifully is “going around the table.”

When someone is celebrating a birthday, my family has a tradition of going around the table.  Usually there’s a prompt – “share your funniest memory of so and so” or “tell the first memory you have of so and so.”  Sometimes there is no prompt at all – everyone just gets to share whatever they want about the honoree.

Can I tell you how it usually goes? Granny or Pops decide who will start, and we literally go around the table, in order, and share a thought.   There are always a few giant laughs.  Almost always a few tears.  The truth is, we all love each other very much, just as we are, good and bad.  But there is rarely a good forum to share the specific things we love/remember/treasure, in front of others who are generally giving their “amen” and thus making those things doubly meaningful.  

It means something to hear people who have seen you at your best and worst tell you what makes you different. Special. Unique.  Loved.  Important.  Hearing those words from a table full of all ages is an experience that I cannot describe. I know that the things my family says to me have mileage far beyond the table.  

Most of life is negative, honestly.  People think far more positive things about others than they actually say.  Stop and think for a minute.  Let’s think of sitting in church on a typical Sunday. How many things do you think about those around you, like…

“She looks really beautiful today”

“I’m so glad he went over and talked to that person, I think that’s a visitor and he just made her feel welcome. So cool!”

“When they sing together, it makes it easy to worship.” 

“Every time I see him, he is smiling!”

Now, how often do you actually tell those people what you thought?  

As humans, we are pretty comfortable complaining/judging/”bless her heart”-ing but we are just pathetic at verbally communicating our admiration, to each other’s faces.  Going around the table provides a forum for us to hear the things we need to hear about ourselves.  And it reminds us just how much we love each other.

Need a lift in your family? Try “going around the table.”   

During our long and lovely holiday (in which I completely abandoned this blog, without guilt), we were fortunate to spend time with a great many family and friends whom we love and cherish.  One of the highlights was a leisurely dinner with friends taking a breather from their full time gig as expats in Australia.  During the course of a very meandering discussion, in which I was only gently ribbed instead of mercilessly teased (friendships required to sustain across continents will do that, I suppose), I first learned of the saying, “she’ll be right, mate.”  This adaptable saying can mean anything from the optimistic “I’ve got it, it’ll all work out!” to an apathetic “Eh, I’ll take care of that…maybe..if I feel like it…”

Learning colloquialisms like this is one of my favorite things about reconnecting with friends from across the globe.  People, their differences and their “normalcies,” simply fascinate me.  As someone who moved with regularity throughout childhood, with a stint overseas in the mix, a broad worldview is important to me.  As someone who is unlikely to move again for years to come, maintaining that worldview is not only important, but vital. I am always pushing to know more. To understand more.  To widen the boundaries of what my children relate to and consider “normal” given that they have lived in essentially the same place their entire lives.   “Different” equals “good” in my world, and anyone who knows me very well, knows this.  But why?

I have a little secret to tell you about this.  I am terrible at change.  There is an inborn tendency in me to curl up into what is comfortable, easy, familiar…and stay there!  I am naturally shy – very shy – and I tend to observe, then process, then act.

Those of you who don’t know me are saying, “And…?” Those of you who do know me are likely shaking your heads and saying “Whatever. That’s so false!” But honestly, it’s true!  And when God began working the tapestry of my life, it is so clear to see how He decided to challenge my complacency.

Moving was by far the biggest challenge to my tendency toward inward living.  When you move, it’s not just a new address and phone number you learn.  It’s a whole way of life.  Sayings in one state are charming, in another state, insulting.  Attitudes that motivate in one country kill morale in another.  All of the moments where we learn by doing – particularly when we mess up! – teach us how different people are, based on where they come from and what they surround themselves with.   If our command is to love each other, we have to know each other.  We have to know what love means to different people, and try to love them in a way that is meaningful to them.

To embrace change, we must be brave.  We must reconcile what we feel and want with what we cannot control.  We have to decide that anything is possible and most things are good – different, but good in their own right.  To be brave isn’t a skill or a gift, really. It’s a decision.  An every-single-day decision.

I may be locked in to where I am geographically for many years to come, but I have decided to continue letting my mind and curiosity wander.  I plan to take my family with me whenever possible.  The more change we experience, and wade through, and successfully navigate, the more accepting of change we become.  And because we will always – I repeat, always – deal with change, there is such value in having confidence in handling it.   I don’t make resolutions, but if I did, I’d resolve to make 2014 the year that I master the art of change. “She’ll be right, mate!”*

NTM

*disclaimer – there is no guarantee I’m using this phrase correctly – but if so, then I’m simply providing more amusement for my friends so it’s all good!

“Everyone hates politicians and says, ‘Get rid of the politicians,'” my client said.  “But I say – the world needs politicians.”

Ah, the forbidden topics…religion and politics.  This conversation was all politics.

Yesterday, I stepped in at the last minute on a photo shoot for a real estate agent with whom I’ve never worked.  Noticing his veteran ballcap, I thanked him for his service (as I normally do) and inadvertently launched an hour-long conversation for which I was excruciatingly unprepared.  Over the course of the hour, he proceeded to lay out very strong opinions on both domestic and foreign policy in the United States, beginning with the conclusion of WWI.   The challenge?  I disagree with almost every viewpoint he holds.  With a peer, I would have engaged in a lively exchange.  However, I decided to tread carefully for two reasons.  One, he is a client, and there’s no need to alienate a client over politics.  Second, and more importantly, his six tours of combat and the many terrible things he described seeing overseas earned him the right, in my eyes, to feel and say whatever the heck he wants.  So an hour of noncommittal murmuring and nodding allowed him to vent in a manner he clearly needed while preserving our standing as client and photographer.

However, in the midst of his many firm statements, he made one that truly stuck out to me (particularly as it seemed to contradict much of his general message otherwise).

“The world needs politicians.”

Why did that statement stand out to me?  Because I agree with him.  I think “politician” has become a fashionably derogatory term.  How frequently do you hear people just dismiss elected officials as “just a career politician”?  All the time. All the time.

I learned a lot – a LOT – from having an immediate family member as an elected official in the Great State of Texas.  The primary thing I learned is that the vast majority of people have absolutely no concept or understanding of the political process, but are completely convinced that they do.  For elected officials of any sway, this has to be one of the most frustrating parts of the job.

Technically, the definition of politician is “a person who is professionally involved in politics, esp. as a holder of or a candidate for an elected office.”  There are many bad apples spoiling the bunch, but on the whole, I find “politicians” to be ordinary people dedicated to a job I can’t imagine anyone wanting to do.  Yes, political power has the capability to turn men and women into people their mothers wouldn’t recognize.   But is there any real career field in which human nature is immune to corruption by power?  Has anyone been to the bulk mail desk at the post office lately?  Talk to that guy sometime and you’ll tell me I’m right.

The truth is, I want a politician in the political process, just like I want a surgeon in the operating room.  I want someone who speaks the language, knows  how to make connections that are meaningful, learns the give and take of compromise.  I recognize that, if you are to only follow the national media, you would say I’m living in a dreamworld and there aren’t politicians like that.  I disagree.  Consider the tens of thousands of people nationwide, serving their city/county/state/country as elected officials.  The most visible are those sensationally drawing lines or making stands for the point of … well… nothing. That’s because the rest – the true politicians, for whom it is a calling – are too busy working. They are working hard, usually behind the scenes.  They are busy preserving the way of life we value that allows us to elect those who represent us in the writing and execution of the laws by which we live.  They are busy celebrating the victory of achievement when they get a bill passed that directly and positively impacts the people who live in their district, and which will never receive any public affirmation or applause.   They are busy trying to balance their commitment to service and their commitment to their families and communities.   The really good ones are generally too busy to deal with the mire of uninformed public opinion.  Thank goodness.

So, Mr. Agent, while I respectfully disagree with you on pretty much everything else, I have to agree…the world needs politicians.

I admit, blogging is an entirely foreign concept to me, or should I say, FOR me.  I have read and admired many people’s blogs, but in general they are written by experts in a specific field, ministry leaders, or friends living out a great adventure and intentionally communicating about it.  As I fit into none of the aforementioned categories, the idea of me blogging seemed narcissistic, to say the least.  What on earth could I write about that anyone would ever want to read?

Then a friend mentioned to me that I am indeed an expert. An expert in talking.

Great, just what I’ve always wanted to hear.  And just what you’ve always wanted to hear, friends.

However, the more I thought about it, I realized that I’m not exactly an expert in talking – simply talking too much does not make one an expert – but somehow I do seem highly skilled in getting into interesting conversations.  Sometimes they originate with me, but most often they start with another person, and usually a stranger.  This shouldn’t surprise me, as I grew up in a home in which lengthy and high-level conversation was a dinner table staple (much to the chagrin of friends, dates, and extended family members less inclined). I realized that, on any given day, I’ve probably had a pretty fascinating conversation with someone, completely unintentionally, that leaves me with a head full of thoughts and nowhere to put them.

So, because I bothered to set up this account and start this whole endeavor, I’ve decided that I will write when I’ve encountered a particularly interesting conversation (which was what the first post stemmed from, anyway!).

This week’s winner?  A newish friend who called me yesterday to discuss the fact that I am writing this blog, and offer helpful hints on how to do so.  Naturally I accepted her constructive criticism and unsolicited advice gracefully – I was well-raised, you know – but one thing she said was very thought-provoking. “People will read this who don’t know you,” she reminded me, “and you have to make sure you don’t seem too unhappy.”

I guess, given the fact that my sole post was about the death of a teenager, her comment was applicable (if somewhat premature – it’s one post, people).  And I have a number of friends whom I can hear now, saying, “How dare she tell you that? We need to be real and transparent and authentic – enough of this ‘fake front’ we put on for each other!”

But what she meant was, make sure your writing reflects who you are – and for me, that is generally happy.  I like happy.  Most of the time, I am happy.  It doesn’t take much to make me happy.  So her advice was spot on, because to understand where I come from on any given topic requires knowing that I am, in fact, an annoying, optimistic, starry-eyed Pollyanna.

What makes me happy on any given day?

THIS.

And THIS.

And THIS.

And THIS.

THIS.

And most of all, THESE PEOPLE.

So you get the idea that a lot of things, completely unrelated, make me happy.  Pretty much anything.  Let’s face it, people are often annoyed by other people’s happiness.   We could hash the “why” of that to death, but ultimately it isn’t important.  This space, for me, is henceforth about The Conversation, and most real conversation (or interesting conversation) goes beyond happy.  Real conversation requires a brain that is fully awake, reasoning that is ready to be pulled and stretched, and a willingness to acknowledge that how a conversation starts does not dictate how it ends.

As I move forward in the blogging journey (assuming I stick to my initial plan of writing once a week – without a goal in mind, I would simply sit down with a book and some sour cream and onion chips instead of writing), I won’t be able to have a conversation with you, reader.  Well, I will, but it will be one-sided! However, I hope that the conversations I encounter will spur you to conversations of your own.

~NTM

*My newish friend has given me permission to use her phone call in this blog.  So nobody yell at me for it.  Thanks! 

I love teenagers. I hate it when a teenager dies.  Walking through life alongside a teenager is like watching a tall, freshly green stem, leaves unfurling to reveal the tight bud of possibility –  forthcoming beauty and magnificence.  The death of a teenager rips that stem from the ground, and with it all the promise of a hundred tomorrows.  It is a wrenching experience for anyone in the vicinity, whether a close family member or a simple acquaintance.   Don’t get me wrong. I’m firmly in the camp that believes in God’s mercy, love, and endlessly perfect will.  But I also believe that God made us flesh, and it flat hurts to watch these things happen.

I have found, however, that events like the death of a teenager open channels of conversation that never seem to come up on a regular Tuesday.  Today, on the heels of a death that has many people I love and respect reeling,  the comment was made that I live in the black and white, while others live in the gray.

That has me thinking.  I’m not sure I agree.

The truth is, much of what others consider “gray” simply is black and white to me.  Doing the right thing…following the rules…finding and sticking with the right mindset…making good decisions…these are invariably black and white to me (whereas, I find others seem to think them gray).  Truthfully, we don’t need God in the black and white.  The Pharisees were masters of the black and white.   We can choose (or not choose) the right thing in the black and white, without any help from God.

But the gray…the gray!  The gray is finding the balance between trusting God’s promises and feeling the very real feelings in the skin and bones we live in.  (This calls to mind one of my favorite movie scenes – The Apostle – Robert Duvall frustrated with God, saying to Him, “I’ve always called you Jesus, and you’ve always called me Sonny.”  The relationship there!) The gray is saying “I don’t understand” and being simultaneous furious about it and completely okay with it.  We try to put actions and decisions in the gray area.  To me, actions are almost always black and white. The heart, however, lives in the gray.

Fortunately, so does God.  He knows that the gray is the void that draws us to Him for answers, a safe place to vent anger, a desperate plea for peace.  The gray is where God works.  The gray is where you simply try to put one foot in front of the other, and you look back and find that you did, in fact, put one foot in front of the other.

People speak of “the gray area” with a negative bent.  For me, the gray is where I find that I don’t have to have the answers, and I don’t have to try to find the right words or feelings.

The gray is where I can simply be.