Probletunities by Carolyn

The school district I used to work for had a special word for difficulties: probletunities. This was intended to give the idea that problems were opportunities for growth or improvement.

To me, the term probletunities seems so very glib, so shmaltzy, as if we should be glad of the barriers or struggles or failures we encounter in our jobs or our relationships or just in our daily lives; that they should be celebrated as chances to grow and improve. "Yippee!" we might say, "I burnt the roast for tonight's dinner and our guests will be here in twenty minutes. Now I have a chance to improve myself by solving this problem!" Or "Hooray! I hit the accelerator instead of the brake and ran into this brick wall. I'm so glad I now have the opportunity to grow as I have the car towed and struggle to find the money for repairs. I know this will ultimately make me a better person." Not likely for most of us.

I dislike the term probletunities, but I do applaud the sentiment. Although it seems counter-intuitive, it is true that we learn more from mistakes or struggles than from successes.

As a parent, grandparent, and educator, I have observed this to be true, yet it is still difficult to allow those we care about to go through difficulties. Not only do we not want to engage in struggles or experience failures ourselves, but we don't want our loved ones to, either.  One of the characteristics almost all parents have in common is that they want the best for their children. We want them to have happy, healthy lives, so we do our best to smooth out the rough spots for them. By not allowing them to experience the common struggles in life and working toward solutions, we may be setting them up to be less responsible, less diligent, less appreciative.

Most of the teachers I have known (and that is a lot!) are, by nature, "helpers". They have a deep desire to nurture and help people, particularly children. Unfortunately, this can lead to being too helpful. It is very common for students to complain about a task being too hard. Our first instinct is to swoop in and help. Rather, we should allow a little reasonable struggle, providing just enough support. This builds persistence, confidence, willingness to try new things. If we are never given the opportunity to try things that are just a little harder than what we have already mastered, how will we ever grow and learn? Everything we ever accomplish as human beings comes about because we have tried something just a little bit harder than what we did before or we have experienced some sort of problem that has forced us to come up with a better way of doing things.

I have seen an increase in what I label "learned helplessness" in children, both in classrooms and with their parents. While I don't think we should go out of our way to make things difficult for children, I do think it is easy to overdo the rescuing we are inclined to do. In my previous life as an assistant principal, I dealt with many parents who were determined not to allow their children to undergo any type of negative consequences for misbehavior. I often told them that it was better to allow children to experience (and survive) small punishments for small infractions when they were young (and, hopefully, learn the concept of cause and effect from it) than to experience those same lessons when they were older, their mistakes were larger, and the punishments more severe.

So, while I don't really like the term probletunities, I do embrace the idea that we learn best by experiencing and overcoming trials and by stretching ourselves to reach just a little bit farther than we were able to yesterday.

Doubt and Belief by Carolyn

I am an avid watcher of the Olympics – always have been. During the current coverage of the Olympics, a commercial for Koch Industries articulates one of the reasons I enjoy watching. The voiceover states,

“In every challenge, there are two rivals: belief and doubt. Doubt has a bigger team. Belief is outnumbered, but never outworked. When a score is settled, belief rises to the top.”

Read that again, slowly, and let it sink in.

We often talk about challenging ourselves. Maybe we walk another half a mile. Do ten more sit-ups. Take an honors course. Tackle a difficult recipe. Choose the stairs instead of the escalator. Take up oil painting. Whatever. All of that is great. I don’t want to diminish any of the ways in which we stretch ourselves to become better or healthier or more accomplished. That’s an important part of living.

However, most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, don’t attempt to do what terrifies us or what seems impossible for us to accomplish. Very few of us have the strength of belief in ourselves (and the willingness to work hard enough) to tackle the insurmountable. Our belief in ourselves bows to the bigger team that doubt always fields.

I salute those whose belief in themselves and their goals is strong enough to outwork doubt. Those who are willing to do the incredibly difficult work it takes day after day, year after year, to overcome their fears, their handicaps, the little whisper (or loud roar) that says, “You can’t.”

Olympic athletes are among those few. So are those who overcome persecution or disabilities or seemingly unconquerable difficulties to ultimately succeed; to become proud and productive. For all of those who conquer doubt with belief, who set goals for themselves that terrify and thrill them, I applaud your spirit and strength. May we all be inspired by your determination to accomplish what we did not believe we could.

What Things May Come by Andrea

Adversity comes. It is a part of the human condition. Adversity can make us or break us. It comes and it exposes us. Martin Luther King, Jr. is quoted as saying, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in times of challenge and controversy."  Personally, I try with all my might to live with as little uncontrolled, unsolicited challenge as possible, and controversy is a pariah that I give much planning and effort to avoid. But, they both come without invitation or warning. It is at these times that who I am is not only revealed but can also be defined.

I have spent a great many days anxious and worried about circumstances over which I have zero control. What I have had to contend with, however, are the things I can control. More aptly, things that I have a responsibility to control. How I handle adversity will have an impact on my character for all time.

So what are my responsibilities when bad things happen?

My response: The number one way I should respond is in hope. This, however, is not always easy for doers like me.  Don't get me wrong, hope is not passive.  It requires active participation in the struggle. The action, though, is less about taking control and making change happen.  It's a wrestling match that takes place in the mind. I must wrestle with my thoughts to make them focused and faithful. I have to wrestle with my convictions and beliefs to get my bearings, to help me get centered.  My ideas of how life should go rather than how it is going must be subdued in order for hope to rise rather than fear and doubt. In hope, there is victory long before anything changes.  Paradoxically, victory comes from surrender, in not resisting the inevitable but embracing the challenge.  A hopeful response announces and embraces the notion that this too shall pass while still in the ring.

My attitude: An attitude colored by gratitude for the parts of life that are good and beautiful helps me to be better rather than bitter. Instead of kicking rocks because adversity has come knocking on my door, I must to choose to dig in and persevere. It is a daily decision. During times of woe, it seems I have to choose moment by moment to keep my eyes on the good, rather than the mountains of reasons to be anxious and overwhelmed, even by the daily-ness of life during a storm. Attitude really is everything.

Letting people in: I cannot overcome alone. I have had friends who literally patch up my heart and my faith. Inboxes overflowing with words of encouragement, scriptures, prayers and silly selfies to make me smile have been like water flowing over my parched soul during difficulty.  I have friends who call or show up at just the right time. They listen and share. They connect and empathize. They let me ugly cry and cry along. Vulnerability with the right people builds bridges that can offer support for the ages.

My faith: Faith is not a shield from desperate situations or desperate feelings and thoughts, but the nature of this walk requires a faithful response to trials and tests. I am assured that I will never walk alone as long as I walk with God. One of the many passages that gives me courage is:
     
        When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
        When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
        When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
         the flames will not set you ablaze. Isaiah 43:2, The Holy Bible

Disasters come in all forms. Some are physical and destroy swiftly such as storms or illnesses. Some disasters are emotional and seem as if they sweep over life all of a sudden with no signs of letting up. Some challenges are battles of the mind, and the struggle is to find the right perspective in order to effect a change of state if not a change of circumstance. Some tumult is completely outside of oneself and brought on as a consequence of living and loving within a community. I have faced all of these in some form throughout my four decades and am sure more will come.

This I know for sure: no matter what things may come, focusing on that which I am responsible for has helped me to endure adversity infinitely better than focusing on the struggle.  

-Andrea

Wounded Earth by Carolyn

“Out of wounded earth, flowers come, pushing through the dirt.”

from Wholly Yours by the David Crowder Band

Those words stick in my head long after the song has ended, nagging at me to give them a voice. I know they speak of my mother, who had a beautiful spirit in spite of the difficulties she faced in her life.

She was born in 1935 in Alamogordo, New Mexico, the fourth child, third daughter, of a rancher and a homemaker. Eventually, the number of children would grow to seven. She was right in the middle: middle child, middle of the five daughters. The family struggled to make ends meet all of her childhood. She used to tell stories about her early years in Alamogordo, which is a mountainous area, and therefore gets quite a bit of snowfall each year. She spoke of sleeping in a bed together with all of her sisters crowded together for warmth. She recalled waking up shivering one morning feeling as if a huge weight was crushing her. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the weight she was feeling was a large drift of snow that had fallen through a hole in the roof down onto the kids huddled under the quilts below! I remember hearing her say once (whether jokingly or not, I’m not sure) that they weren’t even very upset when one of them wet the bed at night, because at least it made a warm spot! She grew up with little money, nothing in the way of luxuries, and lots of hard work. Yet she shone with good nature and hopefulness. To this day, her brothers and sisters will say that she is their favorite sister, the heart of the family.

Eventually, she met and married my father, and they produced two daughters, my sister and me. Suffice it to say, she was more committed to the marriage than he was. I think it might be fair to  describe my father as “hard to love”. For many years, after working a full day outside the home, my mother cleaned the house, did laundry, and made dinner for my father. He seldom came home to eat until it had grown cold and she had sent us to bed. He was seldom around to engage in father-daughter activities with us, so she filled the gap with a warm smile and vast enthusiasm. When their marriage finally ended in divorce, she was devastated. In spite of all the emotional pain she had been through, she still loved him and wanted the marriage to work. As a single parent, she raised us with patience and understanding. Her wisdom and generosity as a parent I could never hope to achieve, although I hoped I would.

Years later, she began to have severe back pain. She endured several very painful back surgeries, which never quite solved the problem. She was diagnosed with degenerative disk disease. For many years, every day was full of pain, yet it was difficult to tell when you were with her. She continued to smile and laugh and enjoy life. Eventually, when she was in her early forties, she could no longer go to work every day. Most of her days were spent in her recliner, but when she could, she got out and about; she was not a person made for solitude. Even when she was disabled, she still enriched the lives of her family and her many friends with her sense of humor, her ready smile, her generosity of spirit.  

In late December, 1986, my mother and I attended a Christmas celebration with her extended family. As we were driving home late that afternoon, she told me that if she had her life to live over again, she would not change anything. I was aghast. “What about all the heartache and the pain you have been through?” I asked. She smiled and said, “Without all of the pieces of my life, the good and the bad, I would not be the person I am today. I kind of like who I am.” I said something about liking her, too, and wishing I could be as content with my life as she was with hers. I’m smiling as I write this now, remembering that conversation. I am grateful to have had that time with her, because there would not be very many more conversations between us. She died at the age of 50, just a few weeks later. I miss her every day.

Now I have given the words a voice: my mother was a beautiful flower that had the strength of spirit to push through the wounded earth in which it was planted.

-Carolyn

Healing Molly by Carolyn

Molly was scarred on the inside where it didn’t show right away. But if you spent any time with her, the damage began to seep out through her skin and reveal itself. It showed in the way she scurried under any table or chair she could find in an effort to become invisible. It showed in the way she gobbled her food quickly, ferociously, before anyone could snatch it away from her. It showed in the violent quivering that made her whole body tremble with anxiety with very little provocation. It showed in her reluctance to be picked up, stroked, cuddled.

Molly’s damage was understandable. She spent her first year of life in a small trailer home with more than 150 other dogs. They lived among mounds of shed fur, piles of feces, the stench of urine, and probably a few rotting carcasses, but with no light, no air conditioning or heat, and most significantly, no human contact. When you thought about her first home, it was easy to understand why she was so scarred.

When I first brought Molly home, she gulped her food frantically because in her first year of life she had to compete with 150 other dogs for every bite of food she got. She trembled with fear from head to tail so often because she had never known love or security before. Everything was frightening. She scurried to hide under any available piece of furniture in an attempt to escape detection. She refused to be held because she didn’t trust people. Why should she? She had never had anyone to trust.

How do you set about healing that kind of scarring? With love, liberally laced with patience. When Molly hid under the furniture, I lay on the floor and tried to coax her out with soft, sweet, soothing words (and a few doggie treats). When Molly gulped her food and growled at Finn, “Get back! This is mine!” I gently chided her, “Friends don’t growl at friends, Molly”, but I let her learn in her own time that she no longer had to fight for food. When Molly shivered violently from fear and anxiety at the slightest little thing, I held her tightly (whether she wanted me to or not) scratched behind her ears, and murmured sweet nothings to her.

Little by little, baby step by baby step, moment by moment, we made progress. The hiding-under-the-table episodes became fewer. Eventually I only had to chase her under two, rather than five, pieces of furniture when I needed to pick her up. Gradually, the gulping and growling and snapping over food diminished. She even let Finn eat first once or twice while she waited her turn – she was busy having her backside scratched! After many months, the frequency of her whole-body trembling decreased. Instead of shaking uncontrollably over every little thing, she saved that response for really serious situations, like someone ringing the doorbell.

Wonder of wonders, Molly even began to seek me out. At first, she jumped up in my lap once every few days, stayed a second or two, then jumped back down. “Just passing through. You happened to be in my path,” she seemed to say. After a few months, she jumped up in my lap at least once a day and stayed just a little longer each time, but not quite settling in. Eventually, she purposely came to me more and more often - jumping up on my lap frequently, and settling in to stay a while each time. We snuggled together. My heart swelled with love, gratitude, delight.

While I was determinedly busy healing Molly, she was surreptitiously healing me as well. Focusing my attention on her wounds helped me move beyond my own heartaches a little. Holding Molly in my lap and scratching between her ears not only soothed her wounded spirit, it also infused my fragile heart with calm and peace. Providing Molly with a safe, loving home where she could recover from her trauma brought rewards to me as well: compassion, laughter, joy, contentment.

Molly still carried her scars on the inside, as I do, but her wounds no longer showed quite so much on the outside. Her scars, faded and softened with time and love, no longer determined the way she viewed life or guided all her actions. I hope mine don’t either.

-Carolyn