Who Am I? Part 2

By:  Susan

 The dreaded questions.  First night of class, first day on the job, conversation at a dinner party.  A natural, normal question:  Where are you from?  But the answer for me is complicated.  Do you want to know where I was born?  Or do you want to know where I come from intellectually, where did I get my education and where my ideas were born?  Or do you want to know where I have left my heart, where my children were born and where I found my sisters?  Because the answers are three different places on three different continents.  To be factual, I have to answer the first one.  I was born in Iran.  No, not Iraq, I say quickly, as if one is better than the other and the list of preconceived notions any more positive.  But I quickly point out that I have been living in the United States since I was fifteen years old.  Except for about twelve years when I lived in Venezuela.  To be truthful, I have to say that I am from all or none of those places; I am “ethnically ambiguous”.  

I am an Iranian who holds on to the values of deep respect for my parents, high regards for excellence in education and hospitality.  I am an American who cherishes individual thoughts and creativity and questions everything.  I am an honorary Latina because it is the culture where I raised my children and invented a whole new family with strangers who have remained close to me despite distance and time.  It is also the culture that for me is a nice blend of my Eastern and Western influences.

What defines me is not my race, culture or ethnicity.  It is not what I do or where I was born.  It is not what I have or what I want to have.  It is the core of my character.  Truthfulness, kindness, justice and compassion are not determined by the accidents of our birth or the choices we made about jobs and careers but by conscious decisions we make every day to live better, a little bit at a time.

My children sometimes wonder who they are.  Are we American, Persian or Latinos, they ask.  I tell them they are children of the Kingdom; they are the product of the East meeting the West and creating a new race of men.  Hopefully they have inherited all the gifts and positive qualities these cultures have to offer but are not tainted by the prejudices and small mindedness of their ancestors on either side.

What I Stand (Up) For by Carolyn

What I Stand (Up) For

     Is there anything as moving as seeing former service men and women standing proudly at attention the moment they hear the first note of the song that represents their branch of service? The sight gives me chills every time I see it. One such moment occurred last November at our school's Veterans' Day celebration. Seeing their ramrod-straight spines, the looks of pride on their faces, and a few glints of tears in their eyes as they stood for their song, I began to think about what songs I stand up for.
     I have never been in the military, so I don't stand up for "The Wild Blue Yonder" or "The Halls of Montezuma" or "The Army Goes Rolling Along". I do, however, proudly stand up when I hear the first strains of the national anthem or "America the Beautiful".  I also rise and enthusiastically sing the words of "Texas, Our Texas" to show my pride in my great state. And, proud Aggie that I am, I will happily jump to my feet to sing along with "The Spirit of Aggieland". And, of course, I absolutely must link arms and sway along with my fellow Aggies as we belt out "The Aggie War Hymn". There is such a swell of pride in my heart when I hear any of those songs, because they are the embodiment of places I hold dear. There are also a few praise and worship songs that I stand up for when I hear them, because sometimes my soul won't allow me to sit and sing - I just need to stand up to worship God!
     Thinking about the songs I stand up for led me to think about how that represents ME. If I care about a song enough to stand up for it, surely that shows where my allegiance lies. That line of thought also carried me to consider how else I show what I stand for. I regularly wear two rings: one is a claddagh my older son gave me for Christmas a few years ago. The claddagh is a symbol of Ireland which speaks of loyalty, love, and friendship. I wear that ring as a symbol of my love for Ireland, as a representation of my Irish heritage, and as a link to my family. The other ring I wear regularly is my Aggie ring, which of course represents my affiliation with all of the former students of TAMU. Although I didn't get my Aggie ring until more than 30 years after my graduation (thanks, Robin), it is very important to me. The rings I wear represent part of who I am.
     I also realized that in our society, people often use bumper stickers to show their interests or affiliations. I have two bumper stickers: one says "Texas State University Mom" a gift I prize from my older son, a graduate of Texas State, and the other reads "Aggie Mom", which my younger son gave me as a surprise when he gained admittance to TAMU.  Those bumper stickers proudly proclaim my pride in both of my sons who have shown great perseverance in pursuing their degrees in spite of the difficulties they have faced.
     Considering how we outwardly show what we stand for has made me think about how we truly demonstrate our values in our daily lives. For instance, I've always been a little leery of posting a bumper sticker that boasts of my Christian beliefs for fear I would do something obnoxious while driving and reflect badly on God. Not that I am a particularly aggressive or reckless driver, but I do make my share of thoughtless mistakes behind the wheel that might offend another driver. I also know that quite often I see people, whether in real life or celebrities on TV, wearing a cross around their necks while behaving in ways that should mortify any God-fearing person. While I believe absolutely in the forgiveness of sin, I abhor the idea that we are free to purposely act badly because we have a merciful God. I don't ever want to bring shame on what I hold dear by my words or actions, so if I decide to wear a piece of jewelry, or stick on a bumper sticker, or stand up for a particular song, I must be sure that my life will promote, not detract from, what I outwardly proclaim.

Change

By Susan

Three years ago, out of the blue, I asked my friend Andrea if she wanted to train to run a 5K.  She said yes.  We bought an app for our phones to help with the training.  It was called Couch to 5K.  Very aptly named, because I for one have loved nothing more than sitting on a couch and reading for most of my life.  The way the program works you start out running for 60 seconds and walking for 90.  Gradually, over several weeks the run time is increased to 5, 10 and eventually 30 minutes.  The day we ran our first race will go down in my personal history as the day I overcame my battle with physical inertia.  The change happened so gradually, that I did not even notice it.  It was “little by little, day by day”.

And that’s how change happens.

I could not have done it without my running partner.  There is something about giving my word to someone other than myself that makes it sacred.  When the alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m.  I jump and put on my shoes (I sleep in as much of my running clothes as possible to save time) if I know Andrea is waiting for me.  But on days when I am on my own, the snooze button gets hit several times and eventually the alarm is just turned off.  Change is always easier when we have a partner; someone to encourage us, share the challenge with us and keep us to our words.

And that’s what we need to make change easier and more bearable, someone to walk the path with us.

 At the gate of the chemical plant where I worked for three years, there was a billboard with the number of days since the last accident.  Every day the number went up by one, was one day closer to our goal of running a safe plant.  But accidents did happen and the number would go back to zero.  Then our eyes were set on bettering our record.  Maybe this time we can go even longer than last time.

And that’s how we deal with setbacks. We re-start the counter and hope to beat our last record. 

I heard a story on the radio about a woman in her 100s that realized she had refused a new room at the nursing home where she lived, only because the other resident was an African-American woman.  Shocked by her own feelings, she began consciously working on becoming friends with the other woman and was there  by her side when she passed away.

Change is an inevitable part of life.  The day we stop changing is the day we are done with this life.  Maybe the word I am looking for is not change but growth.  It is never too late to grow.  And growth is not necessarily measured by whether we reach a final destination or not.  It happens gradually, imperceptibly along the path.  What’s needed is a willingness to reflect often, a desire to try again tomorrow and a faith in God’s mercy and protection.

Exploring Grace by Andrea

Utter the word grace and all kinds of associations and images come to mind.

Grace Kelly, Grace Jones,

God’s grace, in someone’s good graces

saving grace, fall from grace,

grace the stage, grace period  

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…

    Grace is my one word for 2015.  Long before it was a trending thing to do, I have made a practice of choosing a word, or three, to be my anchor for growth and development in the new year.  I examine my journal entries to look for the paths upon which God and life have been trying to lead me. I search for themes in my epiphanies, angsts and questions.  I spend much time in prayer, meditation, and reflection to find the quality on which I need to focus.  This process led me to grace.  

           

   My aim is to become a guide to grace- recognizing it, extending it and receiving it.    

Recognizing Grace

   Something hit me not too long ago.  When I look at my face, I see only my mother.  There is no distinct part of me that is not mirrored in her.  I see facial expressions, skin tone, contours of her features in mine. I believe this is an act of grace from God.  You see, I have never known my father.  He chose to leave my life when I was an infant. I've never seen a picture of him or ever met any of his family members. Though I have made peace with his absence in my life and truly harbor no ill will or thought, I think it would have sickened my curious, need-to-see-the-connections kind of heart to look into the mirror everyday and see unfamiliar, untraceable features in myself.

   Grace abounds, but I don't always recognize it.  Most often, it is not until later that I see God’s or someone else’s act of grace in my life.  But the fact is when I’m looking for evidence of something, I always find it.  You’ll see whatever it is you’re looking for and the more I recognize grace in my own life, the more I am able to extend it to others.

Extending Grace

    I am a teacher.  I used to teach really little kids and now I teach bigger kids; kids who are a little more set in their ways.  Kids who have much more of the personality and mindset they will as adults. With really little kids, it is so much easier to extend grace.  They are new here.  Though I held high expectations, I knew they were learning daily how to be the human beings they were put here to be.  I  found much joy and purpose in extending grace to little people. And they would respond quickly, happily and thrive because of it.  Sometimes this is not the case with bigger kids. Oh yes, they need grace, but they do not always see the need or appreciate the extension.

 Nonetheless, they still thrive in it when it is given freely and frequently.  My motto is gentle pressure applied relentlessly to help kids move beyond the sometimes jaded perspective they can have toward all the things we grown-ups try to instill in them.  

  Sometimes, big kids can have bad attitudes, put in less than their best effort.  Let’s face it, some have bought into the cultural lie that school is a place to dread despite the fact that this doesn’t match their daily experience.  I didn’t know this about big kids.  Little kids are not that way.  They have great attitudes for the most part.  They believe they can change the world and learn anything because we applaud everything they do because they are new here.  Not so with bigger kids.  Some become jaded because they have been told that something they’ve done isn’t right or good enough.  They get told to try harder rather than being shown how to.  Let’s face it, they are still new here, too.  They need us to extend love, kindness, mercy, compassion and find favor in them.  They need grace.  

   The truth is we all do.  I always, always, always say that grown-ups are just like kids, only taller. Deep down, we all have the same core needs and we express those needs in so many of the same ways we did as children. We fight, flee or freeze.   Big, small and all in between need grace like they need love because grace is simply an action of love.  This is how we can change our weaknesses to strength.  Maybe the more grace we extend the better we will get at recognizing our need for and increase our capacity to receive grace.

Receiving Grace

How many of us are gifted at giving but terrible at receiving?  I will be the first to admit it.  I know I need grace from people, but  sometimes I hate that I need it.  For instance, my husband is probably the most gracious man I will ever know.  Daily, without fail, he exemplifies the disposition to benefit or serve others with me and our children.  For the past few weeks, I have been abnormally fatigued.  I fall asleep the way one would accidentally fall down- without warning and hard.  Though he has always been an equal participant in the management of our household,  he has had to manage just about everything lately: meals, cleaning, laundry (washing, folding and putting away), the bills, the kids’ stuff and whatever else I have left undone.   

        In 22 years, he has never complained once about taking care of me.  He fills in every gap I leave open.  He rescues me all of the time.  I start something.  He finishes it.  I dream up something.  He makes it happen.  He is reliable.  He forgives easily.  He overlooks my faults.  He gives without reservation.  

       Sometimes, I push back on this.  I used to call it independence.  Really though, it is an inability to receive grace, also known as pride (not the good kind).  I have gotten a lot better through the years.  He has told me so.  But as with most of life, I am still in progress.  I love to serve and give to people.  I believe this is a major part of why I am here.  Consequently, in order to do this well I have to continuously grow in the three aspects of gracious living I am exploring. Part of growing in grace for me has to be welcoming grace inwardly and with humility.  In doing this, I bet I will grow in recognizing and extending it to others.

Changing Grace

The more I explore, the more I am convinced that grace isn’t always all roses and rainbows.  A proverb states: As iron sharpens iron so one person sharpens another.  This too is grace. Sometimes sparks may fly as we do things that benefit and serve others. Sometimes grace is speaking the truth in love to help people change a behavior or character issue as they travel on the road to being the best version of themselves.  Sometimes grace is letting someone make mistakes so they can learn and develop convictions of their own as you admonish and encourage. Sometimes grace is saying or doing nothing at all and letting people find their own strength.  

Every time, however, grace is giving others and ourselves what is needed, when it is needed. Grace must be thoughtful, genuine and intentional.  It calls for our hearts and eyes to be wide open- to know and see what to give and when.  The more we recognize acts of and the need for grace, the more we should be able to extend it. And extending grace changes us, moving us into a better state to receive it.

-Andrea

I do not understand the mystery of grace- only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.- Anne Lamott

Autumn Leaves

Autumn has always been my favorite season.  There is a very good possibility I feel this way because my birthday falls during this chilly season, but that’s only a piece of it.  There was a drive I used to take with my family in the fall.  I’m not even sure what it is called or if it even exists anymore.  We lived in Colorado so really anywhere you went you could see the autumn leaves changing color from their characteristic green to their new attire of blazing orange and ruby red.  All I had to do was look outside my window and I could enjoy this phenomenon.  However, the drive was extra special.  The trees extended and hugged each other creating a canopy of fire.  When the wind blew, tiny sparks of leaves would fall to the ground that would leave me mesmerized.   It was my most favorite thing, and if I close my eyes I can still see it. 

One fall we went for our annual drive, but due to hectic schedules, we had to take it a little later in the season than we usually did.  Most of the leaves had already fallen, and were brown by the time we took our journey.  I was so upset at the sight of the bare trees.  They looked dead to me, and I couldn’t understand that these were the same beautiful trees that I engraved in my memory. 

            Sometimes in life, I feel very much like the bare, vulnerable trees after all my color has been blown off by life’s cold and harsh winds.  Although the fall is my favorite season to watch out my window, it is not the season in life I enjoy the most.   Everything just feels wrong.  Piles upon piles of things seem to go wrong, and it is never ending.  Just when I feel a life start to blossom something else happens, and it’s gone before it has even had a chance to grow.  I feel sad, and helpless.  I feel alone and vulnerable because there is nothing I can do during this time.  The only thing I can do is wait it out and trust in spring.  I have to trust that although the sun isn’t shining, and the warmth is limited, its still there.  And it will get stronger and stronger.  My leaves will return again.  The harsh winds of fall will slow down, and eventually fade.  A new season will begin, bringing with it a new beginning.

            Fall is still my favorite season.  And just like the beautiful drive we once took, there is something amazing in every season of our life.  We just have to look a little harder to notice it.  Because every season has a purpose and so much beauty. 

~Esmer

On the Road

By Susan 

There is nothing like traveling to show us our true characters.  It brings out the best and the worst in people.  My family and I took a small vacation to West Texas last week.  My sixteen year old son had done all the research and had planned a wonderful four day tour of Alpine, Marfa, Big Bend and Fort Davis.  We set out, trusting the weather reports that promised the temperatures were rising and the rains were stopping.  We shouldn’t have.  We hit the first snag when three hours out of Austin and on Highway 29, the roads became icy.  When we saw a guy putting chains on his tires, we realized maybe we should turn around.  At this point we all realized that there is hardly any cell phone coverage outside of cities in that part of the world.  That means no Google maps or Internet searches.  My husband who never travels without a paper map realized that he had left our Texas map on the dining room table at home!  Someone had a map downloaded on a phone, so we found another road to take us to I-10.  But I-10 was slowed down to a crawl as rain and sleet continued.  We made it to Alpine two hours behind schedule, checked into our hotel and went to find something to eat.  At close to 9:00 p.m. most of the restaurants in this little town were closed.  A brand new establishment near the train station looked open.  When our party of seven walked in, the young man who was acting as the host looked panicked.  He seated us in a tight corner of the restaurant and said: “We are a little lost right now but someone should be with you shortly!”  No one knew what to make of that.  Maybe it was the fact that the bathrooms were out and one by one we went across the street to the Holland Hotel to use the services.  I guess they found themselves pretty quickly, because we were served a delicious dinner not too long after that. 

The freezing rain continued during the night and we woke up to a beautiful but impassable landscape. 

By now I had noticed that no one, including myself was complaining.  Everyone from my mother, to my brother to my three children ages 16, 18 and 22 was just going with the flow, which impressed me.  We hung around the hotel that morning and watched as snowplows went up and down the highway.  By late afternoon, it looked like we could get out and go to Marfa as planned. Kent’s meticulous plan was for us to eat dinner in Marfa and stay to watch the famous Marfa lights on the way back to Alpine.  But because the temperatures were falling again and it was still raining on and off, we decided to head back before dark.  That night we decided to try a little metal box diner for dinner.  The place was packed, which is usually a sign of good food.  But the one guy who was doing all the cooking in slow motion and the one very skinny waitress who was doing her best to take orders, wash dishes and serve, could not keep up. I don’t know why we waited an hour and a half for the forgettable food. Maybe it was the cold outside or lack of too many more options. At one point the waitress confided in us that she also worked at a Mexican restaurant that we should be sure to try!

The next morning we woke up to a beautiful sunny day, dry roads and temperatures above freezing.  According to our plan we were headed to Big Bend.  My older son however, was not feeling well and decided to stay behind and rest.  One of the consequences of the storm had been downed power lines.  That meant no gas at the gas stations in Alpine.  So we drove to the next town, Marathon to fill up on our way to Big Bend National Park.  It turned out there was no power in the entire 50 mile radius.  We had to return to Alpine and forgo the much anticipated hike.  That was a big disappointment.  I worried how Kent was feeling.  He had spent so much time planning this trip for us and hardly anything was going right.  But he reassured me that he was fine.  Back in Alpine there were long lines at gas stations, where there was still no power and in some cases no gas.  

Just as we were contemplating cutting the trip short and heading back that afternoon instead of the next day, the power came back on and we were able to fill up and at least head to Fort Davis to the McDonald observatory and their star party.  We called Safaa back at the hotel to see if he was feeling better and could join us.  He was feeling worse, feverish and with chills.  I decided to take him to the hospital while the rest went on to Fort Davis.  The Big Bend Medical Center was having a busy day.  The storm had caused all kinds of problems for people.  There was an elderly gentleman who had slipped on ice and broke his head, an elegant lady in a fur coat with an oxygen tank on the back of her wheelchair, and a young woman with her suitcase, obviously suffering from the flu while traveling.  And they all knew each other.  After a four hour wait at the clinic, Safaa was diagnosed with the flu and prescribed some Tamiflu but were told that there were no pharmacies open in Alpine past 11:30 a.m. on Saturdays.  We would have to drive to Fort Stockton on Sunday to fill his prescription.  They did give him one dose of the medicine, which helped greatly.  I have to say, everyone was so nice and apologetic for the long wait and the bizarre pharmaceutical situation. Heading back to the hotel, we could see that the power was restored in town. Until we got to our hotel and saw it in pitch black.  It looked like the work crews had not made it out there yet.  An almost deserted hotel in the dark is pretty spooky.  Safaa and I just sat in one room and looked out the window at the full moon, waiting for the power to come back on.The rest of the family had a blast at the observatory, found a lovely place for dinner and even went back to see the Marfa lights.  They did bring us some delicious macaroni and cheese, parmesan crusted chicken and mashed potatoes.

The power never came back to the hotel that night or the next morning.  We were headed home anyway.  The trip back was uneventful.  Safaa was feeling better, the roads were dry, the sun was out.  We kept looking back at how almost nothing had gone the way we had planned it, but that still we had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.   I know for me the best part was seeing my family at ease, enjoying the moment, laughing with each other and bending in whichever way was necessary. 

Years ago, when Ben and I were just getting to know each other, we were on a trip with a group of friends where nothing went according to plan.  Actually it was I who had planned that weekend and I was feeling pretty frustrated.  Ben, as calm at 23 as he is now, pointed out that if things always go they way you plan it, how would you know God has a hand in your life?  Over the past 32 years together, I have come to appreciate the wisdom of those words over and over again.