Seems like I've been on a roll, especially since New Year's of playing "true confessions."  Trust me, it's really not because I made a resolution to be more transparent (I'm not against transparency, just resolutions).

Well, here's another one.  I'm a man-pleaser.  There, I've said it.  I like to please people.  What's even worse, I really enjoy positive feedback. You know, "warm fuzzies", positive strokes.

Several years ago, a young subordinate informed me that he didn't need those "cutesy notes" I sometimes wrote to staff.  In a moment of self-enlightenment, I told him that I try to give lots of strokes because I like to get lots of strokes.  I know, pretty shallow, huh?

Of course, being hungry for the praise of others can be motivating, but, oh yeah, yours truly also has a tendency to get distracted.  

So, let's rewind for a minute: retirement...book...platform...blog...BLOG VIEW STATS!  Oh my gosh! I am embarrassed to admit, checking those stats all too quickly became an addiction.

Dear Reader, I am a pitiful mess!  But, here's the best news for anyone else who is weak and broken like me, " 10 ...I am glad when I am persecuted and have problems, because it is when I am weak that I am really strong." (2 Corinthians 12:10bEasy-to-Read Version (ERV))

So, once in a while, God, who is infinitely patient with me, says to go off my addiction.  You got it!  No stats!  What!

This is where God proves once again that He has a sense of humor (I thought it was irony, but I couldn't find a definition I could understand), not unlike the way He demonstrates it with the weather at least once a week.  

Could you follow that last sentence?  Talk about ADD.  Aren't you glad you're not rambling around inside this brain?

Okay, back to God.  Nearly every time God has taken away my pacifier (checking blog stats), for three days to a month, those stats have taken a big bump upwards.  Not only that, but the big bumps have typically been with posts I didn't consider my best/most interesting/ yada-yada-yada.  What's up with that?

I'll tell you what's up with that.  Not only does God have a sense of humor, He also delights in showing His children just how much we need Him.  Yeah, sometimes that means He lets us fall flat on our faces, but that's more likely to be out of our own stubbornness, than His harshness.  Just look at those hapless Hebrew children wandering around without their GPS.

So, what's a girl to do? (Ok, so I haven't technically been a "girl" for several decades, but whatever.)

I could try to make a resolution to only check stats at certain intervals, after praying about what that interval should be.  I could delete the blog view stats spreadsheet (how sick am I?).  I could keep looking for trends to try and figure out what and when appeals to my readers the most.

I could do a lot of things.

Right now, I'm rereading Holley Gerth's Opening the Door to Your God-Sized Dream (devotional).  Remember I showed you a picture of the pink gift bag not long ago where I had written "Love the Giver more than the gift" ? That's one of Holley's ideas from the devotional.  Maybe I need to move it to a more conspicuous spot.

That's really what it all boils down to, isn't it?  Loving Him, thanking Him for the unique combination of gifts and talents He's given each one of us, and trusting Him to show us how to use them for His glory.  Like Max Lucado says, "It's not about me."

Thanks for sticking around, Dear Reader!  I hope God's humor, or redirection, will "suddenly cleanse and cool ... you" when you need it most. 

(Since I've already embedded a bit of Scripture for you, here's a little humor, and I'm still jazzed about learning to embed YouTube.)

The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.
Christopher McCandless

I am so excited to have just learned something new, and just for you!  Maybe you're like me and your brain doesn't always shut off at night.  James was off on a weekend jaunt to visit old friends and go to a show choir competition last weekend.  With unseasonably cold and possibility of snow, of course, I was thinking about him driving home as I dozed off those nights.

Then I started thinking about twists and turns in his music journey.  He started off music education, switched to music performance, then back to music ed.  Along the way, he discovered that he didn't just want to conduct, way too limiting.  

James had an incredible mentor at Simpson College, Dr. Robert L. Larsen. By all accounts, Dr. Larsen was a complete tyrant, but an abundantly talented one who taught James that being "artistic director" is a much better match for his diverse skills, and seeing the whole picture.

Whether you're familiar with the '60s version of "Dr. Doolittle" or the Eddie Murphy one, you probably recall that discovering they could talk to the animals was pivotal for both characters. Still not sure what all this has to do with what I just learned?  Hang on...

Tom and I went to a couple of retirement seminars for state teachers' retirement, so we knew my retirement options.  Then, last November, I had to miss our granddaughter, Annalyn's, first Grandparents' Day at her school.  Why? There were three different assessments scheduled for my grade level, and we were on a deadline.  Missing Annalyn's special day made up my mind about retiring.  That was the day I "talked to the animals".  That was the day I realized my life didn't have to be limited by the strictures imposed upon me by anyone else but me.

Deciding to retire so I would not miss any more "special days" was just the first step towards my God-sized dream.  And my God-sized dream includes you! Looking for ways to connect with and encourage you is meaning that I get to learn all kinds of new things, like embedding a YouTube audio from "Dr. Doolittle".  Ta-daaa!!!!

You inspire me!  Because of you, I've learned new skills, met new folks, even connected with my grown kids in a new way.  Thank you for sharing a corner of our world!  If you haven't already, I hope you will soon learn to "talk to the animals".

What inspires you to learn new things?  Are you excited at the prospect of new things to learn and do most days?

I am linking this post to Giving up on Perfect and Coffee for Your Heart.

In two weeks, we'll be hosting our annual Friends and Family Tea. I say "we", really it's me, but I like to pretend that my girls actually have time and energy to help and hostess.  That's not a complaint, merely an explanation; I'm thankful for their indulgences.

Of course, Tom and James could be counted in on the "we", since they do at least as much work as I do preparing for the big event. Wise men that they are, they typically bolt out the door as soon as the first car pulls into the driveway. Unless of course, it's Mary with her girls.  Then they have to wait to see Annalyn and Gracie, you know like they didn't just see them on Thursday night for our weekly date.

So this year, since I'm "retired" (and still trying to figure out what that means), I've gotten very ambitious and invited nearly every woman I know.  I've got the time, right?  We'll see.

I'm really not sure if this is our third or fourth annual tea.  It all began because sometimes the pragmatic and pretty collide in my brain.  You see, Tom and I were discouraged from registering for china when we were married, by two very pragmatic parents (who shall remain nameless).  

So, it wasn't until a few years ago when James, Rach and I were browsing in an antique store that I spotted what had obviously been hovering in "Antique Land" for decades, just waiting for me.  There it was, "Blue Garland", service for 12, including serving pieces, and for less than $300.  Was there ever a match made in heaven!  And to top it off, it's production stamp was my birth year. Woot-woot!

Now, just like all of us, my Tom has his flaws.  Probably his greatest flaw is the rareness of him telling me "no".  Did I mention that when I spotted this dining jewel we were living in a tiny condominium? Or that we were recovering from unemployment and its woes? No? How could I have overlooked that?

Anyway, a down payment and two installments later, my delightful dishes came home. Well, not exactly, because of you know, the teeny condo with teenier storage.  So a few pieces went into the china cabinet, which I had adamantly refused to store in the garage, thank you very much, and the rest of my treasures had to stay in their boxes, at least for the time being.

As soon as we moved into our current home, I think I had the lovely china completely displayed in the  china cabinet, even before the beds were made and the curtains were all up.  (You realize of course, if Mama had still been living I probably wouldn't have dared to do something so totally outrageous.)

So I pull out the china whenever I get the chance.  And at Thanksgiving dinner, three or four years ago, while us girls were lingering over it (and the men lingered over Corelle in the living room with the tv), I had the brilliant idea for us to have a tea party.  

My sister, Nancy, loves pretty things nearly as much as she loves me.  She was all over it. Her granddaughters and my one, were about the ages to think a tea party would also be fun.  My dear friend, Lynnette, used to regale me with stories of her mom's Mad Hatter tea parties, and her daughter, Taylor was also the right age.  And we're off!

Oh my goodness, we had so much fun!  I'm sure I'll regale you with more about this year's event soon.  But first, I must include a pictures of my very first tea party.  I just hope I made half the impact on these students' lives as they made on mine.

Long before educators were using "safe seats" and "timeouts" Mama had the same system.  Mama had three levels of discipline when we were kids: timeout came in between verbal warning and "whippin". There was a corner in our living room where Mama kept the extra dining room chair.  A second chair must have been placed somewhere else because usually my brother, Buddy, and I got into trouble together.

To give all three of us a break, she put us in chairs with a Sears & Roebuck catalog, with strict orders to not get up out of that chair, and not make a sound.  Of course, this was in the old days when parents were the boss, and kids' self esteem didn't  overrule common sense.  So of course, at least for that 15-30 minutes, Buddy and I did exactly as we were told.

Nowadays, timeout in my safe seat is something I relish and crave. I love sitting in my chair by the window, reading, praying, looking out into our backyard, just clearing my head.  

Everybody, except Magellan, seems to know this is my space.  My place to relax, reflect, regroup. It's my space to do my nails, put on my shoes, or exercise my knee. We've repainted, changed curtains, moved other furniture, but my chair remains the same.
It's definitely my safe seat.

Jesus tended to get up early and go to a garden for His personal quiet time.  If He routinely needed alone time with our Heavenly Father, doesn't it make sense that we should need the same?

Perhaps I've matured a little in the Lord.  Maybe it's the place where I am in my life.  Or maybe the overall peace and calm in my life is partly due to finally having a quiet place to retreat to.  It may not be a garden, but my chair by the window works for me.to help "restoreth my soul".

Do you have a safe seat?  Where do you go to clear your head or restore your soul?

I'm linking this post to Giving Up on Perfect and Coffee for Your Heart.

As a society we seem to be preoccupied with labels, don't we?  Whether it's the nutrition labels at the grocery store, or our favorite fast food restaurant (personally, I think maybe nutrition and fast food are polar opposites), or the content labels on garments, or the option labels on cars, we've become much more aware of what goes into whatever.  Thank you, Ralph Nader, for forcing us to become more proactive consumers.

In education, we label everything and everyone.  Don't even get me started on all of education's acronyms and its own language.  If we're talking about reading or math, students are either on level, below level or above level.  If we're disaggregating assessment data (try saying that three times fast), we label the subgroups by race/ethnicity, participation in the free/reduced lunch program, and by type of special services.  Silly me!  For years, I just thought I was teaching kids.

How do we label the folks we meet?  By what they do? where they live? what they drive? what they wear? where they go to church?  Do we sometimes label a person before we have even exchanged any words?

A couple of weeks ago a label taught me a valuable lesson.  This time it was a medication label.  I've learned the hard way to hold on to those warning labels that come with prescriptions, just in case.

I have mentioned before that depression is an unwanted visitor lurking on the outskirts of my life.  My family doctor and I typically manage to maintain the delicate balance of calm and confidence.  The bane of my existence is how easily the chemical scales can be tipped, even by medications intended for my good.

After taking a new medication for a mobility issue, I gradually found myself sliding into the pit.  Yikes!  I pray you have never made that journey.  Because the slide was gradual, fogging my thinking (while not working on the mobility problem), it took over a week for me to pull out the warning label for a closer look.  

Yep!  There it was, buried in the middle of a three-inch paragraph of side effects: "...confusion, depression..."  I would have yelled, "Ya think!?" except Maisie had just gotten comfortable and dosed off on the bed.  Anyway, I was at once ticked off and relieved.  Not sure who/what I was ticked off about, but I was relieved that I could make a choice and do something about this.

Becoming empowered is a lesson in itself, but that's not the one I learned that day.  I really, really hate that depression is any part of my life.  I think "depression" frequently translates into "weakness" for those who are not affected by it.  And I do not want to be labeled as weak (except by the Lord, because in my weakness, He makes me strong).

THIS IS WHAT I LEARNED:  Labels only have the power we allow them to have. All of us have labels, but those are only traits or characteristics, not who we are. I'd never describe my garment as a long-sleeved, charcoal and rust colored, cotton and cashmere outer garment.  Who does that?  It's a sweater, right? So, I'm going to try really hard not to consider myself just a bunch of labels, but as a unique child of God.  Hopefully, I'll get good enough at that to start doing the same with those around me.

Do you have labels?  Are they ones you choose, or are they thrust upon you? Are there labels you wish to avoid for yourself or others?