I am writing again. I am writing. I had hoped to feel so energetic that I burst back onto the scene like the Kool-Aid man I’d known in my childhood.
Instead, I’m feeling more like a twenty something doing the walk of shame back home at seven a.m.- disheveled, and not feeling so good about myself. But, here I am, I’ve reached the keyboard.
I have a wide range of emotions in my head…fear, gratitude, anger, happiness, sadness, rage, hopelessness and hope. I am digging deep to keep myself moving forward. The world has not ended, other people are worse off- blah, blah, blah. I’d like to stop with the daily banter about it, I’m beginning to appear obsessed, and appearance matters.
Years ago I posted a question on Facebook about “Nurture vs Nature.” Kind of a fun way to get some banter going. I had posed the question of how the five of us siblings had been raised in the same house with the same parents, yet we were all different in our outlook on life, our opinions and how we expressed them etc. The general consensus was that yes, we had all grown up in the same house, we all had the same stories to tell about things that happened in our childhood, but depending on our age and our abilities to cope at that age, the event was viewed differently. And, because we were all experiencing it from our own perspective, we became shaped differently. I feel like this situation is the same…. our family has been shaken by a singular event and although the event is the same, our reaction to it is different.
So, some shelter in place, others run about. Some cry with you and some try to avoid the subject entirely. When looking at it like this, I know not a single person can understand how I feel because they are not me. They don’t know what my soul felt, what my eyes saw, what my heartbreak feels like. It’s not possible to tell them, so I move on as quietly as possible. Quiet has never been my strong point, so when I do finally speak up, it’s usually anger that spews out- which is fine by me, but makes me bad company.
Hope. I have hope. Faith. I have faith.
The positive feelings are harder to express. Fear of the letdown…don’t speak it in case it doesn’t come to be. But, I do have my positive days, thankfully. I manage to get a few chores done, talk politely to friends, organize and plan and give myself a pep talk- that’s time well spent but it’s fleeting and the- the anger kicks in.
I listen to my new favorite artist every morning. The lyrics to “Rescue” hang in the spare bedroom so they are seen every day. They are powerful. God’s promise to us, transformed into my own message to my child. I don’t know how I have the strength to be the person who provides the rescue, and the last time I gave myself that responsibility it didn’t end well…. but this time, I am determined, and just fired up enough to make sure this time it pans out.
This time we will have the victory in life. This time, we will have life.
Welcome to my 12 in 20 series, where once a month for a year I highlight a woman who has found and is following her passions! I hope that you enjoy each story, find yourself in them, they are wonderful women. I am blessed to highlight them and to share their story with you. Thank you for joining me for the sixth post in the series.
There is a beauty in never having to discover your passion. Some will look for their entire lives and not feel that they have stumbled upon what they were meant to do, what brings them the greatest joy…Clare has never had to “discover” her passion. She was born with it, was nurtured towards it, and has spent her entire life pushing to keep it present in her everyday.
When Clare was a teenager she asked her father for a new pair of jeans, her fathers reaction was that she would have to wait a couple weeks. Clare’s reaction was to tell him that if he didn’t give so much money to charity, they would have enough for her jeansthisweek… his response was to remind her that “her home was a lot bigger than she thought it was.” This became the mantra for her life- So this notion that family extended beyond the walls of her home sent her into this life of love and activism.
So when the whole world is part of your family, where do you start? Let’s start at the beginning…
Clare was born the youngest of six children, to an Italian Father and a Mother who was a mix of nationalities. She and her siblings always identified with the Italian side of the family, in fact the exuberant Italian gene took over the household, think large gatherings, great Italian food, wine and conversation, lot’s of loud conversation.
Clare was described as the chatty child, something she didn’t give much thought to, until it started getting her in trouble at school. Her report card would often show a check mark next to “Talks to much” or “Visits with friends.” Clare attended Catholic school where God and Family were celebrated. She would enjoy science, cheer-leading, singing and plays. She recalls a time when she was sent to the principle for her chattiness, and her father was called to the school to talk with the principle. The principle told her Father that “Clare must get a handle on her talking.” Her Fathers response was “I don’t worry about the kids that talk, I worry about the kids that don’t talk and you don’t know what they think.” Her Father was always good with putting life into perspective. She began to realize that communication would play a big part in what she would do with her life.
Her senior year she met her husband, Scott. Clare was a cheerleader, Scott was the captain of the baseball and basketball team. They were set up on a date by the class president who asked if she would be interested in going on a date with Scott. She remembers that Scott was wearing a fedora, a vest and bell bottoms. Of course she couldn’t resist, they began dating, and the April after Graduation they married. It would be eight months later they would both, on the same day devote their lives to Christ and together they would spread the gospel “the good news” that “Jesus came for all.”
They began serving, taking part in youth groups, bible college, and advocating for the undeserved. They have been partners on this journey of life and seeking God. Together they sought to help young girls who found themselves pregnant and were looking for options outside of ending their pregnancies. When one of their children became the victim of a violent sexual assault, Clare and Scott became advocates in the field for those who had suffered this type of trauma. They both have become active by volunteering, and serving on the boards for the Child Advocacy center in Calhoun Co. Together they share their passion for serving the poor and the marginalized.
Thirty years ago Clare and Scott had a calling to start their own church. They were given word from God that the church they would have would be a church “at the crossroads.” Although they built the church near where two major highways cross, they also took the crossroads name to mean that all were welcome, all genders, races, everyone from all walks of life would come together to worship and feel welcomed. Much like her father had explained, her family was indeed so much more than the people she shared a home with.
Crossroads church was born out of hard work, faith and love. When looking for a place to start the church, Marshall Michigan was where the lord lead them. They joined together with ten families and the dream of Crossroads came to life. Clare and Scott Co-pastor at the church and she continues her work as a social activist. She currently sits on the boards for Michigan Human Trafficking Task Force and Sexual Assault Services Calhoun County Advisory Board. Adding to her list of credits – she is a formally trained spiritual director and has authored three Enneagram books. She holds the title of President of the International Enneagram Association (Great lakes Chapter). She is the developer of a program that certifies Emmeagram instructors in the Harmony Triads, and is also cited as a recommended instructor with First Analysis Institute of integrative studies, Loyola University Chicago.
When talking with Clare you can see her heart, her intentions shine through her smile. She truly has taken the words of her father to heart, and also the words of her Grandfather who had two phrases he would often use, “Come to where the love is” and “Love together.” This is what she does at Crossroads. Clare welcomes you in to gather in love. To be where the love is, she knows no other way.
If you watch a service either in person or via live stream you’ll see her giving the message or hear her beautiful singing voice. She is a woman of very high energy, waking in the morning wondering what she needs to do to make sure no injustice is happening anywhere. She has to remind herself that she can’t make it through the day if she moves too fast. All that results from that is the unintentional consequence of leaving people in her wake.
She and Scott have a beautiful family, children and Grandchildren who are present in their lives and their church. Clare will tell you however, that she views her family just as her father had taught her, beyond the biology and DNA, her family is all inclusive.
One could never sum up her passion in one sentence. The fact that you can’t do that is the greatest compliment. I tried to pin it down while talking with Clare, to make it all fit in a pretty little box with a bow, but that isn’t how her passion is. Her passion is vast …and our world is a better world because of it.
Usually, my writings are about women. The whole blog was based upon the idea that women could relate to me chasing my passion, that more than likely they had passions of their own that they had shelved while raising a family. Today, let’s focus on the men.
My men, three generations who also have shelved their passions in the pursuit of the largest purpose ever given to a man- to be a positive roll model for their children. To be the hero of their families stories. It is with more love and gratitude than I can even muster that I give you My Men.
Chapter one: My Dad
For me of course, the story starts with my Dad. He was born the second of four children to a hard working Father and a Mother, who would be the caretaker of the family up until her death when my Father was still quite young. He grew up mainly in a train station where my Grandfather worked. I’ve been told that chickens ran freely throughout the station and that my Grandfather never missed a day of work. Hard work ethic was something that he learned early, although I suspect from the stories I’ve heard that he found time for a decent amount of mischief. He was not a good student, because most subjects didn’t interest him. He wanted to be a cowboy and a pilot, and live a life much different then his father did. His grades would improve when an inspirational teacher Mrs. Fryburg would allow him to read and study subjects of interest. Reading cowboy stories and stories of flight and fantasy. Not surprising to this day he say’s that if you meet five people in heaven like the popular book suggests, he hopes one of his five is Mrs. Fryburg.
My Dad went on to own a horse, Lady. He loved riding her with his friends. He also became a licensed pilot, would race cars, learn to play the guitar and joined the military, serving in Korea. Upon his return from Korea, he married my Mom and just shy of nine years later, they had me, the last of five children. When I was born with a congenital heart defect, it rocked his world. He talks about it often, even today, and in over fifty years of telling the stories about those days of fear and struggle it’s never been told without a tear.
My father never became a commercial airline pilot, having signed up to take his commercial test, and having it fall near my heart surgery date he would be too preoccupied to pass- a disappointment to him. Instead, for most of his life, he did construction. He provided for his family, and my mom and the five of us kids were blessed that he had such a strong work ethic. He worked hard and played hard, teaching us kids about baseball, country music, story telling and so much more. He was the dreamer in the family, making sure we knew “If we could imagine it we could do it.” Eventually, he became a business owner and put most of us kids on the payroll. He was a hard boss, and made sure we all knew the value of hard work and that has been a legacy he is proud of.
Never a dull moment, he was always quick tempered and more than once found himself on the inside of a squad car. Once throwing a heavy metal train through the window of a car that would speed pass our front yard while us kids played. He was filmed by a local cable show at our school charging the wrestling matt after a match gone wrong, and I watched as a child as three officers tried to catch him on foot while he roller skated around a roller-rink with precision. We had been there, just the two of us to skate, a passion we both shared. I was learning to waltz, foxtrot and alike. At some point during the “couples dance” I was told by the owner of the rink that I “wasn’t really good enough to be out on the floor with the others” who were all instructors- Trust me when I say that you don’t want to tell a child they’re not good enough in front of their parent- ever. So his refusal for us to leave the floor turned into a true life police escapade after the owner literally called the police on an ten year old and her Dad for continuing to skate. Later in his older years, the troubles would be more localized to home improvement stores, grand kids sporting events and Panera Bread…all stories for another post. It’s always been one story or another. Stories which make a full life. This was a man who always allowed me to play beauty shop on his thick white hair, complete with curlers. The mountain of a man who would sneak away from his table of co-workers in the morning so that he could use the pay phone to call home and pretend that he was my favorite storybook prince, creating lifelong memories.
I could go on for pages and pages of stories, but stories don’t always convey what you need to say. Sometimes the words although fun to read are not enough- I wish that people could feel how I feel. I wish that all little girls grew up knowing that their father had their backs. I wish that everyone had been brought up with a good work ethic and had seen their fathers work like I saw mine work.
My father is half way to his eighty seventh birthday now. We talk daily, usually multiple times. When he’s in Michigan we see each other several times a week. We enjoy Gin and Tonics together and I enjoy anytime I can have him for dinner, or share a hot tea and cookies. I do not take these visit’s for granted. During the quarantine we didn’t see each other for a month or maybe more- than I got the idea that I would call him and video chat so that I could see his face. It was going to be fun! Instead we both spent about three minutes sobbing before we had to hang up, regroup and trying again later in the day. It had been too long, it was too hard to not have him here- drinking tea or having coffee- or sharing that G and T I mentioned above. There is an entire long life of love, respect and gratitude that I have for him. My husband likes to joke and say that all I ever needed to do to make my Dad proud was survive my surgeries. I suppose there is a hint of truth to that, but really he wanted the “life” that came after the survival. He wanted me to “live, experience and enjoy” and I have, because for over fifty years I’ve had a security blanket of his support and love. He has been my biggest cheerleader. Because of him, I knew what to look for in a man, what to expect from hard work and how to never give up- even on days when it’s hard to see what you’re fighting for. I owe this to my Dad. Love ya Daddy-O.
Chapter two:My husband
I met my husband when I was seventeen, at a high school party our senior year. The original meeting was mainly lackluster – but the second time we met a few weeks later was the last time I ever looked at anyone else.
I was seventeen, he was eighteen and had just joined the Army National Guard. He was to leave for boot camp after we graduated high school. Graduation came in May and on July 29th we got engaged. A year later almost to the date we were married. Two crazy kids who against all odds will celebrate thirty four years next month.
Three and a half years later, we became parents. Much like my father, my husband is a hard working man with dreams of his own. We bought a restaurant three weeks after our son was born and it was like running into a hurricane every day. One step forward and someday’s, nine steps back. We were young, ambitious and hard working. We worked from sun up to sun down and our Son was with us all the while. Growing up in a baby seat on the counter of the kitchen or bar- Somedays being passed from customer to customer as we worked. This pace is not something anyone can put up with and God had other plans for how our life should look- soon we found ourselves living back at home with our folks, paying off restaurant debt and pregnant with our second child.
Now the father of two, and with most of the restaurant hurdles behind us my husband also found himself doing construction work to pay the bills. Fatherhood aside, our situation was about as far from a dream life as he could have imagined for himself, we were still living with my folks and had two kids in our room now. Our daughter in a crib on one side of the room, our Son on a fold out bed on the other. But here’s the thing about real men, they will always do the right thing. They will always do what’s needed for their family, and he did just that.
Eventually, life lifted up the pressure and we were living in our own home. In addition to his full time job my husband was taking classes, becomes a firefighter and an EMT. He became dive rescue certified and was coaching T-ball, baseball and eventually football for over a decade. (Remember, I have a history with hard working men)
Fast forward: Today our kid’s are thirty and twenty eight years old. They have grown with the same blessing I did, knowing that their Father is their biggest fan, close friend and that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for them. They have watched a man who has taken his responsibilities seriously and has treated their mother well. My husband ended up becoming a business owner as well, joining into the same field that my Father had followed. For twenty years he has worked this business to provide for his children and has been that example everyone should have. God has rewarded his life with Children who are his friends, and seven Grandchildren who light up his life. The love continues…
I can’t say enough about my husband. We have been through it- lot’s of it. For richer or poorer, better or worse, sickness and health. He has been the father that I prayed my children would have. He is our rock, our steady, our calm in a storm. There isn’t much more a family could ask for.
Chapter three:My Son & Son in law
This chapter of fatherhood is still fairly fresh, it’s book is just starting. It has all the makings to be a wonderful story. Men who are loving, accepting and hard working. Men who want their children to grow up to be productive, loving, members of society. Men who strive to bring stability, and laughter to their children.
I see the traits that have been passed on from generation after generation. They start with a foundation thats built on good strong ground. My Grandchildren will look back on life one day and know that they were raised by Men who loved them, and thatabove all else will be the building block for the generation of men who will be next- Wow, do I hope I’m still here to witness that.
It is with love and pride that I mention these men this Father’s day. I am a product of them all, I am who I am because of each one of them. So to MyMen, I say “Thank you, and I love you.”
Welcome to my 12 in 20 series, where once a month for a year I highlight a woman who has found and is following her passions! I hope that you enjoy each story, find yourself in them, they are wonderful women. I am blessed to highlight them and to share their story with you. Thank you for joining me in the fifth post in the series.
Sometimes the passions of a woman are born from the traumas of her childhood. This truth, however hard, is what molds a person to become who they are. Somehow, because they have endured trauma they do not become hardened to the world- they become one with it. This is the story of Wannetta.
If you want to find out the heart of a human you can look to see how they treat the most vulnerable among us. I do not refer to other humans, but rather every other creature God has created. There is no better friend to nature then Wannetta.
Her story starts on a sad note, and really doesn’t crack enough to let the sunshine in until much later in her life. Born the last child and only female to her parents, her mothers health was not good. She spent a great deal of time with her Uncle Hugh and her Aunt Flossie. Wannetta loved her Aunt dearly, and she came to believe in her heart and mind that Aunt Flossie was her mother, even calling her Mom. She stayed between “home” and her Aunt’s Chicago home, while her parents and three brothers all lived together. At age three her mother passed, and not knowing how he would raise this little girl alone with three sons at home, her Father allowed her to be raised in the city by her Aunt and Uncle- a life which she enjoyed. Then, at age five her Father remarried, and soon he came for his daughter. Wannetta can recall a literal tug of war between her father and his sister, she being the rope as they both fought for their “daughter.” Her life would be turned upside down for decades to come. Her father had won, and she left all she knew, for a home she didn’t know and didn’t care to be in.
Wannetta could not find solace at home. She would never have the type of relationship a girl would want with her father, and her traumas forced her to spend a great deal of time outside. She became a fierce tennis player who could beat semi-pro players, both female and male. Spending hours and hours on the court perfecting her game. She found refuge on the softball fields as well, playing center field and left field. The rules stated a girl was suppose to be thirteen to join the league- but at age ten with a nod and a willingness to turn a blind eye by the league, she was encouraged to sign up and lie about her age. So she did. Wannetta would go on to play well into adulthood and was proud to be named the All Star in 1970’s Midwest Semi-pro tournament series. She was twenty five and at the top of her athletic game. But this did not translate to everyday life. She lacked confidence when not on a field or court. She recalls being in a therapy session, the group had for the first time openly talked about their lives in a group setting, and it got very intense very quickly. Peoples stories were brutal and painful, she recalls that the two therapists ended the meeting in tears and visibly shook themselves by what they had heard. Upon meeting again, they asked how everyone had handled the intensity of that last meeting and most had not feared well. They had held up in bed in the fetal position for days, crying and struggling. Wannetta recalls that she had gone that day and played softball, she had always taken refuge outside- it was where she found peace.
Just because she had excelled on the field and would receive great accolades, times were still not kind to her. She wasn’t like the other girls who would wear dresses and act ladylike, times were different and she wasn’t held up as the achiever she was because she was ahead of her time. Women athletes were not revered as they are in today’s society. She is grateful that times have changed for women athletes. I’m sure players like herself paved the way.
Time as we know moves on, and Wannetta worked at the United States Post office from age twenty seven until age fifty seven, all the while her love for the outdoors, nature and animals grew. She would never marry or have children, but would share those years of her life with her boyfriend Joe and in their thirty years together they made the forest and the world a better place.
Having a loving heart and a wish to do no harm, Wannetta and Joe spent decades being observers of nature and caring for the animals. It is her belief that traumas can be healed by nature and that if you want to find spiritual connection, you need not look any further than the backdrop of nature that God has provided.
Wannetta has a paticular fondness for owls, and they seem to know what a friend they have in her. She has educated many people over the years, appearing on news casts and in the news articles of the Chicago Sun Times and alike. She is known as the “Owl Whisperer” and has a reputation for sitting perched for hours and hours while she looks into the tree baskets she has provided with nesting material throughout the preseves around her home so that the Great Horned Owls have a safe place to nest near Mattson Illinois.
Her love of animals has sent her on many a wonderful adventure. An avid traveler, she has been on dozens of beautiful trips to view wildlife up close. Africa, Gala’pagos Islands , Alaska and Mexico to name just a few. While in Mexico Wannetta was particularly taken by a mature gray whale who neared the boat she was in. This large animal could have easily caused damage to the boat her travel group was in, but instead trusted that they wouldn’t harm him- so he swam right up to the boat, allowing Wannetta to pet him. It was a very spiritual moment for her. One of Gods largest creatures could have acted violently toward her but instead he chose to trust her and she in turn trusted him.
The wonder of what might have been is always present for Wannetta. Certainly had she remained in Chicago life would have been different. Perhaps the absence of forest preserves in her neighborhood would have changed the love she feels for nature and animals, it’s hard to say. It is evident to all who know her that she has a loving heart, a love for life and all it offers, and a true passion for the most vulnerable among us- perhaps because she can relate so well to them. She can truly see their beauty and I think whenever we hear an owl hoot, we should know that he is probably retelling the stories that were passed down from his ancestors about the woman with the kind heart who cares for all the animals she sees. I’ll bet they praise her name…as they should.
Thank You Wannetta, for sharing your story with me, and allowing me to share it with others.
Welcome to my 12 in 20 series, where once a month for a year I highlight a women who has found and is following her passions! I hope that you enjoy each story, they are all unique, although I am finding there is a golden thread woven through each story… these women knew early on in life what their passions were. For some the road was long and bumpy- sometimes fast and covered with Georgia clay. The “fast with clay” is this kind of story. Thank you for joining me in the fourth post of this series.
Carlie always knew she had a passion for helping people, (I call it the helpers heart). Her passion was especially strong for helping kids and to be a difference maker in their lives.
Her path to fulfilled passion started in the seventh grade, realizing that she was one of the lucky ones who not only understood math, but enjoyed it! (Who does that??) Always one of the “good kids, she found herself beyond bored in her math class. While her favorite teacher, Mr. Wiley explained the same concept for the fourth time to other students, she had already finished her work. Mr. Wiley recognized this early on (thankfully), and began handing her the lesson and the nights homework at the start of class, she found that she was able to get all this work done before the warm-up for the other students was over. After finishing her work, she would than help with small groups of students in class, it was early on that she realized that she was able to explain the concept to her peers with ease and most of the time was able to increase their level of understanding.
Love of math than took her to earning some spending money tutoring, and she quickly realized that she had a knack for being patient with those who needed extra help. Fast forwarding to high school where her love of math did not falter. Carlie enrolled in Teacher Cadet class in her senior year of high school. Teacher Cadet class allowed her to leave campus at lunch to learn about teaching two days a week, and observe in the classroom the remaining three. On the first day of observation she was “thrown to the wolves” by the teacher, Ms. Bonner who was teaching at the same middle school Carlie had attended. Ms. Bonner had her go over the homework with the class, no warning, no cheat sheets, no practice. At first she was horrified but almost instantly realized that it felt like home to be in front of a class giving instruction. Carlie still holds a great deal of gratitude for Ms. Bonner at her willingness to let a high school student take over her classroom giving her a wonderful life experience that propelled her into her career.
Life moves fast, high school ended and Carlie attended Hope College along the lake Michigan coast line, pursuing a degree in Secondary Education for Mathematics and Psychology. Each year of her four years at Hope had her doing teaching observations and practicums. Unlike some of the other students who had never been on the other side of the desk, she was ready, she had experience…thanks to Ms. Bonner. During Carlies senior year of college, which was the coldest winter she had ever been through, Carlie found herself stuck inside a one bedroom apartment with her roommate for two weeks straight. Within the boredom and confinement she received an email from the education department at Hope. It was advertising this company, Southern Teachers Agency, where teachers (or soon to be teachers) could send an application for free to twelve states full of private and independent schools. Figuring “What the heck” and knowing that once she graduated she really didn’t want to go through another Michigan winter like the one she was suffering through, she sat down and applied and that was that. Not giving it much thought after hitting submit, until March when she received an E-mail from the Headmaster of a private Christian school in Georgia, they wanted to speak to her over the phone! This would be her first teaching interview. She jumped at the opportunity, and was surprised how easy it was to talk about her passion of teaching math, and coaching volleyball. The phone interview went well and the school took the next step of flying her down to Georgia for a face to face interview. Struggling with pneumonia, she aced the interview, and found herself looking at an offer before boarding her flight home. She had been impressed with the school and they with her.
Carlie and Mr.Wiley at her college graduation
Having just a few short day’s to decide the trajectory of her life Carlie found herself driving from her parents home back to her college apartment in complete silence. This is a “never happens” scenario as she is a lover of music… it was then, in the silence that she decided to pray about this job offer. Thinking that God would offer her a sign about which path she should take. After praying and feeling sure that the answer would somehow come to her, she turned on her radio to hear the Eli Young band sing the song “Dust“… “There’s a future that’s bright in the dead of this night, all she’s gotta do is go and turn the radio up. Roll the windows down she got an open road, Ain’t no stopping her now. She’s got the pedal to the floor in a hand-me-down ford, yeah, the only thing that’s left to do is catch a couple green lights and those baby blue eyes are leaving nothing in that rear view mirrorbut dust.” She felt like every word of this song spoke to her and fed her soul with peace- this was the answer to her prayers. She would be moving to Georgia.
Arriving in Georgia to an apartment that was secured sight unseen and finding it to be in a bad of town was almost too much. Not only had she planned this new career and left behind her loving and supportive family, but now she was over eight hundred miles from anyone she had ever know. She was scared, and missing home immediately. She was ready to turn the U-Haul around and head home with her family. But she didn’t, she stayed to see what else God had planned for her in Georgia… turns out… a lot!
Life changed so much during this time. Only one month after moving to Georgia before classes even started, she met her husband. He swooped in to save her from an “old man creeper” at the local bar. Her husband, being the southern gentleman he is, stepped in and helped her out. (She notes that his Granny who raised him would have been proud!) Just six months after meeting they were engaged, a proposal coming at the same bar where they had met. Another five months passed quickly and they were wed.
Shortly after getting married they pursued the passion of Foster Parenting together. This was an incredible, exhausting and difficult time for the newly married couple. Three years later they were able to legally adopt their Daughter and Son and during this time they also had a biological child as well. Being a parent was so rewarding that it quickly was her top passion, but knowing that she still had the love of teaching and the desire to help others she continued with her career. Five years had moved fast, they had been filled with about as many life changes as a person can have, graduation, moves, marriage, children, courtrooms, and the fulfillment of teaching at a beautiful school. She had been able to merge her creativity with her lessons, and helped her students fall in love with math. But, her time in Georgia was coming to an end. With three young children and a longing for something new, the decision was made to move from Georgia to Michigan to be closer to family… her career took one more turn.
There’s a saying that says “If you think my hands are full, you should see my heart” so true in the case of Carlie. ❤️❤️❤️
Carlie had grown up in a family where she felt loved and secure. She didn’t go to bed wondering about her safety or if she would have food to eat. In middle school and high school her “group” of kids were considered “misfits” or “outcasts.” The middle school and high school years were difficult for her. She knows first hand the amount of damage that can be done to a persons self worth and self esteem from being bullied. She was determined to make her classroom a safe haven, as free from the nastiness of bullying as possible A safe haven for those who maybe didn’t have the safe haven at home that she did. She brought that attitude along with her desire to make math interesting to her new classroom. In Georgia, Carlie had taught at a private school where the kids were expected to make good grades, to not only finish but to excel! Parents were paying a good tuition fee to see that their children were taught what they needed for a successful future, and the student parking lot always had nicer cars then the staff parking lot. With her move came a new challenge that filled her heart, she began teaching at risk youth, this came with great worry and the feeling of obligation. She is always reminded of the basic needs that go unmet for her students, food, clothing, deodorants, baby diapers etc… she finds herself spending portions of her paycheck to go toward these items. Along with providing rides, a safe person to talk to, and reminding them that she is always there for them. There are nights (too many to count) that she spends awake with worry for her students. The one who has not shown up to class in the last few days, whose brother was shot and killed, the student whose Grandma calls to let her know her Grandchild is suicidal or the student who steals extra snacks from the cabinet while she pretends not to notice because it’s Friday afternoon and she knows that they will not eat until she see’s them Monday morning. Her wish would be to make the pain go away, to make everything better. She’ll always do her best for her students, sometimes she is all they have. She considers herself blessed.
We all know that wonderful teachers can be the make or break for some students. I feel like the young adults in Carlie’s class have found their angel on earth.
My husband has asked me on more than one occasion why I sleep with my phone ringer on. It’s true that if you ever need me for anything, I can be reached at all hours of the night. This started when my kids were old enough to be out on their own, and was heightened when my Mom was sick. This became a cemented habit by the time my phone rang the night before she passed. Just before two in the morning my phone rang, it was my Dad telling me that they were heading to the hospital. I told him to be safe driving as it was December in the mitten, which meant snow and ice, it was dark and I knew his nerves were already shot. His response was that he wasn’t driving, they were in an ambulance. I quickly hop out of bed, calling my sister and throwing on a sweatshirt- I then waited outside for my sisters car to round the corner, and I honestly don’t think the car came to a complete stop, we were off. The drive there was quick and quiet we arrived about two a.m. and I caught my breath just long enough to say a prayer on the way through the doors. Sometimes, the prayers you ask for are not what manifest~ such was the case on December 21, 2011. I still have faith that what was suppose to happened did happen, regardless of my hearts wishes. It’s this faith I have at two a.m. that keeps me going. My “all day faith” handles the easy stuff, when you’re up and praying at two a.m. that takes a special kind of faith…
It’s two a.m., coffee in hand, gas in the tank and half a days travel awaits. I always plan my trips to start at two a.m., it gets a lot of road behind me before the rest of the world is even awake. By the time anyone from home checks in I’ll be just outside of Nashville. Traveling by myself for thirteen hours and I have never felt nervous. I’ve felt excited as I head toward my loved ones, I’ve felt energized that I am in charge of these trips, where to stop (only twice each way) what plays on the radio (Pandora 1970s, books on tape, and country from each decade since 1950.) I have had many people tell me I’m crazy for making these solo trips at that hour but I know better~ I have faith in two a.m. and never once do I get a flat tire, run low on gas, encounter road rage or anything troublesome ~ my two a.m. faith has taken me far. My two a.m. road trips have come to an end as my loved ones now live here, just in time… months later and this pandemic has hit and travel even with my two a.m. faith wouldn’t have been possible.
It’s two a.m. and I’m nowhere near the required sleep I’m gonna need to wake up to another day of pandemic confinement. It leaves me anxious and I can can feel the panic rise up from my toes and travel through my body. I haven’t left my house in weeks except for a trip to the bank, that being said it isn’t the virus that is making me anxious, it’s what will be left once it has passed. My mind will not shut off with every scenario playing out in my head. It’s only when I close my eyes and say a prayer that I feel the tension start to ease. I can exhale. I can fall asleep, and I wake hours later with my hands still folded in prayer.
It’s two a.m., I’ve had three hours of sleep, this will be the eyes wide open portion of my slumber. I went to sleep crying, thinking of tacos, margaritas and family. You see, before it all changed the day before Easter meant the whole family would meet for Mexican food, everyone arriving as close to the agreed on time as possible as we were gathering from three different state. Three generations, loads of fun, matched only by loads of tequila and tortilla chips. We would eat out that night, and Easter would bring a home cooked meal from Mom. I think of this at two a.m. That was years ago, before it all changed. Now the day before Easter finds us all in separate states, all with our own schedules~ no laughter over frozen drinks.
It’s two a.m… I can guess the time almost to the minute when my eyes open. My Fitbit says 2:02, it’s Easter morning. We have prepared the kitchen, family room and dining room with construction paper eggs that have been taped up. The grandkids who are living here will wake to search for them. The grandkids who aren’t with us will call to video chat today, it will barely be enough for me. I’m reminded of the Easter celebration we had when I was a kid. My brother and his girlfiend ( now wife of almost forty years) had not made it home for Christmas, so when they arrived for Easter time it was game on. My Mom put up a Christmas tree and put the baskets under it. She cooked breakfast and called us off of school. We all laughed as she explained to the office staff that her kids were home and we were celebrating Christmas and Easter. I can totally understand where my mom was coming from, wanting a re-do on her holidays because her kids were not all home with her. Perhaps I will have a redo…I go over that in my mind at two a.m., I check my Fitbit again…it’s 2:50 ~ I’m exhausted. Things will be fine. I have faith in the two o’clock hour, I’m awake until the day ends, Easter is in the books. Again, tears as I fall asleep.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this, just know that if I don’t get back to what I love I will become less of who I am. So here goes-
Before all the madness hit, my husband and I had taken a few hour ride to check out a piece of property that was for sale. It had an existing business on it and it seemed like it was worth the drive to consider taking it on. The day was nice, stopping for lunch along the way and having conversation about the future. We have always been planners, we are not the “live for today” type, so we usually hash a lot of things out on these rides where it’s just us and the blacktop.
Half way to our destination, the idea of my ice cream shop was discussed. This is the same ice cream shop I’ve mentioned in a few of my other posts. It’s the one that I have the grand kids convinced we will have one day. We have our Pintrest boards filled with ideas and it’s name is picked out. But, during this particular drive it was determined that if we made it to this property and it wasn’t a good fit, we would make the Ice cream dream happen. The property and it’s existing business wasn’t what we wanted so on our ride home the ice cream/sweet shop idea was a hot topic. We figured out about a two year time line and by the time we were home I was feeling high on sugar dreams.
Not too much was said about this, I discussed it with the grand kids while we designed and colored pictures of what our ice cream cones would look like. A coloring project that is easy to get behind when you are between five and eight years old and your Grandma tells you she is going to open an ice cream shop. I told one friend about it and took photos of a building I would want it to be in, this building isn’t for sale but who knows what might change I thought. The building sit’s without an address, without any idea of who owns it so I started asking around while at night I tried to photo shop the pictures I took to see what it would look like once I was done with it. (Fantastic by the way) My husband contacted a man he knows whose wife owns a small ice cream shop, and I contacted her about picking her brain and maybe coming down to Ohio during Spring break when I wouldn’t be watching the little ones, doing a job shadow and being productive toward my goal… that has all fallen to the wayside.
Crazy. There’s no other word really. Instead of having fun thoughts about the future I’ve gone a bit crazy worrying about today. Fun idea’s about the future are so far off my radar that I can’t even remember what they look like. Wondering if there will even be any fun times ahead? I’m not sure of the answer. Wondering if the planning for the future attitude was all a waste? I don’t do good with the “out of my control” discussion that I have with myself no less than forty times a day. I want to remain a dreamer in action. I just don’t have it in me, I’ve been trying.
I really haven’t been able to write since the madness hit, my brain can not function on chaos and still be creative. Much like the fact that I haven’t been able to read a book since my Mom died, and that’s been eight years. I just can’t concentrate. I would hate to think that I would be stuck without being able to write, so I am forcing myself to get the dialog going again. Because eight years from now I don’t want to realize I haven’t written anything since the madness. That would be too big of a sacrifice.
So here it is…words on a screen. I’m writing because I just have to write. This is something I still have control over while the rest of the world is on fire around me.
I’ll sign off now because I really don’t have anything else to cover. Thank you for letting me just write, thank you for just reading.
Welcome to 12 in 20! Once a month this year I will highlight a woman who has found and followed her passion. Enjoy their stories, find yourself in them, they are wonderful women. It’s a blessing to highlight them. Thank you for joining me for the third post in this series.
I’m so excited to introduce you to Lauren, who at first glance might remind you of a Disney princess, and at second glance…well, you’re still not convinced she’s not. Let me settle your mind about this, she looks likes a princess, and works like a gladiator from the movie Three Hundred. This is Lauren’s story.
Lauren has know what her passion was since she was a sixteen year old girl working at a local pizza joint. While working there firefighters from a nearby station would frequently come in to eat, she began talking with them about their jobs and the roll that women played in their department. These conversations started Lauren on her quest. Having gone through life being told she was “tiny” or “cute and petite” had become frustrating, while these are all flattering statements, what she wanted to hear was that she was brave and smart. She wanted people to realize she had the qualities she would need to pursuit her passion. At the age of twenty eight she found herself feeling unfulfilled by her current nine to five. She had known since age sixteen what it was she should be doing. It was time to put this long awaited desire into action. At just five foot three and one hundred and eighteen pounds this princess knew she would be “kicking against the pricks, swimming upstream and taking stabs at wild and crazy dreams.” Lauren was going to be a firefighter.
But fairy tales and the pursuit of passion do not come easy, and what began as an adventure with her head held high and her spirit strong turned into darkness as she realized that she had a very, very rough road ahead. The journey would take her almost four years, and the obstacles seemed endless. Imagine feeling a high level of disappointment every day for years but continuing the fight.
Lauren’s fight began with a twelve week EMT course that ends in a state and national test. Once completed, she had to wait for a city to put out applications-she would then have to create a profile and sign in to be one of the fifteen hundred or so applicants. After that process she had to look forward to a written test of around one hundred and fifty questions that will usually take about three hours to complete. Finishing in the top five percent will likely get you a first round interview in front of a random panel of firefighters from the hiring city. She managed all those steps and next it was on to CPAT (candidate physical ability test) which consists of eleven events that must be completed in ten minutes and nineteen seconds, or she would fail out. But failing wasn’t an option, so she moved on after that to a second round of interviews and a five week unpaid internship academy which she did after work for four hours and on Saturdays for eight hours. Making it through all that brought her to a twelve week official academy where you are tested often on your physical ability, teamwork, reading and fire skills specific to the city which she would be working for. She never allowed herself to have a back up plan, this was it- and she attributes her success to this attitude. Much like Joan of Arc she would think, “I’m not afraid, I was born to do this.”
Being a firefighter has many benefits, a great home life ranks right near the top. Lauren is a wife and mother to two small kids. She loves being their role model and knowing that her schedule will allow her twenty days a month at home to take care of her family and still have time for being social with her friends. Lauren is blessed with a supportive family who attended her graduation where she was chosen by her peers to give the commencement address. Isn’t that just like the fairy tale ending the Princess always seems to have? She can now show young boys and girls that they can break molds and do anything they set out to do without permission from society.
There is something to be said for grit, for sheer determination and the will to fulfill our passions. Lauren is an example to not only young boys and girls, but to all of us who think that the cards are stacked against us. She really is the heroine in her own life story.
Thank you Lauren for sharing your journey to fulfilled passion with us. It was my pleasure to learn abut your life and journey.
Why did this notion never hit me before? If given the chance to apologize to myself, what would I say?
First, a bit of back story… I used to hold grudges, I was proud of the grudges I held because I felt like it made me blatantly aware of who was on my side, and who wasn’t. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt me without pushing that window closed a bit. Imagine someone hurting you, you are on one side of an old farmhouse window. (You know the one that’s been painted two dozen times and gets stuck if there’s a drop of moisture in the air.) They are standing firmly on the other side…(in my imagination they are standing with their back to me, they have after all betrayed me somehow) You put both hands on top of the old window, pushing to fully close it- but it sticks a quarter of the way down, then the next time you’re hurt it inches down some more, until soon, it’s closed and shut…for good this time.
Today I realized I have accepted apologies from people who never apologized. As the saying goes “not because that person deserves it, but because my soul deserves peace.” I have evolved from holding grudges. I have reached out twice recently to folks I had given up on. Not for their sake, but for mine, and I’m learning just how well that works. In my pursuit of a passion filled life I can’t harbor old resentments. The two do not go hand in hand. But what I’ve never done is accepted and apology from myself. So it made me think, how would that apology go?
Dear Erin, It’s literally been a lifetime, and I’ve never gone out of my way to apologize to you for some things that weigh heavy on my heart. Please allow today to be the day I change that. I’m sorry that I let you question your worth as much as you have. For all the days you worked toward goals that never came to be, and you felt less about yourself because of it. I’m sorry for the Everclear back in ’86, sorry for not steering you away from leg warmers and spin class. Accept my apology for allowing you to talk to yourself in ways you would never talk to a friend, and worse yet, that you went on to believe those words. Oh, and sorry for not noticing that it is salt and not sugar that cousin Kate keeps in a bowl next to her coffee maker. Knowing that apologies are only as good as the spirit in which they are given allow me to say that I love you and I’m deeply sorry that I don’t always treat you the way you should treat someone you love. Erin
It would in fact go something like that. If I wanted to get more specific it would be that I haven’t always taken care of myself, not only physically (that’s the least of it) but mentally. I know we all get stuck. We wander away from our path of true center where our peace and calm live. Sometimes, if others that have led us down the wrong path we forgive them but seldom do we think of forgiving ourselves. Even when we know we are better than the words we’ve said to ourselves. We’ve let ourselves get depressed about things others have done, then we can’t forgive ourselves for not seeing it coming. Wishing that we had been smart enough to guard our hearts and prevent the heartache from the beginning.
So do yourself a favor in this pursuit of a passion filled life, write yourself an apology letter. It took me two days and about seven drafts to get mine where I wanted it. You might be surprised at what ends up on paper.
One final note to myself… “Erin, apology accepted.”
Welcome to 12 in 20! Once a month this year I will highlight a woman who has found and followed her passion. Enjoy their stories, find yourself in them, they are wonderful women. It’s a blessing to highlight them. Thank you for joining me for the second post in this series.
The first time I met Kristen was a few years ago in a business networking group we were both members of. She was the fun, bubbly, smile in the room. I recall that back then she told her story with a bit of nerves showing in her voice. Fast forward to 2020, here she is this amazingly strong, confident, game changer of a gal with no sign of those nerves! Her story will leave you inspired!
So, what do you do when you find yourself a bit behind on bills? Well, Krisiten was geared up and ready to take on a second job at Payless Shoes. Already working for a Durable Medical Equipment company in Florida full time she mentioned this part time gig at Payless to her boss who than asked “How would you like to make more money in less time?” Wondering what kind of trouble she might be getting caught up in Kristen asked what she had in mind. Turns out this employer had a husband who ran a clown company. Next thing ya know she was dressed as a clown, making balloon animals and painting the cheeks of small children. She never did take that job at Payless.
Soon Kristen and her then husband found themselves expecting a baby and living far from home. A move back to Michigan to be near family was one move closer to fate. Still needing that extra income for her growing family Kristen went to a church service geared toward entrepreneurs. There the question “What do you have?” was asked. This question is what sparked her business nine years ago. She knew one thing that she had, a barely touched face painting kit in her closet. She got that kit down and began watching YouTube videos realizing she was capable of doing some pretty impressive designs.
Healingthroughart... Fast forward five years and see where talent and determination has led her. Although her body art had been featured in Several publications, and she had ongoing contracts with amazing companies, she knew that she wanted her art to have a purpose. She attended another life changing meeting in Grand Rapids, Michigan about their annual event “Art prize.” Knowing that she wanted to make a difference and would literally be in front of thousands, she decided to paint nude bodies in public. These bodies would be painted with messages of personal trauma that each model had encountered. A risky move that had her getting rejection after rejection from each venue she asked to be affiliated with. Kristen approached TheB.O.B. Venue and finally got her yes! Now, to make an impact!
Kristen with a model and her photographer.
That’s when healing through body art was born. Kristen will tell you she had no idea what she had gotten herself into. Seeking the help of a therapist friend, she was sure not to cause more trauma to her would be models. Feeling like she had set herself up for the impossible she went searching for her “unicorns.” Her unicorns were people brave enough to be nearly naked in public, brave people who were wanting to share their most intimate horror stories. Surprisingly enough, her unicorns showed up. They came with bravery and beauty to share their stories with the public. For Kristen this meant getting hit with the reality of others. Friends were telling her stories they had never shared, others came to her to tell their stories too. PTSD, depression, child sexual abuse, addiction to alcohol and drugs, bi-polar, suicide of a loved one, medical conditions and more. As hard as it was to hear the stories, Kristen knew they needed to be heard. Art prize kicked off and for eighteen days these models showed up literally and physically exposed to tell their stories and share their trauma. Most beautiful, was that they could embody their stories through paint… then wash them away.
Eighteen days of eight to ten hour days brave models shared their stories, and the public responded by telling their stories as well. Kristen found herself hugging and crying with total strangers as many in the crowd broke down telling their own stories, the exchange of vulnerability between strangers was the most beautiful thing she had ever witnessed.
Something unexpected was that Kristen found her own wounds were healing. She began to express her own suppressed trauma that she had been wearing as shame. It is true that when you heal others, you heal yourself. As you can imagine, Art prize was a huge success! Coming off of the high of Art Prize, and knowing the healing had to continue, Kristen took her next step. She went to the UK and brought healing through body art to women who were on a spiritual pilgrimage. This lead her to believe in a world where women connect with their inner voice, their higher self and their body to remove blocks, to heal from their past. She also adopted the belief that we can go from “fight or flight” to “stay and play.” Believing it’s possible to overcome being stuck in self sabotage and self doubt and become empowered to take the next steps in life. Kristen now holds a safe space for women to remove the blocks and heal. She provides all the tools she has learned from her body art project, and from her own healing from trauma journey. She provides guidance and coaching, and holds amazing retreats where women can come and experience the healing process- they can even have their body painted if they choose. Of course she still paints the faces of smiling children, but healing through art is her passion! Healing is a journey.
Thanks to Kristen for sharing her journey to fulfilled passion. Please check out her business Facebook page. http://kfxbodyart.com/
