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There is always a carrot dangling just out of my reach. Yeah, I'm that sort of girl. No matter what goal I set, when I'm close, or when I reach the goal, I always set another one just out of my reach...for now.
Now, some of you may think that is a good thing, to always strive to do better, or do more, but it is not. It's not because I never stop to really enjoy where I AM. I'm always looking at WHAT'S NEXT...
That's a dangerous thing, in my work, in my ministry, in life, in relationships, in general.
Setting goals is great. I'm big on goal setting. But I'm discovering it's healthy, and even critical, to take time and space to enjoy the moments, the small victories, or even the big ones.
Yes, there is STILL a lot to do and a long way to go, and I acknowledge that. But I want to take a little time just to look around and celebrate where I am now. I want to do that in my personal life and I want to do that in my work. I've worked my rear end off (and yet it's still there...how does that happen?), and I have some big goals for the future, but for now, for a little while, I'm going to do a little happy dance for the work I've already done.
Then I'll have some fuel for the next step. And believe me, there will be a next step! I'm just like that.
Do you stop and celebrate, or is that carrot always out there, dangling, egging you on? Is that a good thing, or has it caused you to lose sight of the awesomeness of now?
Think about it.
Teresa
Monday, September 10, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Moving On
Tomorrow we move. I'm excited about the move, but I'm going to miss our little piece of heaven.
We've been here for 10 years...longer than I've lived anywhere in my adult life, longer than my children have lived anywhere in their lives. I came here as a single mother, newly divorced, alone, lonely, leaving behind everything and everyone I knew in order to keep my children in the same town as their father.
We've lived in a paradise, on a lake, with hawks and geese and ducks and bluebirds, and butterflies, and nature all around. I re-married on the banks of our lake, and my son picked a flower from our garden for me to add to my bouquet. We stopped the ceremony for it.
I've nursed sick children, entertained friends, worked into the night on a new church, packed my beauty/baby/now grown daughter for camp and later college, sat alone on the deck staring into the night stars when I couldn't sleep, held my "life dog" in my arms as he lay dying, chased chickens, laughed until I thought I would lose my breath, and cried a river of tears in this place.
Tomorrow, we start, as my son puts it, a new season.
Thank you Woodlake Court, for protecting us from storms, keeping us warm in winter and cool in summer, sheltering us from the rain, and giving me a safe, happy place to raise a family.
I pray my blessings on the young couple that will also begin a new season tomorrow, and on their children. I hope the memories and good energy of this place will help them build what Phil, Rebecca, Andrew, Marissa, Porkchop, Duke, Buck, Ginger, Nutmeg, Jasmine, Kirby, Sassafras, Shelley, Dinah, and I have had here....a home. Not just a house, but a home.
And may the love, security, and commitment of our beautiful family go with us to our new home.
With hope in my heart,
Teresa
We've been here for 10 years...longer than I've lived anywhere in my adult life, longer than my children have lived anywhere in their lives. I came here as a single mother, newly divorced, alone, lonely, leaving behind everything and everyone I knew in order to keep my children in the same town as their father.
We've lived in a paradise, on a lake, with hawks and geese and ducks and bluebirds, and butterflies, and nature all around. I re-married on the banks of our lake, and my son picked a flower from our garden for me to add to my bouquet. We stopped the ceremony for it.
I've nursed sick children, entertained friends, worked into the night on a new church, packed my beauty/baby/now grown daughter for camp and later college, sat alone on the deck staring into the night stars when I couldn't sleep, held my "life dog" in my arms as he lay dying, chased chickens, laughed until I thought I would lose my breath, and cried a river of tears in this place.
Tomorrow, we start, as my son puts it, a new season.
Thank you Woodlake Court, for protecting us from storms, keeping us warm in winter and cool in summer, sheltering us from the rain, and giving me a safe, happy place to raise a family.
I pray my blessings on the young couple that will also begin a new season tomorrow, and on their children. I hope the memories and good energy of this place will help them build what Phil, Rebecca, Andrew, Marissa, Porkchop, Duke, Buck, Ginger, Nutmeg, Jasmine, Kirby, Sassafras, Shelley, Dinah, and I have had here....a home. Not just a house, but a home.
And may the love, security, and commitment of our beautiful family go with us to our new home.
With hope in my heart,
Teresa
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Transitions
We move in a week. Just saying it out loud makes my stomach lurch. We've lived in this house for 10 years...longer than I've lived anywhere as an adult. Honestly, I like to move, and I like culling and cleaning out and decluttering. So why the stomach somersaults? Transitions are hard, even when they are desirable.
I have friends who are changing jobs, ending marriages, starting relationships, questioning faith, struggling with illness, teetering on addiction, and more, and all those are transitions of one kind or another - from married to single or vice versa, from faith to doubt, from health to disease, from companionship to loss, from sobriety to addiction.
How do you handle transition and the expected stress that naturally comes with it? I tend to do two things: have a good cry at least once a day, then turn my attention to the next thing that has to be done. In that way, I honor the stress, the uncertainty, and the risk, but I don't allow myself to wallow in it. Life is too short to wallow. Each moment spent dwelling over the abyss that is fear and regret only increases the risk of falling into the abyss. I prefer to wipe my eyes, say a prayer of thanks for the lessons/gifts/challenges/growth I've experienced in whatever I'm leaving, then get a big ol' running start and jump headlong into the present.
So cry, laugh, shake your fist, or do whatever you need to do to bring closure, then keep moving ahead.
Blessings,
Teresa
I have friends who are changing jobs, ending marriages, starting relationships, questioning faith, struggling with illness, teetering on addiction, and more, and all those are transitions of one kind or another - from married to single or vice versa, from faith to doubt, from health to disease, from companionship to loss, from sobriety to addiction.
How do you handle transition and the expected stress that naturally comes with it? I tend to do two things: have a good cry at least once a day, then turn my attention to the next thing that has to be done. In that way, I honor the stress, the uncertainty, and the risk, but I don't allow myself to wallow in it. Life is too short to wallow. Each moment spent dwelling over the abyss that is fear and regret only increases the risk of falling into the abyss. I prefer to wipe my eyes, say a prayer of thanks for the lessons/gifts/challenges/growth I've experienced in whatever I'm leaving, then get a big ol' running start and jump headlong into the present.
So cry, laugh, shake your fist, or do whatever you need to do to bring closure, then keep moving ahead.
Blessings,
Teresa
Monday, June 18, 2012
Never Bought a Father's Day Card
It occurred to me yesterday, as a celebrated Father's Day with my husband that I had never in my life purchased a Father's Day card.
You may think I'm going to say that I always made a sweet, handmade card. But no. I wish that were the case.
My parents were divorced when I was 18 months old and my father lived very far away from us. He visited a couple of times a year, at first, then rarely as I got older, and then years would go by and I wouldn't hear from him.
My father suffered from alcoholism. That's a very polite way of saying that he was a drunk. He wasn't an elegant but sometimes frustrating man with a drinking problem. He never held a job for longer than a month. He called my elementary school drunk insisting they make me come to the phone. He threatened to kill himself if I didn't persuade my mother to return to him (and I was only six at the time). He was a mess. An incredibly handsome, brilliant, talented, tortured mess.
It just wasn't a greeting card sort of relationship.
When I was in college, my father's girlfriends, who were numerous, were younger than I was. He would later father a child, now 30, with a woman who was a drug addict and skipped town leaving him with a baby, raised by his family. She is now an addicted mess too.
But before you think I hated my father, let me set the record straight. I adored him. I loved him beyond reason. I tried everything I knew to get him in recovery. And when he died, in his early 50s, I attended his funeral and grieved the father I never had, but who taught me everything I needed to know about the dangers of addiction, about loneliness, about the courage needed to fight demons, and most of all, about forgiveness. I learned how to work hard and stay away from drugs and alcohol. I learned to build and sustain healthy relationships. I learned about boundaries. And I learned a lot about grace.
His family loved and cared for him for the duration. Enabling? Probably. I don't recommend it by the way. But they tried, the best they could, and he likely lived a lot longer because of them.
A few weeks ago, my aunt called to say that she wanted to send me my parent's wedding pictures and a few heirlooms from Ireland that my great-great-grandfather brought over when he married my native american great-great-grandmother. I was delighted, not just about the pictures and the things, but delighted that for the first time in my life, I was able to thank her for taking care of my dad, for the grace she had shown in dealing with his disease. She cried. I smiled.
So even though we didn't have a Hallmark relationship, my father taught me much. He was well loved, by me and by many. Now, I see those who struggle and suffer in a different way.
Was my father's illness God's plan? Of course not! Did God help me see through a different, more compassionate lens because of my experience with his illness? Absolutely.
So for those of you who may have had difficult relationships with your father, I encourage you to allow God to heal that by seeing the grace in it. I didn't get what I wanted, but I got something very valuable.
Happy Father's Day Daddy.
Teresa
You may think I'm going to say that I always made a sweet, handmade card. But no. I wish that were the case.
My parents were divorced when I was 18 months old and my father lived very far away from us. He visited a couple of times a year, at first, then rarely as I got older, and then years would go by and I wouldn't hear from him.
My father suffered from alcoholism. That's a very polite way of saying that he was a drunk. He wasn't an elegant but sometimes frustrating man with a drinking problem. He never held a job for longer than a month. He called my elementary school drunk insisting they make me come to the phone. He threatened to kill himself if I didn't persuade my mother to return to him (and I was only six at the time). He was a mess. An incredibly handsome, brilliant, talented, tortured mess.
It just wasn't a greeting card sort of relationship.
When I was in college, my father's girlfriends, who were numerous, were younger than I was. He would later father a child, now 30, with a woman who was a drug addict and skipped town leaving him with a baby, raised by his family. She is now an addicted mess too.
But before you think I hated my father, let me set the record straight. I adored him. I loved him beyond reason. I tried everything I knew to get him in recovery. And when he died, in his early 50s, I attended his funeral and grieved the father I never had, but who taught me everything I needed to know about the dangers of addiction, about loneliness, about the courage needed to fight demons, and most of all, about forgiveness. I learned how to work hard and stay away from drugs and alcohol. I learned to build and sustain healthy relationships. I learned about boundaries. And I learned a lot about grace.
His family loved and cared for him for the duration. Enabling? Probably. I don't recommend it by the way. But they tried, the best they could, and he likely lived a lot longer because of them.
A few weeks ago, my aunt called to say that she wanted to send me my parent's wedding pictures and a few heirlooms from Ireland that my great-great-grandfather brought over when he married my native american great-great-grandmother. I was delighted, not just about the pictures and the things, but delighted that for the first time in my life, I was able to thank her for taking care of my dad, for the grace she had shown in dealing with his disease. She cried. I smiled.
So even though we didn't have a Hallmark relationship, my father taught me much. He was well loved, by me and by many. Now, I see those who struggle and suffer in a different way.
Was my father's illness God's plan? Of course not! Did God help me see through a different, more compassionate lens because of my experience with his illness? Absolutely.
So for those of you who may have had difficult relationships with your father, I encourage you to allow God to heal that by seeing the grace in it. I didn't get what I wanted, but I got something very valuable.
Happy Father's Day Daddy.
Teresa
Friday, June 15, 2012
So Who am I?
Do you ever struggle with self-doubt? I believe that even the most confident person has moments of self-doubt (unless they are either delusional or totally self actuated)!
I don't consider myself a risk taker, but I am an opportunity taker. If I am given an opening, I will "go for it" just about every time. And why not? In 100 years, will anyone even know if I risked and failed, or missed the mark? Am I really all that?
I think we both inflate our own importance and minimize our own potential. We are too shy or embarrassed or lack the confidence to think we can and should be happy and successful and accomplished, and that puts more importance on our individual selves than is probably healthy. And yet, we also forget that we are part of an organism, of a greater creation, that needs each individual entity functioning at optimal capacity in order to be healthy. So, we are both a small cog and part of a great machinery.
As I anticipate the publication of a book in July, and another in August or September, write my doctoral dissertation, begin another book for publication in August 2013, step into certified professional coaching, continue growing a unique and wonderful community of faith, see my changing role as a parent of two adults rather than two children, and dream of all my future may hold, I am not immune to that nagging self-doubt, that fear of failure or ridicule. After all, who am I?
Well, isn't that just the bottom line, the heart of the matter? Who am I?
I am, like all of you, created in the image of God, filled with God's own spirit, bold and timid, hopeful and conflicted, eager and wary. But in those moments when I see the door open, and I catch a glimpse of who I really am and what can be if I am only willing to seize the ring, I am filled with gratitude at the opportunities that the universe provides, and ready to jump, head long and with a shout of joy, into life. And I hope you will too.
Ready? Set. Go!
Teresa
www.stresslesspreaching.com
I don't consider myself a risk taker, but I am an opportunity taker. If I am given an opening, I will "go for it" just about every time. And why not? In 100 years, will anyone even know if I risked and failed, or missed the mark? Am I really all that?
I think we both inflate our own importance and minimize our own potential. We are too shy or embarrassed or lack the confidence to think we can and should be happy and successful and accomplished, and that puts more importance on our individual selves than is probably healthy. And yet, we also forget that we are part of an organism, of a greater creation, that needs each individual entity functioning at optimal capacity in order to be healthy. So, we are both a small cog and part of a great machinery.
As I anticipate the publication of a book in July, and another in August or September, write my doctoral dissertation, begin another book for publication in August 2013, step into certified professional coaching, continue growing a unique and wonderful community of faith, see my changing role as a parent of two adults rather than two children, and dream of all my future may hold, I am not immune to that nagging self-doubt, that fear of failure or ridicule. After all, who am I?
Well, isn't that just the bottom line, the heart of the matter? Who am I?
I am, like all of you, created in the image of God, filled with God's own spirit, bold and timid, hopeful and conflicted, eager and wary. But in those moments when I see the door open, and I catch a glimpse of who I really am and what can be if I am only willing to seize the ring, I am filled with gratitude at the opportunities that the universe provides, and ready to jump, head long and with a shout of joy, into life. And I hope you will too.
Ready? Set. Go!
Teresa
www.stresslesspreaching.com
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Rule of 56
Does your life have balance? Most of us are way out of whack when it comes to creating time for rest, work, and recreation. A good friend of mine pointed out to me some time ago the Rule of 56.
Look at your entire week and try to map out where you spend your time then check for balance. For example, there are 168 hours in a week. My advice is that you should sleep 1/3 of the time (56 hours), work 1/3 of the time (56 hours), and spend the other 1/3 (56 hours) in recreation, hobbies, and other non-work related pursuits. Most of us spend far more than 56 hours a week working, at the expense of either sleep or family/friends/pets/fun/relaxation/hobbies/SABBATH/etc.
Where do you need to create balance?
I cover this and more in my book, Stressless Preaching, which will be released in July!
Look at your entire week and try to map out where you spend your time then check for balance. For example, there are 168 hours in a week. My advice is that you should sleep 1/3 of the time (56 hours), work 1/3 of the time (56 hours), and spend the other 1/3 (56 hours) in recreation, hobbies, and other non-work related pursuits. Most of us spend far more than 56 hours a week working, at the expense of either sleep or family/friends/pets/fun/relaxation/hobbies/SABBATH/etc.
Where do you need to create balance?
I cover this and more in my book, Stressless Preaching, which will be released in July!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The Journey
This has been quite a couple of weeks. Last week, I was reeling with disappointment and sadness after watching the General Conference of the United Methodist Church. My heart ached. I was angry. I felt conflicted. And all of those emotions are still there, but I found solace and strength in seeing the huge numbers of clergy and laity who have responded in similar outrage and sadness. My sadness has slowly started to turn to hopefulness, hope founded in a renewed vision for the church, hope founded in an unwillingness to stay silent any longer.
Then came this week. I cannot even tell you how many wonderful things have happened this week. It's amazing the difference a week can make. This week, things just started happening. But as I examine each thing, I realize these are not sudden graces. I've been working on and toward all of these things for weeks, months, sometimes years.
Sometimes I am so short-sighted. My emotions hinge on what is happening right here, right now, rather than seeing the long picture. I am focused on the path I am on, one step at a time, and when that path is rocky or steep or my feet hurt or I'm out of breath and energy, like any human, I get discouraged. Some might call that mindfulness, or living in the present, but that's not true. Mindfulness is being in the moment, then letting it go in order to experience the next moment. I was bogged down in the previous moment.
My plan is to try to focus more on the big picture, and to see how the small things, the habits and practices of each day, are either furthering me on the journey or wasting my energy. What difference does one set back make if I am making steady progress in the right direction? What difference does one General Conference make when so many are throwing off the constraints of church politics and flinging open the doors of our churches in love?
This week, I wish for myself and for all of you, that we look past the immediate to see the graces afforded us every day. To feel the pain of the pebble in our shoe, and to understand that it's okay to stop for a moment, remove it, and then keep walking.
Hoping to see you on the hike.
Teresa
Then came this week. I cannot even tell you how many wonderful things have happened this week. It's amazing the difference a week can make. This week, things just started happening. But as I examine each thing, I realize these are not sudden graces. I've been working on and toward all of these things for weeks, months, sometimes years.
Sometimes I am so short-sighted. My emotions hinge on what is happening right here, right now, rather than seeing the long picture. I am focused on the path I am on, one step at a time, and when that path is rocky or steep or my feet hurt or I'm out of breath and energy, like any human, I get discouraged. Some might call that mindfulness, or living in the present, but that's not true. Mindfulness is being in the moment, then letting it go in order to experience the next moment. I was bogged down in the previous moment.
My plan is to try to focus more on the big picture, and to see how the small things, the habits and practices of each day, are either furthering me on the journey or wasting my energy. What difference does one set back make if I am making steady progress in the right direction? What difference does one General Conference make when so many are throwing off the constraints of church politics and flinging open the doors of our churches in love?
This week, I wish for myself and for all of you, that we look past the immediate to see the graces afforded us every day. To feel the pain of the pebble in our shoe, and to understand that it's okay to stop for a moment, remove it, and then keep walking.
Hoping to see you on the hike.
Teresa
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