The Details of Life

February! 

Black History Month. President’s Day. Ground Hog Day. Mid Terms! Parent/Teacher Conferences… The list can go on and on…

…But, what is the big focus of the month? 

Thanks to advertisers, florists, chocolatiers and Hallmark – Valentine’s Day. At least, one day in the month,

L-O-V-E!

It’s crazy that we need a day to help us, s – t – o – p and focus.

Love. What does this mean? A good Lutheran question. The answers are as numerous as there are hues of the color red; or better yet as numerous as there are colors for roses that are specifically grown to have certain meanings.

While love has many meanings to many different people, I want to address the details of love. The details that usually go totally unnoticed and in some cases not even remembered.

In the wee hours of a sleepless night, one’s mind may drift back in time to the things that our parents used to insist upon doing. At the time we didn’t take notice and if we did, it may have been viewed as an annoyance – their insistence of doing things their way:

“Why must I wear that scarf mom?” “Really!”

“You want me to do what when I get there…”

“Dad, can you please talk to your wife about her comments around my friends”

“What does it matter, if I do the dishes your way, as long as they get clean!?”

And of course there was the body language: the rolling eyes, the hand on the hip, the haughty eyes, the pursed lips… All because someone wanted to give you their best and/or got caught up in the details of what they had to give you.

I thought about the “details” the other day, when I opted to give the thicker, nicer napkin to my sons, when I was serving them breakfast in bed. Now, breakfast in bed is indeed an act of love and care, but I thought, as I was bringing their hot meal to them, to grab the really nice napkins instead of the single ply that came from the diner from the night before. As I was grabbing the nicer napkins I wondered – will they even notice. The youngest son, sometimes is annoyed when I serve him breakfast in bed. Perhaps, it’s too early.

Then there was the time when my mother insisted upon me wearing gloves that had “grip” instead of mittens when I drove, because she thought I could grab the steering wheel better. I was a new driver and the weather was turning cold and by golly, she just could imagine the wheel slipping through my hands if I wore mittens.

Funny, I think about it now, as I drive through the snow and ice and grip the wheel a little bit more tighter in my suede gloves. That was mom just saying in her way – the details of life – that she loved me.

What details do you do for your loved ones? Do you tuck them in bed when they come to visit, even though they’re 24? Do you take their glasses off for the umpteenth time because they fell asleep with them on again? Do you bring a little treat home every time you go to the grocery store? Do you stare at them at night as they sleep and say silent prayers? Do you go quietly throughout your day petering about doing small acts of kindness that go unnoticed?

Perhaps they’re not unnoticed. Perhaps, when the time is right – these detailed acts of love will come to mind like a bright light and shout – YOU ARE LOVED! YOU HAVE VALUE TO ME! YOU ARE SPECIAL TO ME. It doesn’t take Hallmark to remind us to do the details.

 

My niece helping at a nursing home

The Gumbo Story and Faith

The Gumbo Story and Faith

By Nina Benson

Once upon a time, a good friend asked about the history of why I make gumbo for New Years, a tradition in my family.

From somewhere in my mind, (I know not where), came these words…

My 2014 Gumbo

“Well, the small grains of rice represent a poor man’s meal, mixed with potatoes, (I don’t use okra – I have never developed a taste for the this vile vegetable and was forced to eat my life’s allotment, totally, as a child - nevermore), and carrots…  And we can’t forget the tears from the onions that represented a sorrowful past of generations of family that worked hard and never achieved as much as they had dared to dream – but had faith that with time.... When things got a tad better there was chicken to add to the mix, then pork, (which I exclude, because so many people don’t partake, but I do used smoked turkey sausage)… Oh, but things got even better for the man, as he worked harder and harder, so in time, he was able to add beef. Eventually, the man reached his pinnacle and was able to add an assortment of seafood to the mix….  But the meal is about having faith in the face of insurmountable odds that through the struggle and striving for something better, there is accomplishment. The gumbo is about the steadfastness of honest hard work and it’s rewards - The coming together of family and celebration of achievement…. ”

I had to confess to our friend some years later – I had no idea the truth of the words I spoke. They simply sounded good at the time and seemed to make sense. I asked my older sister about what I had said and she too had no clue about any “Gumbo Story”.

The “Gumbo Story” really did exist in the lives of my family, in theory… However, the “story” now exist, this made-up one; and I have faith that it will move forward in the family now that the words have been spoken, put to paper and given life.

I have faith.

Faith, like that of the generations in my “story”, really did exist. In my family life has always been about moving forward and upward – even when times appeared as if nothing was happening – when life’s waters were dark and stagnant – out of the depths, hope prevailed.

There has been a millennia of people with faith that something better will come out of hardship – that something good will come. It could start with faith as small as a mustard seed…

New Years are opportunities for reset, starting fresh, stepping out in faith and moving mountains. Seize the day, move forward…

Soli de Gloria

The Gift of Time

A quiet, chilly early morn

On most gift giving occasions my husband, and children ask me the proverbial question: "What do you want?" One time when I didn't answer, my children, when they were very young, got me marzipan pigs, because my husband was convinced that I liked marzipan. I've never eaten marzipan nor have I ever tasted it, but I must have to know that I don't like it.

I used to ask my mom what she wanted, but she eventually had everything... Clothes, jewelry, perfumes, vases, glass flowers, slippers, stuff for the house, my pottery, my paintings, my drawings, (see art stays with a parent long after the child is all grown up - those A papers, those A math tests - GONE! But the art stayed:-). Still, after awhile, she didn't really want anything, but my time.

Time - a very precious commodity indeed.

Mr. Scott, our stepfather and dear mom

When my mom was yet with us, I admit, I was at times perturbed that mom always asked why I hadn't called her on any particular day, if I missed a day... She always wanted to know "when" I was coming next to see her - sometimes even before I had left from a visit... Oftentimes, she would delay my leaving by asking for some frivolous duty to be done, that would keep me by her side...  Now, I understand, why.

Time is very precious. You don't get to have it back, once it's spent. (I think I blogged about this before). Everyone gets only so much "time" to spend, but once it's spent it's gone - the moment is a memory or history or not or worst - wasted.

This season of giving - look to give what truly matters most - your precious time. Sit with someone, loved or just liked or an enemy or even a stranger and listen to what they have to say and insist that they listen to you too. Talk to them about what's important or even what's silly and make them laugh or let them cry with you. Don't stop the giving of your time with the end of this Christmas season, but get into the habit of "giving" your time - it's priceless - like Jesus.

Merry Christmas

Giving Thanks

In All Things Give Thanks

In this month, traditionally devoted to reflecting upon what has been given to us through no merit of our own; I have given some deep thought about times that I perceived as disadvantages that in reality were “open windows of opportunities as doors were closing”.

I only recently gave thought to open windows and closing doors concerning my career as the window opened at District 65 – Evanston, IL just as the door was closing at District 99 – Cicero, IL, seven years ago. I’ll never forget the day when Ms. Boyle, my principal at Unity, (our nations largest junior high divided into two separate campus – East and West. I worked on the west side), came to my classroom personally, and with an apologetic tone, in her voice, almost tearfully; told me that I was selected for RIF, (Reduction-in-force: A cost saving measure in corporations a.k.a. Last hired – first fired). I had just one more year before tenure, but the district was in trouble financially. They had taken on two additional assistant superintendents and needed to cut corners. They rescheduled the fine arts program and discovered they could make due with less teachers, so a tenure teacher was moving into my slot. DOOR!

I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it.

The cold hard facts hit home when I stood before an unemployment clerk who exclaimed, “Oh, I can tell by the way you completed our application; you’re a good teacher”. I tried to maintain my composure, but something clicked in my head with the hearing of the words, “…you’re a good teacher”. I told the clerk through hot angry tears that being a “good teacher” was not enough. I turned on my heels and walked away.

I thought I had been a “good a teacher”. I had decorated my room with something different every rotation. I challenged my students to do things they had never done before – step outside the box of their little community and see the big wide wonderful world outside. Much to the chagrin of my colleagues. The entire floor had to come along as I organized field trips, (for nearly 200 students at a time), to galleries in Oak Park and got a restaurant to reduce their prices to provide a sit down meal with cloth napkins. It was one of those things everyone hated doing at the beginning, but thought it was the BEST by the end… I love taking the blinders off of students and staff who have been in the dark.

But this being pushed out of doors started even before Unity, when I was told by my then principal, Mr. Dziallo, of Wilson Elementary School, District 99 that I was being transferred from Wilson to Unity, after just one year. God! Hadn’t I done more than what was asked of me? Didn’t I bring art outside of the classroom. Didn’t I get great art on every floor. I arrived before my keycard let me into the building… I decorated the first floor with art on the windows with cellophane dragons that breathed fiery flames. I made even more dragons that wrapped completely around the art room… I did art shows with the students… I had the students create art from nothing, because I was met with no supplies, because somehow they all disappeared… It was indeed a magical time… But I stood before my principal crying, asking what had I done wrong… Pleading to be told what else I could have done to be more of what they wanted? I won’t forget the response. You don’t forget that look of, “Get a grip woman!” “You are being promoted… Your talents can be better used by the students and staff at Unity – this is a good move! Nina! This is not a punishment.” Exit door to the left…

Still, going through unknown windows is scary – especially, when doors that are familiar and seem to offer some solace from the storms; slam shut in your face. Nothing seems safe when your world is shaken. Then opportunity flickers like a small flame beckoning you to the window that is open…

When I taught English at the Illinois Youth Correctional Facility, St. Charles Boys Home – “You’re crazy! You want to dress up like a mime and have the students write… Can’t you just do the basics?!”… Slamming door

I remember my student teacher professor, (that was back in the dark ages). “You want to teach art to who? …The mentally retarded… Nina, you can’t do that…” DOOR CLOSED!

With each door there was an open window saying, “Opportunity this way…” At I.Y.C. St. Charles there was Ms. Miller who in all places, oddly encouraged creativity, (I remember that she had fiery red hair that was often teased to it’s heights, (this was the early 80’s)). There was Sue Cohen who gave into to my request and let me “teach” art at a Chicago Association for Retarded Citizens facility on the south side. They had a kiln that I learned to operate and I taught art between the small contract jobs.

To each of these closed doors I owe a debt of gratitude, because I learned skills, acquired a thicker hide, developed a tenacity about life, learned things about myself that I otherwise would have never learned, and more… Indeed, it was difficult going through the doors. I don’t naturally embrace change well. Particularly when the change comes  when I feel as if I'm doing what is most expected of me; when I believe my superiors are most pleased with my work. In this regard, I did not slack on my duties, or cause others distress. The door just came out of nowhere.

Still, after, (key word here), time, I am very thankful. Were it not for the circumstances of being pushed through the doors of life, I would undoubtedly be on the inside of some comfortable window seat, looking out on life, as it passed me by.

In all things, give thanks…

…I am okay

Nina Benson :-)

 

A door I photographed

I used this posting for my educational blog as we at: http://mrsninabenson2013-14.weebly.com/ as it was appropriate in both settings. If you have time also visit my professional site, (it has lots of pictures of my art) at: http://mrsninabensonprofessionalpresenc.weebly.com/index.html

...Just where we were left...

...That's where a prodigal will find those who love them; just where they last saw them - home.

I got to thinking about some prodigals I know. They are more gone than at home. Each time they stray farther and farther away from all that they know is true and right and good, to that which they think in their hearts, to be right, "but its end leads to death". Proverbs 14:12.

It's all rather unsettling to be aware of - when you're the one at home waiting.

Imagine what God must go through. As parents it isn't too difficult to imagine the pain and suffering prodigals go through. The abuse the prodigals suffer that they believe is normal, the isolation... The imagined pain is what sends a parent into despair, sleepless nights, brokenness - but God knows it all. He sees it all.

I got to thinking about what does a parent of a prodigal do?

What does God do? (Aren't we all prodigals?)

As a teacher I present lessons, exciting new information, dazzling new techniques promising phenomenal results - the entire dog and pony show; but I can't make my students receive a thing, (believe me I know). Likewise, with God and parenting. We can train, show by example, offer object lessons, ("If you don't stop smoking your lungs will look like tar!"); but the ball is totally in the little kiddies court to receive and change their attitude - change their heart. (God doesn't change a heart unless it's willing).

It's mind boggling. What don't they get. "Don't rock in that chair - it's not a rocking chair! Don't touch the fire! You will get burned!" Sometimes parents are there to watch these experiences of willful acts of disobeience; but they're there to offer gentle restoration, because the consequence of the disobedient act is at times discipline enough. Stitches, bad blisters. The job/call is not to say, "I told you so!", but "I can see that hurt when you... Here, let me help".

Sadly, sometimes the restoration isn't accepted or even acknowledged and the prodigal falls angrily again, and again... and builds a wall that encases them and walls out any restoration. They become delusional that their self-made cage is best and normal and all else is wrong and against them. They cry out, "Can't you see, I'm happy...Why won't you, mom - dad, just be happy for me?..."

So, what's the parent of a prodigal to do?

Like God the Father - love, allow them their free will - a.k.a. allow them to fall so they can learn from their own lessons to get back up; then wait and search the horizon, strain your neck and eyes to see them and then run with open arms when you spot them.

Will you come through the experience unscathed? It's doubtful. Stress and even the willful acts of disobedience of others, leave some ugly scars - on the heart... On the hands, the feet and the side... but "there is a balm in Gilead..."

...like the balloon, children fly away...

Are You Connected?

My chalk drawing

 Preface: I am not excluded in this dissertation. I am just as guilty as the next guy or gal. I, however, have been wondering if anyone else has had the same thoughts...

Are you connected too? :-)

We are indeed a privileged society. We get attention when we want it, simply because we are...

Good Lord, how did we come to this?

Was it Mr. Rogers fault singing, "You Are Special", from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood? Did he create this mess? Methinks not. We are special, but we've taken this exclusivity to an unbelievable height that is unmatched by past societies. 

We blog, tweet, text, Facebook, Instagram, share Pinterest, email and more all because we suppose someone out there cares about what we think of our ideas and photographs of our loved ones, (pets included) and/or "things" that we have that we think are special, (I have a young family member who showed off at least twenty pairs of shoes in his Facebook photos - indeed, Lord, have mercy).

People walk around endlessly with a cell phone, or Bluetooth connected to their ear, some 24/7 because someone out there has got to hear from them. I drive to work at 5 in the morning and see people talking or texting while walking to the bus, while waiting for the bus or riding the bus and sometimes dangerously, while driving - not the bus, but other drivers. People chat or text while in groups, or as they sit across from one another at restaurants. I have students who within seconds of the end of the day bell sounding are busy texting or calling someone. I like to think the dears are calling their parents - but not always - children don't always "talk" to their parents at least not face to face...

I "Yelp", (this is a site devoted to collecting the opinions of people, (they're called Yelpers)), and read Yelps about a variety of places. I suppose this could be free advertising for these places, but it too works in reverse - because the experience isn't always pleasant. Still, I suppose, like all of the other "Yelpers"; someone out there, in the great expanse, cares about what I think about any given place that I might happen to visit - not really.

Then there are those buttons on the sides of light posts at intersections where people can press a button to make the light change. Some think they control time with these buttons.  They press the button because they've arrived at the crosswalk and don't want to wait for the light to change. Or some good folk may simply step arrogantly onto the crosswalk and into the street to make traffic STOP, so they can leisurely stroll across the street. I saw a woman do this today. She did a quick gesture with her hands and shook her head with annoyance as if she were the queen and the world was supposed to stop because she had arrived. Whatever happened to the day of waiting for the light to change - on its own! Or taking that leisurely stroll to the corner with the light and... waiting for the light to change - on its own.

...And I cannot forget the comments after the internet news articles - they go on and on, (I admit to skimming the actual news article and then skipping to the comments - the media is not news - it's fire starter). We can even rate them and like them or not.

We have ALL become so important and think so highly of ourselves OR... is it that we are afraid that we are not important at all and this endless barrage of electronics are efforts to connect...  Shots into the air to say like the Whos in Whoville; "We are here!" "We are here!" "We are here!" Remember, "A person is a person, no matter how small".

Are we waiting to be acknowledged in a society that no longer manages acknowledgment through  traditional means of communication. Don't hold your breathe. Of course, there is a certain amount of anonymity when using electronic communications - that's why tweeting is sharp - like the tongue. Sometimes it is difficult to "read" an email - humor and sarcasm usually do not translate, (I know).

In this world of electronic communication are we afraid of being lost in the billions of other voices shouting, "notice me, listen to me, see me..." So we clamor for attention like never before, because the technology avails itself for such a time as this... So, we take full advantage...

Have we forgotten or in some cases, some just never knew that God still is mindful of us and nothing we do escapes His eye, (chew on that for a moment - what would you do differently - especially, if you believe it). Are we so lost and broken that we haven't a clue that God sees ever tear and holds yours in His hand - Do you have to post it on Instagram in an effort to hurt others - speak directly with God about it - He has ideas - good ideas. God can number every hair on your head - even the ones you lost due to the stress of all of your troubles...

We are indeed special. We are so special to God. He is so eager to hear about everything you have to say. This I find mind boggling. That the God of all there was, and is, and to come, cares about what I think and what I do more than anyone I have ever known or will know. Astonishing.

The bottom line: Instead of seeking after the connections with mankind, we really should seek after a connection with the only One that matters most - God.

Connections do matter. We are loved and people do care, but in your desire to be connected 24/7 consider letting the electronic connections go for a relationship with God. When we experience our greatest lost, we benefit from a greater gain.

Till the glorious end and a victorious beginning,
Nina

My chalk drawing remembering 9/11

A Surprise Birthday Gift, Gallbladder Surgery and the Will of God and What They All Have in Common

A very good friend moved out to North Carolina a few years ago and was none too happy – she knew no one, but of course, her husband and children. Sadly, she hadn’t connected with anyone in the short time that she lived there, so she was lonely for friendship.

(Aside) A wise pastor told me, not to expect my husband to be my all and all. A spouse, no matter how wonderful can’t be everything that the other has need of – that would be exhausting – not to mention impossible.

So what did this husband do when he saw the downcast state of his beloved? He assessed the situation and determined to surprise his wife with a little bit of friendship for her birthday. He brought me a round trip plane ticket so that I might come out for a visit. No, he didn’t buy his wife a ticket, she would have come up with 100 and 1 reasons why she couldn’t leave home for something as frivolous as a trip to someplace familiar... So SURPRISE!

Out of the car in NC

I went... but I don't travel, at least, I don't like to travel. I don't like staying away from my home, a.k.a. my own bed. I am not a fan of flying, (I'm over fifty and I've flown only five times)... But I went... My friend and I had a great time, just hanging out... 

 

 I got back HOME...sweet home - be it ever so humble... just in time for surgery the next day... But doctor that's not how the doctor on the Youtube video did the surgery...

I just want to go home... It's so allusive...

I was so groggy after the surgery. I was not in my right mind, but I knew I was HOME. There was my pillow... where I could lay me down to rest...

Less than a week God spoke to another friend. Get thee to Toronto. Take Nina!

The Castle Loma

But Lord, I don't travel! You know that!... 

Not my will, but Thine. What am I supposed to see... How far away home is... To make my heart yearn for that which I took for granted... 

This time six days nearly 600 pictures...

Back at work... The new guy ask, "So what was your favorite trip?"

I thought for a few seconds...

'My trip home!'

It always felt so good to come back home. And now with a week of

Sky - foretaste

teaching completed; every night feels simply wonderful... To come home, (even with grading or presentations to get together). Admittedly so; home sometimes is mod podge of eclectic collected stuff, (actually a lot less - hubby got a dumpster while I was NC), but still that which is familiar. The drive home often doesn't seem as stress-filled as the drive to school because I'm going home!

It's not that home is so big, or fancy/special - it's what it represents to me - a place where I am loved, safe, forgiven, valued. My heart truly yearns for my "real" Home... Home with my Heavenly Father/God...

I've enjoyed visiting and going to all the  new place. I have over 600 pictures to share, but HOME is indeed the best.

Does your heart yearn for HOME? I hope it does - there's no place like it..