Category: Herald-Dispatch Articles

“Tell your heart to beat again/ Close your eyes and breathe it in/ Let the shadow fall away . . .Say goodbye to where you’ve been/ and tell your heart to beat again.”–as sung by Danny Gookey, written by Bernie Herms, Randy Phillips, and Matthew West

I listened to my companion.  Behind the person talking, an old oak tree stood proud and erect, sheltering us in her arms of shade.  The tree’s hefty roots thrust muscularly above and through the earth’s surface, foundational tentacles of nourishment and steadfastness, outstretched, ready to ensure the old sentinel’s position for future decades. The person spoke of loss, heartbreak, and missing the one who had provided a source of inner strength.

“You’ve lost your tree,” I impulsively stated.  “You no longer have a tree, like the one behind you, on which to lean.”

Later, I chastised myself.  What a stupid thing to say.  Why hadn’t I been more encouraging?  Even choosing to remain quiet and supportively listening would have been better than saying something like, “You’ve lost your tree.”  Open palm.  Insert face.  Think, Steph, think . . .

And so I thought.  I thought about my friend, I thought about life, and I thought about that grand oak whose shade in which we sheltered on that beautiful morning.  I pondered loss, heartbreak, life changes, aging, illness, changes in the world, changes in society, change, change, change . . . 

Oak trees.  Roots, trunk, branches, leaves, acorns, canopy, crown, greens and browns, weather and wind, sunshine and rain, hail and storms, dry and wet seasons, changing temperatures, changing weather, changing levels of groundwater . . . change, change, change.  In spite of it all, a typical oak tree has an average life span of 100-300 years, some may even live 700 or more years.  During that time, how many acorns must one tree produce–all with the potential to become another oak tree?

Acorns. A tiny nut, dense with nutrients, capable of feeding a wide array of woodland creatures, such as bear, moose, mice, deer, squirrels, chipmunks and so on.   What’s more?  Acorns, with proper germination, can produce trees of 40-80 feet in height and with wing-spans of 60-100 feet across.  While that is certainly no small feat, the root system of a mature oak tree can span up to hundreds of miles–and most of these roots remain unseen!  

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone.  The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes.  To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”–Cynthia Occelli

As I best as my non-science mind understands, when an acorn is planted, like many plants, most of its energy is used to begin the growth of the root system.  Starting with the tap root that grows and burrows deeply into the soil in search of a reliable source of water.  During this time period, very little growth above ground can be observed; however, once the taproot is established, branches and leaves begin to sprout with more regularity.  

Meanwhile, approximately 18 or so inches below the soil, where the eye cannot witness, roots are growing, expanding, spreading over a space four to seven times wider than the crown of the tree.  These roots, more gangly in shape and size than the tap, seek out moisture and essential nutrients, sending them circulating back through the root system in order to nourish the growth that is visible above the ground. Silently, lateral roots slither and probe through the soil, supplying continuous sustenance to all parts of the oak.  If these oak roots encounter roots of another oak tree, the roots will graft together to help one another. Still, it is each oak’s individual taproot that remains the principal form of support.

The taproot, combined with the ranging root system, is the oak tree’s source of health, or potential illness, and gives it the ability to weather all types of harsh environmental conditions and changes, including the ability to withstand the most severe storms of life.  It was this basic lesson in biology that I began to contemplate as I thought of my friend, myself, and all those in my life, present and past, who have suffered loss, stormy seasons, and major life changes/shifts. Finding that inner taproot and expanding that root system is key to not only withstanding turbulent times, but also to the ability to offer shelter, strength, and plant seeds of hope for others.

“When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the crack and pray for rain.”–Andrea Gibson

To be certain, mild, temperate weather in the shade of an old oak tree is splendid, and I could spend the rest of my life there in the vast, comforting blanket of its shade, gazing upward through splayed branches of green, spying glimpses of dappled sunlight and bluebird skies while a gentle breeze nuzzles my cheek.  While those sorts of moments are what I wish everyday could be like; life offers us a meteorological spectrum of experiences.  Therefore, like those expansive tree branches, we must embrace it all–the wonderful, the not-so-wonderful, and the downright heartbreaking.

We, like the oaks, have space in the soil of our soul for a taproot and a root system; and like the oak, this system is keenly connected to Divine Providence.  When we are small, others develop and influence the establishment of our roots–for better or worse–depending upon one’s childhood circumstances.  Eventually, however, we all reach a point of maturity in life in which it is up to each individual to nurture the inner self, foster personal strength (grit, if you will), and fortify our faith.  While it is a wonderful blessing to have our root system grafted with that of another’s, in the end, it is our individual tap root connection that must be our anchor, our mainstay of strength.  

Therefore, just as the rain waters the oak, so too must we water our inner taproot, encouraging it to delve deeply into that which cannot be seen or touched, but which offers a wellspring of strength, resiliency, and renewal.  With a taproot strongly secured to the Divine, our true source, we can persevere throughout the vicissitudes of life.  Winds may tear at your branches, bite off your leaves, and even snap off pieces of your life.  Lightening may crash all around as tears stream down like rainfall, and still, like the oak, you can withstand it all.  You, my friend, can continue to rise, and as your roots spread, so too will your reach. 

“You never quite know what you do in life that leaves a seed behind that grows into an oak tree.”–Michael Portillo

As many as 10,000 acorns can be produced in one year from one mature oak tree.  Acorns fall to the ground–even when there is no one to witness.  Some acorns feed wildlife.  Other seeds decay into organic matter that feeds and enriches the soil.  Finally, there are acorns that take root–perhaps carried off by an animal, blown by the wind, or gathered by human hands–and new life is formed  . . . 

 Meanwhile, underneath the canopy of the towering oak, shade is proffered for those in need, spots for seasonal nests abound, roots continue to sink and spread, and the crown continuously reaches for the heavens.  Alone, but rooted; quiet, but engaged; humble, but life-giving; falling, but rising; yielding; but tenacious, and ever reliant upon The Source.  

May my life be more like that of an oak.

“Whether we like it or not, we have all been born into this world as part of one big human family. Rich or poor, educated or uneducated, belonging to one nation or another, to one religion or another, adhering to this ideology or that, ultimately each of us is just a human being like everyone else.  We all desire happiness and do not want suffering.”–Dalai Lama

“The bond of our common humanity is stronger than the divisiveness of our fears and prejudices.”–Jimmy Carter

Like many of you reading these words, I have been experiencing a great deal of turbulence of the mind and heart.  From COVID-19 to the seemingly never ending struggle for racial equality, the world–from both the macro to the micro–is feeling a bit upside down and sideways.  There is so much political and societal divide that I cannot pretend to fully comprehend it all.

In my early adulthood, my grandmother shared a story about a time my papaw and she came to my elementary school to pick me up.  Since this did not occur with any regularity, I must have eagerly anticipated this event.  Grandmother did not remember why they were picking me up, so I can only assume it was to help my parents.

It is my understanding that I exited school skipping in excitement and holding hands with another girl.  Grandmother explained that, as she took my hand, she asked a question.

“Why were you holding hands with that colored girl?”  

According to my grandmother, I replied, “What color was she?”  I was around seven years of age, and up until that moment, I had not noticed the shading of skin.

What a marvelous thing to realize that kids are not born with innate prejudices.  As a professional educator, I have spent all of my adult life devoted to the classroom.  From Kindergarten to grade 12, and every grade in between, I have spent over 30 years instructing children, ages 5-20, and I can tell you that kids, especially the younger ones, do not make assumptions about skin color, or other dividing factors unless it has been taught/modeled by someone or something.  

Specifically, 15 years of my career were spent with kindergartners, the overall most eager, curious, and loving age group as a whole.  While I can only speak to my experience, the majority of five year olds that I encountered were too focused upon themselves, and who or what they were going to play at recess, than to care about so-called differences.  However, they were certainly curious about what they perceived as differences for which they may not have been exposed, such as when a fellow classmate began to wear glasses, had to wear an insulin pump, or was sporting a cast.  However, if as the teacher, I allowed for both structured and organic conversations about the change to occur, within less than a day, the so-called difference became inconsequential. 

My great nephew, Champ, playing with his cousin.

Champ, my great nephew on the right, seated with his cousin.

That is not to imply that the conversation of skin color, or other differences, never came up because kids are observant and inquisitive by nature.  For example, one school year, a white male kept playing with the hair of one of his black female classmates.  She always wore it in braids with colorful beads, and he often chose to sit beside her when he could.  This shy, quiet girl did not like him touching her hair, and I often had to remind him to keep his hands to himself, and I encouraged her to use her words to tell him to stop.  On and on this boy’s obsession with the girl’s hair continued as he specifically loved to take his hand, place it gently on the top of her head, and “pet” the braids from top to bottom in a repetitive motion.

My great nephew, Champ.

My great neice, Luna.

Finally, the girl had had enough one morning, and blurted out during opening circle activities, “Stop it! Why you always touchin’ my hair?”

The boy burst into tears, covering his eyes with his hands. Eventually, he explained to her with great gulps of breath in between each word, “I like your hair.  It’s not like mine.”

My niece, Lexie, center, holding her second cousin on the left; and her nephew, my great-nephew, Champ, on her lap.

My neice, Lydia, with her daughter, Luna.

True enough, the boy had medium brown hair that was closely cropped to his head except for his bangs that hung straight over his freckled forehead.

A few days later, I overheard the same two students talking as they practiced writing their names with scented markers.

“Do you want me to see if my mom can fix your hair like mine?”

The boy emphatically nodded his head and added, “Ask her when you get home.”

My great nephew, Champ.

My great neice, Luna.

Reflecting upon my own family, specifically my nine nieces and nephews, they reflect a variety of appearances, interests, and beliefs. From very dark skin to the palest pale; from light blue eyes to black; from curvy to trim body shapes; from pink to black, brown to blonde, curly to straight hair; from conservative to liberal views, and all variances in between, these special family members reflect a wide cross-section of young adults.  Yet, when we gather together, whether it’s in person or virtual, the only thing that matters is mutual respect and love.  

My sister, Rachel, with two of her five kids, Lexi and Naomi.

We certainly do not see eye-to-eye on all subjects.  We do not have the same interests, jobs, hobbies, and so forth. Differences abound.  What we do possess, though, is a bond–the humankind connection, with emphasis on kind.  Sure, we are linked by family, but we are also woven into the web of humanity.  And like all webs, the resiliency of it is dependent upon the strength of every strand–and each strand of this human network, it is worth remembering, is a unique creation of God.

My sister Rachel, second from left, with three of her five kids, L to R, Issick, Arlen, and Vincent.

Neither my nieces and nephews, nor my past and current students had any control over who would be their parents.  They did not get to choose their address, their family income, their family make-up, their family circumstances, much less control the color of their skin, eyes, hair, and so forth. In fact, none of us could, so why should we judge one another by circumstances for which we can not control?  

Why should I be more likely, as a white, middle-aged female, to be given a warning if stopped by the police for a traffic violation?  Why should my white, 58-year old husband be stopped by police over 14 times during the course of his life and not be ticketed?  It wasn’t until his 15th violation–forgetting to turn on his turn signal at the foot of a local bridge–that he actually received more than a warning.  

My great nephew and niece, Elijah and Harper.

My great niece, Harper.

My great nephew, Elijah.

I’ve watched Spanish speaking, brown skinned students play side-by-side their mostly white peers.  While they weren’t able to verbally communicate, they were still able to construct the “tallest, most awesome block building ever!” Similarly, I observed a student, originally from Jordan, with only rudimentary English, being taught to dance by his English-speaking cross-country teammates. This year, I further observed a group of middle school boys notice a new Chinese student standing by himself during an extra recess.  Eventually, despite the fact he did not speak the same language, the boys were able to coax him into playing basketball with them.  While he did not participate for the entire game, for the ten or so minutes that he did play, the smiles and high-fives abounded. My point?  Children find a way to discover common ground.  Why can’t adults?

In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. . . 

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.”

So do I, Dear Reader, so do I, for all the world’s children, including the newest members of our family, my great-nieces and nephews.

“Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.”–Mother Teresa 

“Act with kindness, but do not expect gratitude.”–Confucius

Oh no, not again.  Surely, my memory is mistaken.

I stood patiently.  Waiting my turn to enter the aisle.  I needed an item directly in front of a man standing in the middle of the aisle examining all of the choices.  I get it.  Looking at all of the available choices (or alternate choices, if your favorite is unavailable) can be overwhelming.  Plus, add in the new directional rules that are in effect at some stores as well as shortages of certain items, shopping can now take more time than ever. 

“What’s your problem?”

Oh, no, here we go again.  It. Is. The. Same. Man. 

“I’m just waiting.  Take your time,” and I added a smile, but then realized, unless I was also smiling with my eyes, he couldn’t see my mouth due to my mask.

That’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a mask, nor gloves as I am used to doing when now going out to shop.  However, wearing personal protective gear is a choice.  I get, honor, and respect personal choice.  My own choice stems from my desire to err on the side of caution.  Regardless, everyone views things differently.

“Well, here you go,” he said in a voice rich with sarcasm as he feigned a gallant bow extending an arm in a sweeping gesture.

Oh boy, apparently, he thought I was waiting to go through and past him.  Why didn’t I communicate more effectively?  

“It’s ok.  I can wait.”

Again, I try to smile, but of course, it’s not visible.

That’s when it happened.  The very thing for which I was afraid.  Expletives exploded from his mouth, his face contorted into a fiery red emoji worthy expression.  He tried to march past me, saw there wasn’t any room, said some more finely selected words, and stomped around a display that was arranged in the center of an aisle.

I am fairly certain this was the same man, who only three weeks ago, I had encountered in this same store–only in a different aisle.  At that time, he was offended, I think, because I stepped aside to let him pass six feet away from me, despite the fact he was not following the store’s directional arrows.  He took one long look at me then and about-faced with a nearly purple visage, spewing curse words for all to hear.  

This time, I momentarily froze, shaken once more by the negative emotional energy left in his wake.  It was almost as if I wanted to let his surrounding Pig-pen-like dark cloud of anger dissipate before I walked on.

Later, as I moved through the store, I kept encountering a woman who appeared to be just off work based upon her tired, but kind, eyes, scrubs, and hospital lanyard.  It always seemed as if wherever I pushed my cart, she ended up right behind me waiting as I made my choice and moved on.  She never said a word, never indicated a hint of impatience. 

In the freezer section, I was taking an exceptionally long time as I thoroughly searched for bags of frozen chopped peppers and onions, which had not been in-stock for weeks.  Not finding them, I slid down to the next set of freezer doors to grab a few bags of frozen vegetables that were in stock.  That’s when I noticed the same woman was behind me.

“I am so sorry if I was holding you up,” I sincerely stated.

“No, no, no. Not at all.  In fact, I was going to offer to hand something to you in case it was out of reach.”

Of course she’s significantly taller than me.

“Aw, thank you, but no.  There’s nothing.  They’ve been out of frozen chopped peppers and onions for weeks now. I was just double checking to make sure I wasn’t overlooking them.”

We chatted a few more minutes, both of us keep a safe distance, but still continuing to shop.

“Listen, just so you know, I figure it like this.  I’m going to let you take your time picking out what you need because I sure plan to take my time when it’s my turn.”

Exchanging polite farewells, I moved on and wrapped up my shopping.

Some days later, I reflected on the two experiences within the context of COVID-19.  The man’s anger, despite the fact I did not know him, had bothered me.  It was an irrational response, I know, but I tend to struggle with shaking off any form of strong emotion, but especially those of a negative nature.  However, the unknown woman’s words were like the sip of nice wine or bite of good chocolate at the end of a hard day–you don’t need or want a lot–just enough to calm the nerves.

Which led me to the renewed lesson of the power of words. Kind words, spoken or written, are never wasted.  Never.  In fact, my mom has often advised me to etch sweetly spoken words–or any positive moment for that matter–into my heart’s memory for those times when there seems to be void.  

Unfortunately, my encounters with this man most likely reflect his level of frustration and/or anger at the COVID-19 situation.  Perhaps, he has lost his job, is isolated from loved ones and/or friends, and he doesn’t have an outlet–a viable way to deal with his disappointment.  Of course, he could be reacting to any number of things, and I just happen to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time–although I suspect I am not the only one with whom he’s blown up.  Bottom line, I don’t know his story, but he is clearly suffering some form of anguish, and I sincerely hope some form of ease enters his life–preferably before I encounter him again.

About a month ago, my 8th grade students and I considered a quote from a novel that stated, “Reciprocity is not mandatory.” These words refer to an idea that when giving a gift, one should give it freely without any expectations. Thus, my students and I, through virtual means, discussed the notion of whether or not it is possible to give without expectations. It was a lively debate and inspired thoughtfully written responses which ran the gamut of opinions.

Personally, I fall on the side of freely giving simple acts of kindness without expectations.  Smile at a stranger.  Thank the employees who help you check-out groceries.  Hold the door for a person whose hands are loaded.  Offer heart-felt compliments.  Help an elderly/disabled (or short LOL) person grab something from a top shelf or rack.  Call or text a loved one. Write a letter.  Send a card.  There are so many free, nearly free, or inexpensive ways to spread kindness.  

It is my sincere belief that while reciprocity is not mandatory–eventually, all that goodness you put out in the world makes it way back to you in some form–even if you don’t recognize its original source.  Thus, don’t let the negative behavior of some override the good that is out there because . . . IT. IS. THERE.  It’s like glitter.  

Remember making a craft with glitter in school?  Hours, why, even days later, you could still find a bit of sparkle in the darndest places.  That’s what kindness is like. And, if you don’t see it, then by golly get out your proverbial bottle of kindness glitter and start sprinkling bits of it here and there.  Just like that glitter from that long ago art project, you’ll soon find a few random sparkles returning right back to you in the most unpredicted ways.

“Relax, Recharge and Reflect. Sometimes it’s OK to do nothing.”― Izey Victoria Odiase

 “Farmers learned to plant fallow fields with clover, which recharges the soil with nutrients.”― Charles C. Mann

“I got him!”  I said in reply to John who said he thought he heard our newest house member calling from the back of the house.

“I’ve spotted him!” I shout down the length of the short hall back toward the kitchen/dining/family area.

“Oh, no!  He’s hurt!”

As I bend towards him, I can see the broken arm.

“Poor little, guy!” I say as I gently pick him up, along with the broken arm, and I carry him back towards the kitchen.

Ever so carefully, I place him on the kitchen counter as he remained still and lifeless.

“If you weren’t such a spot-rod, zipping in and out of all of the rooms.  I warned you that you needed to clean up your act, and be more careful.  Like all youth, you’re determined to keep spinning your wheels,” I state with a sigh to the now inactive sweeping beauty.

Before Spot, our COVID-19 sense-of-humor was, like my towering 4’ 11” stature, on short-order. Days upon humorless days were, well, sucking the life out of us    However, since we’ve adopted Spot, our level of one-liners has been on a sweeping-frenzy.  Seriously, our level of laughter is piping spot.

Spot is a Roomba iRobot vacuum.  We named it Spot when it swept us off our feet with its first spin around our home gathering dirt on us. It’s been cosweeping with us ever since!  Gazing down at it as it quietly remained inactive on the counter, barely alive, I could feel the wheels in my mind spinning to the days of Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. 

Soundtrack cued . . .

Camera close-up on Steph’s Surgical home-club operational suite.

“We can rebuild him.  We have the technology.  We can make him better than he was.  Better, stronger, faster.”

“Flat-head screwdriver?”

“Check!”

“Bionic arm?”

“Check!”

“Forceps?”

“What do you need those for?”

“Wound hair removal. It most likely created stress, and ultimately, precipitated the fracture. We must proceed with caution. It could be a hairy situation.” 

“New air filter?”

“Check, but will it be spot-blooded, again, doctor?”

Moments later . . .

“There you go, Little Buddy.  Now, be careful. You’re spot off the presses, so don’t go binge-spinning.”

My daughter once told me that I am like Spot in that I am small and always moving, but need to be recharged at the end of the day.  She is spot-on when it comes to my personality as I am an introvert.  Most people assume being introverted means being shy; and while that can be true for some introverts, it has more to do with how a person recharges.  

For example, my husband, John, loves being around people, the more he’s talking and interacting with others, the more energy he absorbs and generates. Whereas, for me, while I enjoy interacting and conversing with others, small talk does not come naturally for me.  In fact, I have to focus really hard to keep a conversation going and would much prefer to listen rather than initiate conversation. It’s not that I don’t like talking, it’s keeping the conversation going that I find challenging and often draining to me.  This can lead to nervous energy, which leads to overthinking, which can sometimes lead to rambling about self-experiences in an attempt to connect with the person speaking– which can sometimes lead to unintentional, insensitive, thoughtless, or down right stupid comments.  Afterwards, I ruminate for great lengths worrying about all of the words, phrases, and questions I should have or should not have said instead. It can be exhausting.

Therefore, one of my biggest jokes during this COVID-19 quarantine has been that as an introvert, I was preparing for quarantine my whole life!  And, in a way, it’s true.  The older I get, the more I have found that I feel emotionally depleted at the end of my pre-COVID work-days.  I describe it as feeling as if little bits of me are taken and/or given throughout the day from all of the interactions and/or energy absorbed by those with whom I come into contact.  Currently, (pre-COVID) those interactions would include over 80 students, nearly 50 co-workers, and anyone else with whom I would typically encounter throughout a workday.  By the end of the day, especially around holidays, special events, full-moon days, and the like, I was emotionally drained and fought the urge to go home, hug my knees to my chest, curl into a tiny ball in silent space, and simply decompress. 

You would think, then, that quarantine has been the greatest event of my life, but it is not.  Being at home means I cannot avoid all of my emotions, insecurities, and fears I have attempted to quash over the years through my busyness.  Now, with all the stillness in my life–the get up, drink coffee, work at the computer all day, eat, and repeat–those inner demons have time to rear their heads, causing my emotional wheels to spin until, like Spot, I am fractured–only not by hair wound around my arms base–but, by something seemingly inconsequential such as my inability to understand the newest technology platform/skill that I am expected to master on my own within a short amount of time in order to meet an imminent deadline.  

Unlike Spot, though, I can’t wait for someone to fix me.  There isn’t someone who will empty my proverbial bin of emotional detritus. I have to fix myself–my mind, my outlook, my emotional state of being.  It must begin with me, and that, at times, is not an easy undertaking.  

Therefore, if like me, you find this social isolation revealing ugly hidden truths about yourself, it’s okay.  You’re not alone in this, well, sweeping development.  Reach out to others, pray/meditate more, take time to read, get outside, practice yoga, walk or participate in other forms of exercise, garden, paint, create, or, like me, write your way through these emotions. Be your own source of peace.  If you have a bad day dealing with emotional dirt, take a cue from Spot, feel your pain, let it all drain out through whatever activity you choose, then plug into your higher Source for energy renewal, and start all over.  Like all devices, any moment can turn into a reboot moment, if we choose it.

Who knows? You may discover new seeds to sow, new skills to harvest, and the winds of emotional freedom blowing within you as you lighten your load, or should I say, empty your bin.   You might even find you are on a spinning streak and shouting, “Aye Caroomba!” as you look at yourself, your problems/challenges, and our world with new eyes.

So strike while the iron is spot, put on your spinning cap, and get caught up in a self-care sweeping frenzy. 

This spinning-streak spot of humor was brought to you by a writer learning to sweep with the enemy by poking holes, or should I say, spots, into her inner demons.  I hope I was able to spin a web of humor, and perhaps a bit of a lesson, into your day!