What's new? The date, first of all, which I am highly likely to forget for the first few weeks of signing anything. I'm sure I'll be writing 2024 until February (ugh). I've talked to several friends who say, "I think I gained 10-15 pounds over the holidays", so the change is likely to hold off on all the sweets and get some more exercise. Dave decided to change the golf course he belongs to that will be only 10 minutes from us versus 35 minutes from us. That will be a big change.
Other than one week that Grand Canyon University didn't have us (professors) correspond with students, I've been teaching two or three classes, so I'm not sure about anything new with me. I'm still waking up and praying every morning on my prayer stool, doing my morning meditation readings, and walking the dogs typically twice a day. 
Hmmmm.....what about this I.V. girl we adopted? 
We already had two Labs (Kirby and L.C.), so we didn't need another Lab. But somehow, God had a funny way of showing us that there was a little girl who needed us. The back story isn't pretty at all, so readers beware:  her dad was a Great Pyrenees, and her mom was a Lab. They were found on the south side of San Antonio,  strangled to death and tethered to this litter of puppies (I think there were five to start with but once they were found, only two survived, and even one of those died likely because of drinking bad milk from the deceased mom). One girl survived this heinous situation and was taken to a rescue near us. A friend told us about her, and while she didn't seem very Lab-like, she seemed really sweet when we met her at the kennel where she was being boarded until someone volunteered to foster her. The moment our kids met her, she began bouncing around a little bit and showing some personality.
We said we would take her home and foster her at least for the time being. She promptly threw up in the back seat of the pick-up on the way home, and since I love the name Ivy, we decided to name her I.V. for "I vomited".  Stick with Ivy for a minute or two.....
In the last three months we have had this girl, she has thrived to excess. She does not need a leash, because she knows she is part of our "pack".  She sleeps right between Dave and me (much to the frustration of L.C. and Kirby, I think), and she is absolutely beautiful and loving and all the things you would want in a dog. I am not sure when the fostering turned into adopting, but I'm pretty sure it was withing about three days. While the others in her litter, unfortunately, were not able to "thrive", she was thriving for all of them. 
I did a DNA test on her, and it came back as: 56% Great Pyrenees; 22% Akbash; 14% Lab; and 8% Greyhound (which I, personally, think she looks the most like). She runs free out in the meadow down by the river, chases deer for hundreds of yards then comes right back to us (L.C. is currently more interested in searching for golf balls, as someone set up a driving range out in the fields), and is living her absolute best life.
What's new with you? 
I'm hoping it's half as great as what is new with I.V. (now stands for "I'm Victorious").

Happy Communicating,

​Shelly

The sermon alluded to change today, and I figured it was a perfect time to talk about it.
The amount of changes in my life are extraordinary. As a child of divorced parents, I changed schools seven times in twelve years. I don't look at that as so much of a negative thing, though, as it taught me how to make friends. I had a best friend in 3rd grade, another one in 4th grade (in New Braunfels), and then a really great best friend in 4th, 5th, and 6th grade when we moved to San Antonio. Then we had to move again, so I made another best friend in 7th grade. Then we had to move again, and I made friends with lots of new people, including a new best friend. High school brought new friends and a best friend who is still one of my best friends forever. And then came college. Talk about change. I basically had the same roommate and suitemates for three years, until several of us became RAs (resident assistants). One of my best friends from college became my near neighbor in Dallas, and we were each other's maids of honor in each other's weddings. Change was abundant in friendships, that's for sure, but there are 9 of us from college that get together every fall for a long weekend. Have we seen changes? Most certainly....three of us have had breast cancer, one brain cancer, and one colon cancer. But one thing stays constant----we are there for each other despite the changes in hair color, weight, children, divorces, and so much more. 

I can't help but be reminded of one the most significant changes in my entire life (besides accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior in 8th grade), and that was when I married Dave in 1992. He was 31 and I was 26 (no need to do the math, please), so we had already established some routines of our own. Meshing those together was an interesting task. I remember the first time I had made potato salad for dinner. After dinner, I asked if there was anything Dave would have done differently (danger, danger!). Dave asked why I didn't peel the potatoes. I tried to explain that their jackets were the healthiest part. He said he had never had potato salad with "jackets". Game on----for 32 years----we still talk and laugh about this. You see, we had been single long enough to have our own ways of doing things, and it was time for change and compromise. Change isn't always bad, but it sure made for a great story for years and years. As our Episcopal priest said today, "No matter who you voted for, change is coming." She talked about change brings new life and it brings challenges. I totally agree.

In 2012, I resigned from my position as principal at the best elementary school in the world, Edge Elementary School in Niceville, Florida. Dave and I were moving to Tucson (change from a wet sauna to a dry sauna), and I had a decision to make about whether I wanted to apply for principalships in Tucson or if I wanted to do something totally different within the education world. I became a consultant for Charlotte Danielson's Framework for Teaching, that we had just adopted in Okaloosa County. For 12 years now, I have traveled the world, working with schools, districts, and universities, helping teachers grow in their practice; helping principals grow in the practice of coaching teachers; and helping university professors grow in their ability to help grow effective teachers and school leaders. I will never forget the first day of school that I was a principal no longer. I cried like a baby when I saw school buses picking up kids. But a few weeks later, I was in upstate New York, where one of my favorite principals (who is now a Superintendent) came up to me and said, "It is clear that you miss being a principal. You obviously made an impact and it made an impact on you. The thing is: you were at one school. Now, you make an impact on so many people at so many schools." Tears fell down my cheeks as I hugged him and thanked him for his kind words. What a change!!

Just for today, think about the changes in your life.....some good, some not so great. What would you change if you could do it today?
I wouldn't change a thing, as I do believe that change brings progress, no matter who we voted for or what we believe in.

Happy Communicating!
Shelly

Wow! This is a tough topic to discuss right now, as people are geared up to vote, or already have, and there is such tension in society. I just spent a glorious weekend with 8 other Trinity University graduates from 1988 (please don't do the math), and we reveled in the fact that we have continued to be besties for 40 years. I know for a fact that if I got into a hefty bind, every single one of them would have my back. Guess what! We didn't talk politics the entire weekend. There was no need. Republican or Democrat, we love each other, and our political views don't alter that love in the least. That brings me such joy!
Schools are feeling a lack of joy (let's be honest) since COVID. Why? Students came back to brick and mortar schools a full year (in many cases, more) behind. But those teachers are still expected to teach that grade level standard since the state test will be based on that. In my humble opinion, because I choose joy, I would have said, "If you were about to start 2nd grade when COVID hit, you will be coming back as a 2nd grader". I believe that would have been the best thing we could have done for students and teachers. If I were a part of the U.S. Department of Education (which I truly pray remains in existence after this election), I would insist that we make a level playing field across the country. Isn't that what we tried to do with Common Core, and it became a bad word (or phrase) for so many who didn't even understand the impetus for it. Choosing joy also means I choose to understand the good behind something as important as this. I was a principal in a district that was in between two military bases. Students came and went, not always be choice, but by what the next assignment was for the military parent. The result was that students would move from one state to ours (Florida) and would either be ahead (even a year) or behind (even a year) simply because of the state standards that were being taught at specific grades.
Imagine if we had federal standards for students: all students in 1st grade must pass these standards in these subjects to move on to 2nd grade. Then, if families have to move around, the pacing of the teaching is not so "off" as it is now. Folks, "Common Core" was not a bad word. Many just didn't understand it. Here's another example: A parent complains that their child is being taught that they have to draw out or "show their work" on a math problem that they have memorized (8 X 8 = 64). Why should I have to learn the reason WHY that works? Well, I choose joy, so I am more than happy to tell you. At what numbers did we stop memorization of numbers? Typically at 12 X 12, right? At least that's what the racecars in 2nd or 3rd grade show on the bulletin board. The problem is unless we learn HOW multiplication works, we can't rely on our rote memorization once we get to 3-digit multiplication. I love that students can reason through the fact that 128 X 346 couldn't possible equal something like 475. Why? Because they have been taught to reason through multiplication. "Use a calculator", you say? Or your cell phone? Sure, but I love to watch young minds be able to reason through something we weren't taught ourselves.
How do we help bring joy back to schools? I see it all the time as I visit schools and districts around the country (and the world, actually). First of all, I believe every school should have a regular fellowship snack or meal together. Getting together with food encourages relationships and trust. I have research to back that up, by the way (Arneson, 2012). Next, we need to allow teachers to teach without frequent disruptions (I, myself, have been annoyed when teaching PD in a school in which someone came on the intercom at least once every 30 minutes). Let teachers teach!! And can we please agree that piling on PDs that are not authentic, relevant, and sustainable is a waste of everyone's time? I love what I do because the PDs I teach about new strategies in questioning and engagement, etc. are welcomed with open arms (mostly), AND I get to go in teachers' classrooms and watch them teach, resulting in a reflection conference in which they are the ones who do the bulk of the talking. Teachers want to talk about teaching. They just don't seem to be able to find the time to do it. Let's help them find the time to talk about teaching. I believe with my heart and soul that it will bring some joy back into the teaching profession.

In times of trouble, we have a choice. We can wallow in self-pity and flail our arms around in helplessness or we can choose joy and a way forward.
Just for today, think of one thing you could do to choose and act on joyful things.
Happy Communicating,
Shelly

​Arneson, M. S. (2012). Character and Competence: A Mixed Methods Study on Teacher Trust in Principals in a Midsized County in Florida (Doctoral dissertation, University of West Florida).

I would like to believe that I haven't written a blog on perfectionism before, but since I have been blogging since January of 2012, the odds are pretty good that I have in one way, shape or form. Hmmm...I'm thinking right now that I should go back and look at all my blogs to check, but that would just reinforce what I am trying to avoid. During this morning's sermon at our dearly beloved Episcopal Church, I was singing on the Praise and Worship team. I exchanged a word ("through" for "by") in a song and it just drove me nuts!! In the next Chorus, my singing partner (there were just two acoustic guitars and two singers today) did the exact same thing. We smiled at each other, realizing we had both done it. No big deal, right? Oh, if you say "yes", you truly must not know me. It doesn't matter if, in a 100 person choir, 99 people sang the correct note and I messed it up. I would still beat myself up about it. 

And then the sermon began. Mother Jamie (who prefers "Jamie", but her official title as priest at our church is Mother Jamie. Whatever, right? So, she gets up and begins talking about how a dear friend told her about his tale of woe with perfection. As a very wealthy financial advisor, he was struggling to even sleep because he was constantly thinking about work. Now, let me be very clear with what resonated with me. The not being able to sleep thing has not typically been my problem---thank you, Melatonin! But wow! during the day, I can get wrapped around the axle about not having everything "perfect". I joked with some administrators the other day that if they were diagnosing children back in "the day" (I told them I wasn't going to give them numbers so they could make a number equation and come up with my exact age), I would likely have been diagnosed with OCD and possibly ADD. No matter---I am a perfectionist in so many areas of my life. Work is one of them. If I tell a client I will be there on such-and-so day, then go to Urgent Care in New York to find out I have COVID, I still asked the doctor if I could do the three days of training (in three different locations) before going home. He must have truly believed me to be a moron. Luckily, that was three years ago, and while I have had "long COVID" and continuing issues since then with lung capacity, etc., I am fine----just fine.....except that nagging need to make sure everything is perfect or nearly so.  One of my participants the other day jokingly asked, "Do you want us to use your phone to text Dave to see what he says?" First of all, you're going to use my phone????? Ewwwwwww!!! No thanks, But more than that, what would be the point. Dave and I have been married for 32 years. He knows my flaws (and there are a lot, truly). OCD is just one of them.
So, hearing a sermon on the need to work on letting go of perfectionism is something I needed to hear.....apparently so much so that I was crying and, without any tissue, I was dripping from my eyes and nose (and without tissue). Have I mentioned my issue with OCD. I didn't have tissue but I did have hand sanitizer, which helped a little bit. 
What Jamie's sermon reminded me is that everyone messes up a word every once in a while, and that if 99/100 people in a workshop I teach say it was all amazing, I still have a tendency to hyper-focus on the 1/100 who said "this could have been taught in a half a day" even though the Superintendent said this administrator said this school leader is likely the one who needs the most help in being objective, building culture, eliminating biases, etc.

I am so grateful when my work issues align with my spiritual solutions. This, I pray for each one of you.
If you think you are one of the people in my life who needs prayer but is not getting it, worry no more. I am praying for you.

Just for today, join with me in letting go of one thing that you try to do perfectly.  It is the Serenity Prayer at its finest:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. 
I say this prayer every single morning. It's great because it applies to just about everything that will come up every day!

By the way, I traveled this week, and I am sleepy, so if there are any writing errors, write to me, and I will change them. :) I want to make it perfect, after all. 

Happy Communicating,
Shelly

​

Dave and I rescued and fostered and adopted out 25 Labs through Desert Labrador Retriever Rescue. The number would have been 26, but we foster - failed when we adopted Kirby. Now, come on. We got him when he was 6 weeks old, and we couldn't put him out on the Dog-a-Log to be adopted until he was neutered, and we couldn't neuter him until he was 4  or 5 months old. Well, by then, he had wormed his way into our other girls' hearts (and maybe ours, too). This was a puppy who, along with his litter mates, would not have made it alive for another day or two as they were on the side of the highway near Mexico.  He was a puppy, so we had to do all the puppy training (we had had girl dogs for so long, I tried to get Dave to teach Kirby how to lift his leg to pee, to no avail), don't chew up our carpet training, don't chew on your leash if you want to go for a walk, and so on. This puppy who could have died instead grew up to be a handsome boy, who has a bit of Chihuahua, a bit more of Clumber Spaniel, and mostly Lab in him. If I am not feeling great, he will curl up in bed with me all day if I like. It is unimaginable to think about life on this earth without a Kirby (and his siblings, as well). When we go down to the River Park in our neighborhood, he and L.C. (our 4 year old deer-chasing nut of a Lab) are never on a leash anymore. Kirby is FASCINATED with the armadillos. He will chase them until they find one of their "Ho Chi Minh Trail" holes, then look at us like, "What the hell just happened?" He is hilarious.....

Fast forward to about 10 days ago, when I saw that a local rescue organization (which has WAY too many dogs, but they are doing their level best to help get these dogs two walks a day and some play time as well) had a Lab/Great Pyrenees puppy mix. This puppy was the lone survivor of a brutally savage situation, I should warn you that what I'm about to say is really graphic. Hang in there. These pups deserve us hearing tough stuff.  Someone on the south side of San Antonio decided to strangle the two parents (they had decomposed so much in the day before they were found, it was hard to tell the exact breed, but they believe the mom was Lab and the dad was Great Pyrenees). Three puppies were tied to the parents (but not strangled), and the babies were desperately trying to get milk from the deceased mom. You honestly cannot make this stuff up. Three puppies were found alive....only one of them survived. We have her at our house, now. Most of you who know us know that we typically have named our dogs initials (K.C. (Kacie); M.E. (Emmy); L.N. (Ellen); Rudy (an anomaly, but Replacement Unit Dog for K.C.); L.C. (Elsie), etc.). We are simply fostering this survivor pup who is already as tall as L.C. and Kirby and is only 6 months old. We got her in the pick-up to bring her home, and she promptly puked on Dave's Ram....once....twice....thrice. So we decided Ivy was a great name (I.V. stood for I Vomited until we decided she is a true survivor so she is now Ivey because she is "I'm Victorious"). Within a day, this girl who was mopey and moving slowly had commandeered the entire Arneson selection of toys (moving them one at a time from the living room to our bedroom). She was sitting on command. She had never been potty-trained (duh) and she potties on command, now (with a couple of accidents in between). Oh, and what about being on a leash because everyone says she will run off? This girl, Ivy, has been walking at the River Park twice a day since we got her, and she stays with us (we are her "pack") while L.C. chases butterflies and searches for golf balls, and Kirby does what Kirby does. 
What a beautiful new beginning for this beautiful girl! 
Anyone looking for a new roommate? We'd have a hard time giving her up, but this rescue needs people to foster more dogs.  
Just for today, perhaps we should all consider what makes us feel joyful and free. What a blessing we have to be alive and have the freedom to have new beginnings.
Happy Communicating!
Shelly
​

1. Who took naps as a kid? Who liked them? 
2. Who takes naps now? Who likes them?

The answers are pretty different from the first questions to the second questions. I remember, as kids, my sister and I were told we had to take a nap. I would lie there and fidget and sweat (in the summer SE Texas heat), and my mind would wander and wander and wander.....until finally, I would fall asleep just before Mother or Daddy would come in and tell us we could get up. Then,  I would be so lethargic and not want to get up.  Uggghhhhh.....the perils of naps. 

Today? I might very well take a nap. I am on my "reset sabbatical" to get healthy and strong again. Funny that last week was "Reset" and today is "Rest". I love words so much. 
Okay, back to naps. I have often told Dave I am so jealous of him. He can literally sit down on the couch and, within seconds (not minutes, folks, (and I promise I am not exaggerating)---seconds!), he will be asleep.  I love a good nap, but most of the time, it takes a few minutes for me to settle down enough to get a nap going. Watching golf with Dave is a good way to induce a nap, but WOW! when it happens, I just love it! 

Our Episcopal priest, Father Jay, talked of Jesus sending the apostles into the wilderness. They had just come back from their "two-by-two" expedition, and they wanted to rest. Jesus sent them into the wilderness. What does the word "wilderness" conjure up for you? For me, it reminds me of the big Piney Woods of East Texas, the Appalachian Trail, Denali National Park, the Yukon Territory, and so many other places I've been and loved (and those I haven't been---maybe God hasn't "sent me" there yet). Father Jay said that if we go into these "wilderness" places, even though we think it might be restful, we have to be vigilant as there can be dangers in the wilderness (especially if we don't know what we are doing). It is in those times of being in the wilderness alone that we need to rely on God's help. What if a lightning storm begins on the Appalachian Trail? Should you get under the trees or out in the open? In the Yukon Territory, if you happen onto a moose or a bear, are you supposed to "look big" and make lots of noise or are you supposed to turn around and run? In the wilderness, I would not only have to rely on the skills I had been taught before I ventured there but I would need to rely on God.  

We may not go to Denali very often (if ever, but if you get the chance, take it, as it is SO beautiful!), but we do have our own "wilderness" places in our own lives during which time, we have to rely on God because we are not in charge. I definitely believe this happened to me during my recent stint in the hospital. I would be awakened by the vampires who must take my blood at 3:00 a.m. (really??), and I could go right back to sleep after that (but why, oh why, can't you take it out of an IV and quit poking needles in me?), but during the day, I would feel so lonely (God bless Dave----he came to the hospital as much as he could, but we have two Labs that needed his attention, as well, so he most certainly couldn't be there all the time) and scared (when will these antibiotics kick my infection? when will I get to go home?).  While waiting for news from my doctor or waiting for the next IV drip to be changed or pain meds to be brought, I had to realize that God is definitely in charge.  Imagine that in a vast hospital, in my room, there I can find and hold onto God! 

One of my favorite sayings is "I can't; God can; I'm going to let Him". It pretty much sums up what it feels like to truly rely on God so I can rest easy in His loving arms. When I try to take control, things go south pretty quickly. When I give it up to God, I can rest----even when I am in the wilderness.

What is your wilderness? How do you navigate through it, even when it might be scary and you aren't sure whether to run from the bear or bang pots and pans at it. In those times, what are your go-to strategies?  How do you find rest? 

I am grateful to have navigated some of my most recent wilderness, and I will continue to do so by relying on God and taking help when it is offered. But for now....I think I will take a nap.

Happy Communicating,

​Shelly

The summer is always my busiest time of year for work, especially since I do consulting, coaching, and professional development for school districts all over the world. Summer is the best time for administrators to get professional development, and August and September are the back-to-school months for teachers to get professional development.

So, I was ready to go....I've had quite a few work trips planned, particularly for July and August. Then, just like that, I needed surgery....not so much major surgery but one that required rest and a few limitations. I may or may not have crossed over a couple of limitations and found myself in my doctor's office, where she told me at 9:00 in the morning to not drink any more of my diet coke because she was going to find a place to perform an emergency surgery due to a pretty severe infection. The infection was a staph infection from an unknown source, and I ended up in the hospital (while they tried to find the right IV antibiotic) for 5 days. I still have much healing and a bit more surgery to do, but for now, I am out of the woods. My husband, Dave, who is adding jewels to his crown for Heaven, has been an amazing caregiver----helping me when I need it, making me laugh when I need it, reminding me to not project into the future when I need it, and getting me to walk and take my medications when I need it. 

I talked with God. I talked with Dave. I talked with my spiritual advisor. I talked with my dearest friends. All of them told me this: "You need to stop moving". In other words, I was told (it truly has felt a bit like an intervention) that I needed to quit focusing so much on work and other responsibilities in order to commence a "reset" on my physical and mental well-being. Just to be clear, I four organizations with whom I am employed (mutual clients and responsibilities in all of them), and I contact three of them over the next two days and said, "I'm unable to fulfill any work for the next several months, as I have to fulfill some work on me."  Uggghhhhh.....anyone out there a workaholic?  You must share my "Uggghhhh", then, as it was the most horrific thing I've had to do in a long time.  Work is what I do. It defines me.....until it couldn't. My spiritual advisor reminded me that I am worthy without needing to collect a paycheck for a while. 

So, a reset, for me anyway, is a work in progress, and it is, indeed, progress, not perfection.  You notice I said I contacted three of the four. I am still doing online teaching for one major university. It's great because even when Dave and I travel, I can do the online teaching and it only takes up part of my time. I am grateful to be teaching, as it "keeps me in the game", as so much of my work does.

What am I going to do during this time?  Rest, read, and "reset" are my three top priorities, in addition to do some work on my spiritual self. 
I know I haven't posted much, lately, but I will certainly be trying to keep in touch with my website and blog as often as I can.

Just for today, consider how important our physical health is to any other type of health we have. If we are not physically healthy, all other "systems" tend to shut down. 
I'm blessed to have so many people who love and adore me and whom I love and adore right back!
Take care, and God bless you!

Shelly

I have wanted to write a book with this title for WAY longer than I care to admit, and I still haven't done it, so here is the start....a blog about the topic.  While I have been beating myself up about not blogging for a month and a half (the longest I think I have ever gone since beginning to blog in 2012), I realize that the flogging does no good and in fact arrests my growth. I have had a rough last several weeks, with the short story resulting in a hospital stay for a severe kidney infection (when Dave and I were in the ER, and we heard the word "sepsis" being quietly spoken, then I was immediately hooked up to an IV, an EKG, and fluids and morphine were shot through my IV, we definitely sat up and took notice----me, a bit loopier than Dave). In the end, I was hospitalized in San Antonio for 5 days because my kidney infection was stubborn and didn't want to respond to antibiotics. Two weeks later, I can honestly say I am feeling much better, and I am eternally grateful for my healthcare staff, friends who texted, emailed, Facebook messaged, dropped by (one with a Matthew McConaughey coloring book and colored pencils), and my dear husband who sacrificed playing golf more than a couple of days for my health (and indulging cravings for cherry slushes from Sonic when no other food or drink sounded good ---for almost 10 days----crazy!).  To say I felt "vulnerable" is an understatement. I honestly did not know what was going on with me (from the CT scan showing an inflamed pancreas one day to a CT scan with contrast showing my right kidney "lit up"), and Dave and I felt "vulnerable". Ultimately, I can say I am stronger for what we went through because I leaned heavily on God.  I mean....I leaned!! 

I think that I most often use that line when talking with principals and other school leaders about the culture in their schools. I based my entire dissertation on trust between principals and teachers, determining that one of the main "categories" of trust builders was communication. In other words, principals who communicated in an open and honest (and often fun-loving and even using self-deprecating humor) way were WAY more likely to be trusted by their teachers than those who thought they were possibly too "above" the teachers to talk with them, so they talked TO them. I most certainly do not know everything about leading a school (I did do it for 8 years and they were some of the best years of my life), but I do know this for certain: teachers know principals don't know everything about the teacher's classes, the curricula, the needs of their special needs students, the ins and outs of all of the aspects of the lesson the teacher is teaching on that day, etc.  So why in the world would we (as school leaders) act like we know all that?? It simply makes no sense. The vulnerability that is equated with me asking a teacher to please explain to me what I will be seeing in their lesson today or asking the band director to make me smart enough to know what the tubas are needing help with (and, for the record, I'm the daughter of a lifelong band director, and I still need that assistance) is something that allows the teacher to advocate for their own practice, taking nothing away from my ego or my own knowledge (unless I let it, which is the kicker). 
​I am grateful to have a loving God who does not judge but rather encourages me to get outside my comfort zone, which is naturally going to put me in a vulnerable situation. But that doesn't make me weak, and I need to remember that.
For today, consider what makes you feel most vulnerable. Take a moment (or two or three) to examine from where that vulnerability stems and if it is even realistic. Then continue progressing in your field of expertise, knowing you have some knowledge and not all knowledge.  
Happy Communicating!
​Shelly

            When we were little girls, my sister Kristen and I shared a bedroom.  The room was oversized, originally intended to be split into two rooms.  We split the room into sections, instead.  We used one side for our two twin beds, and the other side became our playroom, complete with a dollhouse that put Barbie’s Malibu home to shame, stuffed animals (that I wound up teaching a few short years later---great class; they never talked back or threw things at their teacher), art area, and bookshelves filled with our treasured picture books.  Mother and Daddy encouraged artwork --- painting, drawing, coloring, although Mother snubbed her nose at traditional coloring books, claiming them to stifle any creativity.  But I remember distinctly getting a package of paper and a box of Crayola crayons (I may or may not still harbor a secret resentment---okay, maybe not so secret anymore---- that my parents gave Kristen a 64 box of crayons, and I got a 24-count box). Artwork, however, was not encouraged to be completed on the walls of our bedroom, as I personally found out as a young girl.  Like Harold with his purple crayon, I somehow got the idea that drawing on the wall by my bed with a blue crayon was a good idea.  Not so.  A strong scolding was all it took to convince me to not do that again.

            So, when Mother and Daddy suggested Kristen and I begin measuring ourselves, using a pencil to mark our height on the bedroom wall, I was a bit gun-shy.  Was this a trick?  Were we being "punked" (look it up---I'm old). Could we really mark on the wall?  “Yes", we were told, "it’s fine in this case."  Plus, we are only using pencil and we’ll wipe it off as we make new marks.  Reluctantly, I backed against the wall to allow Kristen to draw a line above my head with a #2 pencil.  In case Mother and Daddy changed their minds and got onto us for writing on the wall, maybe I wouldn’t be first in line to be scolded. Eeeeek! 

            How odd to turn around and see where the mark on the wall was.  It seemed so low.  Could I really be that short?  But week after week, we returned to the wall to measure.  Lo and behold---the lines slowly but surely crawled up the wall.  And despite the original notion that we would have to erase each time, we were able to keep the older pencil marks so we could see where we had come from.  “Wow! Can you believe I was ever that short?” we would each marvel.  Kristen and I grew taller, and we grew up, leaving that house behind when I was 8 years old to move to another part of Texas.

     Nichole Nordeman’s song “I Am” (click on the title to hear the song---it is so beautiful in so many ways) begins with the words:

“Pencil marks on a wall, I wasn’t always that tall.

You scattered some monsters from beneath my bed.”

            This melodic song depicts growing up, calling out by name the need for a savior, secret keeper, elbow healer, and comforter, with a loved one, with a fierce tribe of friends, a parent and, ultimately, God answering, “I am”. 

            How I measured myself changed as the years went by.  Marks on a wall were exchanged for milestones such as shopping for a first bra, “falling in love” with my first boyfriend, and moving into a college dorm.  College, for me, brought a host of new experiences including making lifelong friends, two of whom ending up being bridesmaids in my wedding.  Kelly, Robin and I saw each other through major boyfriend breakups, late night studying, and, ultimately, weddings. 

            Forty years later (from meeting in college), there are 9 of us who get together every single year. When we called out for a “secret keeper” or “heartache healer”, the others would be there. We have listened to each other declare we would never be able to love again.  When we were weak, we would call each other.  When Robin called so long ago to say she was getting a divorce, I asked “Do you want me to come be with you?”  She answered, “Come if you can.”  I said, “I am.” 

           In 2015, I was taking a bath when I felt a weird lump on my left breast. Just then, the phone rang. It was my doctor, saying they wanted to follow up my mammogram I had had the day before with an ultrasound. I remember saying, "If it is a lump, I already know where it is. I've never known what I was feeling for when told to do a self-exam in between mammograms, but I do now."  They did a biopsy, and the unbelievably difficult wait for the phone call (that, I somehow knew, was a "You have breast cancer" call) continued until I was in Princeton, NJ for a work retreat.  I was actually driving 6 colleagues to dinner when I got the call from my doctor. I had pulled the car over and gotten out, and she said those exact words to me. Everyone was super supportive, and I called Dave from the "dinner house", bawling my eyes out. I immediately changed my flight to get back home the next morning. Once back at the hotel, in the room by myself, I called Robin to tell her the news. It was gut-wrenching but we laughed and cried the whole time, while I know Dave was trying to figure out how we were going to "fix this". My "tribe" rallied around me with such intensity (including packages of things that melted my heart to Robin, Kelly and Michelle (one of my dearest friends as we went through our doctoral cohort together) coming to stay with me when Dave had to go back to work). "Are you sure it won't be a burden for you to come?" I asked. They all said "I Am".
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These lines from Nordeman's song still resonate with me for such a time as this:

“When I am weak, unable to speak, still, I will call you by name.

Oh Shepherd, Savior, pasture maker, hold on to my hand. And You said, ‘I am’.”

            After all these years, from measuring myself by pencil marks on a wall to measuring myself by the love I still feel for my sister and these God friends, I want to take a minute to remind them that when we are weak and unable to speak, if you call out for a secret keeper to hold your hand, I will answer “I am”. 

Blessings to all of you on this Sunday! 
Happy Communicating,
Shelly