“Okay, Tia,” the teacher said. “I want you to close your eyes right now. We’re going to play a game.”
I looked on as my daughter compliantly squeezed her eyes shut. We were sitting in the kitchen with a retired second grade teacher who is giving Tia a few tips and tricks to strengthen her reading comprehension. One of the things she noticed right away was that my daughter (a realist, and about as literal a child as they come) was not connecting the the text she was reading.
“Now,” the teacher said gently. “The characters in this story are named Bob, Tom and Jack. Tell me, Tia. What does Jack look like?”
Tia opened her eyes and looked at the teacher in surprise.
“Close your eyes,” the teacher reminded her with a smile. “I want you to use your imagination and tell me what you think Jack looks like. What is he wearing?”
“Uuuummmm…shorts and a t-shirt?” Tia asked.
“Okay,” the teacher said with a smile. “What about Tom?”
“Uh…jeans and a long sleeve shirt?”
“And Bob?”
Tia squeezed her eyes tight and I could see her trying very hard to figure out this obscure exercise in imagination. “Um…a long sleeve shirt and shorts?”
That was the best she could do. This is my child who is not imaginative. She is not one to get lost in story, or to play make believe. She never has been that way – it is simply not the way she was wired. All of her play is centered around real life, or around stories she has heard before. She’s not one to make up her own stories, but rather will regurgitate that which has already been told.
I’m okay with this, though I confess that for a dreamer/imaginer like myself, it is sometimes baffling to watch her process the world. How did I end up with a child who can’t find a shape in a cloud, or close her eyes and imagine a world where the sky isn’t blue?
I’ll tell you how – I married a literalist, and she is just like her daddy.
I had to bite my lip from laughing at her that day with the teacher. She seemed entirely befuddled by this little game, and as I explained the nature of her personality to the teacher later, both of us agreed that she will likely struggle less with nonfiction books that fiction.
It’s hard to connect with a text when you can’t really see the pictures in your mind.
That’s not to say we won’t keep trying. It’s a necessary skill that I want her to develop, but it won’t ever come naturally to her.
Yesterday, she and I sat down to work on her reading. She pulled out The Magic Treehouse and slowly began to read. I stopped her after the first paragraph.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s practice what Miss Eileen taught you. After reading this paragraph what picture do you have in your mind of Jack and Annie?”
Tia looking at me pointedly. “Yeah…that doesn’t work for me,” she said. “When I closed my eyes I could only see black. How am I supposed to know what Jack looks like with my eyes closed?!”
I love that child. I love the fact that she holds nothing back. It can be infuriating and baffling at times, but also a breath of fresh air. We always know exactly where she stands on an issue. If she doesn’t like something, she will tell you. She doesn’t have time to pretend to like it.
And please don’t ask her to waste time on fantasies. She has too many real dreams to pursue. Like this list of goals she wrote down yesterday.
She’s still a dreamer, you see. Her dreams are simply steeped in the actual world around her.
Wherever we are, there is always something of beauty that bursts and begs notice – landmarks on our expedition of redemptive return.” Mo Leverett
There is a unique joy in watching someone living in passionate pursuit of life, fully embracing the joys and trials that come with traversing this earth. Beauty takes on so many different forms based on the intricacies of each personality, each gift and talent dispersed, developed, and shared with the world.
Art is not only a painting. It isn’t confined to the space of a page or a canvas. It’s not always wrapped in a stanza, or a lyric, or a ringing dissonant chord.
Art is found everywhere, in all of life. It’s a sunset, a crying baby, the mother humming gently into tender ears. It’s in the sweat of a laborer, fighting for his daily bread. It’s in the dusty feet of the mother who walks miles for water, the father who combs the fields for food.
Art is life. Breathing, circulating, moving in tendrils, in swirls throughout the ebb and flow of daily living. Art is alive and tangible, though you cannot always see it or touch it. You feel it, and you know it, and you recognize it when you’re in its presence.
He’s a musician “striving for poetic beauty and force, for authenticity and passion.” An artist who sways toward the folk and blues genre continuum, Mo seeks to embrace lament as an ordinary part of life, and his music reflects this. In his words, “The thread of compassion is woven through, born of living most of my life among the poor or being materially poor myself these last years.”
Currently, Mo is busy putting together his 12th album. Life, redemption, poverty, family, love, grace, suffering and justice are themes that commonly appear in many of Mo’s original songs, and his current album, These are the Days, continues to draw inspiration from his life in urban ministry, the repercussions of Hurricane Katrina, divorce, personal hardship, recovery, healing and remarriage.
I could keep talking about the album, but I think it would be best for you to hear from someone who knows him well. His producer, Scotty Alderman, shared these thoughts:
Mo is an original – part prophet, part preacher, part troubadour. His gruff voice is powerful and full of soul, while his lyrics paint vivid pictures and evoke strong emotions from the listener. Always affective and potent, Mo can say very hard things in tender ways, and tender things in easliy relatable ways.
Mo writes about pain, loss, injustice, love, and gratitude from a very deep place. His hard-won, hard-earned wisdom is matched with a voice suited to express it. Mo’s music is distinctly American, rugged and pioneering, more specifically steeped in the South, in the soulfulness of Louisiana. Mo’s lyrics are genuine, sincere, ernest, vulnerable, and laced with poetic prose. I think everyone should have the opportunity to hear him – he’s that sort of singer-songwriter. Mo could be one of the greats – I actually believe he already is.”
Dream chasing is rarely achieved on your own. All of us need a team to back us up, to support us as we push toward the actualization of our dreams. Dream chasing requires courage, confidence, and sometimes the asking for a little help.
If you are interested in hearing more music from Mo Leverett’s upcoming album, would you consider visiting his Kickstarter page and offering a pledge to help cover the costs of the album? Every dollar helps, and your pledge will be greatly and deeply appreciated. He is currently only $2,700 dollars shy of his goal with 9 days to go.
This is a small gap to fill!
For more insight into Mo’s heart, and to gain a better understanding of his skill as a writer, I urge you to read his post, The Joy of One Thing. It’s an honor to be a part of Mo’s journey as he strives to create art that is an honest depiction of the life he’s lived and seen. In his words: “The greatest joy that I receive from doing records is the opportunity to play with serious musicians and for them to enter the inspiration sector in one of my little songs. But I am also genuinely encouraged that my music is in any way a source of help and comfort to others.”
For the most part, the focus of this blog will remain on the endeavors in which I find inspiration. I also want to focus on YOU. I want to hear your stories, to hear your dreams, your plans, and your goals, and I want to feature them here in this space. Because inspiration is elusive at times, and it takes on so many different forms.
Many times, we find our greatest inspiration in one another.
If you have a story to tell, a project to share that you’re particularly passionate about, or a dream that you’re working toward that you would like to share with this community of inspiration seekers, please click the box that says Connect and let me know! I’d love to have you guest post, or to write a feature post on your behalf.
In addition to dream chasing, inspiration seeking, and story telling, I will intersperse my every day life here in this space as well. I still want to record the happenings of life so that as I get older (and, let’s face it, more senile), I can look back and remember the joys, the trials, the humor, and all the living that took place in our home and community.
With that said, I’m 14 weeks pregnant now.
What?!
On the one hand, I feel like it’s flying by, and on the other I find myself completely over it. Remember, I didn’t really want to do the pregnancy thing again. This wasn’t my plan. Add to that the fact that I feel crummy all. the. ever. lovin’. time, and you can understand why I may be a tad weary.
I’m not complaining. I’m just telling it like it is. I feel nauseous from the moment my feet hit the floor to the second my head hits the pillow. I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I get headaches frequently, and I have had to make myself start choking down vitamins this week because I know that I need to.
But enough about that.
The silver lining is that I’m pushing full steam into the second trimester, and if I remember correctly, all this should begin to subside here shortly.I’ve also tiptoed into the world of Essential Oils, and in just a few days I’ve begun to notice a marked difference in how I feel thanks to the help of a little oil called Lavender.
Things are looking up.
And smelling lovely.
Boy or Girl?
We should be able to find out if we’re having a boy or girl in the next seven weeks or so. If I had to make a prediction right now, I’d say girl, because Tia also dragged me through the ringer of insomnia and nausea, while my boy pregnancies were always smooth sailing.
Truthfully, I will be thrilled either way. I’d love to have a girl because I’ve always wished I had a sister, and I’d love my daughter to have the benefit of that which I do not. But I also adore little boys, and I’ve fallen in love with a certain boy name, so I’m game for either one.
As if I have a choice, right?
Emotionally, I’m doing fairly well. I have moments of intense excitement when I think of having a baby in the house again. Then there are moments of intense panic when I think of having a baby in the house again!
I’m filled with gratefulness that the Lord chose to bless us with another child, yet I still wrestle with the conflicting emotions of longing to adopt, and not understanding why that feeling remains so strong.
The beauty of pregnancy is that there is time to work through all of this before baby comes home. We’re headed into a new season filled with so much joy and blessing. A little bit of nausea is all worth it in the end, and in the meantime I will keep on offering up prayers of thankfulness for the beauty and the trial, both of which are knit tightly together, intertwined so that one cannot operate without the other.
Happy Wednesday, everyone. It’s almost Friday! That’s always cause for celebration.
In the early days of our marriage, Lee and I lived in an apartment the size of a matchbox in Frisco, Texas. Miles from our home, a new church was in it’s early stages, still meeting in a local school while a building was being constructed. This church was led by Chuck Swindoll, an author both of us had long admired, and we quickly discovered that his preaching was the perfect fit for two kids playing house and trying desperately to grow up.
Every Sunday for two years we left our apartment early and traveled the two miles from home to church where we made it a point to sit on the second row, right next to Chuck’s wife Cynthia. We soaked in every word of his preaching, taking pages and pages of notes as we gleaned from his wisdom and his charisma.
Over the years, we have kept track of Pastor Swindoll through his Insight for Living broadcast, and on occasion we order a series of messages that we feel would be particularly beneficial. Last fall, we purchased his series on Biblical Parenting, and the first sermon alone left such an impact that I think on the message often.
He started by breaking down a verse that’s given me a great deal of consternation for the last few years. It’s a verse that I’ve long felt was misunderstood and misquoted often to the detriment of both parents and children.
Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6
This verse was always explained to me in such a way that if I raise my children in a strong, Bible believing household, and point them to the Lord, then when they grow old, they will naturally follow that path and not turn from it. The advice seems sound enough, and the message is nice to hear when you have young children who are easily trainable.
But what happens when those children grow up and rebel?
What about the children who choose to depart from their parent’s teaching, or from the church of their youth?
What happens when children question and doubt, and perhaps even turn their back on the Lord?
What are parents supposed to think then?
I’ve long felt that the common interpretation of this verse sets children up for unrealistic expectations of perfection, and sets parents up for a world of heartache and guilt if, indeed, their children choose to take a different path.
Chuck Swindoll set my mind and heart at ease when he broke down the literal interpretation of this verse. Proverbs 22:6 instructs parents to raise their children in the way they are bent.
We are to recognize the natural talents, passions, and gifts that our children possess, and train them up according to those things, so that when they grow old they will know who God created them to be. They will grow with a confidence in who they are, and in their purpose on this earth. This sets children up for success far more than a simplistic view that if they know Jesus at 6, they will know him at 26.
Does this mean they will stay the course and resist temptation? No, it does not. I pray daily that my children will make it through adolescence and young adulthood with a strong sense of faith and trust in the Lord, but I do not expect to raise perfect little robots who never fail, never make mistakes.
We must take the time to really watch our children, to observe them closely, and to take note of the traits that make each of them unique, and then we must heartily and graciously point them toward those naturals bents, even if they differ from what we would desire for them.
Is your child a gifted musician? Does he have an ear for music that comes naturally? Then by all means, buy him a guitar, give him a piano, or purchase a set of drums and some good ear plugs and let him flourish.
Don’t try to make him a quarterback if his natural gifting and desire lean toward music. Don’t try to make a musician out of a child that loves soccer. Don’t try to make a bookworm out of a thrill seeker.
We all recognize giftings in our children, and we naturally want to develop those. Sometimes we see a gift, but quickly realize that they don’t have a passion for that activity, and we have to make the hard choice to sit back and let them walk away from something in which they could potentially excel. Because the fact is, talent without passion can only take us so far before it all falls apart.
How are you doing at recognizing your children’s natural bents? Do you see untapped potential in your child that you could affirm? Point them in the way they should go, and when they’re old, they won’t depart from it.
Fanciful daydreams of a life of grandeur are the things that make childhood so magical. Perhaps one of the greatest tragedies to strike the fatherless is the stripping of innocence – a building block of dreams.
My daughter and I had a few moments alone in the car last week, and she reminded me yet again of the power of a good dream. We were on our way to her gymnastics practice, and she didn’t really want to go. She was tired, she wanted to stay home and fight with play with her brothers, and she just wasn’t in the mood for a four hour workout.
After a few tense moments of whining and pouting, she quieted down and took a deep breath.
“Mom?” she asked.
I glanced at her through the rearview mirror and reminded myself that she’s still so young. Big eyes hover over soft, full cheeks and a nose dotted with fine freckles. I waited for her to speak. She is the child who needs space to prepare her thoughts, slowly and deliberately choosing each word.
“I don’t want to play soccer next year.”
I was surprised by this comment. It was random and didn’t fit the context of our previous conversation. “Okay,” I answered. “You don’t have to.”
“I just don’t see myself as a soccer player,” she said, and I bit back a smile.
“Okay.”
“And I really don’t want to play softball,” she continued, her voice strong and adamant.
I turned onto the street where her gym was located and tried to follow along with her train of thought, to connect the dots from the anger about having to leave for gymnastics and the present conversation. I had a moment of panic, wondering if she was leading up to telling me she didn’t want to do gymnastics anymore. It’s a decision I would support, but it would break my heart, because she has so much talent.
“Well what do you see yourself doing?” I asked, guiding the car into a parking place in front of the gym. I put it in park and shifted so I could look her in the eye. She glanced out the window and a small smile spread across her face.
“I see myself at the Olympics,” she said. Her voice was wistful and dreamy and I couldn’t help but grin. I know that look, and I know what she’s feeling. When I was eight, I saw myself as an Olympic gymnast, too. I remember imagining the podium, and what it would feel like to watch the flag raised with my anthem playing. I envisioned this with the images of Mary Lou Retton shimmering in my mind.
“I’m ready now,” she said. “If I’m going to go to the Olympics, I guess I have to practice, huh?”
There’s something about childhood that makes dreaming so enviable. Right now, there is no doubt in her mind that her dream of going to the Olympics will come true, and there’s no part of me that plans to altar that dream with anything resembling a dose of reality. I know that with time and age, her dreams will shift, and they will mature, and they will change.
But I don’t ever want her to stop dreaming.
Too often as adults we let reality bury our dreams in a pile of salt. We become so practical that we forget the power of a healthy dream. We don’t let our dreams grow and mature with us, and we abandon the act of dreaming altogether.
My childhood dream of making the Olympic team is no longer a reality (though I think I could still have a shot at Curling. I mean, seriously…how hard could it be?!).
But there are realistic dreams that fit my life now, and I’m tired of pushing them aside. I dream of publishing books, of working more with organizations that support orphan care, of not settling and growing comfortable with a life of ease.
I dream of keeping a clean home.
Wait…never mind. That one is about as likely as me becoming the gold medal All Around gymnast in 2016.
The fact is, I don’t have to stop dreaming any more than my eight year old does. And what’s more – I need to chase my dreams as hard as she is chasing hers. I need to push for them, even when I don’t feel like it.
“Now,” the teacher said gently. “The characters in this story are named Bob, Tom and Jack. Tell me, Tia. What does Jack look like?”
