"One reason we can hardly bear to remain silent is that is makes us feel so helpless. We are so accustomed to relying upon words to manage and control others. If we are silent, who will take control? God will take control, but we will never let him take control until we trust him. Silence is intimately related to trust.
"The tongue is our most powerful weapon of manipulation. A frantic stream of words flows from us because we are in a constant process of adjusting our public image. We fear so deeply what we think other people see in us that we talk in order to straighten out their understanding.... Silence is one of the deepest Disciplines of the Spirit simply because it puts the stopper on all self-justification.
"One of the fruits of silence is the freedom to let God be our justifier. We don't need to straighten others out. There is a story of a medieval monk who was being unjustly accused of certain offenses. One day he looked out his window and saw a dog biting and tearing on a rug that had been hung out to dry. As he watched, the Lord spoke to him saying, 'That is what is happening to your reputation. But if you will trust me, I will care for you -- reputation and all.' Perhaps more than anythign else, silence brings us to believe that God can care for us. -- 'reputation and all.'"
- From Richard Foster's chapter on "Solitude" in Celebration of Discipline
Monday, June 25, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Nationals
I'm at the National Forensics League Tournament with my daughter and six other freshmen-to-be. We're here with a few kids from our high school and two coaches. The high schoolers have already begun competing. This afternoon, they'll learn if they've made the first cut from around 400 competitors per event to the sixty continuing on. Tomorrow, the middle school competition begins, and so, our fun hang-out-a-little-and-work-a-little pace will shift. Adrenaline will begin to pump. The drama will commence, literally, figuratively.
Today in this calm before the storm, I ruminate on my own Nationals story, one perhaps better described as a non-Nationals story. A story I have told few people, because really it's not that interesting to anyone but me. I am tempted tell my story to people here, because here causes me to remember, but this is not the place for telling. Now is not my story.
Still, it's a story that has shaped me. One that bubbles up in my consciousness from time to time accompanied not so much by sadness, regret or bitterness, but more by bewilderment. We all have these stories, stories we seldom tell but that make us who we are. Occasionally, we take them out, turn them over in our minds, examining the many facets, ruminating.
____________
I participated in a number of high school activities, but Debate and Forensics were my passion. I was pretty good, so the passion was not misplaced. Though I dabbled in a variety of forensics events, Original Oratory (a ten-minute persuasive speech) was my favorite. I did well in this event.
As a sophomore, I placed third in our region's national qualifying tournament. The top two advance to nationals. To have done so well at this age was impressive at the time, and it felt like a promise of great potential. One day, I would undoubtedly be competing in Nationals. That seemed certain.
The next year, I encountered controversy early in the season. While preparing to write my oratory, I had flipped through several old Vital Speeches magazines seeking topic ideas and I had chosen as a springboard a speech about fear of failure. Because the speech was from several years earlier, I was surprised to discover at one of the season's first tournaments that a competitor from another school had consulted the very same article. In fact, she had not only consulted the magazine, she had plagiarized almost the entire speech. (Interesting that she chose to plagiarize a speech about fear of failure.)
I told my forensics coach, but as far as I know, he did nothing. The girl attended the school where he had just worked as an assistant coach before taking the head coaching position at my school. I'm sure it was complicated for him. Perhaps he did say something and the coach at her school did nothing. Either way, she continued to compete with an unchanged speech throughout the season.
She was a good speaker. I was a good speaker. Because we had the same topic, when we competed head-to-head, the person who delivered her speech first usually fared better. We traded victories back and forth throughout the season.
At the national qualifying tournament, our duplicate speeches became problematic. When she spoke in a round before me, she got the better score, and vice versa. The stakes were higher now, though, so I mentioned it to my coach again. An investigation followed. Ultimately, she was disqualified from the tournament.
Even so, the damage was done. I place third in the tournament. Again.
The next year the pressure was on. The season proved promising. The national qualifying tournament proved promising.
In the finals round -- the round determining who would proceed to Nationals -- one of my three judges was the coach of the competitor I had outed the previous year.
I placed fourth.
____________
Here I am now, at the destination I so deeply aspired to all those years ago. I've learned it's slightly easier to qualify in high school now. The top three rather than the top two places go to Nationals. Had this been the case back in the day, I would have gone as a sophomore and junior. If that had occurred, would my life be much different than today? Would I have chosen a different college, career, path?
I am here with my daughter, who is quite good. I say this as a mom, of course, but also as a reporter of what many other people have said. Nevertheless, I am throwing her to the wolves tomorrow when she competes in the middle school tournament.
She will perhaps learn that though these events have judges, justice is not guaranteed. She might also learn that what others say is true -- she is indeed a gifted young woman. Or she might have the chance to begin to learn that she is not what she does. That accolades and accomplishments and awards are nice, but she is so much more than these things. That there are lovely portions of her that cannot be rewarded and often are not even recognized, except by those who can truly see. Some that only God sees.
And I, her mom, am glad I am here. Though it dredges up past disappointments and lessons, perhaps because it does so. I am glad to be here while she lives her own story, regardless of the outcome. Ready with a mom-hug either way.
Today in this calm before the storm, I ruminate on my own Nationals story, one perhaps better described as a non-Nationals story. A story I have told few people, because really it's not that interesting to anyone but me. I am tempted tell my story to people here, because here causes me to remember, but this is not the place for telling. Now is not my story.
Still, it's a story that has shaped me. One that bubbles up in my consciousness from time to time accompanied not so much by sadness, regret or bitterness, but more by bewilderment. We all have these stories, stories we seldom tell but that make us who we are. Occasionally, we take them out, turn them over in our minds, examining the many facets, ruminating.
____________
I participated in a number of high school activities, but Debate and Forensics were my passion. I was pretty good, so the passion was not misplaced. Though I dabbled in a variety of forensics events, Original Oratory (a ten-minute persuasive speech) was my favorite. I did well in this event.
As a sophomore, I placed third in our region's national qualifying tournament. The top two advance to nationals. To have done so well at this age was impressive at the time, and it felt like a promise of great potential. One day, I would undoubtedly be competing in Nationals. That seemed certain.
The next year, I encountered controversy early in the season. While preparing to write my oratory, I had flipped through several old Vital Speeches magazines seeking topic ideas and I had chosen as a springboard a speech about fear of failure. Because the speech was from several years earlier, I was surprised to discover at one of the season's first tournaments that a competitor from another school had consulted the very same article. In fact, she had not only consulted the magazine, she had plagiarized almost the entire speech. (Interesting that she chose to plagiarize a speech about fear of failure.)
I told my forensics coach, but as far as I know, he did nothing. The girl attended the school where he had just worked as an assistant coach before taking the head coaching position at my school. I'm sure it was complicated for him. Perhaps he did say something and the coach at her school did nothing. Either way, she continued to compete with an unchanged speech throughout the season.
She was a good speaker. I was a good speaker. Because we had the same topic, when we competed head-to-head, the person who delivered her speech first usually fared better. We traded victories back and forth throughout the season.
At the national qualifying tournament, our duplicate speeches became problematic. When she spoke in a round before me, she got the better score, and vice versa. The stakes were higher now, though, so I mentioned it to my coach again. An investigation followed. Ultimately, she was disqualified from the tournament.
Even so, the damage was done. I place third in the tournament. Again.
The next year the pressure was on. The season proved promising. The national qualifying tournament proved promising.
In the finals round -- the round determining who would proceed to Nationals -- one of my three judges was the coach of the competitor I had outed the previous year.
I placed fourth.
____________
Here I am now, at the destination I so deeply aspired to all those years ago. I've learned it's slightly easier to qualify in high school now. The top three rather than the top two places go to Nationals. Had this been the case back in the day, I would have gone as a sophomore and junior. If that had occurred, would my life be much different than today? Would I have chosen a different college, career, path?
I am here with my daughter, who is quite good. I say this as a mom, of course, but also as a reporter of what many other people have said. Nevertheless, I am throwing her to the wolves tomorrow when she competes in the middle school tournament.
She will perhaps learn that though these events have judges, justice is not guaranteed. She might also learn that what others say is true -- she is indeed a gifted young woman. Or she might have the chance to begin to learn that she is not what she does. That accolades and accomplishments and awards are nice, but she is so much more than these things. That there are lovely portions of her that cannot be rewarded and often are not even recognized, except by those who can truly see. Some that only God sees.
And I, her mom, am glad I am here. Though it dredges up past disappointments and lessons, perhaps because it does so. I am glad to be here while she lives her own story, regardless of the outcome. Ready with a mom-hug either way.
Self-portrait
We are all such complicated beings that if each of us were to create a new self-portrait each day for a month, what we would create might very well change dramatically from day to day.
One self-portraits I would make would look a little something like this:
One self-portraits I would make would look a little something like this:
 |
| Look closely. |
Friday, June 1, 2012
A Money Making Opportunity!
When I was thirteen, my dad charged my brother and me with a daunting task: to clear our new home's horse pasture of thistles. For each thistle bloom we collected, he offered us both a penny.
Bored and greedy, we accepted the challenge.
We clipped 900 thistle blooms that summer morning. 900. And so, we each earned nine dollars for our efforts.
For years, I thought we had really pulled one over on Dad. I figured he had figured we'd only collect about a hundred or so. Boy was he fooled, I thought.
Then just a couple of years ago, it occurred to me that for a mere eighteen dollars, he managed both to occupy his bored children for a morning and to clear his pasture of thistles.
Well played, Dad. Well played.
--------------------------
(Thanks to my creative friend, Jennifer at http://apoemlife.blogspot.com for the lovely thistle photo!)
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