Tagged: Limitations

Leading The Way

I was working with the “little ones.” That’s what Lorelei and I call our four and our three-year-olds.

For some reason we have our kids categorized into two sets. The “big ones” and the “little ones.” Oddly, the “big ones” aren’t actually that big and the “little ones” aren’t actually that little anymore.

Regardless, we were selecting cloths for an afternoon out with a couple of their grandparents. After settling on snappy casual and gathering what we needed we turned to leave the room. Before we did, our three-year-old son made his intentions clear by holding up a hand and shouting, “I am leading the way!”

In our house, “I am leading the way,” is a decree that speaks to line positions along any particular path. Going to the dinner table, heading into the basement playroom, caravanning upstairs to take baths and brush teeth, every destination has someone “leading the way” in the Berg house.

This time, our four-year-old daughter and I were relegated to the back of the three-person line to stutter-step it through the hallway and down the stairs (you can guess who was at the stern).

Little brother clarified at least five more times as we walked. Every couple of steps he twirled his head around, extended his arm and declared, “I am leading the way!”

Each time did it, big sister looked back at me, smiled, winked, and then turned to him, patted him on the back, and reassuringly agreed, “That’s right, Buddy, you are leading the way.”

It was cute. Big sisters rock! This one in particular.

Moreover, it was a great example of Self Determination in play.

To be fair, nowadays my nose is so frequently buried in literature about or related to Self Determination Theory that connections between it and my learning and leadership journey are never far out of hand. When I think of parenting and/or education the tenets of Self Determination Theory typically set the backdrop.

Specifically, I consistently wonder how I’m doing at promoting an autonomy-supportive culture within which those I serve are confident in their strengths, excited to growth through challenges with optimism, and feeling connected to me and one another as positive partners in progress, be they adults or kids.

When our youngest repeatedly declared himself the leader of the way, autonomy, competence, and relatedness rang in my mind.

He seemed to feel equal to the task, he demonstrated comfort in naming himself to the post, and the partnerships he had build over the three years of life with me and with his sister allowed for some flexibility regarding who would take the lead on this leg of the journey.

Incidentally, I rarely get to lead the way at home, but I digress.

Dr. King said, “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Dr. King was a young man when he began his leadership journey. Unfortunately, he was young man when he ended it as well.

As parents and educators, we can extrapolate a bit as we reflect on his famous quote, and I’d guess that Dr. King would be ok with it.

We can honor Dr. King along with one another and all those we serve by not judging people by the color of their skin, and if we’d like, we can further honor Dr. King along with one another and all those we serve by also not judging people by the number of years they’ve been alive, whether that number is three, thirteen, thirty-seven, or eighty-four.

In particular, let’s honor Dr. King and one another by seeking out and supporting opportunities for the youngest among us to lead the way.

Every time I do it seems to result in bountiful treasures of connected, meaningful, empowering and joyful learning and growth for all involved.

If we are truly going to judge people by the content of their character, let’s eliminate as many other factors as possible. At the very least, let’s try, and let’s continue to try indefinitely, facing each connected challenge with courage and resolve as modeled by Dr. King himself and celebrating each connected triumph with the brand of passion Dr. King projected in the very words he spoke.

In it together for the kids.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Something Not Of My Business

Just after dinner our four-year-old daughter walked into the living room where I was sitting, talking with my sister-in-law.

On Friday nights we eat at my mother’s house with as many aunts, uncles, and cousins who are around. It’s a wonderful weekly tradition and a loud one. There’s a lot going on.

Our kids are the youngest of the lot so they do a bit of showing out, as it were.

They get silly and wild, they demand attention for their stories and dances, and they run around with heightened energy and heightened emotions.

It’s nighttime too. Potential for eight, six, four, and three-year-old breakdowns is relatively high.

We manage, and I have to admit that they’re pretty cute even in heightened states, so we all enjoy the show to some extend. We feel fortunate, even through intermittent frustration.

A highlight for me is when one of the kids needs a break, a problem-solving partner, or a consolatory hug, and they come running to me for it. It’s good to be the go-to break spot, problem solving hugger.

Yesterday, something changed.

Did I mention she’s four?

This time, she ambled into the room as usual, shoulders slumped, arms dangling, lip curled and pouty, eyes upturned and half exposed just under her signature “one of my brothers wronged me” partly closed lids, and brow furrowed. I was ready for a full, fall into me with all thirty pounds hug and some extended comforting.

I opened my arms and offered my best sympathetic look as I queried, “What’s wrong baby?”

As she walked directly past me into the arms of her aunt, shifting her pout to a scowl for just a moment, she lifted her eyes and turned her head just enough to growl, “Something not of your business!” Harrumph.

Ouch, something not of my business.

Ladies and gentlemen, guess what, there are things in the minds, the hearts, and the lives of our children that are not of our business, even in the minds, the hearts, and the lives of our four-year-old daughters.

Also, I suspect the shift over time won’t be that more of it is some of my business.

The kid is teaching me that in order to be trusted in the ways I hope to be as she navigates the trials and tribulations of growing up (which evidently happens really quickly), I’ve got to respect and even appreciate that she’s an individual, categorically separate from me, with her own hopes, dreams, and feelings that I might actually not understand, who will sometimes need me to listen and sometimes need me to back off.

I’m genuinely working to be able to do both with grace.

That said…ouch.

I sure do love her.

In it together for the kids.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Moxie, It’s Pretty Amazing (And Not so Bad)

So much is so scary. The world can be a relatively difficult place to navigate at times. This is true for people of all ages. At 43 I’m still not immune to hesitation, trepidation, and even fear.

Sometimes those emotional responses to challenging situations can stop me in my tracks. Sometimes, however, I overcome and persevere. Sometime I employ moxie.

Moxie is a word that means: strength of character. It means: determination. It means: courage.

If you’ve got moxie, you’ve got nerve.

If you’ve got moxie, you’ve got grit.

If you’ve got moxie, you have a growth mindset, which means you can’t be stopped, not by an emotional response to a challenging situation, and ultimately, not by anything.

If you’ve got moxie you believe in the will to proceed, a positive attitude, and faith in lots of trying, and when lots of trying doesn’t seem to work, you believe you simply need lots more.  If you’ve got moxie, you’re thrilled to keep towing that line to any end.

People with moxie are happy because they know that “eventually” is better than “now.” They know that the road is long and winding, and they know that the long windy parts can be particularly fun and specifically rewarding.

People with moxie, even as they hesitate from time to time (which we all do), are eager to press on, even and especially when times are tough.  They know that it makes them stronger.

People with moxie shudder with anticipation when they stand at the edge of an adventure, especially the mysterious kind of adventure, during which multiple failures are preeminent.  To people with moxie, that’s the good stuff; the spice.

My two oldest sons and I go downtown to the Detroit river walk every so often. At one point along the walk there’s a stream running parallel. The stream is just wide enough not to present as un-leap-across-able, and just thin enough for kids with moxie to want to try (and to need to).  An exciting dichotomy for my kids, who have loads of moxie (some to spare you might say…no doubt they must get it from their mother).

Anyway, there we were, thinking this would be the year. Sure of it. This would be the year of the dry leap. The stream would be cleared. Last year we walked away with wet shoes (and socks).

The boys were brimming with excitement and anticipation, running back and forth, stopping at the edge, visualizing the jump, building courage, and priming their moxie pumps.

A long-bearded man with coveralls and a fishing pole walked by, saw what was going on,  and told the boys they’d never make it. He said they were too small.

Apparently that was the hammer dropping, because before I could say “wet shoes and socks” the first kid came flying across the great divide, followed closely by the second. They both did it! Just barely, but they did it nonetheless. Adrenaline rushed through their veins, they jumped for joy and hugged one another repeatedly and uncontrollably.  it was blissful.

In a flash of realization my fiver year old shouted, “That was pretty amazing!” and then matter-of-factly added, “and not so bad,” addressing the courage his moxie had him overcome, shaking his head in affirmation, raising his eyebrows, and curling his lower lip.

With out much ado they went back to hugging and jumping around before leaping over the stream at least two-dozen more times each.

People with moxie don’t let the negative infect them, they let it inspire them toward the positive, and they don’t apologize to anyone about it.

That positive bent might be my most favorite thing about moxie, which is saying a lot, because I have a lot of favorite things when it comes to moxie.

That thing, the thing the makes people with moxie believe in positive outcomes through any challenge, that thing truly inspires me, and I sure do appreciate being truly inspired!

Thank you moxie.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

On Promoting Childish Conceptions of The Future

The other day my seven-year-old was reading on my iPhone. He was using comprehension-promoting software.  For every “book” he read there were a series of comprehension questions to answer.

Points were earned for correct answers. He could use those points to buy things in a digital store. The things he bought were meant to help him create a digital world within the software. It was like a game. He was having fun.  I’m old.

This is a kid who loves to read. He has actual, physical books strewn about his bedroom, and wherever he travels throughout our house books follow like the stardust dust trail from a comet.

He also enjoys digital devices. He likes this reading software and he likes games.  All of my kids do.  Thankfully, they all also seem to like actual, physical books too (my personal favorite – a bias I’m working on).

That day, I told him there were no iPhones when I was a kid.

“Really?” He asked.

“Really.” I said.

I told him that my friends and I could have imagined what iPhones would be like, but that they didn’t exist.

I told him that they pretended to have something like iPhones on TV shows about the future, but just not in “real life.”

His face turned incredibly thoughtful, he let out what seems to be an unstoppable, “Ohhh,” and then he matter-of-factly stated, “So this is the future.”

“It sure is, Bud.”

He went on to explain that if it’s true, anything he and his friends might imagine can become a reality one day too, in tomorrow’s future, or the future that will be here on the day after tomorrow, or the one that will happen any number of years from now.

“It sure can, Bud.”

When do we begin to restrict ourselves?

When do we start to deny the incredible potential of our capacity to unfold the individual and collective imaginations of ourselves and our contemporaries into the fabric of reality?

At what point do we decide that not everything is possible?

How old are we when time, cost, and ability begin to seem prohibitive?

At what age do the laws of physics begin stifling our desire to fly?

We must resist.

One of the greatest strengths of kids is that they believe anything is possible, unless and until we redefine their innate gift-of-a-paradigm into one in which it isn’t.

Let’s not.

Here’s to today, and to every future today we are blessed to experience with the incredible children we serve.

Here’s to their childish conceptions of a nonsensical and brilliant series of tomorrows and future todays.

Here’s to the hope that each of their wildly outlandish dreams comes true.

Here’s to the faith that it can, and that it will.

Here’s to the possibility that we will be with them, watching, hoping, supporting, inspired and proven wrong, and witnessing, with blissful awe, the unfolding of what might otherwise have been unimaginable positive progress.

Yes, here’s to the possibility.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

“Yet” & The Language Of Opportunity

I recently heard a story about two shoe salesmen who were sent to the same small, remote village in an attempt to sell shoes.

The first salesman returned and told his colleagues that there was no opportunity to sell shoes in that village because none of the villagers wore shoes.

The second salesman returned and told his colleagues that there was tremendous opportunity because none of the villagers owned shoes, yet.

The distinction between the two salesmen’s perceptions, and the language they each used to describe those perceptions, solidified two very different pathways.

The first salesman denied himself opportunity. He closed a door.  He stymied potential.

The second salesman created opportunity on the basis of the same challenge the first salesman faced. By articulating his perception in a positive and progressive way he opened the same door that the first salesman closed.

Like the second salesman, we can each employ a positive and progressive view of the world to expand opportunity and amplify potential.

When we choose a negative and stagnant view of the world we limit opportunity and stifle potential, for ourselves and for those around us.

I would argue that this equation is true of the challenges we face on a daily basis as parents and educators.

The word “yet” is critical in our ability to positively impact each child’s unique pathway to wellbeing and achievement.

The very nature of learning and growth tells us that children will demonstrate limited ability before they are given the modeling, the tools, the strategies, the practice, and the experiences that subsequently lead them to demonstrate ability in the same areas where it once seemed limited.  They each need, and are hungry for hope, inspiration, and experience.

The very nature of learning and growth tells us that we must always cling to a foundation of potential over and above one of defeat.

As we guide and nurture the potential of each child in our care, we must always keep “yet” in mind. We must always speak the language of opportunity.

We must always perceive and believe that growth is seamless, no matter the rate or frequency of its visibility.

The road is long and winding. Moreover, it is unique for every individual.

As parents and educators we must always trust in progress over and above end points.

As parents and educators we must never define the children we serve according to any moment in time, but rather according to the continuum that we know unfolds over time, with kindness, hope, and an undying resolve for the ever-unfolding and limitless potential that exists within each of them, and within each of us.

We must face each challenge with the knowledge that there is a pathway for it to be it to be resolved, and where we encounter roadblocks we must tirelessly seek alternative pathways.

I, for one, have a long way to go in understanding how to meet the needs of every child I serve. Nevertheless, I firmly believe, and have experienced time and again, that the language of potential, with the word “yet” and as a reminder, provides for and builds upon hope and inspiration at every turn.

I believe that a positive and progressive worldview with limitless potential for learning, growth, and opportunity at the center is the way forward.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Power Inage

Is your power out? I thought that mine was, but now I realize it’s not.

Sure the electrical power that usually flows into my house isn’t flowing into my house at the moment, so that’s out, but my power is decidedly in.

Ironically, experiencing a power outage has reminded me to look around in search of power the that remains; this power outage has catalyzed a meaningful and exciting power inage. It’s energizing. I would even go so far to suggest that it’s electrifying. Go figure.

Here’s just a bit of what I’m finding:

My power is in…

…the ability to cope. At first it was pretty frustrating. Frankly, I’d rather have electricity in my home than not. I’d rather be able to use my appliances. I’d rather be able to plop down on the couch and watch the most recent DVR’d episode of “This Is Us,” with a bowl of popcorn fresh out of the microwave. I’d rather not feel like a character in “The Blair Witch Project” whenever I walk past a mirror. I’d rather not stub my toe repeatedly. Rather or not, it is what it is (as they say), and at the risk of double-entendre-confusion, it ain’t no big deal. In fact, it’s not much to cope with at all, and remembering that gives me power.

…an incredible village. I’m well aware that some people don’t have their mother and three siblings living within a half mile of their doorstep. I’m extremely fortunate. My wife, my children, and I are blessed with the gift of a big-time, up close, and incredible village. We are truly fortunate to be surrounded by family and friends who we genuinely care about, and who genuinely care about us. This challenge has caused us to spend more time together. You know, that time we “just don’t have.” Turns out we do have it, and using in ways that keeps us close and connected is delightful. Remembering that I’m a villager, and part of an incredible village at that, gives me power.

…a strong, dedicated, thoughtful, and loving partner. My wife is as cool and as tough as they come. I have no idea how she holds it all together in the way she does. There is no challenge to great. The thought of compassionately managing our four children while seamlessly accounting for all the things that need according for during a power outage is literally daunting to me. I might cry just thinking about. There’s so much, and that’s on top of the things that need to be done even when we have electricity…the things she does every day. She’s still doing those things too, just without electricity. My children are kind-hearted and well meaning, but they’re also spirited. I think that’s the word for it. Feisty, maybe?   Not to mention that I can get a bit complainy when I’m tired and out of my element. My brilliant wife makes it all seem so easy. I know it’s not. Having a strong, dedicated, thoughtful, and loving partner gives me power.

…reflection. The power inage I’m thinking through is about taking some time to reflect during what might otherwise seem a considerably more significant challenge. No electricity to the house for a few days is relatively benign. Arguably, it doesn’t matter at all. Life goes on, and it’s all good. I’m very privileged that way. Instead of frustration, reflection is helping me fill my mind and my heart with gratitude. Reflection gives me power. Gratitude gives me power.

Whether or not your power is out right now, you might consider having a power inage. Who knows, you could uncover power that you forgot, or didn’t even realize you have. It could enhance your life. You might like it.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

When I Need You Most

An open letter from every kid to every adult in our lives:

Please be there when I need you most.

I don’t always make good decisions. Please remember that I don’t always understand how. I don’t always have the tools, the skills, or the experience. I don’t intend to upset or frustrate you with my decisions, my words, or my actions; in fact, I’d like you to be proud of me. I’d like to always say and do things that cause you to celebrate and want to be around me. I just don’t always know how to make that happen. Yet.

I’m learning how to communicate with every experience and every interaction. I need your help. I need your support. I need your understanding. I need your forgiveness. I need your compassion.

I’m learning how to understand and attend to my feelings. Sometimes when I’m mad I say things that make me sound mean. I’m not mean, I just don’t always know how to ask for the kind of help I need, and as a result, I sometimes act mean just so that you know I’m mad.

I might even say that I hate you from time to time. I don’t. It’s just that I don’t always have the strength or the wherewithal to simply say, “I’m mad…and here’s why.” I wish I did. Frankly, showing my anger in negative ways doesn’t feel good. Believe it or not, it frustrates me. Sometimes it makes me feel even madder, and often times, sadder. Ironic, isn’t it.

It’s the same with all of my emotions. I just don’t have the life experience to regulate or restore them to a place of focus and calm all the time.

I’m a kid. I’ve only been alive for a few years, and I’ve only had the ability to interact with people in verbal ways for a few of those few years. At first, and for some time, I needed you to do and provide everything for me. Even now, I’m just learning how to do some it for myself.

To add a layer of complexity, confusion, and challenge, I’ll be learning that for quite some time. Please be there for me as I do. Please have patience with me along the way.

Mine is a nuanced path, one that will unfold along a zigzagging line, curiously unique to who I am and what I’m made of, with some categorical predictors peppered in, and a multitude of staggeringly surprising twists and turns at many points along the way, some magnificent and some distressing.

Read the articles and the books, talk and listen to one another with open minds and open hearts, and please always remember that there is no one right way. If you keep your eyes open and reflect through a learning lens, you’ll see that being there for me might mean something different in each passing moment. You’ll discover that there’s no static formula for supporting the safe and positive growth of a kid, but rather that, with some fundamental parameters, each one of us is bit different, with a bit different needs.

I might be sad for silly reasons. I might be silly for sad reasons. Regardless, it’s not “no big deal,” and I can’t “just get over it.” I need to process it. I need your help.

I need to know that taking a break can calm me down, and that being hungry or tired put’s me on edge, and that sharing my toys can actually make playing with them more fun, and that it’s ok to want to be alone sometimes, and that it’s even ok to go ahead and be alone when that want surfaces, and that saying, “thank you,” feels really good, and that meaning it feels really great, and that I don’t need to try to be like someone else, and that when I work hard to make sure I’m only trying to be like myself, no matter what people say, they’ll probably actually start trying to be like me, and that words matter, and tone reveals, and actions demonstrate, and that along with mattering, words land on people’s hearts, and that hearts are sometimes fragile, and that while it takes time for hearts to heal from unkind words, it’s possible, and that relentless, extended and ongoing kindness is a great way to care for a healing heart, and that I’m actually the best of what I have to offer, not the worst, and that mistakes are good things, and that when I embrace them they help me grow, and so much more; so much more that I need to know, to see modeled, and to practice over and over.

Please, please be patience with me along the way. Please see me for who I am. Please be firm and consistent with me, but please define and recognize me as my best and not my worst. Please share your faith in me with one another and support one another in maintaining that there is nothing but hope for me, and that I am to be celebrated and not diminished.

I will continue to test you and to try your patience, but I will also continue to amaze and overwhelm you with awe, wonder, and joy.

Please be there when I need you most. I know you can. I need you to.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

The Beat and The Flow

Take an intentional breath. Let your shoulders relax. Let your breathing settle into whatever pattern it finds. Let it shift as it will; follow it, don’t force it.

Experience the world with your ears for a moment. Let the sounds around you connect with the sounds inside of you. There is a flow to both. There is a rhythm. There is a pace. There is a beat.

Do you hear the beat? Do you feel the flow?

If not, take another intentional breath, a deep one. Try again. Relax into it. Believe you can.

Imagine that you are on a cosmic beach, watching and listening to waves of energy softy roll or rise and crash. However they come, see them, hear them, and feel them. Don’t seek to shape or influence the waves of energy as they roll or crash, simply seek to understand and appreciate them. Wait for the beat to join the flow. Your influence will come later. Exercise patience. Exercise faith.

If you do hear the beat, and if you do feel the flow, smile. What you do next is entirely up to you.

We have no jurisdiction over many of the forces that impact our lives; at least that’s been my experience over the course of forty-two ostensibly short years.

We do not determine any more than our core, our intentions, and our movements along pathways that twist and turn at the whim of forces outside of our control.

That said, if you listen carefully, with open-minded, openhearted, and genuine intention, I believe you can connect with those forces. I believe you can conjoin the beat of your core with the flow of the world around you. I believe, at the very least, that trying won’t hurt. I have also come to believe that not trying might.

With learning and growth in mind our stumbles through space and time don’t represent setbacks, but rather gifts, each delivering invaluable input into our ever-expanding capacity for connected progress along whatever pathways we tread, and toward whatever benchmarks we aim to reach and surpass.

As educators and parents, the foundation of our internal beat is the children we serve. As community leaders, that foundation extends to all stakeholders impacted by our thoughts, our words, and our actions.

My personal internal beat includes a drive to expand my capacity to live each moment of every day with increased gratitude, passion, curiosity, and humility; in the service of those I devote my energy to, including myself.

I experience moments of confusion and I experience moments of calm.

When I am able to meet and match the flow of the forces around me, amplified or benign, to the beat that defines my core, that capacity grows.

My wife consistently reminds me that most of what we worry about never comes to pass. It’s a mantra handed down by her grandmother. It seems true.

It also seems true that when we allow worry to supplant patience and faith (which is absolutely justifiable in this fast-paced & often frenzied world), we stifle the ongoing development of our individual and collective capacities for genuine learning, compassionate leadership, and positive progress.

So, if you have any sense that there might be value in seeking to join the beat that drives you with the flow that surrounds you, take an intentional breath. Let your shoulders relax. Let your breathing settle into whatever pattern it finds. Let it shift as it will; follow it, don’t force it.

Wait for the beat to join the flow. Exercise patience. Exercise faith.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Forgiveness Restoration (it just might work)

The Foundation. Life ain’t easy. I believe I’ve mentioned that in previous posts. This is a reminder.

One of the not easy things about life is the regulation of emotions during energized and high stakes moments. It’s tough to think clearly, act on a foundation of logic, or communicate effectively when the world spins faster than normal or on a distorted axis. It’s confusing when the figurative seems literal, and confusion isn’t a friend to reason.

Making matters worse is relativity. Each of us has a personalized capacity for emotional regulation. That capacity within each of us is complex and nuanced, it’s built on a foundation of our life experiences, our genetic codes, and the right-feeling but often inexplicable choices we each make along our beautiful but often peculiar journeys.

The Strategy. Each of has a unique capacity for emotional regulation, slightly or even extremely different from that of others. Each of us also has a unique take on “energized and high stakes.” What might seem to be a simple emotional challenge with an obvious regulatory solution to you might be particularly problematic to me. What might seem no big deal to me could be dreadful and treacherous to you.

For that reason it’s critical that we forgive one another when emotional regulation doesn’t come easy, and we must do so with authenticity and as much frequency as needed.

We may not understand why people act or react in the ways they do. Again, our capacity for emotional regulation is indelibly tied to who we are, and we’re all a bit different (if not more than a bit).

Understand or not, we are all best served when we promote growth in one another. All of us are better off when we surround ourselves with progressive, broadminded people, who believe that we’re on learning journeys and not fixed in stagnation.

When we forgive, we maintain that change is feasible. When we forgive we encourage development and simultaneously reject judgment and blame.

Like with life itself, it ain’t easy to forgive people who struggle with regulating emotions during energized and high stakes moments, whether or not we see the moments through similar lenses.

However, as difficult as it is to forgive others in these situations, it’s significantly more difficult to forgive ourselves, and when we can’t do that, the ensuing self-judgment and self-blame is prone to stifle our own growth. Forgiving others is important. Forgiving ourselves is essential.

In order to forgive we need to accept that at times holistic emotional regulation is darn tough to achieve (aka not easy). We get sad, we get frustrated, and we even get angry. We have to process these emotions in our unique ways and in due time. It’s natural. The question becomes, what can we do when regulation isn’t an option? I would suggest that the answer is restore.

Forgiveness restoration is a strategy that enlists momentary failure to regulate as a catalyst to ongoing learning and growth with regard to restoration. It allows us to feel comfortable in our human-ness, to take our time, and to come around to calm and focus as a result. What happens in between will be different in every situation, and that’s ok.

The bottom line is that when you find yourself in a place you don’t want to be (which we all tend to do from time to time), you don’t have to stay there. Forgiveness restoration can help.

I believe it can be done through the most benign and the most punishing emotional challenges. Again, not easy, but I’d ask you to consider that the more you do it, the better you’ll become.

We live once (as far as I know), we should seek to find peace and joy as much as possible.

The Challenge. Try it. Try it at least once. Make it a real, authentic, wholehearted try. You might find yourself resisting. Don’t give in. Just once. If you like it, and if it works, try it again. If you get any better at restoring yourself to focus and calm as a result, keep trying it until it becomes a habit.

Forgiveness restoration, it ain’t easy, but it just might work.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Strong Like Me

strength

I exercise. My doctor told me to. More specifically, he told me to eat less and move more. It’s good advice. So I do.

Anyway, sometimes my kids exercise along with me. In particular, my five-year-old son imitates every move I make during my daily routine. He grabs hold of my resistance band as soon as it leaves my hands, he pumps his arms up and down with a gritty growl and a stiffly crinkled face, almost masking the glowing smile plastered on it (but not quite).

He’s thrilled to do it. He drops down for push-ups and sit-ups. He stretches and runs in place, and he breathes deeply through it all.

Then, he looks up at me with a profound and piercing pride and exclaims, “Look daddy, I’m strong like you!”

Strong like me. Indeed.

The kid will no doubt face his own challenges, and those challenges will test and teach him, however, even with life’s innate guidance along the way, he will continue to look to me as a model of strength (and/or weakness), whether he knows it or not. It’s part of the deal with kids and parents. They observe what we do through critically reflective lenses.

They do the same with all influential adults in their lives. They’ve got eyes on grandparents, teachers, coaches, etc. Therefore, it’s equally important that we relentlessly consider what we do through critically reflective lenses as well.

Strong like me.

He’s built how he’s built. He’ll have the capacity to endure his amount of struggle and tolerate his amount ache, but he’s actively seeking to be strong like me.

An awesome responsibility, and one that gives me pause to think about what kind of strong I am, and what kind of strong I’m capable of being.

Am I strong enough to truly learn from mistakes?

Am I strong enough to check and regulate myself emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually through any and all challenges?

Am I strong enough restore myself to a place of focus and calm when I’m not?

Am I strong enough to hold back from crying when it isn’t really that bad?

Am I strong enough not to when it is?

Am I strong enough to hold on?

Am I strong enough to let go?

Am I strong enough to restrain my strength?

Am I strong enough to unleash it?

Am I strong enough to understand the type of strength I would have my children develop if I could simply will it into them?

Am I strong enough to continuously work toward that understanding with every breath and every step along my journey?

I happen to believe that among the greatest strengths we can possess is the strength to persist.

Linus reminds Charlie brown, “It’s the courage to continue that counts,” not only because of a connection to comedic irony within the context of their Peanuts adventures, but also because there’s some important truth to it. At the very least, it’s worth considering.

Parents, educators, leaders, adults of all sorts, what kind of strong are you? What kind of strength are you modeling for the benifit the children you serve?

When I think of my children becoming strong like me I don’t think of them running long distances or lifting heavy weights.

When I think of a strength legacy I prefer to think that my children, and all of the children I serve, will ever-increasingly have the strength to persists through ever-increasing odds, be they physical, spiritual, intellectual, emotional, or otherwise, and that something I’ve done, or will have done, will meaningfully impact that strength in them, even if only vaguely.

While I relentlessly fear the real and human possibility that I could fail in that mission, the fear is balanced by an equally relentless internal assurance that I will never give up trying not to.

Strong like me.

I’m continuously learning, growing, and hoping to one day understand exactly what that means for the incredible children I serve, and how I can contribute every bit of myself to the effort of making it so.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep on my way with hope, faith, and all the strength I can muster.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.