Faith

Out of the Mouths of Babes

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How is it that children see things so much clearer than we do sometimes? Perhaps it is because their brains aren’t as cluttered with all of the crap we adults tend to carry around. We underestimate their ability to comprehend, process and understand what we deem to be “adult information” and we often overlook how tuned-in they really are.

Three summers ago when I moved back to Ohio from the southwest and began my job search, I thought FOR SURE I had stumbled upon or been led to the perfect job for me. It all came about so easily and so quickly and I pridefully thought to myself: This is really going to work out much better than even I had planned. The job was near Cleveland, the pay was great, the company seemed solid and well-established, and the work was creative & diverse. The HR Director had even used these words: “We really think we have a good fit here” while referring to me as a candidate for the position. All 4 of my interviews with the various “suits” had gone well and I felt fairly confident that this thing was all sewn up.

I’m sure you can tell where I am going with this by now… I didn’t get the job.

The rejection letter came, a charming form of correspondence with which I would later become very familiar… and I came unglued. I mean REALLY unglued. Unfortunately, my then 12 year-old nephew, Cameron, was at the house at the time.

I should mention that for about 6 or 7 years now I have struggled with depression and anxiety… and I was in a bit of a fragile state of mind at this particular time anyway, so this letter was the last straw. In an attempt to protect the innocent as well as whatever is left of my credibility with whoever may be reading this, I won’t go into detail about HOW I came unglued. Let’s just say that the wheels pretty much flew totally OFF my wagon.

My mom and dad tried comforting me, all the while my nephew is in the other room, hearing terrible things spew forth from my mouth as I am screaming and sobbing and raging about all sorts of things that I’m pretty sure were not even remotely related to this “You Suck” letter. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but Cameron overheard things that no child should ever have to hear from an adult whom they love. Scary things.

A few days later, when I had gained some composure and perspective, in addition to a refill of my medication… it’s OK you can laugh at that… I took Cameron out to lunch, just the two of us, and I apologized to him and I asked if he had ANY questions he wanted to ask me about what he’d heard me say that day. Cameron is an extremely bright and mature child, therefore nothing was off-limits. I wanted him to know that it was ALL out on the table in front of us. He expressed his feelings of sadness and concern that I was so upset, but I believe he genuinely understood that everything was going to be OK… that I was going to be OK.

I wish that at the time, I had had the confidence in myself that my nephew had in me.

Fast forward 10 months.

It is 5:30 p.m. on a weekday. I am home from work and I pull my new car into the driveway of my house. Because my family has practically established a 2-block commune in our little town of Minerva, it is quite the norm for a stray child to appear out of nowhere with a hug and a bright “Hi Aunt JoJo!” And on this particular day… it was Cameron.

He gave me a huge bear hug and asked how my day was. I hugged him back, locked my car, gathered up my things and started toward my parent’s house to say hello. But Cameron stopped me. He put his little arm around my waist and turned me to face my house. And he said, verbatim: “Look at you now, Aunt JoJo. Look at how far you’ve come.” At first I thought he was just being silly and sarcastic and I smiled and hugged him again. But since I was not completely certain what he meant by that, while we were still hugging one another, I asked him: “What exactly are you talking about, Cameron?”

He lifted his chin up to meet my gaze and he said to me: “Your car. Your house. Your job. (And he nodded in the direction of each of those things) Look at all you have now. And to think that just a few months ago you wanted to give up.”

I was speechless. I started to cry. I squeezed him tighter and I cried harder. All I could do was nod in affirmation. At that point in time I was so overcome with emotion, that his small 4-foot-something frame was supporting ME. I held onto him for dear life and I have never felt a bigger knot in my throat.

Stormy Seas

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“Calm seas don’t make good sailors.”

I read that once on a sign that I used to pass everyday on my way to work. I took a second to absorb it and then nodded my head in agreement that it is not the good times or the quiet times or the all-is-right-with-the-world times that make us who we are. It is the tough times that ultimately develop and define us.

That concept doesn’t exactly leave one with a “warm fuzzy” feeling. It kind of stinks to know that in order to be a better person, I am going to have to face difficulties and trials. But it is so true. And my not liking it won’t make it any LESS true.

So after I’m done lying down crying, kicking, screaming, yelling and feeling sorry for myself about how NOT FAIR (insert name of said trial or tribulation here) is… I usually pick myself up, dust myself off, and try to move forward while considering what valuable lesson can be gleaned from the unfortunate circumstance.

But sometimes it isn’t always that easy to just “learn our lesson” and move on. Some things are going to be SO big, so earth-shattering, so knock-you-on-your-ass devastating that it isn’t possible to simply alter our behavior, adjust our attitude or modify our thinking.

I have learned that sometimes we will have to sit in the dark while the storm rages all around us, knocking things down and forever changing the landscape of our lives. Sometimes we will have to cling to whatever vestiges of peace we can find when the sky overhead cracks open and the rain falls and thunder rattles our very foundation. Sometimes there isn’t going to be an easy way out. Sometimes we will just have to WAIT it out.

And that waiting can be the hardest part.

But I guess in those times—in those waiting periods—we can take heart that something IS happening! We are silently changing, growing and being refined. We become acquaintances of Sorrow. We have developed relationships with Patience, Perseverance and Stillness. So when the winds cease, the waters calm and the sun shines down on us again, no matter how long we remain in the center of that storm… we will be forever changed… for the better.

And when we open our eyes, we will find that we are not empty-handed. Rather, our arms have been filled with tools. Tools that will help us build a shelter for our friend when it is their turn to ride out the storm.

The Rolling-Ruler Concept

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When I was little I loved to draw. My mom and dad, wanting to encourage this activity, were always getting me different types of “supplies” that I might use to create my masterpieces. One of the things they bought for me when I expressed some interest in it (after watching the TV Infomercial of course) was the “Rolling Ruler.” That was its name… and that’s exactly what it did. It was a ruler with a roller inside of it so that you could not only make perfectly straight lines, but perfectly SPACED straight lines.

In high school I took this nifty little tool with me to my art classes and I began using it on quite a regular basis. Before long I was using it for ALL of my art projects. Everything I drew was black and white and comprised of straight lines. I’d draw lines closer together and with heavier pens or markers to make things appear dark and then I would draw light, spaced-out lines to make certain areas appear lighter.

One particular day during my senior year, my art teacher was watching over my shoulder as I created a cityscape with my rolling ruler. It was then that he uttered ONE sentence that would set a course for the rest of my life. He said: “Joanna, you really should consider going into Commercial Art since you seem to like things so clean and precise.”

That was all it took. I was a senior. I knew I would be going to college. But I had NO idea what I should study once I got there. So I looked for a reputable school that offered Graphic Design as a major. (Graphic Design was called Commercial Art at one time) I found a school—Bowling Green State University—I applied, was accepted and started the Graphic Design program in the Fall of ’93.

I graduated exactly 4 years later, moved out west, got married, secured a great job in my field, bought a home, and began building a life. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but I was no longer using the Rolling Ruler as merely a drawing tool… I had begun applying what a dear friend of mine would later call the “Rolling Ruler Concept” to all facets of my life.

You see, what attracted me so much to the Rolling Ruler as an artistic device… was the control. Hello, my name is Joanna, and I am a control freak. I love precision and I crave perfection. With evenly-spaced, parallel straight lines everything ALWAYS makes sense. There is neatness and order, and I am the one making it happen. I am the one drawing the perfectly straight lines with the help of my handy little tool. Nothing EVER goes wrong, nothing is EVER crooked, everything is ALWAYS as it should be. As an aside, do you notice the use of all of the superlatives here? Heavy use of superlatives is another characteristic of textbook control-freakism.

At this point I should mention that if you are one of those go-with-the-flow-totally-not-a-control-freak-type-people… good for you! I envy you… but this writing will have little meaning to you whatsoever. On the other hand, if you’re anything like me, you understand exactly what I’m talking about.

There is a real problem that arises when one tries to apply a RULER of any kind to their life. Trust me, I know. For awhile I had the ILLUSION of being in control because things pretty much went the way I had planned them to… until they didn’t. And when they didn’t, my ruler went flying… and I was lost. I learned that the ruler didn’t work on other people’s behavior, it didn’t work on biology, it didn’t work on medical science’s intervention, it didn’t work on matters of faith and it didn’t work on external influences.

It was inevitable that at some point in time that ruler was going to get wrenched from my tightly-clenched fist and cast into the wind. Why is that? Because Life is messy. And since we’re talking about art, I would say that if Life were a painting, it would be a Jackson Pollock. All colorful and noisy and chaotic with spatters of paint, shards of glass and grains of sand and dirt tossed this way and that.

I’ve learned the hard way that Life doesn’t follow straight, evenly-spaced parallel lines. Life’s lines are crooked and bent and swirly and jagged and they cross over one another and collide unexpectedly and they are usually too wide, too thin, too short or too long. But even more important to note is the fact that WE are not in control. Many times I have exhausted myself trying to MAKE this “Rolling Ruler Concept” work in my life, but it won’t matter how hard I try… I have discovered that much of life was and is and will continue to be beyond my control… though I still fight it… A LOT.

One of the most difficult things I have to do on a regular basis is lay the ruler down… take a deep breath, step back, say a prayer and watch as the masterpiece that is my life reveals itself to me. Crooked lines and all.

The Survivor Tree

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In the middle of a busy city, surrounded by traffic, concrete and glass, stands a very special tree. To simply look at it, you would assume it’s just an ordinary tree. And if you did not know the history of it or the reason why it is so special, perhaps you might walk right by without giving it a second glance.

It isn’t a very big tree, it isn’t a rare type of tree… yet it stands humbly and proudly in the center of America’s Heartland serving as an icon of survival. People travel from miles away to stand beneath the shade of its branches and reflect on its sheer existence and resilience. Perhaps they gain strength, perhaps they feel the freedom to surrender to their emotion and weep, perhaps they receive healing, or perhaps their chests swell with pride to be in the presence of such a cherished natural landmark.

I have had the unique fortune of visiting the tree 3 times in as many years. And on each occasion when I stood at its base, examined the bark and gazed up at the sunlight streaming though its canopy, I have been inspired. Several times I have driven across this country, and while passing through I have never failed to stop in Oklahoma City and pay a visit to my favorite tree… The Survivor Tree.

The tree got its name by surviving the bombing that occurred at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, killing 168 people, including 19 children under the age of 6 and 3 unborn babies in addition. The survival of the tree was quite amazing considering that the sheer force of the blast ripped most of the branches from it. Glass and debris were embedded in its trunk and fire from the cars parked beneath it blackened what was left. Most thought the 104-year-old tree would not survive. However—almost a year after the bombing—family members, survivors and rescue workers gathered for a memorial ceremony under the tree, and they noticed something quite extraordinary. In the midst of this field of desolation and despair… this tattered tree was beginning to bloom.

Drastic measures have since been taken to see that the tree is cared for and preserved in honor of those who survived that tragic day. A beautiful memorial surrounds it so that anyone who cares to may come and marvel at the wonder of the tree’s endurance. The inscription on the wall around the Survivor Tree reads: The spirit of this city and this nation will not be defeated; our deeply rooted faith sustains us.

As I look back, I am reminded that my deeply rooted faith has sustained me thus far. You see, each time I traveled across the country and took the opportunity to stop at the memorial, I was never really “just passing through.” In my case, all three times found me in the midst of a personal life transition and when I approached the tree, it was always with a burdened heart. Standing on the hallowed ground of such a place, one’s mind cannot help but reflect as it reels with doubts, fears and endless questions about this thing we call humanity. But each time… the Survivor Tree stood there for me as if to say: You WILL survive this circumstance, after all… more fragile things than you have survived much deeper devastation.