Friday Tidings

Getting my eyes checked each year reminds me that I’m blessed to be able to see at all...... It was a sunny spring day in my sixth grade classroom when it happened. I was seated at my desk in the back row. Our teacher, Mrs. Yule, was explaining the assignment at the front. In a quick instant, she became an outline. It was like a light was switched off. The window in the corner had sun streaming through it, but it became all gray. Then, all I could see were outlines of my classmates. It was scary and I knew something was terribly wrong. A quick succession of urgent calls were made. My parents loaded me in the car and headed to a neurologist in Seattle. It was quiet during the long drive. Dad told me to shut my eyes and rest. I later found out they suspected I had a brain tumor. But when the doctor looked in my eyes, he called an ophthalmologist. My optic nerves were severely inflamed. He suspected that I’d contracted the flu and instead of the usual symptoms my eyes took the brunt of...

It’s been quite a few years ago, but there was once a high school football team facing a tough season. With barely enough boys to make a team, they still played to win every time their cleats hit the field. And they lost every single time. Sure, they could have quit in discouragement, but none did. It took humility to face opponents week after week knowing they were outmanned. The score never reflected the heart of that team. Opponents may have called them losers, but they were winning in ways no one could see right then. Now those boys are grown men. They have become successful in careers—working in varied places as different as they are. The never-quit mentality from their high school football days helped make them adults who won’t walk off the field of life. They have been resilient in challenges, and have been willing to work extra hard, not just when it was needed, but as a routine life skill. This group of “losers” were winners without knowing it. They were training for life d...

I routinely walk the same stretch of beach. It’s peacefully quiet, if you absorb the wave noise and enjoy the eagle chatter. I walk past the same huge boulders along the shore and the same huge old growth driftwood logs that rest at the high tide mark—they are much too big to be moved by the elements. They are like old friends that I see often. So, when a new log rolled up and joined the others, I stopped. It’s not uncommon with the winter tides, that small logs and driftwood stumps rest along the water’s edge, but this visitor looked like it was here to stay. Massive in width, and riddled with aged holes, it had come in on a huge king tide and now rested securely with its old growth neighbors. The log is bound with metal chain links bigger than my hand. This chain and log once teamed up in an old-time logging operation off in some distant bay. Now the chain refuses to let go, and the log has grabbed hold of the links as if to remain together even though their work is long done. I’...

When I started school, I struggled to learn. From first grade on I just got progressively worse. My teachers would send home packets of my graded assignments and ask my parents to sign them. Dad would patiently sit with me at the kitchen table and help me redo my school work. I’d return the assignments and then repeat the process the following week. Year after year. Then in the summer of 1968 the Olympic Games were televised from Mexico. I wasn’t interested, but my Dad loved sports. During those games, something amazing happened. John Akhwari, the Tanzania long distance marathon runner was 30 kilometers into his race when he fell and severely dislocated his knee. While race officials urged him to quit, Akhwari refused. They bandaged his leg and he hobbled on.  An hour after the race had already been won, Akhwari collapsed as he crossed the finish line. Even though he was in tremendous pain, reporters asked him why he hadn’t quit. Akhwari said, “My country did not send me 5000 mi...

What Else? These are the words that my husband Tom likes to tack on towards the end of a conversation. My son and I noticed how often he says it and we started teasing him about it. Then this Christmas, my son made the phrase into a coffee-cup Christmas gift for his father. But really those two words are quite endearing. Tom, in the kindest way, likes to extend conversations—in person or on the phone, by politely asking, “What else?” He wants to hear more—your ideas, your issues, concerns, and even the ordinary things that fill your mind. He doesn’t want to leave anyone without an opportunity to share their stories.  I’ve never really been a “What else?” kind of person. I tend to keep conversations to the point, and not take extra time. But what have I missed, by not asking, “What else?” In an age of quick responses and instant messages, I’ve missed the opportunities to linger longer and learn more. In a year like we just had, there are probably lots of concerns that deserve ...