Friday Tidings

It had been blistering hot on my grandpa’s wheat ranch. We’d gotten the call that harvest would be a week sooner because it was nearly ready.   My summer job was helping in the kitchen. I’d been well-trained by my grandmother who knew how to cook for a harvest crew and have it ready on time.   But, looking at the calendar, I’d be away from friends on the 4 th  of July. As a teen, I looked forward to staying out late, watching fireworks, and cruising around.    Now I’d be on a wheat ranch in the middle of nowhere. No friends. No fireworks. No fun.   I unpacked my suitcase in the tiny bedroom that had once been my dad’s. The single window looked out toward the adjacent cinder-block building that served as the crew kitchen. It featured a linoleum floor and Formica table with eight chairs. Cooking was done on one side and laundry on the other.  A window held one of those air conditioning units that tried to keep up with the intense heat.   Hundreds of acres were ripe for the harvest.   The

There was once a reality show about shedding for the wedding—it was a couples’ competition to see who could lose the most weight to win a dream wedding. When our son and future daughter-in-law set their wedding date, it became our reason to shed excess weight.   But for us, it was a different shedding. Over the decades, we’d  accumulated lots of excess stuff. Having acreage and a large outbuilding gave us plenty of room to keep it all. And we did.   Now, in a few short months, we’d be having visitors, wedding photos on the property, and if we didn’t get after it, some embarrassing junk piles for folks to see.   Interesting thing about excess stuff, we tend to get used to it. For years, I walked past the piles, the boxes, and the clutter.   We always thought we might use the stuff….eventually.   We got to work, and thankfully, we’ve shed thousands of pounds.   Most everything we got rid of is somewhere else being useful to others.    Weddings are a new beginning, and I feel like our pla

I had my excuses for taking the low road, but Dad wasn’t accepting them. At the time, I could blame my parent’s divorce, a difficult new stepmom, and stress over trying to be so perfect.   But Dad shook his head sadly and said, “You’ll never get anywhere good taking the low road.”   It was an unforgettable scene in my mind. I was 15 and old enough to know better, but I felt it was easier to just give in. Who cares if I take the low road?   I had disappointed my dad, my teachers, and if I were honest, I should have disappointed myself. But taking ownership of my poor choices would have required me to be more humble—and that was not happening, yet.   I can look back on that season in my life and see how traveling along the low road wasn’t a one and done event. The low road is always accessible. It’s amazing how smooth the road is—at first.   Turning around once you’re on the low road does require humility. It’s being able to say, “I was wrong.” I’m much better at saying those words than

Walking back from the library, my granddaughter exclaimed, “I’m going to climb that.” I looked over at the daycare play structures we were walking past and assumed she meant the climbing wall that led up to a slide.   “No, that!” She was pointing straight ahead. “That mountain.”   Such a lofty goal for one who was not yet five. But, why not? Why not encourage lofty goals?   Within each of us are seeds of inspiration, capabilities, and joy. It’s in the soil of our life experiences that these seeds grow.    I’m here to help water my granddaughter’s seeds. Just as you are helping water other people’s seeds.    The somewhat outlandish ideas may be what leads to new inventions, businesses, or solving critical problems.   Eventually, I expect my granddaughter will climb that peak, or something else worthy of her efforts. Her seeds are growing.   May your seeds keep growing too—just as you water other’s seeds. Perhaps what grows will be things that make our world just a bit better.