I am fortunate at my job to have my own office, located within a larger office that houses the therapy staff. I am also fortunate to have a terrific job, where I have the honor of working with a group of incredibly talented people (I can gush here because don't think that most of them know I write a blog--and I really hope they already know how great I think they are anyway!). On my office door is a half wipe-off board/half cork board thing on which I post the monthly schedules for the department. Everyone checks this spot at least once a week. When I first started working at my desk, I noticed that the corkboard side was getting quite a workout holding the schedules and the wipe-off board was looking a little neglected and sad. I felt sorry for that blank, empty space that was taking up real estate next to the corkboard. So, I wrote a funny little quote in the whiteness and every week I change the message.
For those of you that know me as Holly Rich, this shouldn't come as much of a surprise, as I come by this quote obsession quite naturally. My dad has been posting random snippets on the First Baptist Church sign in my hometown for over 35 years. I remember going out to help hand him letters when I was a little girl, and watched him get creative when he ran out of letters for a quote and had to improvise (in a pinch, an extra "E" can be bent to make a "C"). He would measure the spacing of the letters so everything was centered the way that it should be. I think I probably learned as much about spelling and grammer from my church-sign making dad as I did from my kindergarten-teacher mom.
Some of the quotes were funny, some were thought-provoking and others were spiritual--some were a combination of the three. Through the years as my dad became infamous for his signs he would receive phone calls, letters, and e-mails from people sharing their favorite signs my dad posted and friends would also share notes offering their own sightings of signs they had seen on their travels.
I remember my dad coming back into the house in the winter, his cheeks red and freezing from the hour that he had spent outside in single-digit temperatures, changing the church sign (did I mention that there are TWO sides to the sign, with two separate snippets each week?). Or putting up the sign "If you think it's hot here...just wait" sign in triple-digit temps. Dad has never received any compensation for the hours (at this point, probably MONTHS) that he has spent at the sides of those signs. And I am sure he wouldn't want to. Why in the world would such a tedious task be worth it?
Perhaps he has a hidden agenda. Although, in a small town--or even in some large ones--there is little that stays hidden for long. Perhaps it's a way to voice a political view or make a big statement. Nope, my dad could simply care less about any of that. Not that he doesn't have opinions, I am sure that he does. He's just not the kind of guy that thinks his opinions are any more relevant or any more entitled than anyone else's. If he were forced to put his personal creed on that sign, I am sure one side would read "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength" and the opposite side would read "Love your neighbor as yourself." And he would have borrowed those quotes as well.
I asked my dad once why he began changing the church sign, and he said that when he started attending the church the deacons had mentioned that they needed someone to change the sign, and that no one else volunteered. And 35+ years later he is stil devoted to that mission. Some are called to teach, some to preach...others to put metal letters in grooves.
For that moment when a person reads a sign, they make the choice of how to apply or dismiss what they have read. Regardless, that moment challenges the reader to stop and think. To stop and appreciate. To stop and smile. To connect with others who might have read the sign and had the same reaction. To appreciate the message for whatever it means personally, and to realize that it might have a completely different meaning for the next reader. To appreciate the growth and acceptance that comes with realizing that different interpretations are okay. And suddenly, in that light, putting metal letters into grooves becomes just as profound as the greatest of teachings or the loftiest of sermons.
And so, it is with great pride and a smile that each week I write a new quote on the wipe-off board outside my office. To encourage, to challenge, to inspire, to motivate, to cheer, to connect. Thanks, Dad, from your biggest fan.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
'Tis the Season...
It's the middle of November, and a certain familiar tightness is finding it's way into my heart and winding it's way around my stomach. When Halloween decorations give way to Christmas commercials (because Thanksgiving is just not a marketable holiday unless you are a grocery store) I start to get a little breathless, my heart starts to beat a little faster...and my anxiety level starts to climb into the stratosphere.
It's not that I don't love the holidays. I do. I was named after the Christmas holidays (thanks, Mom!). I even chose to get married the week before Christmas in 2000. My childhood memories of the holiday season are of magical days and events that started the Wednesday before Thanksgiving as we drove to St. Joseph, MO or Quincy, IL to celebrate with my extended family and didn't end until we were banging wooden spoons against skillets and pots outside our front door at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve. Food and love was and is prevalent at all Pryor/Rich celebrations, and family is the theme.
Fast forward 20 years, and now I have a family of my own. We have our own traditions to establish, our own memories to make. And just about this time every year I start to get nervous: can I possibly give my kids the magical experience of my childhood? Will they feel as special and as loved as I did (and still do)? How can I squeeze these new memories and traditions in with the old ones that are still an integral part of my family's mode of celebration? Honestly, I wonder each year how I can keep my sanity and schedule without leaving anything or anyone out, and without hurting anyone's feelings or making anyone angry. Keeping everything organized and everyone included often leaves me drained, stressed and exhausted. And definitely not in a festive holiday mood. I feel like Oz behind the curtain, making the magic but not getting to be a part of it.
So...this year, I am going to make some holiday 2011 resolutions. I am going to celebrate the madness, the disorganization, the chaos. as part of the joy. I am going to try to cut myself a little slack. I am going to remind myself that I can't be everywhere and do everything, and that I might have to make some hard choices to save my energy and sanity for my kids (and my husband!)...and that despite my best efforts I am probably going to upset someone at some point. I might have to forgo some old traditions that don't "fit" anymore to make room for those that do.
Santa's cookies might be break-and-bake this year, and I might not be able to attend every event on my calendar. But, I will be PRESENT, I will slow down and enjoy, and I might even find a moment for myself.
When 2011 gives way to 2012, I want to look back over November and December with a reminiscent smile, not an exasperated sigh. And, most of all, I want to be a part of the magic.
It's not that I don't love the holidays. I do. I was named after the Christmas holidays (thanks, Mom!). I even chose to get married the week before Christmas in 2000. My childhood memories of the holiday season are of magical days and events that started the Wednesday before Thanksgiving as we drove to St. Joseph, MO or Quincy, IL to celebrate with my extended family and didn't end until we were banging wooden spoons against skillets and pots outside our front door at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve. Food and love was and is prevalent at all Pryor/Rich celebrations, and family is the theme.
Fast forward 20 years, and now I have a family of my own. We have our own traditions to establish, our own memories to make. And just about this time every year I start to get nervous: can I possibly give my kids the magical experience of my childhood? Will they feel as special and as loved as I did (and still do)? How can I squeeze these new memories and traditions in with the old ones that are still an integral part of my family's mode of celebration? Honestly, I wonder each year how I can keep my sanity and schedule without leaving anything or anyone out, and without hurting anyone's feelings or making anyone angry. Keeping everything organized and everyone included often leaves me drained, stressed and exhausted. And definitely not in a festive holiday mood. I feel like Oz behind the curtain, making the magic but not getting to be a part of it.
So...this year, I am going to make some holiday 2011 resolutions. I am going to celebrate the madness, the disorganization, the chaos. as part of the joy. I am going to try to cut myself a little slack. I am going to remind myself that I can't be everywhere and do everything, and that I might have to make some hard choices to save my energy and sanity for my kids (and my husband!)...and that despite my best efforts I am probably going to upset someone at some point. I might have to forgo some old traditions that don't "fit" anymore to make room for those that do.
Santa's cookies might be break-and-bake this year, and I might not be able to attend every event on my calendar. But, I will be PRESENT, I will slow down and enjoy, and I might even find a moment for myself.
When 2011 gives way to 2012, I want to look back over November and December with a reminiscent smile, not an exasperated sigh. And, most of all, I want to be a part of the magic.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Friendship for Grown-Ups
This weekend I had the opportunity to attend the Women of Faith conference at the Sprint Center. Two days, six thousand women and some terrific speakers and singers. I got to hear Mandisa, Sandy Patti and Amy Grant sing live in concerts throughout the weekend. Wow!
One of the speakers was Lisa Welchel, better known as "Blair" from The Facts of Life TV show. Her topic immediately got my attention: "Friendship for Grown-Ups." I was all ears. Back in high school and college, the relative short-distance between my life and those around me made keeping up with friends easy. The relative little responsibilities we carried made time spent together almost a daily occurrence. I remember talking on the phone with my friends until the early hours of the morning, only to have my dad ask what we talked about the next day...and I truly couldn't remember. What we lacked in quality of conversation we made up for in quantity!
Fast forward 15 years, and some days I feel pretty worthless as a friend. The time to return phone calls, send birthday wishes and e-mails gets pushed aside to wipe noses, cook dinner, help with homework. And girl's nights? Forget 'em! Since most get-togethers now require babysitters and must be scheduled around 15 different types of practices and games, getting together with the girls happens less regularly than Leap Year.
During her time on the stage, Lisa focused on teaching how to find friends, and suggested that the best friends are women who aren't perfect and don't try to be. Ladies who have experienced the grace that comes with failure and are happy to spread the grace to other women who are in those trenches. That was the best, most reaffirming news--if imperfection makes a good friend, then at least I have that going for me!
At this stage in my life, I constantly worry that I am falling short: as a mom, as a wife, even as a friend. It was through Lisa's affirmation that I was able to realize that the old adage "to have a friend, you must first be one" is true. I don't know any perfect friends, I don't have any perfect friends--and honestly, I don't want any perfect friends. So why in the world do I think that I need to feel guilty for not being a perfect friend?
I am blessed to have friends of all ages and stages. Friends that I have known since birth and those that I met just this weekend. If you are reading this, you are my friend, and I am very lucky that our paths crossed at just the right moment. So, forgive me if I forget to return a call, if I accidentally send you a text the day after your birthday or fail to get together with you as often as I would like. I appreciate and love you, my "Grown-Up friends." And hopefully I will see you all soon--2012 is a Leap Year, after all!
One of the speakers was Lisa Welchel, better known as "Blair" from The Facts of Life TV show. Her topic immediately got my attention: "Friendship for Grown-Ups." I was all ears. Back in high school and college, the relative short-distance between my life and those around me made keeping up with friends easy. The relative little responsibilities we carried made time spent together almost a daily occurrence. I remember talking on the phone with my friends until the early hours of the morning, only to have my dad ask what we talked about the next day...and I truly couldn't remember. What we lacked in quality of conversation we made up for in quantity!
Fast forward 15 years, and some days I feel pretty worthless as a friend. The time to return phone calls, send birthday wishes and e-mails gets pushed aside to wipe noses, cook dinner, help with homework. And girl's nights? Forget 'em! Since most get-togethers now require babysitters and must be scheduled around 15 different types of practices and games, getting together with the girls happens less regularly than Leap Year.
During her time on the stage, Lisa focused on teaching how to find friends, and suggested that the best friends are women who aren't perfect and don't try to be. Ladies who have experienced the grace that comes with failure and are happy to spread the grace to other women who are in those trenches. That was the best, most reaffirming news--if imperfection makes a good friend, then at least I have that going for me!
At this stage in my life, I constantly worry that I am falling short: as a mom, as a wife, even as a friend. It was through Lisa's affirmation that I was able to realize that the old adage "to have a friend, you must first be one" is true. I don't know any perfect friends, I don't have any perfect friends--and honestly, I don't want any perfect friends. So why in the world do I think that I need to feel guilty for not being a perfect friend?
I am blessed to have friends of all ages and stages. Friends that I have known since birth and those that I met just this weekend. If you are reading this, you are my friend, and I am very lucky that our paths crossed at just the right moment. So, forgive me if I forget to return a call, if I accidentally send you a text the day after your birthday or fail to get together with you as often as I would like. I appreciate and love you, my "Grown-Up friends." And hopefully I will see you all soon--2012 is a Leap Year, after all!
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