Category Archives: Growth

Grow the people

I’ve been thinking a lot about something — something that’s had me troubled since I took the  new job 6 months ago.  Sure, I knew how the department worked, I’d been a key part of it for years. I had a list of what needed tweaking and where changes could be made.

But an area I was least familiar with turned out to be the most important of all.

You see, because the other employees were my colleagues all those years, I really didn’t know what it was like for them.   Now that I was their boss, it was my job to find out. 

Located all around the state, none of us share an office and we rarely see each other. And even though my management style and the previous boss’s are vastly different, I didn’t want to make changes too quickly.

So I started out slowly.  Visiting the team, spending time with them on their turf. Listening.  Bringing forward their ideas, offering encouragement. Bridging the gap between trusted colleague and trusted adviser.

I found myself thinking most about an employee who should have been promoted long ago.

He was doing Manager level work, and had been for years. He wasn’t being paid Manager-level wages.  Oh no, that had never happened, despite the promises made by another.

He didn’t have the right title, although he had all the responsibilities that go with it. Not having the right title meant he often was left off emails sent by other departments.   Not having that information left him at a deficit and unable to perform to the best of his ability.

This wasn’t right.

How to fix it?

I talked with H.R. and my supervisor and slowly but surely,  made it clear that his move up was priority #1.  I kept that move on the forefront of conversations; just enough to have it remembered, not enough to be annoying.

Why?

Because here was someone working hard and not getting ahead for it.

Isn’t that why we go to work?

For the reward? The money? The status?

The more I dug into it, the madder I became.

At the years of indifference.

Years of neglect.

The years of hard work for another’s benefit.

No, not this time.

It was not for nothing.  It was going to be for something.

I am delighted to report he got the promotion he deserved and some more money, too.  He’s a proud man, and his quiet but dignified “Thank you, thank you so very much” was beyond meaningful to me.   We laughed about his email in-box “blowing up” with congratulatory notes, and I took great joy in hearing the joy in him.

Thinking about it further, I came to see that this is why I am in the job.

Not just because I understand the policies and can navigate the systems.  Not just because of my experience and good reputation.

No, that’s not it.

I am here to grow the people.

And in there is growth for me as well.

no point climbing the ladder just to sit there by yourself

no point climbing the ladder just to sit there by yourself

You are not here merely to make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world, and you impoverish yourself if you forget the errand.”
― Woodrow Wilson

 Have you ever been in a similar position?  Were you able to fix it?

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On Nudges

Last week, I wrote about my travels to D.C. and all that trip meant to me.

What I haven’t written about are all the nudges I experienced while there.

It started with the two Minnesota businessmen seated across from me at the conference dinner, the ones whose accents sounded so familiar.  The fellows who told their stories in the modest way Midwesterners do; what stays with me is how easily we laughed, as though we were old friends reunited after years apart.

There was the English couple making their way to St. Louis; his brown eyes locking on mine when he said, “It’s my Mother, you see, and she wants me to come.” I found myself nodding in agreement.   We talked of the bond between Mothers and children, regardless that she was 84 and he 61. I’d forgotten it was Mother’s Day that coming Sunday.  His wife, serene and beautiful, like Jane Goodall, smiled in support of the journey.

There was the businesswoman softly sobbing in the seat next to mine, our flight delayed again and again because of weather. But it wasn’t the storms that made her cry, it was her husband’s terse texts about being late to their 9 year old’s birthday.

There was the Arizona executive I met at an evening mixer, the woman who smiled as she told me of her Dad’s health challenges and how no other siblings were involved because he was such a cranky-puss these days.   She smiled her way through the fatigue.

There was the skinny smiley cab driver from Afghanistan who showed me photos of his baby daughter and the cleaning lady with the shy smile who never failed to say “Good morning!”

Maybe I was just a country girl in the city overwhelmed with the sights, the smells, the significance.

But I don’t think that’s it.

I felt it. With each of them.

A nudge.

A little push that said, “hear them. see them. listen.”

And so I did.

And in the listening,  that’s where I find the lessons live.

“An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance.  The thread may stretch or tangle. But it will never break.” -  Proverbs

Have you ever experienced nudges like this? What did you?

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:: google.images.com::

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On Mothering

One of my favorite pictures of Mom & me... having a Killian's in Branson, MO

One of my favorite pictures of Mom & me… having a Killian’s in Branson, MO

A mom reads you like a book, and wherever she goes, people read you like a glowing book review.  ~Robert Brault

***

We all need someone who believes in us – someone who sees our potential and who encourages us to keep on going when times get hard.  Someone who reminds us of what is working in our life and that tomorrow will be better.  Someone who points out all we have to be grateful for right now.

We need someone who cheers the loudest when we succeed and stays the closest when we’re hurting.

No matter how robust our self-confidence is, knowing that we are treasured is the magic elixir that gives us the ability to be our best.

In everything I’ve ever accomplished and all that I’ve ever experienced, I’ve had one tiny but mighty powerhouse behind me: my mother.

Thank you to my Mom who taught me the importance of a meal lovingly prepared, of make-believe play on stormy days, the joy of reading and the ability to laugh at myself.

Thank you to my Mom for driving me to piano lessons even though I could “hear” the music and didn’t bother learning to read notes; for sewing my skating costumes, helping me finish 4-H projects and listening to me practice my speeches.

Thank you to my Mom who put up with my petulance at 14, what I was sure was true love at 16, and impatience at 18.

Thank you to my Mom who taught me that a real man cries, loves children and animals and his wife, and shows up.

Thank you to my Mom who  inspires me to challenge what I know for sure, to stretch my limits and to never underestimate what can be done.

Thank you to my Mom, who let me have sleepovers, talent shows, weenie roasts and birthday parties.

Thank you to my Mom for teaching me how to have a warm & inviting home; to cook, clean and entertain in a way that makes my family want to be home more than not.

Thank you to my Mom who taught me to not save my best manners for strangers and to, no matter what, stay up for kids coming in at night so there’s always an audience for their stories.

Thank you for my Mom who let me go; who, in spite of the miles that separate us, and the time between our face-to-face conversations, has never failed to rally behind me and say “You can do it, kid.”

Thank you, Mom, thank you.

The greatest gift I’ve ever received … is a Mother who is happy to be one.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

*originally posted 5/6/2011

Want to read more about the 4’11″ dynamo?

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Filed under Attitude, Beauty, Faith, Growth, Home, Joy, Life, Personal, Uncategorized

Milestones

Five years ago, Hubbs and I and youngest boy spent the night in Detroit so I could take my citizenship test early the next morning.

Five years ago, I passed that test with flying colors.

Five years ago, I raised my right hand and took the oath of allegiance to the United States of America and proudly stepped forward as a new citizen.

Five years ago, I got my second passport.

Five years.

Five years ago, I couldn’t have imagined that five years later I’d be heading to Washington, D.C. this morning to represent my employer and my state.

Five years.

Only in America!

US.gov

The United States Capitol is the meeting place of the United States Congress, the legislature of the federal government of the United States. Located in Washington, D.C., it sits atop Capitol Hill at the eastern end of the National Mall. http://www.visitthecapitol.gov/‎

…she cried because prejudice outlives passion and because she was sentimentally patriotic.”  ― Irène Némirovsky

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Love at the table

It was Easter weekend, only a few weeks ago now. We had oldest boy and the wee ones over, plus Grandpa, youngest boy and, of course, Frankie the dog.  Add in me & Hubbs and we had ourselves a full table.  The kitchen was brimming with the scents of ham and roast turkey, double stuffed potatoes, steamed vegetables, salads and desserts.  The table, loaded with place settings and bunnies, was peppered with talk of egg hunts later on.

As we gathered, little MJ, the youngest of the bunch, leaned over and asked, “Nana, can we pray?”

“Of course we can,” I said.  Seeing her delighted smile, I asked “Would you like to say the blessing, Luvee?”

Shyly she nodded.

Ignoring her brother’s eye roll, she took his hand firmly in hers and watched as he took Pops’ hand. She reached for me and I, in turn, reached for Grandpa who reached for oldest boy who reached for youngest who reached for Hubbs/Pops. Together, we completed a circle.  Even Frankie, lying at Grandpa’s feet, was in on it.

Three and half years old, she waited for everyone to bow their heads before she started to sing, “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little to ones to Him belong; they are weak but He is strong.”

And with that, she clapped, we cheered, and the love at the table was palpable.

The singer with her Easter "Pack-Pack"

The singer with her Easter “Pack-Pack”

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Filed under Faith, Family, Food, Growth, Holidays, Home, Joy, Life, Love, Personal, Thoughts, Traditions, Uncategorized

I saw her

The past two days have been an adventure, to say the least.   After the news in Boston and Texas, it felt good to get out for a road trip on Thursday. Except for the driving rain.  And the flooding. And the difficulty doing simple things … like seeing where I was going!

But, eventually, I drove out of the storms and found myself enjoying the ride — the winding roads, the hills, farms and fields.  Arriving at my destination, I was met by the smiling face of one of my employees.  Our meetings went well, we enjoyed a wonderful lunch in a quaint Northern town and then, off we went again, driving through the rain and the hills and the snow to another city I’ve never visited before.

Wrapping up yesterday, we soon realized that I couldn’t go home the same way I’d came in.  You see, the city I live in has a large river snaking through it and the banks were already compromised; every river north of here is swollen and spilling over.  I decided to reroute and travel south along the Lake Huron shoreline and then make my way West from there.

Lake Huron .. from inside my car, way too cold to get out and stand!

Lake Huron .. from inside my car, way too cold to get out and stand!

Just before a stretch of open road, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed: the gas gauge was low. A lot lower than it should have been for the distance I still had to go.  I took an exit off the highway into an area I’ve never been and, driving along, it seemed to take forever to see any signs of gas stations or … civilization. My nerves kicked in and I felt my hands shaking just a bit.

Oh geez, I thought. Wouldn’t this be just perfect? I muttered.  C’mon gas station where are you? and then a chime-chime-chime of the gas alert.  Oh Lord, here we go.

Coming around a bend in the road, I saw it: a little country stop called, “Gas N Go.”   Let’s hope it’s open. 

I pulled up, filled up, and walked inside to pay.   As I opened the door, here she came: a little (and I mean tiny) old lady in a rain hat and boots, looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Do you know the roads?”

Holding the door, my hair flying in the wind, I replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t. I’m not from around here.”  She put her head down and started to walk away when something made me  ask “Where are you headed?”

Looking up, her bright blue eyes peeking out from under her plastic rain hat, she said, “Well, I’m headed to Belding; you see my sister died and I need to get there.”   I touched her arm lightly and said, “I’m so sorry; you know the roads are bad and it’s flooding and are you sure you should be going?”  Again those blue eyes, “I have to” and off she headed to her truck.

I went inside to pay and felt my emotions get the best of me. That could be my Mom out on a country road. That could be me.

I blurted out my concerns to the clerk: that she shouldn’t be out in this, and couldn’t we do something?  Behind me stood an older man, a farmer-looking kind of man. The kind of man who could have been my Dad or my neighbor growing up.   I heard him clear his throat and put his change on the counter; he stepped ahead of me and went straight to her truck.  In the wind and the driving rain, I saw him pointing forward and telling her road names.

Driving back to the highway, I thought of her. I prayed for her. And yes, I cried for her.

You see, as a girl who lives so far from what’s familiar, there’s much of my life that’s an adventure. But there are also moments like this when I feel the pinch of not living where things are known to me.

Last night, I found myself telling Hubbs about that encounter.  He listened, as he always does, and then said something that resonated with me. “No you couldn’t help her, you didn’t know your way, but you did what you could: you saw her.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe we’re not meant to solve everyone’s problems. Maybe the best we can do is take a moment and see someone.

Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on; ‘Twas not given for thee alone, Pass it on; Let it travel down the years, Let it wipe another’s tears, ‘Til in Heaven the deed appears – Pass it on. ~Henry Burton, Pass It On

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Acquiring some horse sense

source: evans-welsh ponies

Good instincts usually tell you what to do long before your head has it all figured out – Michael Burke

I recently found myself in a situation that made me think of my horse, Riley.

Riley was an Arabian-Welsh cross that Dad bought  for me when I was 9. I’d been riding for several years by then but had never had my own horse.  I rode JJ and Queenie, my cousin’s horses, as often as I could, and our draught horses Tony and Bruce,  but that wasn’t the same as having my own.  When you’re a full-time cowgirl you need a full-time horse! So when Dad asked me if I wanted to go with him to deliver a load of hay, I answered, “sure,” figuring that, at the very least I’d score a pop and some candy. That’s what you get when you take a trip with the Candy Man.

Slipping on my jean jacket and hopping into the truck cab, I didn’t even notice the horse trailer behind us.  Flipping through the AM stations, we shared peppermints and listened to the farm reports.    Arriving at a farm I didn’t recognize, I helped Dad as he offloaded the bales.  I noticed an older man, the farm owner, approach the truck.   I half-listened as they talked about grain costs and hay availability but, truth be told, I wasn’t paying them much attention because it was around that time that I spotted a dark grey horse looking at me intently.  He, with the most beautiful and inquisitive face, stared at me from a cow-filled corral and with cow pies up to his knees.  I abandoned the hay and sloshed through the barnyard muck, my rubber boots making a squirsh squirsh sound as I rushed to meet him.  Slowly and deliberately, he approached the fence but maintained a 3 foot distance from the rails.  Hardly daunted, I scaled the fence and, perched on the top, and reached out my hand so as to pet him. He snorted, stamped a foot, and backed away.

From behind I heard an unfamiliar voice ask, “So I hear you’re in the market for a horse?”

“Huh?” I said, looking in confusion over to my Dad, who stood at the truck grinning.

“What do you think all this hay is for?” giggled Dad.

Still confused, I looked from man to man and realized what was really going on:  they were trading hay for a horse – MINE!

I could hardly stand the ride home and I barely heard Dad as he explained, “You do realize he’s at least 5 years old and not even halter broke yet. He doesn’t know anything. You will need to work with him every day and teach him. You know that, right?”

Did I?

I spent nearly every day with Riley, after school, all weekends and every summer that followed.

So I brushed him. I spoiled him. I told him all my secrets. He greeted me with a nicker , ears up and one step forward, every time.  I laughed at his antics as he stole treats and opened gates for other horses but he’d redeem himself by obediently giving rides to children who visited us.  When he misbehaved, and he often did, I’d have him back up in straight lines. Doing so won us both ribbons at the local 4-H show because, unbeknown-st to me, being able to back up through an L corner was a key part of the “Western Trail” class competition. That horse could back a perfectly straight line the entire length of the arena.

There were many things that he was not: he was not tall and he was not lanky, and that was OK ’cause neither was I.  He was, however, as dignified as an Arabian desert racer could be and as smart, stubborn and dependable as Welsh ponies are known to be. He was perfect for me.

Riley.

He did more than listen: he provided therapy to a girl with a head full of dreams trying to find her place in the world.

He taught me more about trusting my instincts than any person ever has.

Once, on our way home from yet another adventure with the cousins, he kept stopping every 20 feet or so.  Growing impatient, I urged him on. Finally, he stopped firmly, planted his feet, swung his head and bit me on the foot.   He got my attention, and as I spun him around there, about 15 feet directly behind us, was the largest male coyote I’d ever seen.  Clearly Riley had sensed what lurked behind us but could not see it clearly.   The coyote, no threat to us, locked eyes, looked down and loped away.   That day, I learned to listen to what he had to tell me:  I know better than you kid, and you might just want to pay attention.

Me & Riley, 4-H Achievement Day 1979

Me & Riley, 4-H Achievement Day 1979

What brings me to this tale?

A situation presented itself to me recently that just didn’t sit right with me. I tried to brush it off, to no avail. I finally spun around and stared it down for what it was. I recognized it, I dealt with it, and I moved on.

Thank you, Riley, for teaching me to trust what my gut’s telling me long before my head has it figured out.  Thank you for teaching me that it’s perfectly normal to sing into a prairie wind and that gates only exist to be opened.

What have your animals taught you?

*originally posted by Emjayandthem on April 1, 2011

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Filed under Animals, Faith, Family, Friendship, Growth, Joy, Life, Life Lessons, Personal, Relationships, Self Discovery, Thoughts, Uncategorized

I believe

I believe … that I am never closer to God than when I am outside.

I believe … that I can do anything I decide to try. I just haven’t tried it all yet.

I believe … in life after death, that I know things I shouldn’t, and that I can sense good from bad.

I believe … in the magic of a favorite song on the radio, the wind in my hair and sunshine on my face.

I believe … that there’s a reason babies and animals come to me.

I believe … that good cooks have plenty of friends.

I believe … that there is more right with this country than there is wrong with it.

I believe … that the quiet Sunday afternoons I carve out are some of my best days.

I believe … that my children and grandchildren love me because I first loved them.

I believe … that being related doesn’t give someone the right to be hurtful.

I believe … in never turning down the hubby’s kisses.

I believe … in the power of a gentle touch, a kind word, and an open heart.

I believe … that a confident smile is the sexiest accessory.

I believe … that if you have to tell me how religious you are… that I’d rather watch your actions and decide for myself.

I believe … that I will meet my father, grandparents and others again.

I believe … in music, books, and just being still sometimes.

I believe … that I am at my strongest when someone I love is hurting.

I believe … that we are all a work in progress.

I believe … the best is yet to come.

originally posted by Emjayandthem on May 26, 2011

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I love you this much

I’ve been lost, weak and confused.

I’ve felt flawed, anxious and full of heartache.

I’ve tried not to judge but known that I did.

There were times I’ve excelled and times when I’ve failed.

But still, I pray.

Still, I think.

Still, I wake, toss and turn.

And in time, I remember to turn to Him.

And I laugh when I realize it really is just that simple:

“Step out of your way, girl, and come to Me.”

EASTER-cross-blank

We asked … How much do you love me? And He said “This much.” And then He stretched out His arms and died. For you. For me. For us. For them. For the good, the bad, the weak and the sad. For all of us.
He loves you this much.

Please watch the video by Jimmy Wayne ( below ),  I love you this much. 

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The road less travelled

Advising one of our boys recently, I found myself in a deep discussion about doing the right thing.

I reminded him that,  in spite of someone’s hatefulness,  he should always take the high road.

He tilted his head and gave me a look that said … explain please?

So I filled him in on the nuances of the “high road.”  How it’s a road most often  traveled alone.  It’s usually headed away from the masses.  It’s far from comfortable.  There’s plenty of goading, very few luxuries and not many rest stops along the way.

Then I assured him that when he’s on the high road he’ll know it because of how his heart feels.

He will walk taller, stand straighter, have a whistle in his heart and a song on his lips.

He will know.

How?

He will know he’s on the high road when he doesn’t see any of the “preachy” people he’s met walking alongside him.

He will see the man who could take the extra cash and look the other way but doesn’t because it’s not the right thing to do.

He will see the woman who fed a lingering child without being sure how she’ll feed her own the next day.

He will see the couple working multiple jobs who still make time to check in and talk with an elderly neighbor.

He will see some with enough, a few with nothing, and many …. walking on their own.

He will not see the Sunday Christians, the Holy Rollers or the Damnation givers.

He will recognize himself in every single one of them and that’s when he’ll know:  he’ll know he’s following his soul’s journey to do what’s right  ..  in the eyes of God.

*originally published August 17, 2011 by Emjayandthem. 

“The same crowds that were crying out ‘Hosanna’ were crying out “crucify Him” five days later” – Matthew 27:22 – 23

 

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