Lessons Learned | Sarah Markley

Archive for the ‘lessons learned’ Category

Sunday May 3rd, 2009

I woke up this morning to find my seven-year-old in the spot that my husband usually takes in our bed.

He’d left early to go get coffee and read like he does most Sunday mornings and Hope had come in in the middle of the night. Lately nightmares or alone feelings — I’m not saying “No.”

I turned over, and she was there, head turned away, the room already bright at 7.

She turned over to me fresh with sleep with an idea already in her head. Not “Good Morning” or “How did you sleep,” but:

“Mama, I can pour the milk for your cereal this morning! I know how!”

Of course she knows how. She’s seven and she’s capable of picking up the milk gallon. But more than that, she’s willing. And she was excited to serve me in some way that she was able. She didn’t want to help in a way that was beyond her (she didn’t offer to clean out the refrigerator or fry up some bacon). And she didn’t offer with an frowning attitude (like she does when asked to clean her room or begin her homework).

She knew what she could do well and she offered to serve with excitement and purpose. She smiled.

It was simple. A single act of helpfulness in a way that she knew would make me happy. Yet she wasn’t afraid to offer it.

Sometimes I can’t even pour my own milk with a happy heart. I can’t help others with willingness and excitement. I rarely let “How can I help?” be the first thing from my lips in the morning. I can seem to serve with joy or muster satisfaction from loving others with my actions.

I have trouble acting within charity – a selfless, sacrificial love that gives to others.

The simple charity of a seven-year-old has changed me today.

I want to serve.

Written at 1:48 pm · (4) Comments ·

Monday November 26th, 2007

Naomi screams. She yells. She thrashes around and screams again. She kicks and throws things. She is almost 2, and she’s been stuck on an airplane for almost 10 hours.

In her tears, she says “BINKY”. She takes her pacifier and throws it. She yells for it again, and throws it again. She yells “NIGHT NIGHT” wanting her blanket. I hand it to her and she throws it off. “DRINK!” I give her a sippy cup with milk and she tries to throw that (so glad she didn’t hit the guy in 25E because she has kicked him enough on this flight).

I figure 25E is okay, he’s a dad. But his middle-school aged kids sitting next to him have been doing their homework quietly for hours. I know someday that will be us, but I also know I don’t want to rush it. The days of play dough and stickers will be gone forever, it seems.

Everything I give her, this whirlwind of energy in the body of a toddler, everything she asks for, she decides she doesn’t want. I am trying desperately to understand her little mind, her heart. She gets what she asks for, but it doesn’t satisfy whatever is fueling her fire. She is unhappy, evidently, and as her mother, my inside desire is to soothe and calm her. My words are nothing to her when she is in the midst of a tantrum, and nothing said or sung offers any salve.

She just doesn’t know what she wants.

And even though her vocabulary has grown exponentially in the past weeks and month, she still does not have enough words or self-knowledge to express herself adequately. She doesn’t know so, neither do I.

So today, there are more tantrums. But they are in the comfort of my living room or backyard. She is free from her car seat and stroller, for today at least. I look at her, try to figure out what exactly it is she wants, and try to provide the right boundaries for her.

I sincerely want to be able to see inside her, deep inside the complexities of this baby. I know there is a lesson to learn here, in her: to ask for things carefully and to thoughtfully consider what satisfies. And also, of course, what does not.

And not to throw the binky when someone gives it to you.

Written at 10:48 am · (10) Comments ·

Sunday October 21st, 2007

At the Kindergarten farm trip on Friday morning, the rule for the children was this: you can pick ANY pumpkin to take home with you as long as YOU can carry it without help to the car. No parents. No chaperone help. All the 5 and 6 year olds, with small (smart and timid) or large (wishful and expectant) pumpkins in hand, walking, some (mine) in tears because it was becoming too heavy.

I walked next to her, disallowing her to pass it off on me. I helped her stop, readjust her grip, reminding her that the rules needed to be followed this time. If she couldn’t carry it, we would have to return and choose a smaller pumpkin. She was determined to get all the way to the car, a good five-minute-walk. Five minutes of hell for little hands and arms. I had no problem enforcing this rule, knowing that this was something she should learn.

She needed me to help her win this battle, show her that it was within her physical power to carry this large thing. I only once suggested she choose a smaller one, because I knew it was well within her personality to find the biggest one she could get away with. And she did it, only half-way suprising me.

She carried it all the dusty way back, tears running down her face. I have come to expect her dramatic tears in situations like this, but its okay. I knew she could do it.

Nothing is gained, in truth, without a little sweat and a few tears. A lesson for her, and for me making me question myself: Do I find the biggest pumpkins I can carry? Or do I try and timidly get away with the smaller ones, doubting my abilities all the while wishing I could take home the giant one. Maybe, like Hope, I simply need someone to encourage me, tell me I worthy and able, help me stop, readjust and walk my dusty journey with me. Thank you to all who have uplifted me.

Written at 4:22 pm · (6) Comments ·

Thursday September 27th, 2007

In the beginning, I put Hope in gymnastics because it is physically active and mentally focused and I hoped it would help her in the area of following directions and listening. So, she’s been with the same gym for 3 years and received her anniversary trophy today. Three years — she’s been in gymnastics longer than she hasn’t been in it!

I have always known that she will never be an Olympic athlete (nor do I have the stomach as a mother to push her toward anything like that), but for the discipline, the stamina, the strength and the getting-the-wiggles-out aspect of it, the one hour a week classes are worth it. The pride and excitement on her face when she got her trophy today makes the 60 minutes of chasing a toddler worthwhile.

She likes it, but doesn’t love it. She isn’t turning cartwheels on the weekends or watching movies about gymnastics (that is taken up with the horse-love). When she turned 5, I gave her the choice to quit and begin something else. She wanted to stay. We’ve had our difficulties with not listening to her coaches, lack of attention, keeping her hands to herself, and all of these many, many times in three years.

This makes me think. So, what have I stuck with consistently for THREE years? Or proportionately-speaking, more than half of my life…let’s see, I’m 32 (that’s 16 years!). Hmmm. Obviously, I am encouraging her to go, driving her, telling her she must when she is whiny, but nonetheless, she has accomplished what I really can’t say that I have: Completing something she has begun.

What a good lesson! Simply finish what I start. Can it get easier than that? When I look around at all of my uncompleted projects and things I haven’t even started, I somehow feel disheveled and out-of-sorts. Apparently beginning something is a prerequisite for finishing it.

So, again, lesson learned from a child: Begin something and then follow through. Or as Mary Poppins would say, “Well begun is half done”.

Written at 2:12 pm · (12) Comments ·

Thursday September 27th, 2007

Fall asleep early and wake up happy.
Always, always stop and breathe in the roses.
Forget quickly when someone has hurt you.
Get up when someone pushes you down.
Say “HI!” to everyone who passes.
Let eating blueberry pancakes be the highlight of your morning!
Cuddle often and long with those who love you best.
Give fierce hugs, sloppy kisses and free grins!
Stare at the harvest moon like you’ve never seen it before.
Whatever you choose to do, do that thing with ALL of your energy.
Feel safe and live well, because you are cared for by Someone BIG who has your best interests in His mind.

Written at 7:00 am · (12) Comments ·

Wednesday September 26th, 2007

Always sleep when you can.
Try to wear fancy shoes whenever possible.
Attempt the climb because, after all, you really don’t have far to fall!
Make good use of things at your disposal, because a roll of wrapping paper can be an boat’s oar and a table can certainly be a hidden fort.
When you learn a new word, use it over an over again so you never forget its meaning.
Sing while you play (or work).
Drink milk, not soda, and eat fruit, not chips.
Always smile for the camera, no matter what you look like.
Dirt under your fingernails is merely a sign of an afternoon of digging in the garden.
Watch shows on TV that will TEACH you something and read books with substance.
Above all, laugh at EVERYTHING!

Written at 7:29 am · (12) Comments ·

Tuesday September 25th, 2007

“Life is the only real counselor; wisdom unfiltered through personal experience does not become a part of the moral tissue.” E. Wharton

I decided about three years ago that I would get off of any high-horse I sat on and and stop giving advice. Especially advice that no one had asked for.

I decided, instead, to begin (trying, at very least) to only advise people based on lessons learned from my own experiences. Any wisdom that I had been blessed with was because I had actually weathered my own storm, or rode out my own wave; these are the nuggets I would share.

If I have failed in this, I truly apologize. Because (ironically, as a lesson learned), I don’t know. I simply don’t know. The older I get, the more I realize how utterly senseless and unwise I actually am. God has taught me many things, I have made a ton of mistakes, and I have given some bad advice in my life. So now, I hesitate, but I try to share wisdom only gained through my own poor choices (or the random good ones) and personal experience.

Like the Wharton quotation so eloquently states, why would anyone listen to any word, wise or not, that has not been purified through the fire of personal triumph or failure.

So, Lisa wants to know what my “word” is.

WISDOM.

Written at 6:33 am · (14) Comments ·

Sunday September 16th, 2007

Naomi is so tolerant. I know we are really on the cusp of a potential future of sisterhood-abuses, however, Hope likes to use Naomi constantly in her endless imaginary games. In these, Naomi usually ends up being a horse (hence the saddle picture – I didn’t do this; Hope got her to sit still for the saddling by herself) or a “student” in any of a number of different “schools” or “camps” she cooks up.

But Naomi truly is tolerant, and her memory is short. She’s also probably too little to fight back yet (I’m sure that will change). If her sister becomes mean, pushes her over, or doesn’t let her ride the One-Eared-Puppy-boat (don’t ask), she squawks for a minute, then moves on to something else. In their playing together, I’ve seen Naomi squirt in the face with a garden hose, closed up in a cardboard box to play “closet”, tripped, chased to exhuastion, moved over, moved out, and more.

Naomi usually doesn’t react, and if her feelings are truly hurt, she usually forgets after half-a-minute.

As I am scrubbing the sink this morning, I am watching them play “boat” that Hope has named the One Eared Puppy, and as they are rowing across the dining room floor, I am witnessing sisterhood (or Relationship) in action: Hope has her imaginary world in mind (WATCH OUT FOR THE FEROCIOUS CROCODILES!), and is rowing her sister to safety. Naomi apparently does not want to be saved, just free, but no hard feelings: she just gets out and does something else. No one is upset, and everyone understands this exchange. Its normal.

I want an open heart, a forgiving soul and a short memory. If someone hurts me (as inevitably life will do this), I want to openly forgive, and quickly forget, for good. If Naomi were to carry around every sister-abuse that has befallen her, she would buckle under the pressure. She forgets. How often do I carry even smallish things around with me, and allow them to rule. My prayer this morning is that I may forget quickly and forgive always.

Written at 8:08 am · (12) Comments ·

Friday September 14th, 2007

This week really kicked my butt.

It was the first full week of all-things-Kindergarten (including the 90 minutes I spent in the classroom on Monday helping) and many-things-toddler. I won’t go into the details because painful memories can be hard for everyone.

Friday morning I was in a frenzy – a whipped-up, frothy mother running around with drippy hair, making lunches, stuffing breakfasts in little mouths, hair-brushes (SCREAMS!!!), socks on, diaper changed…trip to the car (did the baby walk out the door too? Uh…where is she? Found her, strap her in…) Full-blown frenzy. The funny thing is, I AM a planner (I lay out clothes and pack bags the night before), but somehow the morning craziness usually ensues. It made me tired just thinking about all that I had to get done. Me…Me…Me…Hmm.

As I was trying to get everyone in their proper places and everything in the car for my mighty day of who-knows-what, I used my scary-mommy voice on Hope. She begins to cry, a little whimper, and I knew. She says to me, crying,

“Mama, I can’t hold all your words in!”

Ouch. Wow. I closed my mouth and my heart changed immediately (as did my focus). Children can say things so wisely. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I love you and I’m done talking. Let’s go to school.”

I talk too much, I realize. And I’m not really a talker. I am not the talk-on-the-phone-for-hours girl, and never have been. I married a talker so I didn’t really have to, but with my little girl, I was using way too many words and using them harshly. I SAY a lot and often don’t allow her adequate time to answer. I get scared just thinking about my scary-mommy voice and I know that they must hate it too. The frenzy, I may not be able to change (hopefully we will get into a better rhythm), but I can change my attitude and my voice. While remaining firm, I know I can use soft words to my girls. And on top of it all, I had been so focused on the DOING of it all, I pretty much forgot the WHY – for these beautiful girls.

Written at 7:39 pm · (8) Comments ·

Friday July 13th, 2007

I used to say that “Sea Green” was my favorite Crayola color, or even “Periwinkle”. Back in 1984, that was about as good as it got. And unless you have a 4 – 9 year old girl, you probably don’t know that Crayola makes colors much cooler now. Try “Fern”, a nice green that might actually look good on my bathroom walls, or “Almond”, a strange beige color that I would have used a lot back in 4th grade (you know that color that you tried to make with orange, yellow and white?). There are also “Tumbleweed”, “Wisteria”, “Wild Blue Yonder” and “Outer Space” to name a few in Crayola’s new rainbow.

The reason I know this is because coloring in large-sized coloring books is Hope’s new favorite thing to do with me when her sister is asleep. Picture, early summer evening when her daddy works late, and its just me and her on the floor of my bedroom trying to see in the light that’s fading. Its actually quite peaceful and in a way, theraputic.

About a month ago, I noticed Hope coloring INSIDE the lines. For about a year now she’s had the fine motor skills, but she usually gets bored and scribbles her way done on most pictures. I asked her why she colors in the lines now (actually a big deal for an almost-Kindergartener). She nonchalantly says, “I just thought about it in my brain and decided to”. She just made a choice, a decision, and did it! I haven’t seen her scribble since.

I think, if only everything were this easy. In truth, many things are that easy. How many things do I procrastinate on, or sucumb to laziness or lack of discipline that in reality are as far away from me as merely thinking about it in my brain and doing it.

So, I guess that means there is nothing really keeping me from cleaning out my loft or garage, nothing standing between me calling people I haven’t talked to in awhile, and nothing (except the brain-decision) that stops me getting up with the sunrise to spend time with my Savior. So, so much to learn from a 5 year old!

Written at 7:25 am · (2) Comments ·