Read part one (it's the introduction), and then enjoy reading the five secrets my husband has discovered in raising our son. (This post is a week late because he went to Denver last weekend and has just now started to recover!)
Exactly one year ago, my husband guest blogged about Halloween. A couple days ago, he told me he wanted to write an article, but that the theme didn't really fit with his website. So I said he could guest blog on mine! So people, here is part one. Come back tomorrow or Saturday or even Monday for part two (it depends on how quickly he finishes it!).
You don't have to read part one, but if you want this to be a little less random, here it is. And now for the conclusion:
My entire life, I've been called shy. From the very beginning of my life when I'd hide behind my mom's skirt when someone new walked up to us, my parents called me shy. When I had a roomful of acquaintances and only one friend, I reasoned that it was because I was shy. I never liked being shy, though; I always felt ashamed of that particular label. Shy people were rude and self-centered, and I honestly didn't feel rude and self-centered! I just didn't want to talk to strangers. Or sometimes, I just didn't want to talk, period.
In the past couple of years, I've seen more and more articles and comments about the difference between introverts and extroverts. I had never heard the terms before high school, and in high school, being an introvert was just as bad--if not worse!--than being shy. Being an extrovert, however, was a wonderful thing to be, because that meant you were friendly and not afraid to stand up for yourself--albeit loudly. Being an introvert meant that you were not only rude and self-centered (a.k.a. shy), but you were too proud to admit it and wanted to cover up those sins. If you've spent two minutes with me, you know I am definitely NOT an extrovert, but no way did I want to label myself as rude, self-centered, AND proud!
Now, however, I wonder...
Most of my life, I was defined by who I was in relation to who the rest of the world was. I was a missionary kid: first, middle, and last. Everything I did and thought and said, and everywhere I went and wanted to go--it was because I was an MK. My life revolved around being an MK; it wasn't just what I was; it's who I was.
In tenth grade, I wasn't an active MK anymore. I didn't live overseas and my parents weren't missionaries in a foreign culture. Fifteen years old is not a good age to start being something else--someone else--especially if you really liked being who you were before. But I didn't have a choice. I had to be someone else. The problem was, I didn't know how to be anyone else. I was good at being an MK; I had been one practically my whole life. TNK didn't sound so good. I mean really, who wants to be The New Kid? TWK--what I quickly morphed into--wasn't any better. That Weird Kid was what the classmates who didn't bother learning my name called me (not actually, but it felt like it). So, deep down, who was I really?
A friend told me about a small county airport giving free flying lessons to kids, and I immediately signed EJ up! When we got there, there were some technical difficulties (which I won't go into here for sake of their sensitive legal nature), but in the end everything worked out and it was the best experience! This is EJ and some of his friends and some of their friends:
First, an instructor...instructed.
Dream big. Really, if you’re gonna dream, dream big! Otherwise, what’s the point? My husband wants to change some laws, but he doesn’t want to do it the semi-passive aggressive way at the voting booth. So he dreamt big and is planning to be president one day. Of course, he knows that you can’t literally wake up one day, decide you want to be president, give a couple speeches and BOOM, you’re the president (unless, apparently, you’re the first one or the first one of a different color). He’s going to take all these small steps that lead up to the presidency. If he eventually does become president, more power to him, ya know? But if not, look at all the little steps he took—and all the “little” changes he will have made—in pursuit of his dream.
Tonight, the preacher told us about his dream. His was a literal dream. One night when he was a boy, he dreamed he was an evangelist, holding a revival meeting where many people were getting saved. He said when he woke up, he was disappointed it wasn’t real and right then he dedicated his life to God to preach.
On the way home, EJ told us his dream.
My husband came home an hour and a half early the other day, which absolutely NEVER happens! So we jumped at the chance to do something spontaneous--he suggested going to a park, so I swagbucks searched and found this Nature Preserve hiking place. The website said they closed the gates at 7, so we had a good 2.5 hours to enjoy ourselves. If you can see that tiny green line on the right, that's EJ. He was halfway down the trail before we had even taken three steps! I think he was excited!
In EJ's literature pace, he stretched his creative muscles. He had to answer several "what would you do if" questions. Here are the questions and his answers:
Q: You found some money you knew your friend had lost?
A: I would pick it up and give it to him or her.
Q: You got a demerit for something you didn't do?
A: I would explain in very much detail.
(Then we had a conversation about suffering little things, and he changed his answer.)
I am part of an (in)courage group on facebook. This group is all about writing. I love being a part of this group, because it really does encourage me to write! We've learned that there are five main types of writers, and today's challenge was a "Guide" exercise. Pick something you're good at and tell how to do it! The lady in charge (my cousin-in-law) suggested a few different mediums to adapt this how-to exercise to a particular different writing style. I thought I'd play around with it a bit and try several. The only one I didn't even attempt (on paper/computer--I thought about it in my head and that's as far as THAT went!) was the poem. I was going to write a poem about how to fold the perfect paper airplane. I am obviously NOT whatever style poetry is! I don't know how to properly match up the style names with what I've got, so enjoy, and let me know which one you think seems like a better fit with me: list, interview, or story.
Who am I, you ask?
In 2006 I had a stroke, and every day my husband encourages me to use my remaining brain cells to the best of my ability. I love to organize, make crafts, and go on adventures (safe ones). I hope that through my blog posts, you will be encouraged to accept and make the best of challenges God throws at your life.