New Starts

Once a teacher, always a teacher. No matter how long it’s been, my heart races, my optimism soars, whenever September draws near. There’s something about a new school year that makes me profoundly grateful, even if I’m no longer headed to a classroom. Beyond the parents lumbering down the aisle with arms full of school supplies and children begging for the newest sneakers, is a joy that beckons me, once again.

It’s the promise of a new start, and it’s there for us all.

I can still remember going into my classroom early, cleaning the board, organizing my desk drawers, and throwing away the debris from the year before. I’d try to learn the names of the new students as I wrote their names in the gradebook then plan the year ahead as if I’d never taught before. More than all this planning, though, was the gift of being able to start over. I’m not sure if there’s a greater gift.

Like all gifts, though, it needs to be received and opened. There are those who refuse the gift because they are convinced new starts are only for the young. There are also those who allow others to determine whether they deserve a new start or not. It makes me sad to think about it. Life loses its pixie dust when I think of life as one long continuous line instead of the collection of new chapters in a one-of-a-kind novel.

Whether as a mother or father, daughter or son, business executive or stay-at-home parent, this could be the start of a new year. Whether as a company, church, school, or team, this is a chance to try again. Like the countless teachers across the country who are wiping away the markings from lessons past on their white boards, it’s time for us to do the same. What’s past is past. It’s time to start over. Thanks be to God, who extends this gift of a new start today, and always.

Running Free

In the early morning light, the wranglers departed to gather the herd for the many guests planning to ride in a few hours. There were no whips cracking, just accomplished horsemanship gathering even the most defiant steed. Soon, they were assembled in a large corral as bridles and saddles arrived.

Throughout the day, they performed their duty admirably, but the greatest moment had yet to come. Like children standing at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning, the horses waited for the gate to be opened at the end of the day. They needed no escort as they ran to the distant meadow. The sight never gets old, I thought to myself, and as the dust settled, I got lost in thought.

There are all sorts of corrals. Maybe it’s one’s family of origin, place of employment, church, or school. We assemble in all sorts of places and ways, and share common connections, purposes, or interests. So, too, bridles and saddles come in all shapes and sizes. “We don’t say things like that,” someone might point out. “That’s not how we do things.” “You report to me.” I understand the benefit of gathering and appreciate the rules (written and unwritten) we create, but something deep within me wonders what life would be like if we were able to run free?

I consider myself a spiritual, creative person. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d run if the gate was opened:

What would I write if I didn’t consider my audience?

What would I paint if no one would see it?

What would I sing if no one was listening?

What would I do for a living if money (and social status) was no a factor?

Where would my faith lead me if I didn’t go to church?

Who would I be if I stopped caring about the opinions of others?

Where would I run if I ran free?

Such thoughts were as unsettling as they were exciting. Climbing off the fence, I listened to the horses talking to one another in the distance. It sounded like laughter. I’ll bet that’s how we’d sound if we followed our bliss, to quote Joseph Campbell, if we were our true selves, if we were truly free.

This and That

Walking on the beach, I was surrounded by this and that. On my left were houses built in a variety of styles, all of which cost more than I could ever afford. On my right was the ocean with waves breaking rhythmically and birds swooping in search of breakfast. Walking with this on my left and that on my right, I realized how often I try to navigate between the two even when far from the beach.

I’ve always had a thing for houses. From the days when I was young enough to build forts, I have always sought the safety and security of spaces. That love has continued, and I have no doubt, like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, it’s tied into my perpetual longing for home. My search has led me to many places and caused me to look for “home” in worldly ways - people, places, and things. If I didn’t know better, I would spend my whole life looking to my left, searching for something to buy to make me feel complete.

But I do know better.

To my right lies all I need to feel complete. It’s there waiting, for free, for me and for all of us. All we need do is turn our attention in its direction, look from the left to the right, open our eyes, ears, and hearts to what’s right beside us. Whether it’s a crashing wave or mountain stream, beckoning sunrise or inspirational sunset, birds singing or friends gathered, we’re given all we could hope for, all we need to feel complete. The trick is looking in the right direction.