Elijah or the Raven?

Columnist Harvey Mackay wrote a column entitled “The heart of education is the education of the heart.” I read the article a long time ago, and it made a lasting impression. Why?

Because Mackay shares some stories about educators who were also mentors. In this article he speaks of two of his own mentors, the second being his golf coach…



“My other mentor was Les Bolstad, the University of Minnesota golf coach. Like all great coaches and teachers, Les did not teach golf. He taught life. If you learned a little golf on the side, well, so much the better.”

Les Bolstad was a raven!

Harvey Mackay was willing to learn from a somewhat unapparent teacher. Sure Bolstad was a golf coach, but Mackay learned so much more from him. He learned about life.

But why do I say, “Les Bolstad is a raven.” I’m referring to a fairly famous Bible story from 1st Kings 17. It is a story about a prophet named Elijah:

Now Elijah the Tishbite, from Tishbe in Gilead, said to Ahab, "As the LORD, the God of Israel, lives, whom I serve, there will be neither dew nor rain in the next few years except at my word."

Then the word of the LORD came to Elijah: "Leave here, turn eastward and hide in the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan. You will drink from the brook, and I have ordered the ravens to feed you there."

So he did what the LORD had told him. He went to the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan, and stayed there. The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook.



This week I had a fellow educator visit my classroom. Many of my coworkers are 20 or so years younger than I am. They have young children while my children have young children.

Despite the age difference, we all have problems. Because I’m older and more experienced, I can sometimes offer questions, insights, or advice that is helpful. I can be a raven, if they are willing to be an Elijah.

Elijah was a man of ability and influence, but he possessed a humility that allowed him to receive help from unusual sources, even from some questionable sources. Ravens were not held in high regard: they were and are scavengers.



Depending on the situation you may play the role of Elijah or the raven, if you are willing.

Me? I was a raven this week, sharing a bit of help to a needy and willing recipient. Caw!

Real Men Don’t Use Baby Wipes!

Quad riding was one of the fun activities available at a recent family reunion I attended in Arizona. The reunion was held at the Bumble Bee Ranch which is nestled between Sedona and Prescott in a 2,000 foot mountain valley.

Quad riding is dusty business. Riders sometimes wear goggles, but they almost always wear a bandana over their mouth and nose to keep the dust out. Even still, after the ride, a trip to the bathroom is usually needed to clean up a bit.

In the men’s room at the Bumble Bee, I took a few pictures to help explain this clean-up procedure.


The man wipes…












The Sink and Man Wipes...














The truth of the matter (side view of the man wipes)…










Shhhh... Sometimes real men do use baby wipes, we just rename them.

Serendipity, Providence, or a Friendly Universe

Occasionally, I am a knucklehead. (I have witnesses!) And often, I'm blessed.

While waiting around for school to let out, I described the student I was waiting for to another co-worker. "This 6th grader weighs 193 lbs. and is about 5' 9". I need his dad to sign some papers."



While waiting for this dad, I got to talking to another co-worker about some help she needed on an assignment for a class in her Masters' program. While I was talking, I saw the student come in, but I didn't see him leave. I didn't see his dad sign him out.

(It's not always fun being a knuckle-head.)

I would have missed my signature-obtaining opportunity except that the first co-worker was watching me missing the whole thing!

"Hey, Don! Isn't that the parent you're waiting for?"

"Duh!" (I ran out the door and got my signature.)

My co-worker came by my classroom later to laugh at me up-close-and-personal. I laughed too.

Her help was needed and appreciated. (One of my affirmations is: I can reach my goals, but I can't reach them alone. I need God and others.)



But this was just a small scale "miracle." A bigger one happened at my family reunion. Let me elaborate...

At the reunion I was nursing a bad back from a biking injury. On the last morning, of the last day of the reunion, I approached the wife of my cousin's son to ask for help: she's a licensed massage therapist.

Katrina, the therapist, helped my back and my mind. She's trained in a sort of acupressure massage called Jin Shin Do, in addition to Swedish massage. This training, and her gift for healing, enabled her to find long-buried tensions in my muscles.

She found the pressure points associated with grief, and I was able to cathartically release tensions of grief that I'd been unknowingly holding on to for over 12 years. (To say I cried would be a gross understatement.)

What brought about this wonderful meeting? My back injury! When all was said and done, I knew why I had hurt my back: I needed to meet Katrina and learn a few things. Plus, I needed healing.



A week or two ago I had a disturbing dream: I was high on a cliff, rock climbing towards an exit with my first wife. She slipped and fell several stories, landed in a shallow pool, broke her neck, and quickly died. I couldn't do a thing. I couldn't get myself to leave the cliff. Then I woke up. (Nobody ever dies in my dreams, at least until this one. It was not a nice dream.)

Twelve years ago, at the last family reunion, my first wife discovered a lump in her belly that turned out to be pancreatic cancer. That discovery led to life-altering changes that culminated in her death 5 1/2 years later.

Driving home from the reunion on Sunday, I remembered the dream... and understood it: Someone I loved deeply had died, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. That was sad, very sad.

When did that downward spiral of sadness start? At a family reunion. At some sub-conscious level I was dreading going to the reunion, but I went.



Providentially, at last weekend's reunion, I was able to release hidden, pent-up grief I had held on to, because at the time, I needed to "be strong for the kids." I did grieve at the time, but apparently, I had held back.

I hurt my back bike-riding, but God was moving me towards a rendezvous for my benefit. God is good. He loves us and cares for us. He knows us better than we know ourselves, and if we let Him lead us, He will bring us to places of healing and wholeness.



Who knew? The children knew! They're the ones who sing, "He's got the whole world, in His hands..."

Call it what you like, serendipity, Providence, or a Friendly Universe, but I'm grateful that I was in the right place, at the right time, with the right people.

"I can reach my goals, but I can't reach them alone. I need God and others."

Thank you Katrina.

Reunion time: a family re-unites!

I learned something over the last weekend: reunions can serve to unite and re-unite. You guessed it... I went to a family reunion.

I have 36 first cousins, 33 are on one side of the family: my mom's side.



A year ago, three of the cousins started organizing a family reunion: the first since 1991. Most of the Schmitz clan lives in north central Iowa, but some of us live in the Southwest. The Croxton Kids, Aunt Glennys' children, put together a long weekend at a dude ranch setting in Bumblebee, Arizona. About 40 miles north of Phoenix, at about 2,000 feet elevation, the ranch is set in a mountain valley surrounded by saguaro cacti, open range, and ancient Indian petroglyphs.



But the highlights were not in the surroundings, activities, accommodations, nor the setting: it was in the people. (People came from many places: Australia, California, Arizona, Minnesota, Colorado and Iowa.)

I caught up with cousins who I'd not seen in 35 years, or 20 years, or 1/2 year. I met the grown kids of some cousins, and grandkids of others.

It was enlightening, enlivening, and a bucket load of fun!



Because of a greater shared past, family reunions outshine school reunions. In the 1920's and 30's my grandparents had a brood of 12 children. Eleven are still alive, four showed up, along with a dozen or so cousins, and a dozen or so of their kids, and a half dozen of their kids' kids. Forty some of us were there. Some of us were reuniting, but some were uniting for the first time. We all share a bond of family that runs over 90 years back. It was special.

If you ever get the chance to attend a family reunion of your own, go. It's worth the effort and expense. Like the old song says, "Make new friends, but keep the old: one is silver and the other's gold."




I made some new friends. I reunited with some old friends. And the best part of it is... they are my family: silver and gold.

Oopps. My bad.

I am an education specialist: at least that’s how my credential reads. We used to be called Resource Specialists. Bottom line is we’re the ones who are assigned to provide educational support to students with disabilities. That’s what I do.



But most jobs have a line item in the job description that reads, “And other duties as required.” My job descriptions has that line, and one of the “other duties” is managing several meeting calendars. Part of my job is to coordinate meetings with parents, administrators, the school psychologist, the school nurse, and sometimes the speech and language pathologist. (Most women handle this with ease. They have a lifetime of practice. Men? Not-so-much, and sometimes that’s a problem.)



I set up and attend three to five of these meetings a week 35 to 40 weeks a year. That’s a lot of meetings, but it’s part of the job. Communication isn’t easy, and it requires much planning and execution to pull-off that many meetings. Most of the time I muddle through. I appear competent and professional. Most of the time.

What is irritating is when I plan the meeting and one key person doesn’t show up. It’s especially irritating when the parents don’t show up. It makes the rest of us think that they don’t care. That’s what happened this Friday morning.



Although it was annoying when the parents for this particular important meeting didn’t show up, the five of us who did show up quickly filled that hour and a half slot with other urgent activities. It’s that time of year when we are all quite busy.

Later in the day, as I was figuring out what papers I’d have to have the parents sign to bypass setting up a new meeting when I a made an uncomfortable discovery: I’d never invited the parents to the meeting. My bad. They were no-shows because I missed the part where I was supposed to mail the invitation. (I had sent them a set of parent rights, and a form requesting permission to test their student, but I’d missed one key item: the invitation.)

One of the true tests of an individual is how they handle personal failure. Me? I’ve learned to simply own up to mine. Nobody likes being the “dumb-ass,” but it’s a part we each get to play on occasion. It was my turn. (Again.) I found the five people who thought the parents were no-shows, and I explained what really happened.



The interesting thing was, no one really got mad at me: they all thought it was funny. When it’s not life threatening, someone else’s failure is often a source of humor to others. This is especially true if the person who goofs up usually doesn’t. Seeing a competent person’s foibles makes it easier living with our own.

I made a choice to own up to my mistakes, and in so doing, made it easier for others to live with their own. A common, knee-jerk reaction in human interactions is to hide our vulnerabilities and shortcomings in order to maintain relationships; however, it is those very vulnerabilities and shortcomings, which provide the points of union with others.

I’m reading a book this weekend, and one of the characters tells another, “You’re going to have to develop a sense of humor.” The character in need of a sense of humor had a bigger flaw: he took himself too seriously. He hadn’t yet learned to laugh at himself. I have. (And I give myself lots of opportunities: planned and unplanned!)



I had been searching for a topic worth writing about for this weekend's blog post. Last night as I was heading to bed, I remembered my personal fiasco, and it brought a smile to my face. I thought it might bring one to your’s as well.

(I also met up with the parent after school, told her what had happened, and rescheduled the meeting for next Tuesday. She was gracious. She understood.)

Life happens, and life goes on. And sometimes, it’s a funny show to watch. I was featured this week on the "show"; unfortunately, it was only on the out-takes.

Lifeguard Station #1

Sometimes you just get lucky. I did.

Let me explain… Please, it’s not what you think!

I got lucky enough to see a lifeguard station come out of hibernation.

Having lived within 20 miles of the California coast all my life, I’ve been to the beach lots and lots of times. My wife and I like it best in the winter when the crowds are gone, but all the beauty remains.

As I mentioned in some earlier posts, we recently vacationed in Oceanside, California. One morning, we ventured out for a walk along the beach. We walked for a mile or so along the beachfront road until we were stopped: the sidewalk was blocked by a jacketed lifeguard.

What was she doing? She was blocking traffic!

But why? What was the occasion?



The first lifeguard station of the season was being put in position! Spring break was around the corner, and so were the beach-going crowds who needed protecting.



I didn’t know that lifeguard stations got to winter together. I guess they huddle together for warmth? Or perhaps they’re just social?



I had my camera, so I snapped off a series of shots capturing this serendipitous occasion.



(After they unloaded the tower, a couple of lifeguards removed the wooden beam from the tower’s metal undercarriage.)



All in all, it was a special moment. I got lucky!

So Cal "Groundhog Day"

For many of us in the sun-belt, spring has sprung. For others, like my friend Miss H in Montana, spring has been more elusive. She recently posted a piece called "A Groundhog Moment."

Through writers like her, I’ve become aware of how good we have it here in Southern California. The week of April 5th, I was vacationing with my wife in Oceanside, California. The weather was supposed to be “dismal:” low 60s with some showers. We persevered and only hit rain for 20 minutes in six days. We had a great time.

We were staying in a timeshare just a few blocks from the beach. The public beach close to the pier in Oceanside features two walkways, one on the beach, one up on the bluffs. Walking on the bluffs, I caught a glimpse of a Southern California Groundhog. Here s/he is:



The Southern California Groundhog is really a ground squirrel. These squirrels never really hibernate (because they don't have to), but when things warm up… say in early April… they like to scamper atop the canopy of natal plums to feast on the early ripening berries.



After getting their fill, they might spend some time gazing off at the surfers, who are enjoying glassy peaks of 3 to 5 foot surf in 53-degree water. (You can watch the surf real-time here.)

Besides the surfers, the squirrels enjoy watching the tourists and locals who frequent the pier seen in the distance and the park hidden below the bluffs.



The squirrel’s cousins live up and down the bluffs. Many of these squirrels have relocated from far away places, like Montana, where they are still watching the snow melt while they dream of days with more sunshine than gray. Days like this… in sunny Oceanside, California.

But to be fair, Oceanside does have its perils as indicated on the sign below found just two blocks inland.