Summer Sickness

I absolutely hate being sick. Usually I will do everything in my power to convince myself and others that I am just fine. I have found homemade remedies that I swear cure 99% of all sickness- usually some combination of 2 shots of wheat grass, sitting in the steam room at the gym and drinking emergen-c will take care of most ailments. Even when I was little I was the kid who would beg my parents to let me go to school so I wouldn't miss out- even if I was sniffling and coughing. (I know not so great for those parents who were trying to protect their little ones from germs. oops)

But, today none of my remedies worked. I am home sick. Blah.

The kind of fever sickness where I am simultaneously hot and cold and my whole body aches. My head strangely feels like its 4 lbs heavier and I get dizzy whenever I stand up. I slept for 13 hours last night and was hoping that I would just magically feel better in the morning. I love Saturday mornings in this sleepy beachside town. So I convinced myself to get up and enjoy it. Probably against better judgment I decided that I would battle my sickness. I browsed through a few garage sales, got breakfast from my favorite local bagel shop and then my friend and I tried to go surfing. Well, in case you didn't guess my sickness beat me. I lost.

And now I've spent the whole day in bed - napping, watching re-runs of The Office on my computer and drinking lots and lots of tea. On days like this I wish I had super telepathic powers like Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I mean she could sit on her bed and simply with a look of her eyes move the box of Kleenex from the bathroom to her bedroom or bring a cup of hot tea from the kitchen to her bedside. Aw, man...that's what I need right now. It feels like someone came by and zapped the life out of me. Like some kind of mean trick on this gorgeous summer day. Wow, you know you're really sick when you're idolizing Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

But I guess lying in bed for 12 hours will keep you humble. And remind me that yes, I too get sick. And no, I can't make myself get better. (although I'll probably keep trying.)

Rollin' Solo

Santa Barbara is a small town and it's not uncommon to run into someone you know nearly everywhere you go. Last year I was sitting by myself in one of my favorite coffee shops with big windows and oversized chairs. I was quite content with my book, journal and large latte when one of my students. Sulleyma, a friendly, bright-eyed latina girl who looked like she was 14-going-on-24, walked by and waved to me through the window. She and her 3 other friends strolled inside, in a single file line, one girl behind the other.

And I'll never forget what Sulleyma asked me:

"Ms. Acker, why do always roll solo?

I laughed to myself at her creative slang (to roll solo means to go out or be by yourself) and then I tried to explain to four teenage girls that this introvert at heart actually enjoys sitting in coffee shops all by herself. Regardless if they got it or not, I realized there are a number of things that I do enjoy doing by myself. I like rollin' solo to a coffee shop for hours and strolling through the farmers market by myself. And I'll roll solo for an afternoon at the beach or a run to the park. I've even become quite accustomed to rollin' solo while traveling in other countries, but there is one place that I do not like (in fact, probably hate) rollin' solo to...

yes, weddings.

I don't think anyone really likes going to weddings alone. It's one thing if you know lots of people and have a group of friends who will be there- those situations can be fun for sure. But if you've ever been to one of those weddings where you know all of three people, and one person is the usher who you escorted you to your seat, and the other two are the bride and groom, well, then that's just recipe for a rollin' solo disaster.

I went to a beautiful wedding for a friend from high school last weekend. It was the kind of wedding that had the perfect balance between simplicity and eloquence and yet just enough creative personal touches to make it feel like you were a part of the wedding, not merely distant observers. I walked in and gave my best effort at making awkward small talk with friends I haven't seen since high school graduation. I was introduced to everyone's boyfriends and husbands and...yes, KIDS. My friends from high school have children! Feeling more out of place then ever, I squeezed passed two couples and sat on the end with an open seat next to me. (fyi: I have come to realize that wedding industry likes even numbers. Have you ever noticed that most rows have an EVEN number of chairs and most tables seat 8 or 10...also even numbers. I have nothing against even numbers in general, but when you're at a wedding alone it makes you feel like you're the odd one out.)

Already feeling like I was the odd one out, I intentionally dug through my purse, checked my cell phone and scanned through old pictures on my camera trying hard not to also look like the odd one out. Thankfully, the music started and with it began one of the most beautiful weddings I have been to in a long time. The whole ceremony was sweet and personable and just different. And I tend to like things that are a little different. Ya know, not always abiding by the status quo just because it's the way it's supposed to be done.

The gentleman who officiated their wedding had a grandfather voice and a tall, lean body the hunched over, ever so slightly. With his words and presence came a wave of emotions: encouragement. hope. freedom.

He began describing how our society often talks and jokes about marriage being restrictive. We speak of "tying the knot", settling down and the tender trap of making this permanent and binding commitment. But he went on to explain that we can actually find marriage to be a source of tremendous freedom:

"Within marriage, you are free to fail without being rejected. You are free to succeed without causing jealousy. You are free to journey through one stage of growth to another, while drawing strength and support from your partner. You are free to face huge problems knowing that each problem will be less intimidating and more manageable because you will face it together. Marriage also allows the freedom to exchange hopes and fears and the whole gamut of feelings with one another. Such intimacy requires hard work and courage, but it is a kind of hallowed journey and, ultimately, a source of fulfillment and freedom

This isn’t to say that all of this is impossible outside of marriage. This is to say that the marriage commitment especially lends itself to such freedom because it provides a secure framework within which such risk and creativity are possible."

I just love this.

He named something that is so true and so beautiful and sometimes I fear, so forgotten. His heartfelt words brought encouragement to the rollin' solo feelings that had crept into my heart and mind that cloudy afternoon. I was reminded why marriage is worth waiting for. And regardless of the wedding or the dress or the rings or the flowers or the countless other things that consume a young bride's mind, this lifelong commitment is the essence. The day-to-day freedom to grow and serve and learn how to do life together-that is what marriage is about.

And that truth left me with a renewed ability to hope. and trust. and pray. and wait.

This is a season of weddings. And any single person in their twenties or thirties or forties can probably agree that weddings have this uncanny way of bringing a truth and hope that reminds you what love can look like, but they can just as quickly bring a lonely, heart-ache that makes you doubt and question, Why am I still here by myself?

My advice: 1) Don't roll solo to weddings. And 2) Take time to ask the hard questions, but don't lose the ability to hope and trust and pray and wait.

The Line Leader

At beginning of every school year my elementary school teachers would assign class jobs. There were the usual jobs inducing paper passer outer, calendar duty, feeding the class fish, etc, but my favorite job by far was when it was my turn to be the class line leader.

I don't know why I liked being the class line leader so much? Maybe it was the appeal of leading the class and being the first one to the cafeteria or the first one to recess or maybe it was just my way of being a selfish seven year old who wanted to be in front. Sometimes I think I haven't changed too much. I am embarrassed to admit that sometimes I still like being the "line leader." On my defense, it’s not like I am consciously thinking, “ooh, I want to be in front”- but it just happens. Sometimes I end up walking two feet in front of the group, until a good friend points out how annoying it is to everyone else. And every so often when I find myself to be the first car at a stoplight I get this childish glee because I realize that I am the “car line leader” and that means I’ll be the first one down the street. I know it sounds odd, maybe even worrisome, but heck, I’m just being honest. I am sure I can blame part of this on the combination of being the first born in my family and being someone who likes to "be in charge", but there is also some truth to be told about growing up in a culture that trains and values leaders. I look back on my junior high and high school days and vividly remember teachers, mentors and speakers who instructed us to be leaders at school and in our community. There was this implicit message that good, responsible, successful citizens grow up to be leaders. Even in youth group we were encouraged to be student leaders, and once I got to college there were entire classes on leadership and how to make a difference in our world.

Leaderships is a buzzword now days. You can find books, curriculum, conferences, etc., all promising how to make you a better leader. It seems that we empower and teach our youth that they can and should be leaders. (This is certainly the message I heard growing up). We encourage students to plan and organize and bring about change and to essentially, become LEADERS. Which on one hand is not inherently a bad thing, but what happens when we live in a culture that emphasizes leading and not following?

These past few months I have been wrestling with what it looks like to follow. You don't hear a lot of talk about following. For one, the idea of following doesn't sound as glamorous and courageous as the word leadership. The notion of “following” doesn't sell books and curriculum and get people excited and passionate. There are plenty of community awards for having great leadership skills, but when is the last time you heard of someone getting a "dedicated follower" award? Umm, never.

I find it ironic that the Jesus I read about in the New Testament says, "Follow me" almost twenty times. He does not say, “Become great leaders" or "Lead on"... No, instead he says, follow me. What would this world look like if men and women really, truly followed Jesus? How would my life look different if I sincerely started to follow Him?

Following implies listening, waiting, and sacrificing. It requires a letting go and giving-up. This past year I have spent a large chunk of time leading-leading meetings, planning events, organizing projects, and teaching students, but very little time following. This summer I want to learn how to be a better follower.

Last Day

To be quite honest, I don't normally love graduations. They are long and sometimes boring, filled with cliché speeches and those horrible-why-were-they-ever invented blow horns, but yesterday's graduation was a highlight of my year. This was my first graduating class from San Marcos. I have had the privilege of working with many of the students who graduated yesterday since they were freshman. That's four years of teaching, reminding, listening, being patient, getting frustrated, forgiving, yelling, getting frustrated (again), relearning, reteaching and then doing it all over the next day.

Notice, the proud graduate in the picture. I know this kid. I have known him for 4 years. And the local newspaper could not have picked a better picture to put on the front page. This is a guy who hated school. He got in trouble in elementary school and once told me he spent more time in the principal’s office than his own classroom. He spent that past 6 months in my English class and every morning it was like pulling teeth to get him to pay attention. He liked to take 20 min long bathroom breaks and he spent more time sketching in his notebook than answering questions. I argued with him and took a way his cell phone, and often made him stay in at lunch to finish his assignments. I would assign nightly homework and he would moan "aw, ms. acker...I'm over this." Sometimes I wanted to respond, "well, fine. I am over you too." But something kept him (and maybe me) going. He finished. He did it. And I could not be prouder. This picture captures it.

For many of my students last night may be the only graduation they ever have. A lot of them go on to City College or start working, but may or may not actually have another graduation. Last night was their time to celebrate. I think one of the joys of my job is that I too get to mark time and celebrate with them- another year is ending, a season is done. I too, get to feel that sense of accomplishments that comes with finishing something. The year is done. Grades are entered. Good-byes are said. Yearbooks signed. Computers shut down. Doors are locked.

Today was my last day.

I love that there are natural markers to my job—clear endings and beginnings. Even though it's becoming a familiar rhythm every 9 months, I still get a little sad at the end of each year. Don't get me wrong I will be the first teacher to adamantly claim that "yes, June, July and August are three great reasons to teach" but there is something wonderful that happens between September and May… and that is the something that keeps me coming back.

So, here's to the class of 2009. Congrats.

What Money Can't Buy?

I've spent the past few weeks thinking more about money then I'd like to. Sifting through investment papers, researching home loans and meeting with my financial advisor has left me a little overwhelmed with the whole process. I normally don't worry a lot about money. I mean I have more than enough to get by and I tend to operate with the equation- save some, give some and spend some (yea, yea I know some financially savvy person would advise me to have some percent breakdown to give my so-called equation some validity, but just go with me)

Somewhere in the process of looking at interest rates and investment opportunities, I realized how easy it is to get caught up in the whirlwind of the American dream; believing if I only had this much more than I could afford_______ (insert any desired item or upgrade here). It always amazes (slash disgusts) me how quickly I feel entitled to the luxuries and conveniences that I have in my country, and yet I so quickly forget those whose entire livelihood is defined by extreme poverty and injustice. Today I sat in an office and tried to deicide Hmm, should I go with portfolio I or portfolio II? and yet in the same world at that very moment, a refugee in Pakistan has to wonder if he will find clean drinking water. The inequality just doesn't sit well.

And then I started thinking, what can't money buy?

Money can't buy...

laughter and late night talks with girlfriends.

simple flowers cut from your own garden.

an afternoon nap. or a good joke. or inner beauty.

the peace that God up there is so much more powerful than little me down here.

a run along the beach.

thoughtful words that bring hope to a hurting soul.

hand holding. or hugs.

or time.

Money cannot buy time.

I know this is not a brand new realization- it's pretty clear that we all get an equal allotment- 24 hours each and every day, no more, no less. And yet so often I feel like we view the concept time through an investment metaphor. We view time as money. We use language like "I'll invest my time here" or "How did you spend your time today?" or "Don't waste your time on that" We make decisions and justify things as if time is ours to spend, "I have plenty of time" or "If I only had more time."

Growing up I learned how to make the most of my time or to "use it well" so to speak. And there is nothing wrong with this per se- it leads to practical, efficient, multi-taskers like myself who somehow manage to get a lot done in short amounts of time : ) But sometimes I wonder what would happen if I went throughout my day and instead of viewing time as something to invest or control or utilize well, I viewed time as a gift to be received.

New Uses for Old things

I get really excited when I can find new uses for old things! I don't know exactly why- some thrifty and resourceful part of my dad must have worn off on me. But I seriously feel like I accomplished some fantastic feat or at least beat the capitalistic consumer market for a day when I discover some new use for something that could have been thrown out.

I am partially inspired by Real Simple, (probably one of the only magazines that I faithfully read cover-to-cover) because my favorite section is their New Uses for Old Things. I am convinced they should hire me, but they have yet to come knocking on my door to seek any great ideas. So, in the mean time I will share them with you.

New Uses for Old Things-a few of my favorites:

#1 Patron Bottle or Flower Vase
Confession, I do not even like Tequila, but I have walked up to my fair share of bartenders to ask for empty patron bottles. After the initial awkwardness of the bartender's confusion,"what did she just ask for?- it is not really a big deal. Most bars just recycle these bottles anyway so they are happy to give them away for FREE. Just soak it in hot water and take off the label and behold— a perfect vase!

#2) Old Contact Case or Perfect Travel Size Advil Case
If you're like me and you have 5 or 6 contact cases lying around the house from the eye doctor, don't throw them away. They're the perfect size to hold advil, vitamins or any kind of small pill. You can keep it in your purse and they don't get lost or crushed in plastic baggies.
#3) Tea Strainer or Powered Sugar Sifter
A few weeks ago I was making a chocolate bundt cake and the final recipe direction said "dust lightly with powered sugar." How do you "dust lightly" when you don't have a sifter? I thought about taking a spoon and shaking it but I have memories of trying that when I was kid making Christmas cookies and basically you end up with piles of powered sugar instead of evenly dusted sugar cookies. So, I decided to take an old tea strainer and fill it with powered sugar. And I was quite impressed that it dusted the bundt cake quite evenly, thankyouverymuch.

#4) Old Sheet or Perfect Beach Blanket
Everyone has an old sheet that either doesn't fit your current size bed or has been washed too many times that you can't remember what it's original color was. Well, don't throw it away. Old sheets make the perfect beach blanket. For one they're big—lets be honest towels that are 24 inches wide and 5 feet long are just not adequate—and two, sheets are thinner and easier to fold up and carry with you instead of some thick beach blanket. And you thought you would never have a use for your old college sheets, hah!

More to come....

Do you have any good uses for old things? please share.

The Best Way to Love Someone

My mom amazes me because she knows how to love people well. She taught me that love is sacrificial and sincere and that sometimes the best way to love someone is to listen.

And my mom knows how to listen.

Growing up as 1 of 4 kids, it sometimes felt like everyone was vying for mom's time and attention. My mom helped us with daily homework and drove us to practices; she cooked dinner and came to our school plays and watched our games and stayed up late sewing those god-awful Halloween costumes. And for as important as all those things are, I am convinced that it was her patience to listen to us that made all the difference.

I remember being a confused and awkward 13-years old, with tears streaming down my face and my mom just sat in the car with me and listened as I poured out all of my junior high emotions. I remember calling her from Taiwan, scared and overwhelmed, wanting more than anything to come home, and my mom graciously knew I just needed someone to listen. And I remember after I broke up with my first boyfriend, my mom drove up to Westmont just to take me out to dinner. I told her she didn't have to come up, and that I was “ok.” But she wanted to…And it meant the world to me. She wanted just to be there with me and listen. Even as I get older some of my favorite memories with my mom are when we grab coffee and sit for hours in oversized chairs next to a small round table, sipping our lattes, talking and sharing about life-and it doesn't matter what we're talking about necessarily-faith and church, or work and my students, or dating and relationships- my mom listens to me.

There is something so beautiful about listening. It is this timeless gift that stretches across people groups and ages and cultures and religious. I believe everyone wants to be listened to. And when you sincerely listen to someone you learn how to love a little bit better. I get sad that sometimes in our noisy culture where our minds and hearts are saturated with sounds and distractions, I don't always make the time and space to listen to others.

The art of listening involves being patience and attentive. By definition it involves caring about someone else and their thoughts and feelings more than yourself. I think it is one of the best gifts mothers can give their kids. I want to learn to be a better listener. And one day I hope to be a mom who will not focus on doing the hundreds of tasks that moms have to do and instead spend time listening to my kids like my mom did.

Mom, thank you for taking time to listen to me.

Happy Mother's Day! I love you.