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I read a story about a tree in Long’s Peak Colorado naturalists believe stood 400 years. It lived through 14 lightning strikes, numerous avalanches, and the storms of four centuries. It survived everything with strength and dignity. One day the tree suddenly fell. After investigation it was discovered an army of beetles had attacked from the inside and had eaten all the way through to the bark weakening the massive tree to the point of collapse.

Honestly, that’s what happens to a lot of us. Women have their hair and nails done and lipstick on their smiles. They handle car pools, jobs, crying babies, and unrealistic expectations from relatives, serving church and civic committees feeling they’ll never be quite good enough. Men carry themselves with an air of strength and control, fulfill dutiful obligations at work, in the community, and at church. They cram in social obligations watching football and playing golf with colleagues even if they don’t like football or golf. Meanwhile their confidence is that of a scared sixteen-year-old. Like the Long’s Peak tree, we look good on the outside and we weather the pressures, but we’re being eaten away from the inside out.

Does anyone really tell us we need to be all and do all? Who imposed this unspoken rule? I’d like to meet the people who started the rumor we need to be perfect or appear so anyway. I’d kick them in the shins and run.

If you really want to know the truth, we bring pressure on ourselves. Raise your hand if you have ever compared yourself to a friend, neighbor, or coworker. If you didn’t raise your hand, I’ll remind you of that commandment about lying. We all do it! Don’t stare at the page like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

If we put the pressure on ourselves then we should be able to take it off before we suddenly crash. Give up trying to be someone you aren’t to impress people you really don’t know or even like. As complicated as life is, don’t you want to enjoy all of it you can? Don’t let the beetles eat all the way through to the bark.

I went to a church last Sunday where those who normally don’t attend aren’t asked to wear a visitor name tag or stand up to be welcomed during a special segment of the service. That makes me comfortable. I do understand the purpose of the name tags and such, but I like to look like I know what I’m doing even when I don’t. That probably stems from something I’ve totally blocked out of my consciousness from grade school or it could be some control issues. I’m pretty sure it’s the control thing.

At this church the regular attenders simply introduce themselves, offer a cup of coffee and visit with you. It’s easy. Some of our friends visited a large church one time and not only did they have to wear a name tag and stand up and be recognized, the whole congregation sang a welcome song to them. My hands sweat just thinking about that.

Chris, the pastor of the church I visited, is teaching a 20 week series titled Epic. He talked about how epic is a word used and over used like its predecessors cool and awesome. Epic means huge, impressive or heroic. He had us consider the greatest-of-something; like the greatest baseball player, the greatest movie, or the greatest album. They were all epic. The message was so relevant and thought provoking I wanted to be there for the whole series. I was staying with Jill and David and I’m quite certain they didn’t intend me to be there 20 weeks. I’ll get the podcast.

In the series Chris is covering the greatest sermon ever given, The Sermon on the Mount. It was most certainly epic. I’ve read that section in Matthew countless times but it struck me differently on Sunday. It’s like discovering something new in a movie you’ve seen more times than you want to admit. It’s hard to believe you missed it.

In verse 14 of Chapter five Jesus says to his disciples, “You are the light of the world.” Simple, but loaded. Light is attractive and we are supposed to be light everywhere, not just where people think like we do. Charlie Brown asked Lucy once what she would do if people didn’t want to believe like she did. She calmly said, “I’ll just hit them over the head with my lunch box.”

We probably spend way too much time slinging our lunch boxes around instead of just being light in a dark world. How would it be if we lived our lives in such a way people noticed there was something different and wanted to know what it was? Now that would be epic.

When I was growing up the local theater ran a New Year’s Day kids movie marathon. The doors opened at noon and back to back shows ran until the last college football bowl game was over. Three dollars was good for hours of uninterrupted entertainment and license to more popcorn, soda and candy than was legal any other day. It was an escape to another world. The parents may have enjoyed the bowl game parties, but I’m sure they reconsidered when the kids came home wound up like toy cars racing in circles.

Even now, going to the movie theater is like leaving reality for a while. I can’t decide if it’s the movie or the butter soaked popcorn. I walk in to the story and become best friends with a character or two. Most of the time Jim has the whole plot figured out. I almost have to put my fingers in my ears and hum so he won’t tell me. I think he should write movies or be a weatherman. He always predicts what’s going to happen.

I’ve watched You’ve Got Mail with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan a dozen or so times. There’s just so much truth woven all through it. At one point Tom Hanks’ character and his girlfriend are on an elevator stuck between two floors. Like a drug addict in need of a fix, the girlfriend screams at the maintenance supervisor over the elevator phone-in-a-box as all the passengers slowly sit down on the floor to wait for help. One by one, as if they are going to be stranded for years, each person shares what they’re going to do when they get off the elevator. Everyone listens intently to declarations of love and promises to live kinder. It was evident Tom Hanks’ character was deep in thought about what’s really important when randomly the girlfriend whines, “Uhh, I can’t find my TicTacs!”

Finally, what everyone else sees just a few minutes in to the movie comes clearly into focus for him. I’m relieved every time. She’s a shallow, spoiled, not good for him kind of a girl and he needs to break it off and fall deeply in love with the Meg Ryan character. He does.

The TicTacs girlfriend is not someone I would choose for one of my temporary best friends, but she is someone to learn from. She’s self absorbed and more concerned about her breath than other people. Just like her, we whine about inconveniences as if they are life altering. Just think about all the good things we miss while focused on ourselves. You never know what you might discover looking out. Whining is a waste of energy anyway. I know once I start to gripe it can become like a shark feeding frenzy. It’s ugly. But all Jim has to do to rescue me is say, “Have you lost your TicTacs?”

There were very few things more important than a Valentine box when I was in the fourth grade. It was an unwritten rule; if it looked good, so did you. I spent hours crunching through my cardboard shoebox with safety scissors creating what looked like a crepe paper and glitter explosion. It was perfect!

However, there was an even more daunting task ahead … making sure the right card was sent to the right person in the classroom. The rest of the school year could end up in ruins if a girl goofed and sent a boy one of the cards that had the LOVE word on it. The thought of Ricky Ashmore or Bobby Webb getting one of the LOVE cards with my signature on it still makes my mouth go dry!

One simple word can alter the landscape on any relationship, especially if you are in the fourth grade. Even for grown ups, the word love can be misunderstood and confusing. What does it really mean to love someone? Does our behavior match our loosely spoken words? Do we say, “I love you” but fail to show respect or keep our promises? Do we get testy and selfish about silly details? Do we explode on someone who innocently says something to kick us up from steaming mad to boiling over?

First Corinthians Chapter 13 doesn’t hem-haw or stutter when it tells us what love is and what love isn’t. But have you ever read past verse seven? Verse 11 says, “When I was a child I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man I put childish ways behind me.” The translation straight from the Greek is, “Get your thumb out of your mouth and grow up.” What is the mile-marker-age we put childish ways behind us? I’m not sure, but clearly we’re old enough to put on our big kid pants, get over ourselves, and move on.

All of us fumble around attempting to do the best we can in our relationships and we still mess up more than we would like to admit. Humbling ourselves, acknowledging when we’re wrong, asking for forgiveness and trying again is how love works. By the way, if we’re honestly putting childish ways behind us, the pouting and grudge holding aren’t a part of the equation.

Love is so much more than a fabulous Valentine box or a “I love my Doberman” bumper sticker or a I heart … fill-in-the-blank tee shirt. It’s complicated, mysterious, and like anything, the learning curve can be exhausting. But it’s worth it. The one thing I do know is this: the farther behind us we put the childish things, the easier it gets.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

The first year Jim and I were married I worked at a day care. We were both in college eeking our way through on a tiny wad of money so when the job opened up for afternoons, I took it for three reasons: all my classes that semester were in the morning, Jim was playing football so most days I never saw him until 8pm, and we needed the extra cash.

Spending my afternoons with three year olds was a lot of things but boring was not one of them. Kids that age haven’t learned to run things through a political correctness grid so they say exactly what they’re thinking.

One day after my last class I ate a couple of tacos in the car on the way to work. When I was hanging up my coat a beautiful dark haired little girl with huge brown cow eyes hugged my leg. I picked her up and smiled and asked how her day was going. She winced her nose and said, “Miss Suzette, you stink.”

How can something that precious be so brutally honest and literal? I lasted just under three months with the kids. After getting pink eye in both eyes, two colds, the flu and pin worms I realized I was paying to work there because the medical bills were more than my pay checks. I resigned.

My grandson Owen is in three-year-old preschool two mornings a week. I was the parent helper recently. I shuddered a little as I walked in remembering my previous experience in a three year old classroom. I relaxed when I remembered I’d had all my shots and Purell was in my purse.

Mrs. Bolger is a master. Ten three year olds have the potential of resembling fascinated squirrels set loose, but what ever Mrs. Bolger said, the kids did. It was intriguing to watch her work.

The theme for the day was Humpty Dumpty. We made Humpty Dumpty cut outs, we read the nursery rhyme and looked at the pictures. Then Mrs. Bolger brought out the eggs; one hard boiled and one raw. She was even working in a science lesson. Finally she asked the big question. “Boys and girls, what do you think is inside this raw egg?”

With all the conviction of a game show contestant one little boy raised his hand as he jumped out of his chair yelling, ‘Humpty Dumpty!”

Without saying a word, Owen flashed me with one of those “are you kidding me?” looks. I’m guessing he was thinking without saying, “That’s so silly. Egg is inside of egg. Besides Humpty Dumpty was kind of clumsy and he’s no where near as cool as Batman, Robin or Spiderman.”

I love a masked crusader who’s already learning the art of tactfulness.

One Christmas season the Rockettes came to town. Actually a full holiday production complete with Rudolf, Santa, and Frosty came with them. One of Santa’s helpers was Bruce who must have been on hiatus from the Wizard of Oz. He was a fun munchkin kind of a guy who made everyone laugh even at things that weren’t really funny.

When we got a red mini SUV it picked up the name Bruce. Why it’s called a mini SVU, I don’t know. That seems so contradictory. It was a munchkin kind of a car so Bruce seemed so fitting. We still have the Bruce.

Before all the luggage restrictions and limitations Jason and Alison had a suitcase so large the Rockettes show Bruce would have fit in it. Once when they were in a San Antonio restaurant they met Ricky, one of the Mariachi band members. He was a really large almost out of place in a Mariachi band type person. On their trip home the suitcase was officially named Big Ricky. He traveled so much with the two of them he was monogramed with his nickname, Big Rick.

At 95 it was time for Flossy McAnally to moved out of her home and in with her son. We bought Miss Flossy’s house for Jason and Travis to live in while they were in college. It was built in 1950 and came with all the furniture she must have bought the same year. It had a pink and black bathroom and there wasn’t a single closet big enough to hold Big Rick. For obvious reasons this house with so much character became the Flossy House. The term Flossy morphed in to a descriptive term for gaudy, classy, cool, or outrageous depending on what’s being described or just a fill-in for a lack of an adjective.

People have nicknames too. William is Bill, Robert becomes Bob, and Elizabeth can be Liz, Beth or Betsy. I knew a towering tall guy named Shorty and a very heavy man called Slim. No wonder English is considered the most challenging language to learn.

Nicknames meant to be funny many times are mean and hurtful. Just ask anyone who picked one up as a kid. The saying, “Sticks and stones …” falls just short of being totally true and the effects can linger past grade school. Choose nicknames wisely, especially for kids. Some are best reserved for houses, cars and suitcases.

Remember learning to navigate the social world as a kid? Your parents pushed you to say thank you and please and excuse me at the appropriate times. You probably thought it was just part of what parents got to tell kids because they were the adults. Really they may have thought that too because that’s what their parents did. However, it was an introduction to public relations regardless of how accidental it might have been.

Leave It To Beaver’s brother Wally had a friend who acted like he knew what he was doing with public relations. “Good Evening, Mr. Cleaver. My but aren’t you looking lovely Mrs. Cleaver.” And on and on he would gush. When the guys went to hang out upstairs the charm ran out like hot water in the middle of a shower. Eddie Haskall made me nervous. The right thing done for the wrong reason doesn’t really count.

My friend Spike was like a walking one man PR department. He had developed a way of making anyone he talked with feel important, smart, talented and beautiful. His sincerity was never a question because Spike did the right thing for the right reason. That counts.

How much effort would it take to thank someone who in reality was just doing their job? When you meet someone can you try to remember their name? How much trouble would it be to smile and speak to people who aren’t in your inner circle? Is it possible to listen to someone like nothing else matters?

We get so inwardly focused inching along in our own lives we forget to consider how we could brighten the day for someone else. It takes 21 days to develop the habit of looking for an opportunity and 21 days to get out of our selfish ruts. It doesn’t take much to make someone feel like a rock star. Besides, your momma would be so proud of you.

In the spring of 1939 it seemed inevitable Great Britain would be attacked by Nazi Germany. In an attempt to calm civilians, England’s Ministry of Information department designed a poster with an icon of the King’s crown and the slogan; Keep Calm and Carry On.

Throughout the war, the Royal Family handled themselves with typical British composure and everyone could sense their Keep Calm and Carry On attitude. King George VI and Queen Mary maintained official residence at Buckingham Palace during the war as a show of solidarity with Londoners. Winning would take a united effort and they were committed to lead by example.

Last year Jill and David lived in London and for my birthday they gave me a copy of the royal poster. I had it framed and it is over the fireplace where it’s hard to miss. Keep Calm and Carry On. Bottom line: if you want your world to be under control, you first have to be in control of yourself.

When facing trials, how do you usually respond? If you drop a plate on the floor loading the dishwasher what do you do? If milk is spilled at the dinner table, do all eyes turn on you to see how you’ll react? Does a friend or coworker delay telling you unpleasant news for fear of your response?

Most of us live as if we are on High Alert. No wonder we’re so stressed and worn out. The other day I watched a woman fling her arms and yell like her hair was on fire as she stormed out of the convenience store because her favorite tea was out of stock. It was amazing! Spilled milk, a shattered plate, losing a contract to a competitor, or tea out of stock are all exasperating, but no where close to a German invasion.

We all face challenging circumstances that are out of our control every day. What we do have control of is how we respond to them. Who runs your life … you or your emotions? For the general welfare of their country the King and Queen chose to hold their composure and remain calm in the face of war. For the benefit of family, friends and colleagues can’t we do the same?

Whatever you face today remember you have the opportunity to choose an unperturbed, cool-headed response or a Level Orange reaction. Save your energy and enjoy the day. Keep Calm and Carry On.

Do you ever wonder where all your grade school classmates are? With all the social networking at our fingertips hunting them down is barely a challenge. Reconnecting with the past is a combination of interesting and sometimes disturbing.

One of my first friends was Anne. She was a girl who had it all together, even in first grade. Her papers were always perfect, she made A’s in everything, she had the best handwriting in the class and she had a Pollyanna personality. The only thing I managed to do better than her was read more books. The prize for the most books read by the end of the year was a fabulous beige Dachshund autograph hound with a red collar and black pen. Everyone in the class signed it and Anne wrote, “To my friend” in her perfect handwriting. I couldn’t have been more proud.

Like everyone on the first day that year, I wore my new school shoes. They were red and I felt so pretty and smart in them. As all the kids were lining up in the hall to find their classroom the third grade teacher, who all the kids were afraid of, stopped right beside me and said as if she was making an announcement, “What is that horrible smell?”

Everyone turned around in unison just as I looked down to discover I had dog poop all over the bottom of my new red shoe. As if on cue, “eeewww” echoed down the hall. The mean teacher took me by the hand to the office. I felt like a leper of Biblical times as the kids backed up against the wall to make sure I didn’t touch them.

The principal looked at me with understanding eyes and took over when we reached the office. My shoe looked like it had just come out of the box when she took me back to the classroom. When I sat down at my desk next to Anne, she whispered, “It’s OK. I do stuff like that all the time.”

As hard as that was to believe, I wanted to. She never messed up, but because she was my friend she wanted me to understand people step in dog poop all the time. It was her way of saying we all mess up, maybe just not in front of a school full of people.

I’m amazed at how often I make a mess of things. I sometimes think if there was but one dog poop pile on a football field I was walking across I would somehow find a way to step in it. I’m guessing a lot of us feel that way. I want to be more like Anne and encourage my friends and let them know, “It’s OK. Everyone does stuff like that all the time.”

“But encourage one another daily…” Hebrews 3:13

When I was a kid we authorized do-overs when we played jacks. A do-over allowed a miss to be erased as if it never happened and a second chance was given. Before we started, a vote would decide if it was a three or two do-over day. Every once in a while, someone would say, “I dare you” for a no do-over day. Game on!

It was very important to strategically use a do-over. When a new friend would join our game we could tell how experienced of a jacks player she was by her do-overs usage action plan. We also allowed trading do-overs for turns so some days the negotiations on the front porch rivaled the floor of the stock exchange.

All of us are granted do-overs in everyday things. It’s like life practice. The more we do something the fewer times we are likely to need a do-over. The hard part is facing something we’ve messed up and then trying it again. Where it gets a little tricky is with our words.

My daughter-in-law, Alison, is a family counselor. In an interesting way she explains how powerful words are and how carefully we should use them. A client is given a new tube of toothpaste and told to squeeze it all out on to the table. Then Alison asks for it to be put back in to the tube. Clearly that can’t be done. “That’s the way it is with what we say. Once the words are out of our mouths, it’s impossible to put them back,” she then explains.

We can ask for forgiveness but too often the hurt has already been felt. Watching what we say, when we say it and how we say it should be something we are extremely conscious of. There aren’t really true do-overs with words because of the wounds that can be inflicted. Wounds heal, but often a scar is left behind.

I know I have said things and instantly wished I could inhale the words back in. If you’re honest, you have too. Since words can bless and encourage or sting and tear down, mentally filtering what we are about to say and how to say it is crucial.

I dare you … it’s a no do-over day.