Destination Discipline

“The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why.” Mark Twain

When I was little, I used to dream I could move things with my mind. You see, I fell in love with Charlie McGhee, the girl from Stephen King’s novel, Firestarter. She was special. She could start or control fire with her mind. She was so special, in fact, that the government would do anything to get their hands on her. She was the product of a special project meant to enhance human abilities and (while I don’t remember all the details of the movie) I assume they wanted to replicate that “gift” by creating super soldiers so they could burn Russia to the ground and end the Cold War. Or not. Either way, Charlie was super cool. I wanted to be like Charlie. And not just because I liked to burn things. She ignited within me the hope that I could be, well, more than just a boring little girl.

I also wanted to be like the Bionic Woman. Lindsay Wagner could run super-fast, had a fabulous figure, and was highly desired by men. After all, isn’t that a woman’s purpose? (That’s what I got from the 1980’s.) When I grew up, I wanted to be that.

As an adult, science fiction has erupted around me like a Mogwai in water. The superheroes of yesterday’s comic books are now the movie stars of block buster action flicks. It seems I’m not the only person alive who wants to be something “more”. We’ve got Thor and Captain America and even Wolverine (one of my personal favorites but only because—Hugh Jackman! But I digress).

I don’t think adults are helping the situation. They often put tremendous pressure on children by asking them, “What do you want to be when you grow up? A fireman? A ballet dancer? An insurance salesman? Oh wait, no one ever asks about that last one. How about a used car salesman? So, when children do grow up and land a career in law enforcement—for example—they quickly discover the pay is lousy. And while the elected officials are always asking for tax increases to give our LEO’s a raise or better equipment, the budget somehow always falls short (even if there is moolah for a super fancy new greenway for bike traffic).

Shoot. I accidentally put on my Cynical Sally hat. Sorry about that. Where was I?

Why did I think there was something wrong with being “just a little girl”? I didn’t even grow up in the era of contouring. (Look it up if you don’t know what I’m talking about. The Tick Tock videos are fascinating). Worse, try taking your tween daughter to an event without her beauty ritual. It might be easier to wrestle an anaconda.

I’m not even thinking about women’s equality or gender fluidity or any of that. I’m talking about my existence as a person who felt somehow “less than” because I didn’t have that “something special” that made me somehow more interesting. I couldn’t do backflips (thought I longed to do gymnastics) or memorize vast swatches of poetry, or win blue ribbons for running fast. Shoot, I couldn’t even make the final round at the spelling bee–even though I read circles around my peers. Gee whiz. What a loser.

Social media has exacerbated this phenomenon. Parents laud their super star kid whose soccer team took home the trophy, ran a triathlon, or baked a world-class cake. I’m over here like, “My kid didn’t burn the house down today” and I’m trying to be all cheery about it because my patio has the black burn marks to prove he got the fire gene from me.

So, what do I mean by asking such a silly question like, what is your superpower? It’s not like we can actually be Superman or Cyclops. Shoot, I’d even settle for being able to breathe under water but that’s not going to happen. The thing is, I think the basic human condition is one of restless wandering until we discover why we exist. Knowing our superpowers is helpful in this regard.

For some people, their superpower is charity. I know a lot of people who have money and like to give it away to help others in need. This is a beautiful thing. And while some people would abuse the caring nature of others, I consider this one of the more blessed powers one can harness.

Some people have a superpower of positivity. They have a ‘sunny side up’ disposition that enables them to see good where others see only negative. They are the motivational speakers of the age and they wield their sword accordingly.

I could likely make a very long list of good things that people do to help others, but I would like to ask a question that goes a level deeper. What would be your superpower if you had no special ability in yourself at all outside of existing? May you feel like a plain Jane or John and you sell used car insurance. Maybe you have no perceived gift at all other than the ability to drive responsibility. Does you even count? What if your only superpower is never missing a day of work? (Remember when one got a certificate for perfect attendance in school? Funny how when we grow up all our focus is on vacation. Wait—was this a tactic taught in grade school to engender drones who never call in sick?)

The question that used to bother me was: am I special even though I don’t have a special ability?

In the workplace they call people like me a “worker bee”. I’m not a boss. I don’t have an awesome intellectual ability to crunch numbers or retain cool facts. I don’t have the best clothes or shoes. Sure, I could make up a superpower for my coffee mug that reads, “My superpower is not killing people who ask what my superpower is.” I try to show up on time and do my job and then I go home and make dinner that nobody likes to eat. One would think after all these years of cooking, someone would say thank you. Alas, saying ‘thank you’ is not my husband’s superpower. Does that make me a terrible spouse? Does falling asleep in front of the television make me a terrible mother? (I should have been reading a book to my child). I’d like to (at least) say I’m a perfect neighbor but someone got offended that my house needs to be painted and reported me to the city. I get to go to court in December.

This weekend I discovered my superpower and it made me very happy. I discovered it quite by accident. I was sitting on the back patio while my husband rambled on about something random when I heard a high twitter in the top of my tulip tree. (Say that five times fast!) It was the brown creeper! I know it because I looked it up after observing it scale the tree from bottom to top in search of bugs. So, when I heard it tweet, I said, “There you are. I hear you.” Then I started to mimic its whistle.

My husband said, “What on earth are you doing?”

I said, “I’m talking to the birdie.”

He said, “But I was saying something important.”

I said, “I know you. But you were talking when the bird starting tweeting so I couldn’t hear anything else you said.”

To which he rolled his eyes.

I told him, “I am so in tune with nature that when the creatures make a sound, I can’t simply ignore it. I have to make the sound back.” Mostly this applies to birds, but I’m not immune to mimicking other beasts. Therefore, my superpower must be “Bird Mimic.” Bet you didn’t even know such a superpower existed.

Sadly enough, I was ridiculed online by an owl expert when I bragged about calling in the great horned owl in my neighborhood. The owl and I exchanged hoots until he finally flew into the Sweet Gum Maple tree in my backyard in search of his new friend. Mr. Expert Owl Man said, “It’s very dangerous to hoot at owls because you might give them a false sense of security.”

The thing is, this superpower gives me great joy. I may be overstating it, but I feel it gives my life meaning and purpose. Certainly, God wouldn’t give me this superpower if he didn’t intend for me to use it. Even if all it does it lift my spirits, certainly that is enough. When the birds tweet, it makes my heart sing. Shouldn’t I somehow thank them by tweeting in return?

I bet you didn’t think this is where the blog was going.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that we all have unique talents (superpowers). It may take us nearly 48 years to figure them out. They may not be what is popular on the television. They may even invite rebuke from family members who don’t want to hear bird noises at 6am coming from the other side of the bed. (I’m totally kidding, I would never do that!) The point is, we don’t have to be what others expect or even like to enjoy our superpower. We can wield it at any given moment. And when we do, there is a resonance that thrums through our being that somehow helps us know “this is the reason for which I was created. This is why I exist!

Finally, just to round this story out, I would like the dear reader to know I have another superpower. I have officially achieved Firestarter status. I may not be able to light or control fires with my mind, but I have mastered the art of making brilliant bonfires that warm the soul. They go especially well with marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers.

So, I’ll ask one last time. What is your superpower?

I was strong today, but I didn’t feel strong. In fact, I spent the day praying, “God help me.” Help me not to lose my temper. Help me not to lose control. Help me keep walking when my feet are so, so weary. But most of all, I was praying for hope.

My son had a really bad day today. That’s saying a lot for a bi-polar child with no impulse control. He screamed a lot. Cried a lot. Said a lot of really horrible things. And I didn’t know what to do other than speak peace to him and pray over him and wait for the mood to pass. Yesterday he screamed because I asked him to put the laundry away. Today he screamed for 2 hours because I asked him to help me take the dog to the vet.

I began this blog as a way to help other people by sharing my own stories of learning discipline. Learning how to control my impulses around food has been the challenge of my life. But nothing compares to standing near a rampaging teenager who is hell bent on destroying me. I feel rather naked sharing that here. Broadcasting to the world how hard it is to live with someone who has a mood disorder. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy. Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just tired.

It’s been a really tough week, but I’ve continued to exercise and eat right. When a co-worker put cake in front of me yesterday, I didn’t even think about eating it. I made a homemade cookie cake with icing and homemade chocolate Legos as a decoration. I didn’t eat that either. I’m resolved to stay sugar-free. I suppose I am resolved to be patient with my son too. But it is really, really hard.

He was suspended from school for smacking a girl we know well in gym class. That means he’s home for over a week straight. It feels like there is no hope for parents of children with mood disorders other than to sedate them. That’s not helpful. So we go to coaching and counseling. And we visit doctors who try to give us what seems so fleeting.

Hope is a feather blowing in the wind. Today, it blew away.

Maybe tomorrow it will land in my hand.

So, I pray again, “God, you are the God of broken people. You love us. You sent your Son to shine light into our lives. Please shine your light into my eyes because the way seems so very dark. I believe in you and I’m weary. Please help me hold on. Amen.”

We stood on the riverbank watching steam rise from the water. The sun was warming the cool autumn air, but the spring fed river flowed cold in defiance. The waning September morn was filled with chirping water as it flicked over mossy rocks. Clear as glass, the Meramec reflected the trees on the bank. Leaves had begun to gather around the edges, but minnows still gathered there and zipped around after gnats. We watched them scatter until we saw the chestnut bobbing around.

My friend and I scrambled in excitement. She fished it out of the water, and we stared at it with glee. We marveled over the smooth skin as we passed it back and forth. Then, we looked around for more. Our peaceful morning had transitioned from quiet admiration to scavenger hunt.

My son was splashing around in the water and began to find chestnuts floating near logs and in quiet coves. We pleaded with him to find us more. Whereas a few minutes before I was begging him not to go into the water, now I urged him on, “It’s not that deep. Do you see any on the other bank?” It’s funny how wonder inspires us to take risks.

I spotted a single pricky pear shaped fruit hanging low from the bow of a spindly branch. There was water beneath it but I decided to risk wet feet in pursuit. I leverage my weight on a rock, balancing carefully over the stream as I pulled the branch closer. I found myself bending the whole tree in my direction so I could pick the last remaining pod.

My friend and I chattered like children as she pulled the flesh apart to reveal two perfect chestnuts. We stood there rubbing the cache in our fingers like prospectors with freshly procured gold. She was telling me how to roast them and I was imagining how they would taste.

Why did we find so much joy in the moment? Ater all, it was just a nut. Some would say it was a boring old useless thing. But to us, it was miracle!

I can’t speak for my friend, but I suddenly felt an electric current in my veins. Time slipped away. So did worries and fears. I was just a girl on a riverbank with my friend and a handful of treasure. Life is full of miracles if one is willing to search for them.

When I was a younger person, I had a feeling I was missing something. I looked at people and saw hairstyles and clothes. I saw “a look” and I thought, “I need that.” I thought if I held my head a certain way or wore a certain type of shoe, I would fit in. I was constantly searching–always trying to conform. I spent hours with curling irons and mouse. I stuffed myself into tight jeans that cut painfully into my waist. I tucked and pulled and prodded and steamed myself into all manner of shapes, but the “miracle” eluded me. I thought if I was a certain way, people would like me–maybe even love me. I was surrounded by people, but I was alone. In my mind, I would never be right even though I was always striving. I was an anomaly, an aberration. What I really needed was a miracle.

Somewhere along the line I stopped looking for miracles. Not that I accepted who I was. It’s just that the pain of searching and never finding was very painful. I supposed I built callouses around my heart to protect myself. And then there was always the “er” at the end of all my thoughts. “If only I was thinner. Prettier. Richer.”

I tried to adapt. I stretched my finances and purchased the “perfect” car. It was a silver Honda CRV and it was marvelous. I loved every single thing about that car–except the payment. I felt fantastic when I was driving it. I was zippy. I was trendy. I was hip. But the debt gnawed at me like the squirrel in my son’s window chewing on a bone. There was a noise inside my head saying I shouldn’t have bought it, but I told it to shut up and go away. It never did. So, when the man pulled in front of me and the car was totaled, I had it towed to my house. I sat in the car in the driveway and cried. Everything was ruined. All I had left was a piece of rubble to be hauled to the junkyard and a mountain of debt (which I had secured to my home in the form of a HELOC.) I wish I could say that was the worst financial decision of my life but there were others. I eventually gave the home back to the bank to escape the debt. I wish I would have learned my lesson sooner: miracles can’t be purchased.

I learned that miracles couldn’t be found in automobiles or fashion, but I found they could be found somewhere unexpected. Friendship. I’m not talking about a casual acquaintance, the kind of person who expects something from you and never gives anything back. I’m not talking about that co-worker who is friendly but bolts at the first sign of trouble. And I’m not talking about that person you’ve known since grade school who is full of criticism and sarcasm other “isms” that can’t be listed here. A REAL friend is not unlike the Velveteen Rabbit. Sometimes the fur has worn off. Sometimes they are lumpy and not especially aesthetically pleasing. But they stick closer than a brother. They don’t walk away when life is hard. Their love is like an old tree growing out of the cliff; it never lets go. Real friends are a miracle, and they point to the friend above all others.

Jesus.

Religion has certainly tried to homogenize Him–and for that matter–I know Christians who virtue signal with His name like He’s the newest contouring trend for tween girls. But in my life, He has been the miracle that unlocked all the others. When I realized that with Jesus, I didn’t have to have the “cool clothes” or the “snazzy car” or the “perfect house”, I found an end to my restless wandering. I call it restless because no matter what I bought or wore, there was no soul-satisfying joy in my heart. Jesus took the guilt, the shame, the lonesome “otherness” that defined my life and adopted me into His perfect family. This kind of love has no price tag or expectation of perfection. It is “come as you are” and find love.

My friend and I later discovered the nuts we found were horse chestnuts and therefore inedible. Buckeyes, (as they are commonly called) are considered good luck. But I also like to call them little miracles. Why? Because they grow through no strength of their own. They survive by falling, breaking open, and dying in the soil–only to sprout and start the cycle anew. They aren’t edible like apples or colorful like pumpkins, but they ripen in the fall, not long before winter crushes us with cold. But mostly importantly, they remind me that every seed is filled with a promise that when planted in a cold and dark place, there is hope that new life will emerge. Life sprouting out of death is the greatest miracle there is and it is all around us. (Just ask Old Mighty Mr. Oak Tree) Because every seed that falls points to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus–the most beautiful miracle of all!