Why Being Invisible Sometimes Feels Comfortable

Even when I was really young, I was very thought-conscious for a child. My elementary school teachers often told my mom, "She's a great student and always makes Distinguished Honor Roll. But she's bored. She's a really deep thinker and likes to be creative. She gets bored with some of the worksheets and assignments we have to do."

In second grade I wrote what I remember as my first "poem." I wrote it in December, as I eagerly anticipated the upcoming holiday. Shyly one morning, I walked up to my teacher's desk with a copy of my poem behind my back and quietly handed it to her when she looked up at me. She was a tough teacher, large and intimidating, not the nurturing or welcoming type, and she quickly began reading my piece of paper without much expression. Then her eyes flickered at me, and she looked back up suddenly. "Did you write this?" she asked abruptly, inflection in her voice. Without making a sound, I just nodded, my hands behind my back and my feet shifting awkwardly, then watched as she walked past me up to the blackboard, my poem still in her hand.

The New Year's Hopes and My #OneWord365

In the past, I have considered January one of my least favorite months---the end of festive celebrations, return to routines that aren't always enjoyable, and, basically, just winter. Cold, dry, dark, empty winter.

I have often tried to fill that January void with the hopes of a new year---a clean slate, a fresh start to long-held dreams, the lure of goals I am working towards. I have often sat at lengthy times with my journal, pouring my heart out onto the pages, not only for what I long for, but for who I want to become, and what I want to let go of.

At the turn of this new year, my thoughts were overwhelming, too many to even organize onto a journal page---who I want to be, the baggage I want to drop, the people I yearn to help, the areas I want to make a difference, the dreams I strive for, goals I long to reach, the pleas with God that are so strong they burn in my heart and keep me awake some nights.

Because This is What Achievement Really Looks Like

"So what was it like?" I asked her. "Did you feel comfortable? Or was it distracting and challenging at all?"

I was asking this question to a retired woman I have been teaching piano to for the past few years. She had a heart that yearned to serve. Even amid the frenzy of tending to a husband with multiple serious health problems, keeping up with her grown children and grandchildren in another state, she carried a determination I wish all of us could hold on to. The fact that she was only one of a few adult students in an academy of mostly children did not deter her. Deep within her heart, she felt certain that she needed to help with the music at her small church in a nearby community. She came weekly for a piano lesson, her books open to the hymn she was currently working on, and even signed up for voice lessons for the Sundays she could help lead the singing.