Make Room, My Heart

Change is in the air at the Liberati house.  There's a definite feel of excitement as smiles are swapped and shoulder-shrug grins are tossed about.  It's that feeling families get when a very important visitor is expected.  It's definitely the feeling I got when I was young and my grandparents, aunts and uncles from far away were coming for a visit.  I mean, the vacuum cleaner was out and we were still smiling and still being helpful.  The couch was moved over a foot or two, a table was slid to the opposite side of the room for better positioning, and another very important piece of furniture was washed and brought back to life from the garage.  It's not a visitor, though, that's arriving next weekend, and it's not a house guest all together.  It's not party preparation, and it's definitely not Santa Claus.  Nope, the event that's got our family in a constant state of anticipation is the arrival of a brand new baby puppy.

That's right.  We're doing it again, and we're starting from scratch.  Yesterday was our day to prepare 'her' room, the family room, that is.  And 'her' is an eight week old chocolate lab.  If you recall from an earlier blog post, we lost our beloved Toffee in early June.  Her void left a hole so deep and wide that we found ourselves still catching our breath at the realization that she's gone.  Not really an unexpected hole, but one that we thought we could fill with everyday life.  Turns out, as I told Officer Buckle, "We're dog people, you and I."

We thought our lives would be easier without a dog to take care of, without the added worry.  But as it turns out, our lives were not only easier with a dog, but more fulfilling when there was another living creature in the center hub of our family who was encouraging love and affection and reminding us how to love unconditionally.

But leave it to me to be the one who plays the part of 'Debbie Downer,' and who has a difficult time with change, even positive change.  When all was said and done yesterday, and all of the puppy's new essentials were bought and in their rightful place, I had an uncomfortable feeling I couldn't ignore.  So when my daughter went back to school and my son retreated upstairs, and Officer Buckle remained busy working on a new floor project in the office, all was quiet and I found myself alone once again in the quiet confines of my rocking chair; a place where my deepest of thoughts are given permission to rise and surface.  It was then I allowed the nagging feeling that had been tucked safely and so deeply inside of me to keep me from addressing it, to surface and bear its face.  And what was it, or better yet, who was it?  Ahh, the face of fear, dought, uncertainty, and...guilt.  Will we be good enough for this little puppy?  Will she be good enough for us; meaning, and I don't want to compare, but she as awfully big shoes to fill, paws, that is.  Am I expecting the new puppy to be exactly like Toffee?

 It reminded me of a time in my life eighteen years ago when I once wondered if number two could be as good as number one.  When I was expecting my second child, I became afraid near the due date.  I wondered how I could possibly love another baby as much as the one I already had.  (I told you I was a Debbie Downer)  I prayed about it and kept those thoughts to myself, and my answer came in full force when my son was placed in my arms.  You see, my heart grew when I held him and looked into his eyes.  I was in love again, my fears disappeared, and I understood.  So I understood again, yesterday, after calming down and thinking back in time.  Our new little puppy will be her own new creature with her own personality.  Perhaps there will be some similarities, as there often times are, but really, all she has to do is to be a puppy, and our hearts will grow.

I hope to share pictures and a name next time I write.  And, ooh, what's that feeling?  No bother, it's just my heart growing and making room.

Faith in Humanity...Restored

It came in the nick of time, just when I couldn't take one more second of bad news, one more story to make my eyes cringe, and one more upset stomach.  I thought if I saw another picture of war torn countries...beatings of the innocent...corruption of government...or just plain old evil...I'd quit my newspaper subscription, turn off the news and put away Facebook.  Not a very grown up attitude, I know, but I was having a moment.  I had had it with sadness and with humans behaving so poorly that I was ashamed of mankind.

As I gave my newsfeed one more scroll I came across a friend whose posts I can count on to provide positive, feel good comments (thank you, Dave).  As it turns out, he was sharing a video that he said he could relate to.  He said, "This is mankind at our best."  My spirits immediately lightened and I clicked on the video.

Was it my hormones, did I wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or did I just need to cry?  I don't know.  But I needed this video, and I needed to know that kindness exists...even to those creatures most innocent.  Could I better relate to the video because of my strong belief that animals teach us to love unconditionally?  Or maybe this was just a chance to practice what I've learned from them?  Or...did the video just strike a certain chord deep inside of me and present itself to me at just the right time?

As always, I wondered what my silver learned from this moment.  If I couldn't find kindness or witness the act of it happening, and I was feeling disheartened, perhaps it was an opportunity for me to initiate a good deed, to start the ball rolling, to pay it forward.  So with that thought, I invite you to click on the following link to see the video Faith in Humanity...Restored 

And as is stated at the end of the video...Here's to the kind-hearted!

Farewell, My Faithful Friend

          I've been rather quiet the last couple of weeks, allowing a life altering event to catch up with me.  You see, while I was busy panicking about the next phase in my life; becoming the mother of all adult children with my youngest turning eighteen and graduating, another very large phase of life caught me off guard and slipped in.  My beloved chocolate lab, Toffee, took a turn for the worse, and my family and I made the decision to put her down on June 5th.  She would have been 13 today.

            We had known for some time she was battling an aggressive form of oral cancer.  But besides the tumor in her mouth, she was a very happy and healthy senior dog, which is why we opted for two surgeries over the course of 14 months.   We weren't ones to stick our heads in the sand and think she would live forever, but her vet agreed with us that she would do the same if Toffee were hers. 

            A few weeks ago, though, when Toffee slowly stopped eating and there was nothing more we could do to coax her, we knew 'it' had returned.  We also knew there was nothing we could do for her this time.  To say our hearts were broken seems to be putting it too mildly. 

            I'm not confused and thinking that she was human, but she was a very loyal and important part of our family.  In many ways she was the glue that bonded us so well.  I tried to think of what it was about her that makes me say that.  And while there are so many special traits about Toffee, she made it possible to keep the 'L' word alive in our house.  From the time my children were small, my husband and I were included in the same affections they proclaimed to Toffee.  Each time they left the house, we'd hear, "I love you, Toffee, I love you, Mom and Dad," before the door closed.

            I have always thought that I was a compassionate person, but my dog put me to shame here as well.  When Toffee was only 1, my sister lost her beloved dog.  She came to my house and sat at my kitchen table, devastated, crushed and sobbing.  I told her she could stay as long as she wanted, but I didn't know what else to do for her.  Toffee did.  It was the first of many times since then that I witnessed this as Toffee sat beside her and wrapped her two front legs around my sister's waist.  It had to have been pretty uncomfortable for Toffee to stay in that position, but she refused to leave her side.  She offered my sister 'touch' that she so desperately needed, something that I couldn't figure out. 

            Toffee pulled her weight in obedience and loyalty more so than any of our family members.  My husband, Officer Buckle, loves nothing more than to do projects about the house, both inside and out...every day.  Toffee was his sidekick for these projects, and if she could have held the ladder steady or looked through electrical outlet boxes for signs of tiny wire movement, I would have been out of a job.  She followed him inside and out 20 times a day.  I wonder if the same can be said about myself?

            As I'm sure is true with most dogs, Toffee's tail was an incredible mood indicator.  She smiled with her tail, and boy could she smile!  She was the meeter and greeter at our front door, welcoming all guests who entered, and thrived in the attention and the fact that everyone knew her.  But that, too, began to fade in her final days.  We wanted to be sure we were doing the right thing...letting her go.  We were asking so much of her, though, and the pain was too much for her to smile anymore.  So we gathered together as a family to create the courage needed to make the decision.  We knew...we all knew...it was just so very difficult.  Her final days were spent with those who knew and loved her, saying goodbye.  Her life impacted so many, and she had accumulated numerous friends in her years, both human and animal.

            So on this day, June 20th, which would have been your 13th birthday, I bid a public farewell to my good and loving friend...one of God's best creations.  I miss everything about you, from your warm welcome at the door, to the jingle of your tags, to your crazy wiggling on your back, and your constant companionship.  I miss seeing your beautiful brown pillow and your beautiful brown chocolate coat...all over the house.  I know our pain has and will continue to subside, but wow, were we blessed!  I miss you like crazy, Toffee...yeah, crazy.

Do You See What I See?

I've never been much of an auditory learner.  When I was a student, even recently, I knew I really needed to see the printed words or pictures to help the subject matter sink in.  I mean, I can hear, though I admit it's getting harder every day, but even as a child, I learned better when I could see what the teacher was delivering.  It's not right or wrong, it's just the way I'm wired to learn...I'm a visual learner.  What I see travels faster and processes faster in my brain than what I hear.  At least that's the best way I can explain it.  If you'd like to take a simple ten-question quiz to find out your learning preference, click on, Find Out Your Learning Style Preference.  I took the quiz even though I knew what the outcome would be, and it stated, you are a very visual learner.

So imagine my delight a few years ago when I purchased my first smart phone and smiley faces were sometimes interspersed in the texts I received.  I loved it...right away!  The technical term for these emotional faces (just on the off chance that you don't have a smart phone or just don't know the name) is, emoji.  Emoji means 'picture letter' in Japanese, and is the type of emoticon used on iphones, ipads, Androids, Windows phones and Macs.  And when I learned, probably from my kids, that there was even an emoji keyboard to add to my smart phone that would enable me to speak with pictures, including all sorts of emotions, figures, plants and animals, I confess, I became the queen of smiley faces. It's probably a fair assessment to say that I use them with almost every text I send. 

A few months back, though, I sadly figured out that one of my friends whom I texted frequently, and, who had a smart phone, didn't have the type of smart phone that could read emoji.  What!  Do you mean to say that for the past two years, I'd been sending her all kinds of emotional faces to help tell my story, and she wasn't getting them?  She very kindly told me that everything was okay...she could feel my emotion through my words.  Phew!  But, all is okay now, as she just got a new phone and sends me my very own smiley faces now.

So I'm a visual learner.  I think that's where I was going with this before.  I love my eyes, and I treasure what I can see...every little thing.  And I can feel so much from what I see.  I'm definitely a people watcher; not in a strange way, but in a curious way.  I like to watch peoples' actions, and then watch their faces to see their expressions.  Except, sometimes I don't like the expressions that come my way. 

Just yesterday while I was in the grocery store, there was a mother really snapping at her little boy.  She was leaning forward toward him, and her words were too loud for public, and enunciated clearly enough for everyone around her to hear.  Get over here and don't touch anything!  She was just about spitting at him!  I didn't know her or know anything about their situation, so I'm not judging, well maybe I am, but it was the little boy's expression that my eyes saw and wished I hadn't.  It was shame.  I could feel his shame and embarrassment, and I know he caught me looking. 

There are other times, though, that my eyes catch something so powerful, and so good that I'm sure I'm downright rude  with the amount of starring I do.  Just the other night I attended the Holy Thursday Mass.  There was a mix of people there, and I didn't know many of them because the parishioners from all masses came together at this one.  There just so happened to be a giant sitting in the row in front of me.  Really, a giant.  I'm tall so I know giant when I see one.  This man had to be seven feet tall with a huge frame to go along with his height.  Being a giant alone wasn't the interesting part, but watching him interact with the littlest person in his family was.  There were a number of people in his family, and he was on the very left of them on the aisle.  Several times I noticed him motioning past the whole line of them to very end...to the toddler.  He was demonstrating how to make the sign of the cross.  I didn't want it to be apparent that I was more interested in this man than in the mass, so I almost got eye strain moving my eyes back and forth from the very left to the very right.  I wanted to watch the toddler try to do what her father was teaching.  But his actions didn't stop there, and I couldn't stop my eyes from taking it all in.  After receiving Communion, he didn't kneel like all others.  Perhaps he didn't fit on the kneeler, but he remained standing with his hands over his eyes, clearly moved, clearly aware that he was in the presence of the Lord, and all I could do was stare.

Did I learn from him?  Did my silver learn?  I certainly did.  I could feel his pain in remembering what Jesus did for us on the following day, Good Friday.  I could feel his respect as he moved to the aisle and fell to his knees when the Communion line passed, and I was able to witness him fathering, yet again, after we moved from the church to the hall where the Holy Eucharist was moved.  Because he sat in front of me, I was able to follow him to the hall.  He carried his toddler all the way to the hall, and then placed her ever so gently right next to him, coaxing her to her knees to do like him.  He demonstrated the sign of the cross again to his little girl, and I stood, mesmerized, by his fatherly actions.  I learned from this giant of a man, definitely. 

Was this my visual learning style in action?  I think so.  All of this man's acknowledgement of what Jesus did for him was evident in his actions.  I've been taught the story of Jesus' death and what He has done for you and for me 51 times, and it's made me who I am today, but this year I learned it from a giant...from a man whose tender heart was carried on the outside for me to see, and I'm so thankful my eyes had the opportunity.

My wish for you this Blessed Easter?  To also have the opportunity to witness and learn from others loving Jesus.  May the impact of others' loving actions help you to realize your own loving way toward those in your life.  Happy Easter.

A Wide Load

There's a scene from my all time favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, that reminds me of myself in the morning.  You know how the banister knob comes off in George Bailey's hand every time he walks up the stairs?  That's me every school morning, except I'm not on the stairs, I'm in my garage.

 I find myself running on autopilot most mornings before school.  All routines are just that...routine, and they run smoothly.  From making lunches and coffee to making breakfast and getting dressed, it's a smooth process, and there are no major mishaps...that is until I walk out the door...or at least try.  I don't fit.  My bag has banged into the same laundry room door so many times, that it, too, has become routine.  I open the door with my right hand and continue walking into the garage as I'm reaching behind me with the same hand to swing the door closed.  But as I straighten my path...boom.  My school bag bangs into the door, stopping it from closing.  I have to turn around...everyday...to close the door again.

I remember the blog I wrote a while back called, What's in Your Bag?  There were so many funny responses about what's found in our bags, and it was comical to share in the misery of heavy bags and the ever so important items found within.

But the bag I'm talking about this time is my school bag, my 'magic bag.'  It frequently weighs a ton, but I don't see how I can remove anything from it.  And my George Bailey moment doesn't just happen with my laundry room door...it's every door.   Upon arriving at school, I unlock the heavy front church door, hold it open with my foot so I can re-lock it, and then try to make it through.  So many mornings, such as this one, I literally can't.  My body, my laptop, my purse and my school bag are wedged in the opening.  My feet keep marching through the motions, but I'm not going anywhere.  As I rock side to side, slowly making progress through the jam, I feel like a pinball, racking up points.  As soon as I'm free from that squeeze, gravity acts as the flipper on the pinball machine and sends me into orbit only to rack up additional points at the next door.

As I make my way down the hallway, parts of my wide load begin to downsize.  Into one classroom goes a half loaf of rye bread.  I like this brand so much that I wanted to share it with another lover of rye.  Into another classroom I stop to drop off a heating pad and extension cord.  One of my co-workers threw out her back and forgot to bring her pad to school.

So I'm a little more narrow by the time I reach my own classroom, and it's a relief to glide through the final door jam.  I plop down my laptop, plop down my purse (my original mysterious bag), and heave down my school bag.  Out comes my lunch, a quart of water, and an oversized folder with lesson plans and graded papers. 

What?  That doesn't seem like so much, so what's the big deal?  It's probably not what I can see, but what I can't.  I think I speak for all teachers in saying that it's the things we can't see that weigh the most heavily on our shoulders. A closer look into a teacher's bag would reveal its magic as there are items inside that include packages without shape and density.

If I, or any teacher, reached in blindly, I could pull out a shapeless bundle of compassion.  The little people come to us with hundreds, if not thousands of unique situations found in their home lives.  They come to us broken, chipped, scarred and hurting.  It's not possible for all of them to receive what they need at home, so they're looking to us for self-worth, a pat on the back, and a simple hug or smile.  Compassion doesn't have a particular shape or form, but it's easy to tuck in our bags, and easy to distribute.  I don't know about everyone else, but it's the most simple of things that make me soar and believe in myself.  A smile and a kind word can keep me running all day long.

And what kind of shape does the ability to demonstrate and teach integrity take?  I don't know, but I think it could be accomplished by teacher after teacher, year after year, demonstrating right from wrong from the very beginning with the simplest of actions. It's a role model position that we, as teachers, have accepted.  Today's world is tricky and difficult to grow up in.  Dishonesty and corruption are masked in accessibility.  Once thought to be wrong simply because it is, is now wrong only if caught. 

And if you look closely in a teacher's bag, you will see the invisible pair of saddle shoes and megaphone that make up part of our cheerleading outfit.  The little people come to us with hopes and dreams, but they need encouragement to help them grow and become more than just a dream.  I've witnessed this first hand in my own home when listening to my son share stories of his teachers.  He's a senior in high school, and some of his teachers have made the biggest impact on him simply because he feels liked by them.  He knows they're interested in his activities and want to know of his accomplishments.  Even now during prom season with the rage of 'promposals' floating in the air.  The boys are nervous and have included some of their teachers for support and involvement.  Boys are storing flowers and other items that are part of the 'big ask' in the classrooms of teachers they feel close with, but only with the promise to share the outcome.

And the final shapeless bundle found in my bag...found in all of our bags?  Love.  What shape does it take?  What does it look like?  Well, that depends.  It takes the shape of every kind word, every caring glance, every thoughtful deed, and heartfelt concern.  It grows and mutates to fill empty spaces where hurt lives.  It attaches to compassion and encourages the warmth to be shared.  It helps to create the lesson of integrity so a child fully understands and really feels that honesty is always the correct choice, even when no one is looking.  And it demonstrates how to live, how to treat others, and how to live the Golden Rule, do unto others.

So what has my silver learned?  It learns every day, and today I acknowledge the importance of teachers and their impact on the little people.  My wide load bangs into door frames, and my shoulders and arms ache like those of all teachers.  That's okay...that's more than okay.  It's an ache I cherish, an ache that reminds me daily that I have the privilege to be involved in character development, and an ache that makes me proudly say...I am a teacher!

If you're like me and like videos, then feel free to click on, The Importance of Teachers Who Care.  This is for my fellow co-workers and my children's teachers.  Enjoy.

Powerful Thing, Love Is

I've mentioned before that I work in a school.  It's an incredible place, and for so many reasons.  But now that spring is right around the corner, I'm getting my panic on.  As a teacher, I've been 'in a relationship,' if you will, with these little people for seven months, but we're about to enter the last phase of that relationship...the fourth quarter.  And the fourth quarter might as well be summer vacation because time moves so quickly.  I've often thought, and told the parents, that the children seem to learn the most after their Easter vacation.  I don't know why that happens because we've all been together since the beginning and I'm not doing anything differently...or am I?  Do I feel the end coming?  Am I holding on tighter?  Or am I simply loving them more because we've spent an appropriate amount of time together...enough time to build a solid relationship. 

My feelings are the same every spring...it's panic before saying goodbye.  I want them to know so much before I let them go.  It really is a 'mothering' type of feeling.  Have I taught them enough to let them go to the next grade?  I know I have, but I need more time...more time with them before saying goodbye.  And it certainly isn't just about the three R's.  Children learn so much more in school than just the academics.  The intellect always seems to come, but it's all the other stuff that's equally important, or maybe more...like how to get along and survive in this world.

I teach thirty specific phonics skills throughout the school year, but I teach one particular survival skill ALL YEAR LONG in the classroom and during recess...how to get along.  Some of the children have this skill down pat by the beginning of first grade, and others are still working on it.

I panic and wonder if they know how I'm feeling.  I want to say so much to them...things like, "Do you know that you have somehow made me a better person by experiencing you, helping you, loving you, impacting you, bringing you closer to God?  Will you remember me?  Did I make a difference?  You were a part of my life.  You were 'given' to me.  You were my charge.  I was in charge....or were you?  We've laughed together while wearing silly costumes in the fall, we've given thanks together while wearing handmade headbands and sharing a feast, we've shopped together for our loved ones at the bazaar, and acted out the birth of Christ.  We've expressed our love for each other with the exchange of conversation hearts, shared our snow day escapades when we should have been reading, and wore pink and sung silly 'pig songs' together.  We've traveled and grown so much together through the school year, and I hope it feels the same to you that it does to me...that we've 'loved' our way through the school year."

The teachers had the opportunity to attend a faculty retreat yesterday with the most unbelievable speaker.  Fr. Dan Leary from St. Andrew's Parish led us through the day with talks on...love.  How appropriate.  It was wonderful, and how do I rate it?  By quoting myself again, "It was so good, I cried myself all the way through."  He said so many incredible things to us and I tried remembering them, but the one thing that sticks out in my mind is this.  He asked us, "Do you know why parents send their children to Catholic school?...to be loved."  So true.  Our job is to teach them, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.  The best part, for sure is...to love them.  The learning will come if they feel loved.  Are some harder to love than others?  Yes.  But he said this, too, "They're only repeating history...living out their parents' history, perhaps, who are perhaps living out their parents' history.  We have the opportunity, as teachers, to break the pattern...with love."  Pretty powerful.  He said it happened like that with him.  He was the youngest of six...six rambunctious  children from an alcoholic home.  He credits one nun for making the difference in his life...because she loved him...he knew it and he could feel it!  Powerful thing, love is.

The link below is to a story that 'gets me' every time.  Just as what Fr. Dan said to me yesterday, these little people have been put in my charge.  I don't know 'their story' or what's going on in their lives...but I can make a difference...with love.  I wish I could say the following story is true, but it's not.  It's just a very well told story that has a big impact.

The Story of Teddy Stoddard

The past ten years have been very good to me because of my chance to teach little people and to work with a beautiful team.  It isn't just luck that made this happen...but part of God's plan for me.  The stories and opportunities I've experienced have been full of joy, and they've impacted me so very much.  I've grown with them...become silver with them, and realized for the umpteenth time that...love is a powerful thing.