Author Archives: Kandy

It’s just a number

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kurtisI had the pleasure of having breakfast with my almost ten-year-old nephew this morning.  In a houseful of people gearing up for a family vacation/reunion, a quiet conversation is rare.  I’m so glad it happened.  After exchanging pleasantries of “How did you sleep?” and “How did you NOT hear that storm”, my sweet boy revealed where his heart is at today.

If you ever experience quiet moments, you will “hear” much about a person’s heart, and at the very least, those things troubling their mind.  So it was at Grandma’s table today.  In between bites of banana bread, K explained that he was sad that he was in a level of swimming lessons below where he and his momma thought he should be.

What a precious moment for an auntie!  I don’t believe in coincidences, but I do believe that God orchestrates the timing of where I need to be when I need to be there.  Today was proof positive.  I shared that I never finished swimming lessons at his age because I hated getting my face in the water.  My husband shared that I still hate it which is why I use a snorkel all the time.  I can swim for miles with my adaptation.  I also told K that no matter what level becoming a strong swimmer is important (because it could one day save his life).

But this is where the conversation changed . . . as a teacher I have seen so much emphasis placed on numbers that I think it has filtered over into everything that our children do.  Scratch that, numbers have become a filter in how we all see life.

Warning – this is a soapbox issue for me!  Hear me roar!

To the student who didn’t score as well on the test: That number written on that paper or letter from the standardized test company doesn’t define who you are.  It doesn’t define your future – no matter what anybody says.  It may prevent you from attending certain universities, but given today’s economic climate, it might not. Even if it does, bloom where you land anyways.  Remember it is you, and not the university, that is the product of which to be proud.  I don’t know a single adult my age that goes around spouting their test scores, because frankly, nobody cares because that number isn’t what makes you successful.  It’s just a number.

To the kid who works hard every day to practice, but doesn’t score the winning shot/goal/touchdown:  The information recorded in the books is just a number.  What you do matters.  The old saying is true.  There is no “I” in TEAM.  Every member of a team is important. To me, numbers of assists always tell me more about your willingness to be a part of a team. I know it might not feel that way, but the skills (persistence, dedication, loyalty, perseverance) you learn from being a part of group are far more critical to your future development that what is written in the scorebook.  It’s just a number.

To women everywhere who worry about the scale:  With tears in my eyes, I am telling you unless you need that thing for medical purposes, go right now and THROW it out.  I have so many friends that talk about losing those extra 10, 20, or 50 pounds.  If you want to do that for you or your health, go for it!  But if your motivation is because someone else’s definition of beauty doesn’t include those extra pounds, it is all rubbish! I am going to be honest with you.  Your size matters much less than the character of your heart.  Sometimes, I wish I could remove my eyes just so you could see what I see when I see you.  I think you would be shocked if you did. All you would see is beauty!  It’s just a number.

To those who focus on the calendar age:  If you had nothing left to contribute, God would have taken you home already.  There is a reason for your being here.  I know you may not be as spry as you once were, but I am not looking for spry.  I like many other women are looking for mentors to love us, to remind us of God’s truth and promises,  and to share with us your life (including mistakes and wrinkles).  That matters!  Even if the world standard is newer, faster, or stronger, I have found more quiet strength in sitting hand-in-hand with eighty and ninety year olds than anyone could ever imagine.  Age – It’s just a number.

I didn’t give my little nephew the full brunt of this rant, but I did ask him three questions.

  • Does which swimming level you are in define who you are?
  • Does which swimming level you are in make us love you anymore or any less?
  • Does which swimming level you are in change that you are loved child of God?

Sitting there with bedhead hair and Angry Birds jammies, his twinkling eyes told me he knew the answer to all three.  I pray every day that all the world will know that while numbers are fun (for some of us), for much of life, they are just numbers.

Thanking God today for banana bread and little boys.

PS – By the way in God’s eyes, you are absolutely, positively one of the best “numbers” He’s ever created!

What my soul needed

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Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya

Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama

Key Largo, Montego

Baby why don’t we go?

Jamaica

Up north to the town, Leeds

Um? Kandy?

That is not how the song lyrics go.

Yes, I would agree with your assessment. And No! This isn’t one of those times when I actually couldn’t understand the words and used my imagination to make up my own.  I will assert that my own lyrics are sometimes much more entertaining than the originals.

Actually, this time  I made this version as I was walking down a partially gravel road (3rd St S to be exact) in Leeds, ND last night.  I was walking from Great Aunt Mary’s house to Lorraine’s (Daniel’s mom) house following an amazing supper on the front lawn – labor of love of three generations of Nowatzki’s.

The meal was caught, cleaned, battered, fried, prepared, eaten, and washed up with “all hands on deck”.  While sitting on the lawn, I could feel deeply, an overwhelming sense of joy overcome my heart.

I have to confess that I was incredibly excited for our family reunion and seeing all of our family, but I have been carrying around an aching sadness.  I have been yearning for the vacation we had planned to take this year for Reed’s graduation (much like the ones in the beginning of the song).  Sadly, a myriad of reasons put the kibosh on that plan.

So going to one of our “homes” (again I was excited to do) is the only vacation we are taking this year as a family.

After that multi-generational dinner – which was less about filling my stomach and more about replenishing my soul – I took that short walk to have a quiet conversation with God.

Rested and relaxed, I realized this is truly what a vacation is meant to be.

No stress. . . no worries. . . and filled with things loved.  (Of course, I love the sea too, but this time God granted me insight into the vacation I needed and not the one I wanted.)

As I walked, I thought back to the last couple of days and all the things I didn’t see on travel sites and travel brochures.

  • Little kids running between houses with imaginations longer than the hours of the day
  • Sun-soaked hair that shows hours spent playing outside or at the city pool
  • Cousins that have never met having sleepovers and making instant connections
  • One sweetie catching her first fish (and it was a whopper) and teaching her the fine art of telling a fisherman’s tale
  • Taking a late night trip to the train station to pick up a cousin I had never met
  • Hugging everyone many times a day
  • Having a special “graduation” moment for Reed wrapped in the loving arms of my cousin, Amy
  • Walking everywhere, seldom with a destination in mind
  • Quilting and sharing lots of love and memories
  • Three o’clock chocolate breaks
  • The goofiness of teenagers
  • Late night sessions of packed tables with stories being swapped in every direction
K's first fish - photo bomb courtesy of my girl, E.

K’s first fish – photo bomb courtesy of my girl, E.

No agendas . . . other than to love each and every moment.

In the few block walk, I confessed to God that I needed an attitude of the heart adjustment. Instead of worrying about what I thought I wanted (dare I say I thought I “deserved”), I began to appreciate what I have (a message resonating with me in many aspects of my life).  I’m glad that in just a few short days, He showed me that what I needed to have a revival of my spirit He had already provided. Perhaps it would be best to get out of my own way.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel encumbered by all my worries.  Today, I am thanking God for family reunions, soul refreshment (by letting go), and of course, dusty dirt roads.

The flight of hope

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One of the things I like most about myself is my love of nature.  I can sit for hours in my garden watching bugs, flowers, the sky, and just about anything else that goes on out there.  Nature and creation fascinate me.  That healthy sense of curiosity is probably one of the driving forces to me becoming a science teacher.

The more time I spend in God’s word, the more I realize how much nature is tucked into the verses.  With each new discovery in verse and in nature, I feel like I am drawn closer to God.  On a recent trip out to a friend’s farm, my senses were on overload.

Heaven and earth are full of your glory . . .

The sky was filled with blue gray skies as a small rain had just dampened the parched ground.  The smell of rain permeated our vehicle.  That is an amazing smell. Is it one of the smells of heaven?  The prairie roses were thick in the roadside ditches.  But the best part was the witness of a tiny escort as we drove down the lane to their home.

A flicker of bright gold feathers boldly flew right in front of us until we reached the house.  I was captivated by the flash of colors and the bold courage of one so small.  Even my husband remarked at his beauty, later confessing that it was the second time in a week that he had witnessed one escorting us.  (Apparently, I had nodded off in the car the first time; so, he had a private audience with the little friend.)

Photo: thefixer/Flickr

Photo: thefixer/Flickr

I was on heaven’s cloud nine taking in all the sights and sounds of beauty on the prairie.  Gorgeous doesn’t even seem to begin to be a big enough word to convey the scene.

Later that evening as we were preparing for bed, I shared with my sweetie what joy I felt in my heart.  The goldfinch is our little Clo’s bird (the one she receives as an ornament each Christmas).  The first one appeared in our yard, shortly after the loss of Clo’s twin in utero.  I have always seen that first appearance as a sign of God’s promise of hope.  I didn’t understand it at the time, because we didn’t know that we were still pregnant with the other twin, Cloie.  Something about the bright cheery color of the male plumage just exudes hope.

It was during our bedtime conversation that my husband shared the earlier encounter with the other finch.  Revealing a piece of my heart, I told him that each time I see one darting about, I think of our other tiny little girl.  Teary-eyed, I explained how I wonder if she is as spunky as her sister and if she too holds a bundle of energy inside a head of curls and face full of freckles.

While I will always have notes of sadness in my life’s song, I cannot help but be filled with soaring bars of hope each and every time I see a goldfinch fly.

Sing to the Lord a new song;
sing to the Lord, all the earth. Psalm 96:1 (NIV)

If creation will let me, I am going to be singing along.