Category: Wholeness - trish hermanson

Fighting the Fear of First Impressions

6/22/2018

Sometimes these days I’m a jumble of jitters because I’m meeting lots of new people and first impressions leave lasting impressions, right? I don’t want to blow it.
     So here’s a new person. I suck in a deep breath, tentatively offer my hand, and ask the woman her name. Now will I remember it?
     A week later I see her again and don’t. “I’m still Trish.” I say awkwardly, “and you’re still….?”
     She reintroduces herself. We make small talk. But nothing meaningful happens.
     I remind myself of a motto I’ve drilled into my core: “In this situation, I have nothing to hide, nothing to seek, nothing to prove.” When I remember that, I forget the posturing and pretenses.
     We make more small talk, but still nothing happens. Then I think about the wisdom of John Maxwell: “People never care how much you know until they know how much you care.” So I ask her a question.
     Now something marvelous occurs - we find a connection.    And as Rick Blaine speculated at the end of the movie “Casablanca,” I wonder whether this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
  I hope so.

Does Community Matter?

5/17/2018

We’ve never experienced the need for community more than these crushing days when our six-year-old granddaughter Lydia died. As one of the pallbearers observed, the coffin was light, but the burden was heavy.
     I thought about a man I knew who found that his best place for community was at a bar. Before heading for home after work, Frank often stopped at The Tap, lifted a longneck, and share some laughs. Everyone knew his name. Everyone accepted him.
     Then Frank died.
     Most of his family lived out of town, so they pulled together a memorial service at the local church. The minister read ritual out of a little black book. Nothing personal.
     Afterward, the family sat alone in Frank’s home, longing for remembrances from his friends. “Let’s go to The Tap,” one said. So they drove to the tavern, pulled open the door, and peered into the darkness. “Anybody here know Frank?”
     Heads flew up and arms pointed their bottles skyward. “Everybody knows Frank.”
     The siblings took stools and got to know their father better through the eyes of his friends.
     Like Frank, we all want a place where we’re accepted, where everyone knows our name. If we don’t find it in one setting, we’ll grab it in another.
     So here’s the challenge to me from Frank’s story: Do I help create the kind of community I need for both the bright times and the dark times? If I don’t, I miss out.
     And do I welcome others into the communities where I live, work, play, and worship? If I don’t, they miss out.
     A lot of it is up to me.

What Tree Are Thee?

4/13/2018

I am a beech tree in a forest of oaks.
That’s what I discovered when my scientist son-in-law described how oaks are the king of the forest. Their colossal boughs create such a wide canopy they cut off sunlight so other trees can’t flourish, Steve said.
Except for one - the beech. Like the little engine that could, it chugs through the envelope of darkness that oaks create until it finds a space for itself, sometimes carving a path between the oak’s branches.
So I am a beech tree in a forest of oaks. An introvert in a world of extroverts. Others with huge personalities thrive in life’s forest, while I search through the tangle of branches to find my spot.
But being a beech tree isn’t a bad thing. I may never reach the heights or grandeur of oaks, but I’ve found my place and prosper there.
Maybe you’re an oak, your huge personality taking up all the space in a room. Have you noticed the beauty of the other trees around you?
Maybe you’re a beech like me. Have you determined to find your way in the forest, whether the other trees make room for you or not?
Whatever kind of tree you are, there’s a place for you to thrive.

Is My Life a Great Story?

3/9/2018

Ever compare your life to a great story? I have.
     By “great story,” I mean one that I don’t read; it reads me. It plunges me down the mine shaft of my soul, hands me a pickax, and demands I chisel at the dross until I uncover treasures. It reveals secrets I don’t know about myself, or something I know but feared to face.
     A great story seduces me, then abandons me on its final page, leaving me bereft. Yet its memory enables me to rise, still mourning, and re-enter life with a sturdier stance.
     A great story asks me whether I’m making a great story of MY life. Am I embracing both love and sorrow, adventure and solitude? Do I stay in the safe village, or do I sometimes venture onto the road of risk?
     When I reach my final pages, will I have forgiven myself and others for mistakes along the way?
     And even if I don’t understand all the twists and turns in the plot, will I shout a hearty “thank you”?
     That’s a great story - and a great life.

Why I Fight for Peace

2/23/2018

Within walking distance of our home, I stop at the front porch of a woman who survived the sinking of the Titanic because I’m trying to figure out how to survive my own shipwreck.
     Molly Brown built this summer cottage to escape a disaster other than the Titanic - the hassle of her modern life. From her home in downtown Denver, Molly would travel two and one-half hours by horse-drawn carriage along a dirt road to her lodge, a pastoral retreat near the banks of Bear Creek.
     Fast-forward one hundred years, and Molly’s haven is no longer placid. On two sides of what is now an events center, four lanes of suburban traffic whiz by. A strip mall with a convenience store sit across the street. And this is my neighborhood.
     But it’s more than the congestion of city life that rattles me. It’s the stress of 24/7 news and phone alerts and texts and social media. They’re all good communication tools, but they can be toxic, even addictive experts say, leading to never turning off.
     Most of us don’t have the luxury to build a getaway as Molly did. For me, it's crucial I create a time and space for a sanctuary at home, even if it’s only a chair, a lamp, and a cup of tea. Otherwise, the cares of the world - and of my world - run me over.
  How do you create your refuge?

Croutons...
Chew on these seasoned bits for a little hope and humor along your highway.

JOIN ME ~ I’ll send brief, occasional posts to lighten your backpack. We're on this journey together.

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