I'm not at all Psychic (but I've got rock star hindsight)

Ten years ago today, I was just 5 days short of my 30th birthday. And, being the intense A-Type that I am, I had my 5 and 10 year goals clearly laid out. They went something like:

• Be a patiently supportive mom as I watched my then almost-two-year-old son grow to sports and academic fame.
• Stay a humble and service focused leader as I served as an executive in a media or sales related company.
• Live in Utah - long story, but lack of hurricanes and tornadoes was one of the determining factors.
• Have led every professional and service organization directly related to my career to earn even more love and adoration from my colleagues.
• Win some awards and accolades for my hard work and awesomeness.
• Drive a Jaguar convertible.
• Live in a big house in the right zip code.
• Keep that house in Southern Living style all of the time so that I would be the envy of everyone who ever stepped inside.
• Have the perfect marriage that included romantic date nights once a month and the symphony most weekends.

You get the picture. In general, my plan was by now, heck by 5 years ago, to be prefect, oh, and live a perfect life while I was at it. Since I was going to be perfect, I would certainly have to train my son and husband into perfection with me, so we'd all be perfect together.

As you may have guessed, now ten years later, I was WAY OFF. In fact, I was so wrong about where I'd be right now, it appears I am the opposite of psychic.

My current reality proves I was not near as dedicated to achieving perfection as I once believed. But, before you or I beat me up too bad for abandoning my worthy ambitions, let me explain.

Life Happened.

It turns out, that as I sit here 5 days short of my 40th birthday, I am most happy about, most blessed by and most thankful for all of the things that happened instead of reaching those decade old goals.
Some of the highlights include:

• Being a patiently supportive mom as I watch my almost-twelve-year-old son struggle with ADHD and school. He's often socially awkward, personally irresponsible and way too easy going to ever be a sports star.
• I couldn't be more in love with him if I tried, in part, because he's not perfect, and I'm not perfect. We gave up on perfection, instead we're both working to be excellent for ourselves and each other.
• I've led, though not always as humbly as I would have liked. More than once in the last 10 years, I've bought into my own PR. I've been uncompassionate, inconsiderate, unsupportive and over-demanding. Not all of the time, but I've also not always been the servant leader I am committed to being.
• I've learned as much from the people I've been blessed to lead as I have from the ones who've trained me to lead. I've been knocked off of my high horse enough to enjoy the view from the ground as much as the one from the saddle.
• We stayed in Baton Rouge, LA. It turns out that being close to family, sharing my culture and history with my son, and helping to make the place I came from better was more important to me than any glamorous publishing career in Utah.
• When I got my cancer diagnosis, my mom immediately told the doctors to pack up my stuff, we were going to MD Anderson. This was the first time I knew, beyond any doubt, that this is my home. I responded, "I don't know if I'll beat this, but I know if I have to try to do it in Houston, away from my friends and family, away from my community, I don't really stand a chance. What is there for me to fight for in Houston?" Turns out all the world class care and inspiration I needed was right here in Baton Rouge.
• I have been blessed to work with some great groups of professionals, doing great work in our community. And while I did get some commendations here and there, it turns out it is the work I am most proud of. Seeing the impact that a group of dedicated volunteers can have on our community is why I now give and serve and couldn't care less if anyone notices.
• It's not a jaguar, but I do drive a convertible. A girl's got to have a dream, right?
• My home is a mess, we call it "domestic chic" and my marriage is equally. One day everything is tidy and romantic and the next there's clutter everywhere and everyone is cranky.
• Now sixteen year married and 20 years together, I don't want perfect. I love our flawed, full and fast-paced life. It isn't pretty, but it's a hell of a lot of fun.

So, I missed the mark. My goals, my hopes, my aspirations have changed. My reality is not nice and neat and it sure isn't perfect. It is however more fun and a bigger adventure than I could have ever imagined.

Life happened and I wouldn't trade or change one minute of it.

Lucky Number 13

Be careful what you ask for.

We've all heard this caution for those who would wish too ambitiously, a reminder that it may not be in our own best interest to get everything we ask for. It also alludes to the universal truth that we often don't even know what's best for ourselves. And in the curious case of my career, it has proven absolutely true.

Thirteen years ago, as a young marketing and design "professional" (I'm using that word VERY loosely), I fell into a job interview that I wasn't looking for. I was a designer, a writer, a buyer, a marketer. I had PR skills. And I had no interest whatsoever in going into sales.

After my first interview with Business Report, I went home and told my husband these people were crazy. I hate salespeople and hate being sold to even more. On top of that, these ladies work for commission, they only get paid if they sell!

After my second interview, I was intrigued. I went home and told David that I'd always been an A student and the idea of working at a job where I got a report card every two weeks was beginning to appeal to me.

Then came my third interview, the pivotal moment when I sentenced myself to a career I never saw coming.

Julio Melara, a ball of fire and purpose to say the least, stormed into the conference room where Debi and I were meeting. He picked up my resume, looked it up and down and promptly tossed it across the table at me. Mind you, not to me, but AT me.

"Your resume looks like a shooting range. A job a year every year since college? What are you looking for?"

Whoa! Intimidated didn't begin to describe what I was feeling. I didn't even want this job, didn't ask for the interview to begin with. Why was he coming at me so directly?

Never one to back down from a challenge, I took a deep breath, put on my best "I'm not intimidated by you" face and replied.

"I'm looking for a company that will be as committed to me as I am to it." Booyah!

Thirteen years later, still occasionally intimidated by Julio's direct challenges, here's what I've learned from getting the best job I never imagined I wanted:

• Thank God for people willing to take chances on you. In one way or another, we are all a gamble. Thank God for those people who roll the dice on us for no other reason than a hunch. Debi Brand bet on me, even in the face of her boss' doubts, and I will always love her for that.
• Thank God of the people willing to challenge you. There have been days when I've imagined myself in some quiet little automated desk job. And then I get back to work. My energy and abilities have been challenged A LOT in these 13 years. And I am so thankful that this place, these people always have and will continue to push me to be better. Their challenges to my comfort zones make me a better woman, wife, mom, daughter, friend and employee.
• Thank God for telling a better story with your life than even you could imagine. When I told Julio what I was looking for, I didn't know what it meant, not really. I have learned about commitment 1,000 different ways over the last 13 years. Some have been in my professional life, some in my personal life. And these people I work with everyday have been an important part of all of these lessons. We have laughed, cried, celebrated and mourned together. This has turned out to be so much more than a way to make a living, it has been my way of making a Life.

The rest of my career may be here at Business Report. It may not. That's for God to reveal. But either way, I will love and be committed to this place, these people for the rest of my life. Because the rest of me would not be the same without them.

Man! A Tee!

Recently, David, Hunter and I had the amazing adventure of diving with the manatees in Florida. We prepared for weeks, watching every manatee encounter video that YouTube could share.

I was particularly excited about this adventure because of the manatees' appearance as one of the most perfectly useless, patently serene and purposely sleepy creatures. My A-type overachieving brain just couldn't believe that something this calm and aimless could survive in our Darwinian world. I wanted to make sure they were in fact what they seemed, and perhaps absorb some of their serenity.


I committed to turning off my phone and iPad, disconnecting from my modern world, in order to experience the manatee utopia in all its quiet glory. I wanted to walk on the serene side. I needed these amazing creatures to slow down my brain, fill my heart and send me back into my world with a more peaceful perspective on my day to day.

I know, that's a lot of expectations to put on creatures that can't even manage to thrive as a species without man's intervention. But surely their pinnacle of peace had to rub off on me one way or another.

At 6:30am Saturday morning, reality set in and I began to suspect that this might not be the spiritual retreat I was craving. The fact that I had any realization at 6:30am on a vacation Saturday morning should have clued me into the fact that "sea cows" weren't going to calm my spirit and have me humming Kumbaya any time soon.

We threw together gear in a coffee deprived fog and rushed to meet our boat at the dock for the appointed 8:00am take off, only to have to wait almost an hour for the dive boat operator to get this show going. By the time we finally arrived at the first manatee viewing area, it was clear I wasn't the only one wanting manatee-inspired serenity.

In fact, when my friend texted asking how our trip went after we got back, I summed up my manatee experience this way.

How was your manatee adventure?
A lot like Disney World. Overcrowded with dumb tourists, and you either have to beat the crowds at the crack of dawn or wait in a long line for them to clear out. And, to top it off, I got the odd sense of exiting through the gift shop everywhere we went.

Now in defense of the awesome people and businesses in Crystal River, Florida, I'd sell the heck out the fact that I had endangered rolly-polly cuties in my back yard too. I'd have a So Ugly They're Cute and They Won't Be Around Much Longer Festival to celebrate them and finance my home improvements to show them off. After all, sales and marketing are my thing.

But giving hapless A-type tourists the impression that they could completely unwind and live like a manatee in purposeless tranquility, even for a weekend, might be where I drew the line.

Finally, after sifting through the tons of bottom silt thrown up into the water by throngs of fin-wearing tourists, I saw and interacted with some manatees. It was more than worth the price of admission. They are sweet and cute and playful and lazy. They are so ugly they're cute. And while it's one I may never understand, they have personality.

And so do I. My personality is driven and busy and well-planned and perfectly purposeful. I am the anti-manatee. But that's OK. Because we're both in the universe, there is balance.

Watching the A-type rangers and volunteers bark orders and quote signs and videos to inconsiderate tourists made me realize, manatees need us just the way we are. They need us to protect them. The fact that they need us to protect them from us is a whole nother conundrum to tackle another day.

For now, I am walking away from this once in a lifetime experience with the peace that God made me just the way I am, on purpose. And an "I heart Manatees" t-shirt.

Coaching

My ten year old son has played some sort of organized sport since he was four. Soccer, baseball, basketball, football...we've played seasons of them all. And we have been blessed with great coaches throughout the seasons of his life.

Some of Hunter's coaches were nurturing, there's not much more you can do with four-year-old soccer toddlers. Some were disciplined. All were strong Christian men. And then there is Hunter's dad, my better half. David Howard, who never imagined anyone would let him coach his own kid, much less theirs, turned out to be one of the best coaches our son has ever had, both on and off the field.

Of all the sports he's played, soccer has remained Hunter's favorite. That may have something to do with him having always been on winning soccer teams with amazing coaches. Or it could just be he likes running up and down the field.

Whatever the reason, as soon as they opened sign ups for him to play for the first time with his school soccer program, Hunter was the first one committed.

From the beginning, we knew we would learn a whole lot more from this soccer season than we did from any of our previous seasons. As his mom, I figured out real quick that this soccer season would be a lesson in patience. And for Hunter and his teammates, it looks like this season will be a stark lesson in self leadership.

You see, Hunter isn't the only child I know that has benefited from great coaching in their early sports careers. Most of his friends have learned and played under great coaches, and a lot of the time, as teammates as well. In fact, of the 15 -20 boys on this soccer team, 10 -12 of them have played on the same team for the same coach in more than one season.

I mentioned my need for patience this soccer season because it is a lack of coaching staff that has made the blessing of our previous coaches all the more poignant. The coach we have is great, he's just having to coach three teams and three different games, sometimes two at the same time, while the school works to get other coaches ready to go. This poor fella doesn't stand a chance. He is heroic, but it appears doomed, if he doesn't get some help.

So, to bring the lessons learned full circle, Hunter and his friends need all of the self leadership skills they've not yet developed to get through this season. In fact, here's what they'll have to learn for themselves that their previous coaches have done for them.

• Putting a bunch of superstars together doesn't make a team.

Our fastest kid is FAST. But if he's way out in front and passes the ball, no one is there to get it. He has to slow down a little to make sure he's covered. And each boy will have to be honest with himself and his team about where his talents are best applied to get the best team result.

• Having great skills and knowing when to use them are two very different disciplines.

All of the fancy footwork they've learned looks great. But if their teammates can't keep up with them, it's just showing off. They've got to get the best kids with the right skills in the right place at the right time to be successful. Any other grandstanding means failure.

• COMMUNICATION isn't the most important thing. It's the ONLY thing.

Without a coach barking direction at them, the boys have to talk to each other or they're doomed. They have to let each other know where they're going, why, and what they plan to do when they get there. The Goal isn't the only goal of being a team. Getting to the goal together is critical.

• Win or lose, when you're the one on the field, you have to take responsibility for that outcome.

After losing their first game, and remember, they aren't very used to losing, the boys all whined. The field is too big. We didn't have a coach most of the game. We weren't ready.

That's life. They are likely never going to be completely ready for their opponents in life. But if they take responsibility for the parts that they can fix - train harder, run faster, communicate more and better - then they're 50% closer to winning than they were before they did nothing waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

Our second game ended in a tie. That's better than a loss. The boys all seemed to be getting the above lessons, that they'd have to do more for themselves to be successful in this season of their lives than ever before.

As a mom, seeing my son learning these important life lessons in vivid clarity, I can honestly say I'll be thankful for our overloaded coach. I will be patient and kind to him because he's teaching my son as much, if not more than, all of the other coaches he's ever had. I imagine quite unintentionally, this coach is teaching my son what it means to be a young man, responsible for his own success or failure, in what is thankfully, one of the safest places he could learn these lessons.

Perplexed Perspective

I am a Christmas Nut! I plan gifts and decorations months in advance. I impulse buy all manner of red and green paraphernalia all year long. I have a Christmas Jam playlist - and yes, it even includes N'Sync's 1998 smash hit cd Home for Christmas.

Why is Christmas my FAVORITE time of the year? Duh, it's the Spirit.

It's the peer pressure that causes even the grumpiest of us to take a break from humbugness. It is the one time a year I can, publicly and acceptably, crank Joy to the World to the rafters in my car, roll down my window and get traffic singing along. The Christmas Spirit lifts the weight of the world for so many us. And even under the most dire of circumstances, Christmas makes us happy.

Of course this year, things are different.

As a mom, as a Christian, hell, as a human being, Friday, December 14 has shaken even my over-the-top Christmas Spirit. Friday, December 14 confused and worried me. It made me fearful and sad. And even though I've gone back to happily gifting my way through the season, every time I look at a news site or hear about a memorial service, that gray cloud of confusion floats back onto the horizon.

Like so many of us, I have hung on the news of who, when, why, how. I have soaked up the addresses and responses. I have read, with teary eyes, the poems and tributes written and circulated a hundred different ways. And I am still confused.

I am confused that this is evolving into a conversation about gun control.

I am not a fan of the NRA. I believe the Second Amendment was meant to staff militias that we haven't needed in this country in over 100 years.

I also don't think our government has the right to tell it's responsible, tax paying citizens that they can't own guns. However, surely we can all agree that this is not a case study in a responsible, tax paying citizen owning guns and going nuts with guns, can't we?

Can we not all agree to focus on the illness, rather than the symptom? Are we so blinded by our collective affluence-induced arrogance that we don't get how simple the problem is? I'll give you that I can be simple-minded and unrealistic on any given day, but...

Where is the perfectly simple morality that my parents made sure I got and held onto from kindergarten? Where are the simple rules that have been the foundation of every great society in the world for, well, ever since they were written? Where is the "Thou Shalt Not Kill" in all of this?

I believe that the reason God gave Moses the Ten Commandments is because it is in all of our nature, from the moment of original sin, to do the things that God eventually decided he needed to tell us not to do. I believe that at our basest nature, we might all kill to get what we want. Or steal to make our families safe or happy. God gave us these rules to save us from ourselves.

God recognized that letting our basest nature lead us didn't make for Merry Christmases. It leads to confused and sad holiday seasons.

As a mom, as a Christian, hell, as a human being, I am COMMITTED to making sure my kids understand these most basic of moral codes. They may not understand the Constitution or Gun Control Legislation, but they do and will understand God's Law for us. It's simple, clear and in ten bite-sized pieces.

Finally, I think the best honor I can give and the most healing activity I can perform, is to make this Christmas season about LOVE. Because there is no doubt that LOVE is bright, and healthy and healing. It bears fruits of Gratitude and Graciousness. It yields prayers of Thanksgiving for what we have and prayers of supplication for those that have not.

I will actively LOVE and appreciate those close to me. And I will pray that someone close to the families in Newtown LOVE them like Jesus would.

Gifting

It's Christmastime. The concept of gifting seems pretty clear and simple.

1. Ask/Listen for what loved ones want.
2. Go buy what loved ones want.
3. Wrap what loved ones want in pretty paper that matches your Christmas tree.
4. Gloat over the joy of opening Just What They Wanted on Christmas morning.

Only, it turns out the real gifting, true generosity, isn't really clear nor simple, nor about following the above formula. The true meaning of a real and significant gift, at Christmas or any other time, is as deep and involved as anything else we do for each other as humans.

Do you remember, really remember, the joy of finding something you didn't dare ask your parents for under your tree on Christmas morning from Santa? Because I am essentially a 10-year-old girl in a thirty-something year old body, I do. I remember the inability to squelch my high pitched scream when I first laid eyes on that Barbie Dream House.

When I was a child we were poor. We were blessed to never go without food or clothing or the basic creature comforts. But things like Barbie Dream Houses were way out of my league. Rich little girls in big brick houses got those types of gifts. And knowing that money was tight in our house, I would never have burdened my parents with my heart's desire.

But somehow, whether he and Jesus share secrets or he perfected spy cams long before the CIA, Santa knew. He knew that no matter how impractical, no matter how quickly I'd outgrow it, at that moment in my life, I needed a Barbie Dream House to feel special, important and loved.

Before and since that Christmas morning, I have always been a stickler for gifting. No cheating. You have to do the work and get the right gift. The perfect gift. And no guys, that doesn't necessarily mean the most expensive gift.

Here's what the Howard family will be focused on during this Christmas gifting season.

• Loving, and giving a gift to someone, is hard work.

You can't get gifting right if you're not examining your heart and theirs. Do you really know what your spouse is thinking about as you go into the holiday season? What is your mom most concerned about? What new hobby has your brother pawning his vintage Playboys to get money to fund? You don't have to be a mind reader. You just have to spend some time talking to your loved ones. And no, that can not be done via text or Facebook. Get close and get personal - you're likely to get a greater gift from this exercise than you end up giving.

• Great gifts don't necessarily cost more.

Yes, I am a woman and I don't think that all that glitters is gift worthy. I will always treasure the bracelet my son made me in my favorite color to go with my new favorite sweater more than the diamond bracelet my husband gave me. Don't get me wrong, I am thankful for both. But my son's gift was about he and I's relationship, him knowing my favorites. My husband's was about his responsibility to give a winning hubby gift.

• Just because they want something doesn't mean it's a great gift item.

On Christmas eve a couple of years ago, my husband was visibly upset. He was so proud of the gift he had ordered for me, only to have it not arrive in time for Christmas. The shipping company had messed up the order and it would be late. So imagine my excitement three days later when a big box arrived from FedEx with his name on it. I excitedly called him at work and asked if I could open it. He asked to stay on the line so he could here my reaction..."Um, honey, what is it?" - the first sign that your gift might not be a hit. It was the muffler for my four wheeler that I'd offhandedly mentioned months before that I wanted. I choked back my disappointment and thanked him. He knew he'd struck out. In his defense, he gets points for at least listening. Unfortunately, he wasn't listening with his heart or he wouldn't have given me a muffler as a gift. Men, vacuum cleaners, except for Roomba's because they're wicked awesome, dish washers and flannel robes all fall into this DON'T GIVE category of gifts.

• Joy is the point.

That's the only part of this that's simple. Your gift should elicit the Barbie Dream House kind of joy. The "OH! I would have never bought myself that in a thousand years" kind of joy. It is not the "Oh, I really needed one these" kind of joy. Because he really needs help this year, my stepson will get what he needs. But because I know their hearts so well and love them so much, all of my boys will get gifts given out of real love to elicit pure joy.

My mother-in-law got tickets to see an Elvis tribute show with her son and grandsons. She couldn't have gotten a better gift. Others in our family will get handmade or personalized gifts made and given with love. And some of us will even get an expensive item or two. Regardless of the price tag, we will be gifting with our hearts and investing in each other so deeply to make this our best Christmas ever.

After all, God didn't ask us for a list before sending his son. And while the price of his gift was the ultimate sacrifice, it was for the joy of our hearts that he gave it and wrapped it in a manger.

Christmas Makes Me Cry

Our house looks perfect. The ribbon in the living room matches the tree in the dining room and wreath on the front door. We have a new 8' snowman standing guard over our yard and a rather large Christmas sock monkey to keep him company. If you come to my house right now, it is clear I have this Christmas thing under control. Heck, my wrapping paper even matches my tree!

So with all of this togetherness, you may be surprised to learn that Christmas makes me cry.

That's right, from Christmas songs on the radio to the pageants and concerts at church, I spend most of the Christmas season weepy and teary-eyed.

I should preface this story with the fact that I am not Catholic. Nor is my heart for Mary based in religion, though I may have come to my understanding of her later than my Catholic friends.

My son was four month's old for his first Christmas in 2002. While as a first time mom I was consumed with cute Christmas outfits and pictures and perfect gifts, at some point I was hit with a deep conviction I had never experienced before. It brought me to sobbing tears and changed how I would see Christmas from that moment forward.

You see in my mind, the Christmas story had always been about God's gift to us - a celebration of gifting. I reserved deep thoughts on faith-focused topics like sacrifice and sorrow for the Easter season.

But this particular Christmas, for the first time, I experienced this season from the perspective of a mother to an infant son. I FELT Mary's heart. And Christmas took on a far deeper sense of sacrifice and sorrow than I ever imagined it could have.

When Hunter was born, the minute he was born in fact, I said a thousand prayers for his future. David and I were filled with all of the hope and happiness in the world. This little bundle of joy could do anything, be anything. He was Potential personified.

I imagined Mary, sitting cold, in pain, afraid and feeling pretty alone in the world, having a very different experience.

First, Mary officially gets the award for the bravest woman in all of history. She listened intently to angels - who by all accounts can be pretty intimidating. She told her fiance the truth of what she'd heard, even though she had to have thought he would have her hauled out and stoned. She got on a donkey and rode cross country, with no thought of shaken baby syndrome or accidental inducement. She just kept moving forward. I don't care who you are, that's incredible bravery.

But, more importantly, she moved forward and gave birth to and raised her little boy KNOWING. She had been told - there was no mystery or imaging in this birth. His path was clear. His life was going to be hard. And he would have to be incredibly brave himself.

I don't know about you, but if an angel had come to me before Hunter's birth and told me that my son would face any of the challenges he faces today, I'd have at least thought twice about bringing him into this world. If I had known for sure people would be mean, life would be too hard and circumstances wouldn't let him grow up to be whatever he wanted to be, I would have paused.

While the Easter season is a clear demonstration of painful sacrifice, I am completely overwhelmed at the Christmas season knowing that this time is a clear demonstration of courageous sacrifice.

Whether Mary knew how her son would die some 33 years later is unclear. As a mom, that thought is unbearable. But she knew enough to know that this child, her child, would be set apart in a way that couldn't be easy for any of them. And she quietly carried herself and her family through the rest of what would be one of the most beautifully tragic stories of all time.

So Christmas carols about a baby in a manger, or the first noel, make me cry. I thank God that my son was born a blank ball of potential and I don't have to bear the responsibility of KNOWING the way Mary did. And I grieve for a mother that had to make such brave choices and changes to let Love come into our world.

In our house, Christmas is as much about sacrifice now as it is about gifts. He may not understand why, but Hunter is compelled to sacrifice some of his gifts each year so that children less fortunate than he can know Christmas happiness too. We spend more time talking about what we will give away this holiday season than what we're getting. And I tear up. Because he won't have to wait until he has his own children to understand the amazing sacrifice in Jesus' birth that was made for him.