SPC Gresham

I remember the morning he left for Boot Camp. It was hot. He was sick. And I felt strange that he was leaving for six months. Yet I was so excited for this new endeavor.

Turns out, joining the military has been a huge blessing to this family. Not only do we benefit from great insurance, but we also have been granted funds to pay off Isaac's student loans, among other bonuses and things.

It does take it's toll upon us, though. Two days out of each month, and sometimes more - and overnight depending - Isaac has to commute to Ft. Belvoir to work his Human Resources Information Specialist Programming blada blada blah blah blah something or other job I still can't pronounce right. All I know is that he works on computers.

AND that he is top ranking in his shooting accuracy and was awarded two awards last month for something honorary.

Just a few days prior to his departure to boot camp he, Paul (his dad), and I went to Panera's for lunch. That same night, I woke up in the middle of the night throwing up something nasty. I couldn't even hold water down. Isaac woke up the next day with the same problem on the other end. And after speaking with dad a few days after he arrived back home, the same thing had happened to him.

We all got food poisoning.

Needless to say, when I dropped Isaac off he was pale, dehydrated, and nauseous, and had to spend the next few days and nights in bus rides with noisy recruits.

Poor thing.

He really is a trooper.

Speaking of troops, that's really what this entry is all about: our troops, and their service to this country. With a special attention to Isaac, since he is my hubs.

Do we really know the sacrifice they make, and have made?

I forget so often how lucky I am to have all the things I want and need at my finger tips. The drop of a hat, really. And when I get caught up in trying to be perfect for my family and my peers and all those who know me, I forget what it must be like to have nothing.

And then I remember...

my house is the Lord's.

my food is the Lord's.

my money is the Lord's.

my life...the Lord's.

We think we have it so hard, us commuters going to and fro and here and there, struggling with our little things.

But the truth is, we know nothing about struggling. About sacrifice. About challenge.

We think wrestling to put our kids down at night is hard. But can you imagine waking up in a sack of dirt in the middle of the desert or rescuing children who are malnourished and in danger on the very ground they walk?

When I think on all these things, all these sacrifices of those who have died or are still living, have made, I ask myself to think again about my life. And why I am so messy with grasping the truth that I am blessed. That we are blessed.

When he graduated from boot camp and all the family drove down to Ft. Jackson to celebrate with him, he was a changed man. Physically, he had gained weight. His neck was now larger than I remember. His hands, stronger and sturdier than ever. His countenance and demeanor, more humble and dignified.

He was quiet, respectful, and amazed at the outside world after being cooped up in camp for 3 months. I could tell that things did not matter to him as much as they did before. Piddly things. Except for the big cup of ice cream he devoured in the shop in town.

Seeing him on that field with hundreds of other graduates that day is a moment I will remember forever. 

Isaac, and many others, have served this country beyond the call of duty, including my brother-in-law John, a retired Marine, Sonny Lawrence, an Air Force chaplain, and a slew of others not directly in my circle. And they deserve recognition and honor today.

God bless America!

The Seminar

I went to a training seminar this week. It was one of those ones where you learn to role play, and that your work pays for, and your boss makes you go to as a part of your goal, or whatever.  The ones with multiple water pitchers in the back of the room, building condensation, where people gather during breaks to exchange business cards.

You're coaxed to buy something - some materials that will "further educate you after you leave the class." And you're inspired in the moment, so you give in. They look so intriguing and pretty on the sell sheets. You just know that this one is the one you will actually decide to read. For real.

The one and only book I ever bought from a training class is sitting on my bedroom table, unread and accumulating dust.

Anyway....

You usually get a workbook of some sort and follow along with a PowerPoint, and don't really remember anything when you leave - you're just watching the clock for the next coffee break. And after it's over, and the small amount of inspiration you might have had in the moment passes, you trash the workbook and head back to your hotel room with a sigh of relief. Or if you were me yesterday, back to your car into the abysmal Fairfax traffic.

In past workshops - Vegas, Chicago - I remember being on my laptop or phone, not really paying attention, texting people and checking email. Who cared? It wasn't my dime.

All I remember from the class I took in Vegas was a girl sitting at my table with big boobs who was the manager of a Burger King. She left at lunch and never came back.

I do remember that the speaker from that class named his business "The Gyst Group." Not sure if that was a fancy way to say the word gist, or not? In fact, I think I threw his business card away just a few years ago.

Nobody really goes to those classes anyway to learn, do they? If it's in Vegas, you're going for VEGAS.

***

Tuesday, my experience of all of that nonsense changed.

I met a woman named Sharon Baker. She was the speaker of my "High Impact Communication Skills for Women Class." She was quirky, hilarious, and down to earth. She meant something to me, and I will remember her. (Plus, she told me I looked like Julianne Moore, which made my day. How gorgeous is she? Isaac says I do not look like her. BOO. And he's right. I really don't so much. But I felt special.).

Sharon talked about a few pertinent things that I will always remember: self-esteem, fear, assertiveness vs. agression vs. passivity. Poker chips, checking your B-R-A, and teaching people how to treat you. In the context of the class, they all made sense!

I could probably talk all day about a few of those things and how they each made me feel, but the funniest thing about the whole deal was that I had told Becky, my Shaklee coach, an hour before I went into the conference, that I needed to be more assertive.

And while "communication" is a broad issue, the entire class's focus was on being assertive.

God is good.

Sharon told a lot of stories from her own life which helped her grow, become more fearless, and to teach people how to treat her.

I never thought about that before - teaching others how to treat you - but I suppose it's the golden rule. Treat others how you want to be treated. 

In treating them a certain way, you're really teaching them how to treat you by your own actions.

There is power the way we communicate and power in the way we choose to respond. 55% of our communication is self-esteem, 38% is our tone/emotions, and 7% of it is words,

There is some serious power in having self-esteem, she told us.

I don't think I'll ever forget Sharon, or that class. It was just what I wanted and needed.

My view on the idea of public seminars has changed, at least for a minute.



"The esteemed woman has an invisible shield around herself that nobody can pierce."
-Sharon Baker