April 23, 2020
An Invitation To Write
Yesterday, I posted this picture to Instagram:
Loving the child and making connections goes beyond the instruction you are giving!
Letters is one way I keep that connection going.
A flood of memories came to mind. Letters are powerful. They provide a special connection between you and the recipient. It’s a life-long remembrance of feeling special, loved, invincible, cherished.
I received a letter from a student, her third, and I didn’t open it until I could savor her words. She decorated the envelope with “Surprise letter” and “I miss you so so so so so much. ❤ ❤ ❤ ” My heart swelled and my tears flowed. Years from now when she looks back to this pandemic crisis, letters of hope and cheer is one thing I want her to remember. I know I will.
Letters have become my virtual hug, my physical touch during a social-distancing pandemic. In the technological age, letters are scarce. An artistic greeting shares the personality of the writer. It’s an uninterrupted expression of one self, a voice that sends a message that can be reread many times.
With the recipient in mind, my letter is personalized and sent with encouraging goodness. It’s a platform to ask question to deepen the connection. The letter is an extension of me. It’s conferring about life and leaving each with a memento to move forward and a celebration of the present.
My smile broadens as I’m thinking of my students. I envision delight in my addressee. Just think – my letter can change the day for her, a surprise party in an envelope.
He will get excited and smile and remember his teacher still believes in him. Each will get a gift, a toast of cheer.
April 16, 2020
An Invitation To Write
I’ve become a collector of little moments: small sparks of brightness, wishful wants, and the ordinary. They help me process information and to cherish impressions. Consequently, I am a recovering stutter of words and brain farts, those moments when I grasp for words, maybe even visualize it, but cannot spit it out. It’s beyond being “on the tip of my tongue;” it’s embarrassing. Fortunately, I found an app that helps with that – the memories that is, not the awkward pausing. The HighNotes App provides a platform for me to collect these nuggets of marvels.
Notebooks are great too, but I can’t upload a picture quickly onto it. Closeup nature stills are art to me. Capturing a replied text or a comment on Twitter are emotional art to me. I screenshot these and tuck them away on my digital notebook. Contemplating the importance of this app, I listed some reasons (because a list is a collection too.)
- Visualize: The picture helps capture fleeting moments and feelings.
- Beauty: Endorphins are released. I reread, smile and saturate myself.
- Joy: Surrounding myself with goodness because I fight the negative in the world and the lie monster in my head that says I’m not enough.
- Blessings: God has blessed me in so many ways. I want my hope to stay fresh and cling to His faithfulness. This focus defeats the anxiety that cleverly creeps in.
- Laughter: It feels good to remember. It’s even better when shared.
- Memory Igniter: Writing helps my mind process quicker. Thus, I have fewer brain farts.
- Reflection: I remember I am capable, I have skills, I can tackle the next task. Constantly learning.
- Lab: I try out words, rearrange and change. It’s a notebook of my private thoughts until I’m ready to share.
- Organize: Relief. I have a place to collect my nuggets of noticings besides my photos, decluttering and making quick access.
- Collection: Just because.
Some sampling entries:
April 9, 2020
Flowers adorned my home growing up. The two front bay windows were flanked with beautiful color, African violets of vibrant purples, pinks, and whites. Mom pampaered them. She fed and nurtured them as prized cherubs. Mom had a green thumb. Recollecting, my memory-picture scans the 20, no 30, probably 40 violets in those window gardens. I can visualize Mom examining each leaf, pruning when needed. Whispers of growth and good will flowed from my mother’s lips. These were her joy!
As traits go, the green thumb inhertance was not willed to me. Oh, I’ve tried. The beauty of flowers definitely invites me to try. I love the colorwheel blended in nature. I like them. I want them. I do not have the patience or persistence for them like my mom. My plant rearing skills are considered a black thumb.
Like the blue sky enveloping the Earth, I’m a blue thumb. I notice. I observe. I reflect. Knowledge and nuggets blanket my students. Love enduring covers my family. Listening and laughter spread to my friends.
I may not grow plants, but I’m observant. I grow minds. I grow encouragement. I grow words. These are my joy!