Mailing Life

When was the last time you wrote a letter?

No, not a long text message or email. A hand-written, addressed, stamped letter.

While I love the convenience of sending a quick text anywhere, anytime, I feel sad that the art of letter writing is passing away. I think of all the letters saved throughout history. The correspondence between John and Abigail Adams alone is enough to cause me to carve out fifteen minutes and write.

On Saturday, I did just that.

Words are treasures to me. That is why I journal, blog, and (try to) send notes. I save every personal card and frequently re-read them. Nothing cheers me more than finding a note left from Ty or a letter in the mailbox with my name across the top. (Yes, I was the child who stalked the mailbox for a month leading up to her birthday!)

There was nothing of great consequence in my letter. It was just a little bit of life, mailed with love. Sometimes being present in the everyday means just as much as sharing in the momentous. Since we are great friends separated by great distance, a stamped envelope from Mrs. to Mrs. will cross the many miles for me and hopefully bring a little joy into Mrs. T's day. :)

Most beautiful bride!
(michaella elliott photography)

Patience is a Profession

True, patience is a virtue.
What you might not have known is that it is synonymous with teaching -- or, at least, with good teaching.

I am blessed to study with an exceptional pianist and teacher. She was a child prodigy, she has won awards at international piano competitions, and she has served on faculty at one of the most prestigious schools in the United States for over thirty years. She's kinda a big deal.

And she is one of the most patient and unassuming people I have ever met.

Enter me. (Not a big deal.)
I studied at a small program, I have a lot of holes in my background, I have a lot to learn.

She could simply have told me that she's too busy. (Ain't nobody got time for that!)
She could have taken the easy route and ignored my weak areas.
She could have said I don't have what it takes.

Never once have I heard a comment like this. While she is certainly a most honest individual ("You won't get into grad school playing like that!"), she addresses each of my weaknesses proactively and gives me the tools to be successful. I am never more exhausted than after my hour and a half lesson; it is non-stop mental and physical work.

There have been many times when I have felt like a five-year-old sitting in her living room; this is not because she is degrading or condescending, but because I see the reality that I should have learned this when I was five! Instead of throwing up her hands in frustration, she digs deeper and fights in the trenches with me.

She tells me that I'm not that old, and that I can fix bad habits.
She says it's going to be hard, this whole grad school process, but there's no reason I can't do it.
In no way does she guarantee that I will always be successful or achieve every dream, but she fights for me.

A good teacher fights for his students.
He has nothing to prove, but desires the best for each of his students.

It's hard to be a recipient of such phenomenal teaching without reflecting on my interaction with my own students.

How quickly do I give up on students? (Too bad she didn't learn this earlier.)
How frequently do I tire of repeating the same thing a zillion different ways? (When are you going to get this?!)
How readily do I embrace their weak areas? (After all, I've had a long day.)

While I do love my job, I see that I am prone to impatience in many areas. The irony is appalling. If anyone has reason to exhibit patience, I do, for I have received great patience.

I can't help but think of Jesus' words in the parable of the forgiven servant. A king forgave his servant an enormous debt, but the servant immediately turned around and demanded his own servant repay a trivial debt.

"Then his master summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should you not have had mercy of your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?' " (Matthew 18:32-33)

Shouldn't we, as recipients of Grace, be gracious to those around us? I'm finding this means patience in my job, but the applications are endless. I have been blessed, and I want to be a blessing.

The Little Girl Who Cried Over Fish

I was a very picky eater. So much, in fact, that my sister and her friend made a game out of dinner time; could I swallow each bite without making a sour face? I was known for sitting at the table well after the others had finished dinner, stubbornly refusing to eat. My parents tried the timer trick, and I went without dinner more than once.

One time, I was forced required to finish a plate of salmon and went into such hysterics that the fish swam upstream soon after I had choked it down. Actually, this happened twice. Thankfully by the third salmon-eating experience, I had matured at least a little. I ate it without overdramatizing the situation (though I'm sure I still complained! Yikes!). I was sick again anyway. This is, at least, how I remember it. My family was convinced I had made myself sick again (could I blame them after my earlier antics?), though I surmised I was allergic.

Fast forward eight or nine years. A little culture and a little Pinterest (ha!), and I found myself really wanting to try fish again. (After all, it probably was hysteria-induced vomiting the first three times, right?) Ty and I were out with friends on Sunday, and I decided to try the Mahi Mahi on the menu. I've heard it's a less-fishy fish. Unfortunately, I didn't know that Cerviche was served cold (need some more culture, apparently!). After years of avoiding fish, I was less-than-thrilled about a cold dish. It was served in a citrus juice with fresh cilantro and avocado - delicious flavors, but I would have preferred a hot filet.

Still, I ate a good amount, and we finished dinner. All seemed well. Until I couldn't fall asleep and was suddenly sick all over again.

Well, Mom and Dad, I guess it's safe to say I do indeed have a fish allergy. Can you believe I'm actually sad about it? Guess that's the payback for all my picky years. 

(Editor's note: Jessie is a significantly less picky eater these days, though she is still mercilessly teased about it. She only refuses to eat gluten, fish, and tomatoes. She will, however, eat tomato sauces and salsas.)