A note to graduates: a road that TRULY makes all the difference

It’s not the road less traveled that makes all the difference.

It’s taking the road in the first place.

And being thankful you’ve got legs for the journey.

Certainly, it’s important to reminisce about educational accomplishments and ruminate on sage advice of well-paid commencement speakers. No doubt, the ethereal, castles-in-the-air stuff resonating off the walls of high school gyms contains important travel gear for graduates.

But the wisdom isn’t one-size-fits-all.

A greater wisdom waits beyond those walls: wisdom from folks who work 40- or 50-hour weeks, raise children, and spend decades stretching toward dreams and hopes which only sometimes — and sometimes never — culminate.

It’s a wisdom for graduates who’ve never quite found their place, never quite figured out their dreams, or had others choose dreams for them.

One of the most admirable stories I’ve heard was from a multi-degreed mother and father who, years ago, encouraged their son (who had more than one serious learning challenge) to jump off the college expectation train.

“What do you really love?” his mom asked him.

“Well, cars. Yeah. I love working on cars,” he replied.

“Then you go and you work on cars,” his mom and dad said.

And so he did.

Despite the fact most of his classmates chose college, the young man is working on cars to this day, and has become quite successful. Folks come from all over the region to bring their cars to his business.

This brave young man and his even more courageous parents knew something seldom preached at commencement ceremonies. They knew the importance of following your dreams — not the dreams of administrators or statisticians, neighbors or friends.

So, dear graduates, follow your dreams.

And while you’re at it, stash a few of these not-so-typical tips in your rucksack, in case dreams evaporate and you’re thirsting for something to salve the wounds of real life:

1) Work hard. Period.

2) Do what you love, even if it’s not cool and none of your friends are doing it.

3) Give back. Find a cause you can believe in — something bigger than yourself. Volunteer for it. Support it. The sooner you figure out you’re not the center of the world, the better.

4) Know you will fail. Before you walk away from the failure, look back. Humble, willing folks learn most from their failures.

5) Think ahead. Plan now to create a life with enough margin to enjoy hobbies, loved ones, and life.

6) Own up to your mistakes. People will respect you a lot more if you say you’re sorry. And mean it.

7) Find a mentor — someone who does what you love. After you’ve learned from them, find someone you can mentor too.

8) Listen to people older than you, even if you think they’re clueless.

9) Be thankful. The happiest people are grateful people.

10) Step onto the road best for you with confidence.

Do this, and you’ll have fewer regrets than most.

Take it from someone who’s still trying to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up.

Rewards aren’t at the end of the road.

Rewards are on roadsides and pathways of the winding, stretching, journey.

A journey chosen with passion.

A journey all your own.

And that, my dear graduate, is what makes all the difference.

*****

(This column originally appeared in the June 2, 2010 issue of the Zionsville Times Sentinel.)

Last newspaper column: Moving on with thanks and hope

Some friends of mine are moving out of their first home.

The home they perfected with post-wedding dreams and flowers.

The home they first brought their babies to, wrinkled, new and swaddled tight from the hospital.

“Isn’t it hard to leave?” I asked her.

She thought for a moment.

Her answer surprised me. “No, not really. We ‘ve run out of space, and besides, I really don’t get too attached to places.”

Contrast that with me, feelings on my sleeves, hardly able to drive by our first neighborhood without welling up with tears. The willow tree we planted, small and wispy, has long since engulfed the entire back yard with thick and billowing branches. And I can almost smell the baby powder and vanilla of sweet, pastel baby toys still wafting from the windows.

Each move we have made, physically or emotionally, has its challenges and rewards. No place—tangible or unseen—is perfect or stagnant. Change comes like the unstoppable shifting of the seasons, bringing with it the chance to either see things new and budding, or focus on the detritus of annuals which succumbed to the cold, hard winter.

And so it is with the life of a writer—or anyone, for that matter. New callings and opportunities arise. The seemingly constant path becomes weathered and worn. And roads untraveled call to us to move on.

It has been quite a privilege, serving this community with words for nearly three years. What you might not know is that I prayed before I wrote most every column. I prayed to bring you words which encourage and bring hope, while at the same time gently nudging you to take notice of places in our world—indeed, at times next door—which are calling we who are more privileged to lend a hand and send justice their way.

Places like Haiti after the earthquake.

The gulf coast after the oil spill.

Uganda as folks fight to put an end to Joseph Kony.

Indianapolis as it fought sex trafficking during the Super Bowl.

Churches building up and reaching out to neighbors.

Mostly, though, I tried to take something oh-so-daily and twist it . . . paradigm shift it . . . turn it so as to capture a new reflection, thought or idea.

And so it is with great gratitude and a bittersweet heart that I say goodbye as your weekly columnist. Not good-bye to writing, though. If you’d like, you can always follow my weekly blog posts, find updates about my future novels, and read all my past columns here on my blog.

In the meantime, keep looking for twists in your life.

You know, things like laughter and sunsets, lilacs and smiles. Things like parenthood and dogs and paint and rental carpet cleaners.

After all, it’s not the moving that’s hard.

It’s all the things you forgot to appreciate along the way.

Many blessings and hope to you all.

Thank you.

New column: An unlikely (tail) of redemption

Last summer when we first met Dempsey, his small, fragile frame didn’t predict his giant destiny.

We should have known his crooked grin, lop-sided ears and paws, whittled down to stubs, would win hearts and change lives.

We should have known Dempsey would teach us great things about traveling the road less traveled, which leads from brokenness to redemption.

You might remember Dempsey’s story from news reports last spring. Last May, Henry County Humane Society workers nursed Dempsey back to health after he was found with severe and infected burns to his feet, stomach and tail. Officials determined the burns were purposefully inflicted by his then-owners, and charges were filed against them.

An article from the Henry County Humane Society newsletter reported, “Given that he was a boxer mix, and was fighting to survive, the little guy was named Dempsey, in honor of Jack Dempsey, by shelter staff. Dempsey continued to show his fighting spirit by surviving Parvo after his burns began to heal. We all knew that this little dog had a mission in life, and after a few weeks we found out just what that mission was.”

Indeed, his mission is being fulfilled today by his owners, Zionsville residents Rich and Eileen Orban, and their two daughters, Kelly and Kara. Eileen, the education coordinator for the Pike Township Fire Department, learned Dempsey’s story and was awarded ownership of him last summer. Now Marmaduke-esque in both size and lovability, Dempsey goes with Eileen to all kinds of schools to teach kids about fire and burn prevention. Dempsey has even made  special visits to the Hoosier Burn Camp for Children and Camp Brave Heart, a week-long specialized residential camp for children who are burn survivors healing from physical and emotional scars.

Dempsey, the dog who nearly died, spends his days reducing even the burliest firemen to grinning boys. He inspires classrooms full of wriggling children to respect fire, each other, and all living things. As bandaged, burned children reach out to pet his fur-covered scars, Dempsey teaches the wounded they are not alone . . . that healing, though painful, is possible . . . that love, in spite of hate-inflicted hurt, can win.          

Dempsey still has a lot of hardship ahead of him. His deformed paws cause him to limp and walk crookedly and awkwardly, which causes his joints to bear weight they were never intended to carry. He’ll have to have more and painful, expensive surgeries to remedy those things.

Even so, Dempsey has found redemption.

He fought for it, after all.

And as with many who’ve traveled that same road, his healing provides proof beauty really can arise from ashes.