One Word

/ Laura Phelan / 1 Comment

In the last 48 hours alone, there’s been an abundance of words. President Obama’s last speech, President-Elect Trump’s press conference, and one Senator testifying against another for the first time in history over a cabinet position. Then there was my youngest daughter’s meltdown about having to wear her hair up for dance and the argument between the two of us that followed. So. Many. Words.
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My guess is you get it. You, too, are surrounded by words. Some are loving, yes. Some encouraging. But some are biting, ugly, even destructive. These words come from others, but they also come from us.

This New Year, my family took part in a different kind of resolution. In conjunction with my dear friend Jess’s website gather&grow, we sat down as a family to do something revolutionary in today’s culture. We chose one word. Just one. 

Jess included a few questions to help us come up with our words and a printable to write them down (you can get them both here). We gathered together with pencils, crayons, and rubber stamps to begin a year-long journey with a single word.

As a freelance writer, words are my livelihood. I’m also a people person who has no fear in addressing a room full of people. I literally live and breathe words. So choosing just one was a tall order. In fact, the idea wasn’t even on my radar.

Then one night over the holidays, my friend Josie came over to bring me a gift and stayed for a glass of wine. In our conversation, she mentioned she was doing the one word resolution, inspired by #OneWord365 and MyOneWord.org. I was intrigued. New Year’s night, after my family was all asleep, I sat alone, admiring our Christmas tree for the last time. The next day, we would take it down and pack everything away. trust

And there it sat. My word. Written in my own hand a year ago at an advent service. I wasn’t even 100% in on this one word thing. Yet there it was. How did I know it was my word? Well, to be honest, it scared me to choose it. It was perfect.

Words are powerful. They have meaning. Throwing strong words around lightly can be catastrophic. I think most of us can agree that regularly watching it happen on a national platform is, at the least, unsettling. For me, it’s terrifying.

So what if we all choose a word?  One word. What would the impact be around us? Why not give it a shot. Do you really want to grow this year? Think of a word you don’t want to choose. That’s probably the word you need. 

Now write it down. Hang it up where you can see it. Ours are on the kitchen bulletin board, on the wall the leads to the coat and bag hooks. We will literally pass those words every day for a year. And my hope is, for each of us, our word will guide us, shape us, change us for the better.

Happy New Year.

 

 

It’s All You!

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

Being a mother to young children is a mixed bag. Sometimes, it’s downright miserable. Like last week when my loving daughters passed the stomach bug to yours truly (hence no post). Most of the time, it’s a matter of survival – days full of laundry, paperwork, homework, and trips to the grocery store. But sometimes it’s absolutely magical.

This week I had one of those moments. My eight-year-old was working on a reading comprehension assignment on women’s suffrage. After she went to bed I checked her work. This is what I found:

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I did a double take. Yes. There it was. “It’s all you!”

As I mentioned in my first post, my daughter was floored by the election results. It confused her and opened her eyes to the world in a new way. When she heard the news, I spoke words of love and hope to her. This week, when I read the answer above, I knew she took my words to heart.

A month has passed since the election, and the holidays are upon us. For some, this is a time to rejoice in new leadership. For others, this is a time to reflect, to ponder where we go from here. For me, this is a time to take my daughter’s words to heart.

My generation has grown reliant, complacent, and cynical, leading many of us to be uninvolved. In politics. In charity. In our own communities. That ends now.

I can make a difference. And I will. So can you. You may feel you’re too small, too busy, too something. But you’re not.

Just today, I had lunch at school with my six-year-old daughter and some of the girls in her class. Behind us was a table of children with significant special needs. One of my daughter’s friends waved to a girl at the table. Then she pointed to her mouth. “Wipe your mouth!” she called pleasantly. “You have some food on your mouth!” The girl did so, smiling and enjoying her lunch just as we were.

My daughter’s friend turned back around and looked at me. “She can’t talk, you know.” I told her I knew. “She’s older than me, and she can’t talk.”

I told her it was nice to let her know she had food on her mouth. She gave me a slight smile that said, that’s just how we do it around here. We help each other out. 

Now, it’s important to note that my girls’ school is a special needs magnet with a strong integration program. The kids grow up together, interacting on a daily basis. Children with severe learning disabilities are part of their normal. This first grade girl wasn’t making fun of the girl with food on her mouth. She was doing her a favor, friend to friend. But she did something that mattered.

It mattered to me. It mattered to her friends. It mattered to the girl at the other table.

A small moment from a small child that was anything but small.

As a parent of young children, I see plenty – tears, laughter, snot, and scrapes to the knee. But I also see moments of hope for the future.

Want to see change? Start small. Stand on the shoulders of the suffragettes. Of rule breakers and world changers. Lend a hand. Give a smile. Don’t let fear or sorrow keep you down.

It’s all you.

A lesson from the Pilgrims

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This morning, America awakes to another Thanksgiving. The 396th to be exact.

In nearly 400 years, we sure have come a long way.

Earlier this month, I took my daughters downtown to the Children’s Museum of Atlanta to explore the Magic Treehouse traveling exhibit. The exhibit features interactive play areas from three of the books in the expansive series, including the one about the first Thanksgiving. We caught this part of the exhibit during story time at the museum and found ourselves alone. This gave the girls plenty of time to gather clams from the water’s edge, roast meat over an open fire, and set the table for the first feast. We talked about how much physical labor children did back then, what they wore, and so much more. It was a tangible lesson at an impressionable age.

Watching my girls role play the first Thanksgiving, I was struck by the differences between then and now.

My daughters paraded around the exhibit in img_2816overalls and red Chuck Taylors. At one point they asked a question I didn’t know the answer to. My little one said, “Well, we can just ask Siri, Mama.” And the open fire thing? Recently, we revised their cho
re chart to include real chores, like vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom. Even that. To have a vacuum and a bathroom to clean. How far we have come.

But that being said, there are similarities between us and the first settlers on America’s shore. The Pilgrims came to this country to escape persecution, to be free to worship the way they wished. My guess is the majority of them came for their children – with the hope that they  would have that and much more. I’d like to even think that some of the women, as they started the morning fire and woke the children to start the days’ chores, dreamed of a time when their daughters would have the opportunity to be more.

Today, immigrants still come to American to escape persecution, not to mention poverty, war, and other hardships we can’t even imagine. In short, for a better life for their children. And for those of us born here, the desire is the same – that our children will have more, be more.

Later today, when you dig in to the feast before you, take a lesson from the Pilgrims. When they crossed the vast ocean in the Mayflower, they were all in it together, whatever may come. 395 years later, we’re all still in the same boat. The landscape may look a bit different, but the hope of the people remains.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Lend them your ear…

/ Laura Phelan / Leave a comment

img_2896Do you hear that? It’s the sound of feet hitting the pavement. It’s the sound of a sleeping
giant waking. It’s the sound of a new generation mobilizing before they even know what the word means. Just listen…

Yesterday, I received an email from Girls on the Run, an organization that empowers young girls through exercise, congratulating my family on our completed 5k this past weekend. It was our daughters’ first, and my husband and I proudly ran it with them. It was a big moment for our family. But as it turns out, it was a big moment in more ways than one.

Say what you will about the election, but the outcome shook me deeply. Not from a political standpoint, but from a moral one. Over the past week, many of us found ourselves searching for who we are, both individually and collectively, on a base level. I read a fantastic piece in the New York Times this week about that very subject. It helped me process why I grieve our country’s decision.

Living in a suburb of Atlanta, the strides I see in race relations and the inclusion of those with disabilities, immigrants, and refugees, to name a few, are admittedly different than for those living elsewhere. My church helps settle refugee families in our local area, and in some cases, employees them. We house the homeless in our building for a week at a time, inviting our guests to eat with us, attend classes with us, worship with us. My children attend a small public elementary school that houses a large special needs department serving other area schools. It also happens to have a more diverse student population than most of the schools around us. We live with inclusion every day. I’m not tooting my own horn here, I’m simply painting a picture of my world.

Therefore, the realization that a large art of the population voted for a man who spoke words denouncing a larger part of the population – immigrants, minorities, women – is upsetting to me. Now I understand many of his supporters say they don’t agree with all Donald Trump says. They say they aren’t racist, or misogynistic, or hateful. They want to see change in Washington. They believe we need a stronger leader. I get that, and don’t entirely disagree.

Please know that if you voted for Trump, I’m not labeling you as a racist here. But to me, that vote validated what he said. A vote for Trump gave his words power.

To my 8-year-old daughter, the outcome of the election sent the message that bullying is okay and women aren’t good enough. When she heard the news, she simply said – “How, Mama? How?”

Before I go on, we must remember that kids see in black and white. And black and white for my daughter says the bad guy won. It’s simple really – someone who says mean things about her friends and classmates, or things that scare them, is a bad guy. She’s confused. And she isn’t alone. There is an anti-bullying campaign sweeping through schools across our country. Perhaps you’ve heard about it. Well, it made school children sit up and listen during this election cycle. It made them talk about issues they don’t necessarily need to face yet.

To be clear, I didn’t tell my daughter that Trump is a bully. She decided that for herself.

She asked how he won, and I told her. I explained the electoral college. I explained the media’s role in this election. I explained that, to be honest, there wasn’t really a good choice this year. I told her that an alarming number of people in this country just didn’t vote. But I also explained that there were many people who wanted Trump to win. And that too was okay. Therein lies the beauty of this country.

Then I pulled both of my daughters into my arms and I told them that in our family, we will continue to be kind, to spread love, to stand up for what’s right, and fight against what’s wrong. I told them it would be okay.

A few days later, our family headed downtown Atlanta to run that 5k. Unexpectedly, a simple road race was a balm for my soul. Over 3,000 people ran this race. Girls ran this race – with their coaches, with their moms, with their dads. Atlanta police officers lined the course, cheering us on, giving high-fives to my daughter as she passed. There was excitement, there was unity brought about by a shared goal. That’s when I heard it. Little feet. Moving.

You see, Girls on the Run isn’t for the elite. More than half of the girls in their programs participate in training and running the 5k at no cost. This is an organization that is changing lives. And we inadvertently stumbled into it. My girls weren’t even on a team. I was just looking for a 5k they would enjoy. I found it. That morning, girls who represented all that a major metro area has to offer – different classes, different races, ran together. It was inclusiveness at its best.

Then came yesterday’s email with a simple message scrolling across the top: the finish line is just the beginning.

It went on to say that the organization’s foundational belief is that girls are inherently full of power and potential with the ability to change the world.

Over the last week, you may have heard the words, “What will I tell my children?” You may empathize with this. You may scoff at it. Well, what about this? I’m not telling my daughters anything. I’m showing them. I showed them this weekend. And I’ll continue to do so. The giant awakes.

You see, Donald Trump is not America. Neither is Hillary Clinton. We are America. You may be hurting now, or you may be elated. You may be shaken. You may be motivated. Wherever you stand, the finish line of the election is just the beginning: the beginning of our chance to speak. As women. As men. As immigrants. As minorities. As Americans.

So lace up, girls. I’ll show you how to get moving. Then go forth. In ten years or so, vote. Change the world. We need you – those on the right, those on the left, all of us. We need you.

To the rest of us, I say, listen. Hear it? A new generation of Americans are finding their voice.