tip from a four-year-old

Today I had an “awww” moment.  You know when something happens that’s really sweet, and it makes you say, “awww”?  Yeah, that.

I have an adorable four-year-old girl that I teach in one of my motor groups at the clinic on Thursdays.  After I walked her and her class back out to the lobby to meet their parents, this little girl started rifling through her mommy’s purse.  “Mommy, what’s this?”  It’s the makeup that Mommy uses so that she doesn’t look so funny, her mother replies.  As the little girl continued to empty out the contents of her mom’s purse, she got to her wallet and excitedly unzipped the compartment where she knew the dollar bills were stored.  She reached into the compartment, pulled out a one dollar bill, and quickly handed it to me.  “This is to thank you for your time,” she stated gingerly (”Awww”).  I looked at her mom, whose smile showed in the midst of her frustration with her daughter’s snoopiness, and I answered, “This is for my time?  Wow, thanks love.”  The receptionist then looked up and asked, “Did you just get a tip?  From a four-year-old?  How funny.”  After chatting with the mother for a few more minutes, I motioned to give the dollar bill back to her, but she refused, insisting instead that I “go to town” with it.

The whole ordeal was very sweet.

After a high five and a big hug from my little friend, mom and daughter exited the lobby in a whirlwind.

“That was really cute,” stated the receptionist.

It’s nice to know that, if nothing else, at least one of my kids is thankful for our time together.  I know I am.

The Adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Kiley, Day 2

Day 2 - Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Waking up in Yosemite without the responsibility of cooking breakfast over a tiny flame and miniature dishes similar to the tin ones you would see in a prison movie was quite a treat. The only drag was that our room didn’t have a bathroom, so we had to walk out to the cottage porch to use the public one if we needed to go. The Wawona is still way cozier than camping though.

After a leisurely morning, we packed up the car and headed to Yosemite Valley. We stopped at Bridalveil Falls and played around on some big rocks.

Next, we headed to Lower Yosemite Falls. We played around on some big rocks there, too.

Now I must pause for a moment and explain something for you. Throughout the months that we had been planning our trip, Brian PROMISED that we would not have to do any difficult hikes. Any time he and I have gone hiking together, it has resulted my near-certain demise…up and down Half Dome (in nearly half the time that it takes the average person), the “Four Mile Trail” (seriously almost killed me, my heart rate was up to 220), the Panorama Trail (which we did right after the Four Mile Trail, and were told it was 8 miles of downhill hiking; turns out it is mostly uphill hiking, go figure), and hiking into and out of the Grand Canyon with several days’ worth of food and supplies on our backs. The opposite of easy.

I like hiking, of course, but this is a celebration of our one-year anniversary of marriage. It is supposed to be a time to get away, relax, and re-energize. My one plea for this trip was that I didn’t want to come back from vacation needing another vacation to recover from my previous vacation. You know what I mean?

Okay, the stage is set.

So what does my loving husband suggest as soon as we have had our fun at Lower Yosemite Falls? We should hike the Mist Trail up to Vernal Falls. Come on, it would be so fun. And it’s a warm day, so the mist will feel good. Come on, just one hike, you know you want to. You’ve done that one before, it’s a super easy hike. You’ll be glad you did. It’ll be totally worth it.

I agreed, on the condition that, the next day, we could do whatever I picked to do.

Deal.

We took the shuttle over to the trail head. At the very beginning of our adventure, we spotted a baby bear. We could not spot mama bear, so we couldn’t really be sure that she wasn’t using her baby as a decoy to get us looking at the cute mass of brown fur so that she could lunge on us from behind like a velociraptor out of Jurassic Park. Thankfully, that was not the case, and the scariest thing we encountered was the Bear Encounters sign itself.

Unscathed, we continued upward. I will let you be the judge about whether it was “super easy” or not. I won’t say a thing. Not a single thing. And I definitely won’t mention that during our ascent, we passed a lady wearing a neck brace being carried down the mountain on a stretcher by five park rangers.

Once we got to the top, however, I was reminded of why Yosemite, out of all the places that I have visited in the world so far, is still my favorite place to be.

After a somewhat grueling descent and a halfway magical meal at the Curry Village buffet, we decided to call it a day and hopped back on the shuttle that took us to our car. We arrived back at Moore Cottage well before dusk, and managed to muster a game of Yahtzee before I embarked on a night of 13 hours of sleep, which began at 7:30pm.

A much-needed vacation, indeed.

The Adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Kiley, Day 1

Brian and I are excited about being married. So excited, in fact, that we ended up taking our one-year anniversary vacation this past week - the week of the 4th of July. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. I mean, we are excited about being married. That much is true. The timing of our trip, however, was not really our choice. Our one-year anniversary is September 8th, but since my sister’s baby is due September 10th (yep, she’s having a baby boy!), and since my gymnasts’ season dominates the months of August through November, and since my gym was closed for the week of 4th of July, we decided to make the most of me not getting paid all last week, and took our anniversary vacation a little early.

Three nights in Yosemite. Two nights in Arroyo Grande (located in the San Luis Obispo/Pismo Beach area, about 150 miles north of LA up the 101). We loved every minute of it. Since it would be too overwhelming to try and write a whole post about the entire week, I’m going to try to post one blog for each day, with one to a few pictures and videos to characterize some of the highlights of that day. Here we go…

Day 1 - Monday, June 30, 2008

After seven hours of driving, we arrived at the Wawona Hotel in Yosemite National Park (located in Northern California, for those of you who have never experienced the glory of Yosemite). The other two times we have been to Yosemite together, we have done the hard-core camping/hiking combination, so to arrive at a quaint-looking hotel in anticipation of a few days of relaxation was amazing in and of itself.

Once we checked in, we were informed that we would be staying in Moore Cottage, a small, square building of about fifteen rooms or so, located behind the main building.

As soon as we walked in, I noticed something odd. Located on top of the antique-looking desk near the entrance to our room in the cottage, there stood two keepsake champagne glasses, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a cute basket of succulent strawberries.

“Wait a minute, I didn’t think that came with our room!” I exclaimed.

“It didn’t,” my husband stated, casually. “I upgraded to the Romance Package after you walked away from the computer when we were booking our trip.”

All I could muster was a sentimental, awwwwww. I was so impressed. He looked at me with his googliest eyes and told me how much he loved me.

As dusk disintegrated into darkness, we joined a group of fellow Wawonians to take part in the star gazing tour for the night.  While shivering and snuggling while lying on moisture-protective tarps, our guide shared with us the urban legends of the formation of the constellations that lit up the clear black mountain sky.  As the night came to a close, we practiced using each constellation as a reference point for finding another, and I was simply blown away by the beauty of the Creator.

A fantastically sentimental and beautiful start to our long week of adventure, romance, and relaxation.

thoughts in a coffee shop.

Friday, July 4, 2008

As I sit here in a Pismo Beach coffee shop, on the second-to-last day of our vacation, I find myself surrounded by several quaint-looking mugs that host a myriad of inspiring, energizing quotes that are meant to expand the boundaries of possibility within my own mind.

While many of these passages have the potential to make their readers think deeply about life, there is one saying that has especially embedded itself in my imagination:

What would I do? What would I attempt? If I knew I could not fail?

The first thing that comes to my limited mind is the idea that I would attempt all of the arts that I have always told myself that I cannot do. Expressions of beauty beyond what words can capture. I think that I would gravitate towards watercolors, oils, canvases, throwing wheels, and dark rooms.

Next I find myself drifting off in imagination toward the art of music. Piano. Guitar. Drums. But especially piano. Oh to be able to express emotion and wonder and power through a medium that transcends language, culture, age, and gender.

But is this really a question of what I would attempt if I knew I could not fail? Or is this more a question of what would I attempt if I had the opportunity to do anything in the world? Maybe it is a little bit of both.

There is something deep within me that longs to burst through my chest when I am surrounded by artistic beauty, as if to remind me that, even though I don’t feed it too often, yes, it does still exist. Oil canvases, ballet performances, and coffee shop solos. Old world photographs, uniquely thrown and glazed clay, and the melodic striking of black and white keys. Expressions of life and beauty that are created to be appreciated.

That is what I would do, if I knew I could not fail.

What about you?

Impossible is nothing.

When I was at the Orange Conference back in April, one of the girls in our group was sharing stories of crazy things that happened to her in the past when she had asked God to do the impossible through her.  Things that defied human logic.  Things that she was able to clearly respond to by saying, “It was God.  He did the impossible through me.”

So I have followed suit.  As I drive to work in the mornings, one of the things I almost always pray is, “God, would you please do the impossible through me today?”  I know that’s a prayer that He wants to answer.

You should know that my weekdays always begin with an 8am home visit to one of the families who are faithful clients of our clinic.  I stop by for 45 minutes or so and play with the kids in such a way that helps with carryover of the homework/therapy goals that have been sent home each weekend.  It’s only been two weeks, and it’s so much fun for all of us.

Remember, I’ve been praying for God to do the impossible through me at the clinic.

This past Friday, our clinic had an early morning all-staff meeting, and at the very beginning of the meeting, the director decided to make an announcement.  She said that the dad of the kids that I work with in-home every morning made a phone call to her, specifically to talk about me.  She said that this man very rarely gives out compliments, and is not easily impressed.  But he called her “singing my praises” about what an amazing job I was doing with the kids.  Their family doctor, who happened to be over there one morning that I was there, had also noted the same sentiment and had mentioned it to the dad as well.  And the director, who has high expectations for her staff, also commended me for a job well done.

Ladies and gentlemen, exhibit A: God doing the impossible through me.  A miracle.

Jim Britts gave a sermon a few weeks ago about something related to this.  He said that when his high school students make prayer requests, they oftentimes tend to be requests that, if answered, they wouldn’t really notice that God had answered them.  To get a good grade on a test.  To not get in a fight with mom.  To not be late to rehearsal.  If those things came to fruition, would they call those miracles?  Probably not.  He said that, oftentimes, we don’t see miracles occur because we don’t pray in such a way that, if God doesn’t show up, we fall flat on our face.

So I extend a challenge.  How would your life change if you asked God to do the impossible through you, and He answered your prayer?  For one, I think that it would be easier to recognize when God’s power was at work, versus when our own power was at work.  And it’s an exciting thing to see God’s power at work.  Because it confirms that He hears our prayers and loves us enough to answer them.

We serve a great and powerful God.  But how will we really see his greatness and power unless we ask Him to do the impossible through us, so that He can receive all the glory?

is this what it would feel like?

Whenever people get really crazy busy, they like to say that they are running around “like a chicken with its head cut off.”

Today I am working at three separate workplaces.  This morning I worked for the clinic in Carlsbad for 5 hours.  Then I jetted across town to Oceanside, and worked for the sport psych business for an hour.  Now I’m heading back to Carlsbad, where I will work at the gym for 4 hours.  Then I will zoom down Coast Highway (but not too fast, for the cops are out to trap speeders during tourist season, you know) for a coffee shop meeting with a student in Carlsbad for an hour or so, and then run across the street to hang out with more students from Seven24 for an hour or so (not that I’m complaining).

Then tomorrow I will wake up and do something like that all over again.

So if I were a chicken, running around with my head cut off, is this what it would feel like?

Gotta run . . .

Breaking the Nets

The calling of the disciples in Luke chapter 5 is touching. Simon Peter, James, and John - fishermen by trade - have been fishing all night and have failed to catch a single thing. Then Jesus comes by and tells them to “put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4), and all of a sudden, their nets are so full with fish that they are breaking, requiring the aid of their partners in the other boat, nearly sinking both. The three men are so amazed that, as soon as their boats reach land, they “left everything and followed [Jesus]” (Luke 5:11).

Touching, right? Inspiring, yes?

But here’s something that I think we sometimes miss in this story. When Simon Peter, James, and John “left everything and followed Jesus,” they didn’t just do it because someone told them it was a good idea. They didn’t drop everything they had because it was the “cool” thing to do. And they didn’t even do it because their friends were doing it, or because Jesus was necessarily a charismatic leader.

Peter, James, and John left everything and followed Jesus because they saw His power active in their lives. They saw how radically different they were when Jesus was present and was working, and they wanted more. They wanted all Jesus, all the time. From fishing all night and catching nothing, to catching so many fish that their nets were breaking, they experienced firsthand the power of God, through Jesus. They witnessed His ability to provide for their needs in a way that they themselves were unable to do. And even though they fished for a living and were likely very good at it, when Jesus was working, He used their personally developed skills in order to accomplish impossible things.

But here’s the thing. None of that would have happened, and the three fishermen’s lives would have likely remained unchanged, had they not obeyed Jesus’ command to “put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” Peter retorted at first, but then said he would try. And, of course, Jesus was right about the fish.

So how is it that Jesus expects us to leave everything and follow Him? We will only truly be willing to do so when we have experienced firsthand his life-changing power of impossibility. But before that can happen, we must first obey. And before that, we must listen. And before that, we must be where Jesus is. We must draw near to Him.

And what does He promise us if we do that? “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you”(James 4:8). God wants to be near to us. He wants to work in us. He wants to supply for our needs. He wants to do the impossible through us.

He wants to break our nets when we thought there were no fish.

Will we let Him?

being creative.

How do I get my girls to understand what it means to walk in high releve? Sometimes, as a coach, you just have to get creative. And yes, those are my high heels. Every single one of them.

Coupe Releve Walks

Step Kick to “Barbie Feet”

And now without the shoes

I think my propensity for making weird faces into the camera may have rubbed off on the one in the red shoes.

oh, to be extraordinary!

When I was in the sixth grade, my teacher had us do this math exercise as a whole class. I can’t remember exactly what it was. It was a word problem of sorts, something to do with nurses and a mystery in a hospital I think. Mr. Golchert read the world problem out loud, and then he gave us a few choices as to what the answer was. He asked everyone to raise their hand when he said the answer that they thought was correct (A, B, C, or D). When he got to answer B, twenty-four out of the twenty-five students in the class raised their hand. When he got to answer C, one student raised her hand.

Me.

When I saw everyone’s hands go up in the air for answer B, I thought to myself, This might be it. This just might be the moment when I can prove to everyone that I am extraordinary. That even though everyone thinks they know the right answer, it is really me who knows it all along. This is my moment to shine.

When Mr. Golchert asked if anyone chose answer C, I proudly raised my hand high. He said I was brave. Yep, I thought to myself, and I’m going to be right, even though no one else thinks so.

My teacher asked me if I wanted to change my answer, after seeing how everyone else answered.

“Nope,” I replied. This is where I prove myself, I kept thinking.

My anticipation built as Mr. Golchert explained the concepts from our math class we had used in this word problem. I couldn’t wait to hear him say that my brave answer was the one correct answer in the entire room.

And then he said it . . . the answer was B.

I was dumbfounded. How could I have been wrong?! I thought to myself.

And yet there was a part of me that was proud of myself for taking a risk. I could have raised my hand for answer B when I saw everyone else do it. I could have. And I would have answered correctly. But instead, I stood my ground and held fast until somebody told me that there was a better way. Mr. Golchert told me he was impressed that I had stayed with my answer, even when every other single person had chosen a different one.

Why do I share this story with you? I share this story with you because I think there is something inside of us, however big or small, that desires to be extraordinary. Something that cries out to be heard. An artistic ability. A gift of athleticism. A drive to succeed in the workplace. A passion to make a difference. Whatever it is, I believe that that fiery desire to be extraordinary is something that can easily be snuffed out in this world, if we let it. There are so many things that can discourage us from pursuing the extraordinary. Working the first job we find just to pay the bills. Not knowing what we want out of life. Trying our hardest but always falling short of our goals. Being told that we are not good enough. Any of these things can prevent us from pursuing the extraordinary.

But recently, as I have been thrown into a world where I am forced to prove that I am extraordinary, and have been discouraged in various ways, I have repeatedly gone back to this story, from that time when I was in the sixth grade, and I was so sure of what I wanted that it didn’t matter what everyone else thought. I was going to prove that I was extraordinary. And I am realizing again, as a twenty-four-year-old, that that passionate desire to be found extraordinary is still alive in me.

And I don’t want to let anyone in this world snuff it out.

mind-boggling fingerprints

God is funny. He has a way of boggling my mind that . . . well . . . boggles my mind. Let me explain.

I often see God’s fingerprints on my life when I reflect on the ways that he has put certain events in my life into succession without me really even being aware of them. I fully believe that God puts circumstances and people in my life for specific reasons, so that I can experience challenge and success now as a means of preparing me for challenge and success in the future.

For example . . .

I recently started a new job at Innovative Therapy 4-Kids, where I teach sensory-motor classes that contain anywhere from two to seven kids with various special needs. Not the easiest job in the world, but I believe I am fairly successful at it because . . .

For the past two years, I have taught gymnastics at the Magdalena Ecke YMCA in Carlsbad for literally every age group of children, from infants to teenagers. Because of my job at this particular gymnastics facility, I am not only experienced in teaching classes of several crazy and rambunctious children, but I have also learned from the best. My boss Quin is known all over the country as a gymnastics coach (he was a college coach for a while), and in particular for his ability to teach preschool-aged and recreational gymnastics classes. He teaches at gymnastics conferences and clinics so that he can train other coaches in how to do what he does. He really has a gift. And he has shared it with me. His daughter is just like him in her personality and methodology of running her classes, and she just so happens to be one of my dearest friends. She has her dad’s gift. And she has shared it with me. But I have only experienced this gift because . . .

Two and a half years ago, in December of 2005, my husband made the decision to accept the position of College Resident at a place in Oceanside, CA called New Song Community Church. Much of the reason he was offered the job was because . . .

When Brian was in high school up in Sacramento, he had this youth pastor named Jim Britts. Jim later went on to accept a position as youth pastor down in Oceanside, CA, at a place called New Song Community Church. After Brian started college at UCLA in 2001, he and Jim would meet up for lunch every so often. In the summer of 2004, Jim asked Brian to be New Song’s summer high school intern, which included living in Oceanside for three months. Since I was training for gymnastics in LA at the time, and since Brian’s and my one-year dating anniversary took place while he was interning in Oceanside, I came down and stayed with Jim and his wife Rachel for a week in August of 2004. One of my college teammates at the time was living and training in Carlsbad for the summer, so, like any good athlete would do while preparing for pre-season, I went to her gym to train with her during that week. It was called the Magdalena Ecke YMCA, and it was in Carlsbad. I was training in the summer because . . .

My UCLA gymnastics team had just won our 2nd consecutive national championship, and I needed to train hard all summer in order to be able to contribute to another good season. Brian knew this about me and was very supportive. He knew me pretty well by then. But the only reason he knew me at all was because . . .

In January of 2002, we were taking the same Sociology 1 class. But the only reason we ever knew we were in the same class at all was because . . .

In January of 2002, I broke four bones in my left foot during my first ever collegiate competition. I was sentenced to crutches for the entirety of our 10-week winter quarter. While I was bummin’ it on the computer in my dorm room one day, leg elevated and all, I came across a class profile website for my Sociology 1 class. I breezed through the profiles to see if there was anyone I knew in the class. I came across the profile of a guy named Brian, and I liked it. Sports. Working out. God. Sacramento Kings. Granite Bay. I got his AIM screen name and we chatted a few times before we met up after class one day. The crutches made the initial greeting a little awkward. But I was no stranger to crutches because . . .

When I was 14 years old, I broke my fibula and tibia while training for an elite meet. The first day of summer vacation after my freshman year of high school, 1998. After two surgeries, I decided in my head that I was done with gymnastics. Before that, everyone thought I was going to the Olympics. And not just the, “Oh, you’re a gymnast? Do you want to go to the Olympics?” My coach was on the National Team Staff, and apparently he talked with everyone all the time about “this kid he has back at his gym in Sacramento.” It was a big deal. So if this injury was going to screw up everyone’s plans for me to go to the Olympics, then there was certainly no reason for me to continue. Time for me to have a normal life, I thought. No more two-a-days and nonexistent social life. Then my dad suggested that I consider collegiate gymnastics. I was appalled. Why would I want to continue in such an awful sport? I thought. Now is my chance to get out while I still can! But I gave the idea a chance. And the only reason I gave it a chance was because . . .

For as long as I can remember, I had wanted to go to UCLA. My dad graduated from UCLA, and so I had grown up watching UCLA basketball games on TV, wearing UCLA gear, and visiting UCLA’s campus on our way down to Disneyland as kids. I got straight A’s all through high school, but even with good grades, the only realistic way I could get into such a competitive academic institution such as UCLA was through gymnastics. So as I began considering what it could be like to be a collegiate gymnast, I became encouraged. However, my practice time at the gym was limited due to my injury, so I started volunteering after school one day a week at my church, playing with and tutoring kids for the underprivileged community that surrounded us. It was through that experience that I discovered my passion for volunteering and for empowering struggling children to succeed. I’ll never forget when I couldn’t make it one week, and the next week I was told that eight-year-old Lisa wouldn’t do her math homework last week because I wasn’t there. We always did her math homework together. It broke my 14-year-old heart. But the only reason I thought to volunteer with kids in the first place was because . . .

When I was ten years old, I got my first babysitting job. It was for our neighbors across the street. They had two - and then three - baby boys. I loved babysitting. I loved kids. I realized I wanted to work with kids my whole life. I decided I wanted to be a doctor for kids. Yes, that’s what I’ll be, a pediatrician. My path is set. As I began college, I discovered that I was not cut out to be a doctor after all. And so God changed my path. He brought me through the fields of Education, Psychology, Social Work, Public Policy, Research, and Teaching.

And so here I am now. The year 2008. The challenges and successes I experience now, built upon the foundation of challenges and successes I have experienced in the past. Not one worthless memory. And even though the path often seems winding and difficult to understand, now I know that God simply wants me to “Trust in the Lord with all [my] heart, and lean not on [my] own understanding. In all [my] ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight [my] paths”(Proverbs 3:5-6). This is my favorite verse of all time. I have lived it.

Where God has me right now - it’s perfect. A blend of things that are known with things that are unknown. With the combination of my current lack of a therapist certification, my desire to gain the most experience possible before entering grad school, and the state of our current economy, the classes I teach at the clinic are exactly where I need to be right now. They are the things that parents can afford when they can’t afford to do therapy. So I am provided with a paycheck and with experience, and the parents and children are provided with a service that supplements something that they otherwise could not afford.

It all goes back to the chain of successes and challenges. And the chain is too powerful for me to be able to say they are just events that happened to lead one to the other.

Nope.

It’s God.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.