Integrity

Tonight's newspaper had someone grabbing the headlines...

and up in the smaller spot, appropriately above the fray, someone smiling and showing us the way.

Take a look for yourself:

Chancellor Katehi meet Jim Sochor.

Jim Sochor was the beloved football (and golf) coach for UC Davis for 30 years.

He was humble and soft spoken.

He was a gifted listener and genuine in every way.

People responded to his work ethic.

His kindness.

His ability to out-perform against more talented and more funded football programs.

Mostly, they knew they were in the presence of integrity.

He was honest.

Dependable.

Real.

True to his word.

Chancellor Katehi, are you listening?

There is a reason that Coach Sochor could walk around town 

and talk to anybody at any time with that shy smile.

He was approachable and appreciative.

We could feel his authenticity.

He was the definition of beloved and admired.

In this time of uncertainty and shady-doings by our Chancellor, 

Jim Sochor's legacy is a reminder of what an Aggie really is.

UC Davis isn't lost.

We know what is valued.

We're not flashy...

or shady...

or attention-seeking...

We're the Jim Sochor version:

head down, working hard,

letting the effort and the work speak for itself,

finding a way to be the best when the odds are against us.

This quote is what it means to be an Aggie:

"We knew that everybody we played would be bigger, stronger, faster and 

more talented than we were. 

We had to find a way. 

And that way was that no one would be closer as a team than we would be. 

Our central values became trust, unity, togetherness." 

-- Jim Sochor in a 2007 interview

Trust - Unity - Togetherness

This, right here, is the way we find our way back.

Our path to healing.

I went to school at UC Davis when Trust, Unity and Togetherness were real 

and available right on campus...

students, they still are -- available right this minute.

Integrity matters.

We can lift the pepper-sprayed pages of our recent history and dive deeper to to our shared history with this man who leaves such a remarkable legacy.

He leaves a legacy of love.

Friendship.

Kindess.

Care.

Those who knew Jim Sochor well - and even those of us who only knew him from short, quick limited conversations - knew what mattered most to him:

family.

But, funny enough, he pretty much considered all of Davis to be his family...

and we all happily signed up to stand in his sunshine.

We each get to choose how we spend our days.

Our micro-choices add up.

Do we choose kindness?

Unity?

Trust?

I do.

I choose Jim Sochor's Aggie Pride.everytime.

Instead of Googling pepper spray,

Google Jim Sochor.

Google Larry Vanderhoef while you're at it.

Those two don't need any internet scrubbing. 

Just a chance to internet shine.

This coming Saturday will be a day that we all stop and remember a terrific human.

He's deeply missed...his absence so painfully noticeable.

But, he crossed our path for a reason.

He showed us how.

Strive for unity, trust and togetherness.

Seek the good.

Stay honest.

Work hard...and make the magic happen.

Jim did.

We can too.

"Fame is a vapor.

Popularity an accident.

Riches take wings.

Only one thing endures

and that is character."

-- Horace Greeley

Seeing What Hasn't Been

He arrived into our school following on the heels of a woman 

who had taught music at our school for decades. 

She was beloved and gifted.

She taught the students hymns and songs that were inspirational.

She taught the students to play the bells at Christmas.

She loved music and she was a professional.

Teaching music with a pride and a respect that was mirrored with her singers.

He came bearing a guitar, strumming the kindergarteners toward the music room like a Pied Piper.

I liked him immediately.

She was traditional.

He liked Coldplay.

He played so many instruments I lost count.

He jammed.

He flowed into Classical music.

Mostly, he believed every single kid could become a musician.

And so he set out to do just that.

His first motley group of 3rd graders attempted the recorder.

They practiced and adjusted and considered learning notes.

Meanwhile, he jammed with the kids who wished for a garage band in the upper grades.

He guided beginning band kids.

He created a choir.

He listened to kids who had dreams.

And he dreamed.

B-I-G

Only two years into this job, he wished out loud:

Our students are going to sing at Disneyland. 

Huh?

Did he see different kids than we did?

Was he best friends with someone at the Magic Kingdom?

Pretty sure that you have to be on the A Team to get to do that.

But he prepared his students, sent in an audition tape and got accepted.

Dang.

Now, when that is happening at your school, you're happy for those kids.

But you're not really sure your kid can be one of those.

Our family...we have nice people and we are definitely good fans...but music?

Not our strong suit.

Zero musicians.

Anywhere.

Zero singers.

Not counting the shower or the car, of course.

[I rock that.]

So, my kid tells me after playing the recorder that she wants to do band...

and I support her...

rent the clarinet and smile.

Because I think I know the way this story goes.

Only I don't.

Once a week, she grabs her clarinet case and heads to school early and in a few weeks, 

she's reading music!

She's whistling.

She's singing in the shower...and around the house.

She starts looking up songs online.

This becomes normal.

And we just go with it...because, you know, you never know.

And the Disneyland gig is coming around again...

and well, maybe your kid can sing in it.

So she trots off to choir and brings back candy to sell, and songs to sing and finally a permission slip.

It seems that we will be going to Disneyland.

And poof!

Something I could never picture before now enters my line of sight.

Disneyland.

We make our way to California Adventures.

We find the Monsters, Inc. ride...

we see a stage...

and yes, there they stand.

This is real.

This 4th grader of mine is up there.

Singing and harmonizing and holding notes.

I've heard her group sing...but this is different.

"I felt the music like a physical thing; it didn't just sit in my ears, it flowed through me, around me, made my senses vibrate." -- JojoMoyes from Me Before You

Those words.right.there.

It was a waterfall...

droplets of sound landed on my body...

tears sprang to my eyes.

The words they sang kept circling around me like an embrace:

Let every heart be filled with music...

it's a never ending gift that circles back again.

Take my hand and sing with me.

Music builds a bridge -- it can tear down a wall.

This is why we sing.

Take my hand and sing with me.

Share the joy, find a friend.

Live your life out loud.

Let your voice be heard...if you dare.

The music teacher, Mr. S to the kids...paused and explained about dreams and America and how we live in a place where anybody can dream...

and then he handed the stage over to an 8th grader.

She wrote a song.

And Mr. S. -- with all that he has going on -- stopped what he was doing and listened to that song.

Valued those words.

Honored that dream.

Supported that student in the biggest way that he could...

his choir sang back up for her.

Singing behind her and through her wisps of hope and future,

these back up students shared the dream too.

What kind of teacher takes his shining moment and turns the spotlight onto his student?

Someone who is the business of teaching hope...

not just music.

Someone who can see what hasn't been...

who can visualize great accomplishments for any child.

Who believes in his students. 

                                                

Mr. S. had all sorts of students sing solos.

So many had a chance to shine.

But this moment...that's was the one where I just sunk into the words and the transformation that was happening right before my eyes...

"What would happen, if we tried?

Could we spread our wings...and learn to fly?

And together we could see that the world is ours...

we could shine like stars...

we can dream.

ooooohhhhoooo

We can dream.

ooohhhoo

We can dream.

ooohhhooo

We can dream."

We can dream.

In this world that is busy telling you to be sensible,

and to hurry things up,

and squish all those feelings underground,

we have Mr. S....

actively building bridges to opportunity

and chances

and dreams.

He offers the chance to dream

and then builds the staircase...

one step at a time...

bit by bit.

This is no joke.

No Easy Street.

Skill +Practice +Determination +Personal Investment = Dreams Coming True

But Mr. S. will be there.

Every step of the way.

Telling you what he sees...

and seeing what's never been.

Mr. S., there are no words.

Only great big sobs of joy...

tears of appreciation...

sighs of seeing something so beautiful that came to be because of your hard work.

In a little music room, day in and day out, 

during recess and before school,

you make it happen.

You're in the business of teaching

but you're also in the business of building.

Tonight, I'm grateful for the grace of a musician turned music teacher turned dream maker.

This sky full of stars...

what a heavenly view!

Thank you.

Dancing Between The Good Things

Today I had to run to the grocery store -- no food for dinner -- fill up my gas tank, take my bike in for its flat tire and quite a few other errands all at the end of the day.

The grocery store was my final stop.

My in-and-out-one.

My super quick - I can do this in 15 minutes one.

Nice try.

As I was walking and concentrating on that list in my mind, Jeff came up.

Jeff is one of those people that lives in my town but I only see in one place ever:

the grocery store.

I see him at all times of the day.

He hangs out at the grocery store.

He's older...usually has his black backpack in the cart along with one or two items.

The grocery store is his community.

Jeff is someone that some people avoid.

He's eccentric.

He's loud.

He's out there and just by talking to him he puts you out there too.

Before Patrick, I would have considered my grocery list more important than Jeff.

I would have felt uncomfortable...and hurried...and bugged by this guy.

But after Patrick, my heart cracked open in a way where now every little person on the planet counts.

There are no randoms.

I don't discount the interruptions.

The sideways detours.

The super bizarre roundabouts that life takes me on.

Because of Patrick, I've been talking to Jeff for years.

Saying hi at first.

Listening to his math stories -- because he is a math genius.

The rumor is that he was a high level math instructor somewhere.

Over the years, I've given him my address so he could write me a letter.

"You never have to write back. It's ok. I just like to have people to write to."

He's found out about my job with teachers and asks about them...or my family.

Seeing Jeff at the store is a spot of sunlight.

He makes me pause and helps me know what's important.

Often, he will say something that will soak into my heart like it was a parched slab of earth.

Tonight was one of the best.

I asked him how he was doing.

"Oh," he says, "I'm dancing between the good things."

I smiled.

He went on...letting me know that it is our choices that make our life.

Our attitude that determines if our life is good or bad.

That we can change the day even in the middle.

Just what my parched heart needed to rain down.

Dancing between the good things.

What if we did dance in the hard spots?

Instead of laying down...or curling up in a ball...or sitting alone through the crap...

what if we danced?

What if we believed in that deep down way of Jeff that the good things were mere dots that needed connecting? 

The blank space left for dancing?

*****

After his explanation about how having a positive attitude can make everything better.

He paused.

Suddenly, shy and embarrassed.

Like he had an invisible sand timer that suddenly ran out.

He looked up and said, "I should let you get shopping." 

"I'm practicing my social graces."

And with that, he abruptly turned his cart around and went off down the aisle.

Silly Jeff.

He doesn't need to practice any social graces.

He's dancing between the good things.

His grace is pretty obvious.

The rest of us might need some practice...but not Jeff.

Here's to dancing...

and living your life out loud.

Here's to beauty found in the grocery store...and grace freely given...

even late on a school night.

Multiplication

I feel the heat of a social media frenzy.

It makes me cringe.

I feel embarrassed.

I completely sympathize with Cam Newton.

Why?

An email I wrote in a passionate moment to a school that denied my son entrance has been revealed.

My 20 year old daughter, sitting in her apartment in college was so disgusted 

she wanted to let it loose.

Like some message in a bottle, she shouted into Facebook, and shared her conflict and disappointment at the relative hypocrisy of a school that holds the motto, "Men For Others".

It seems that one of our sons is a Man.

Our other son, with Down Syndrome, is the Other.

I actually wasn't surprised by their decision.

I knew it would be a tough sell.

Before Patrick, my son with Down Syndrome, I fully admit that I would be the one not letting people in...not believing in the capability, the equality, the urgency of learning together.

I don't resent Jesuit.

I don't want to hate on them.

Or shame them.

Or even torment them.

Trust me, the heat they must be feeling from this social media blitz is more than they are used to...

and must feel uncomfortable.

Mary Kate's post on Facebook was not something I encouraged.

In fact, I actively discouraged it.

I wanted the whole process to stay private.

Like I was negotiating with a terrorist, I was afraid the pin might drop.

Jesuit had all the aces.

I was dependent upon them for even the slightest, tiniest welcome.

I knew it was a game I would most likely lose.

And it didn't feel good.

But Mary Kate was adamant.

She wanted to do this...

and when it happened, I just let it be.

Here is her post:

"This past week my brother was denied admission to Jesuit High School Sacramento. The high school my older brother attended. The high school my family has endorsed and supported over many years. Patrick was not denied because he was unqualified, but rather because he has Down Syndrome.

It's difficult to believe in a religion that is based on "treating everyone the way we would want to be treated"  and that "we are all made in the likeness and image of God"  when situations like this occur. But I refuse to be sad or mad about this. The only people who should feel sad are the administrators, teachers and students of Jesuit High School who will never get the opportunity and privilege of knowing Patrick, not only as a student but as a friend. 

My mother said it best in this beautifully crafted statement: "You can know that by not allowing Patrick into your school, you are continuing to marginalize a segment of the population that is already the most marginalized group in our country. You are perpetuating the myth that disability is such a hurdle that you cannot get over it. You are even contributing to the abortion rate -- because any student that knows Patrick knows that his is a life worth living and would not be able to condone abortion.  

I will continue to pray for all of the people, like you, in leadership positions to open their hearts and minds to students like Patrick. The educational research is irrefutable. The academic scores go up for all students -- the social emotional health of all students improves. It is worth every effort. And yet, we continue to be stymied.

Why?

Fear? the perception of the student being a burden? The pervasive prejudice that is allowed to continue in our country toward people with intellectual disabilities? 

In this Year of Mercy , all we can do is redouble our efforts and continue to work tirelessly on behalf of the least of our brothers. You can be assured that I will be doing just that." 

Siblings are virtually never heard.

When do they get to say their peace?

When do they get to acknowledge that they live in a world that sees disability as brokenness 

when their reality is the opposite experience.

Mary Kate sees Patrick as an equal...deserving of opportunities.

She understands that he will need support, 

but she doesn't think the two things are mutually exclusive.

Mary Kate posted on Facebook on Friday night.

24 hours later, her post has been shared close to 300 times.

Shared by strangers, friends and family.

Shared by groups that work for inclusion and families that dream of inclusion.

Shared over and over and over again.

********

When you have a child with a disability, you feel very alone.

Isolated.

Frightened.

Insecure.

Vulnerable.

You feel the weight of making every decision carefully and intentionally.

You cringe when you ask for an opportunity.

You hold your breath...and expect the no.

Sometimes you are surprised by a quick and kind yes.

But many times you hear the words, "we just can't do it".

You sigh and wonder what it's like to have all that power.

You wish they could see your child as just a child.

You connect with others...but feel alone.

Watching this post get shared over and over again felt like the craziest,

 most universe-binding hug I've ever had.

Strangers stood side by side with family members...all sharing the story...

and leaving the question hanging...

Why say no?

********

It's been the kids who have been amazing.

Watching both of my older kids advocate out loud has been breath-taking...

but their friends...

their articulate disappointment...

their stunning shock...

their "I stand with you" solidarity,

 that is the inspiration as well.

They get it.

They always do.

Us adults need to just get out of the way sometimes.

I don't know how the story is going to end.

I don't need to.

For this minute, on this day, I feel such tremendous community and connection and care that I can barely soak it all in.

Our world is changing.

Tiny baby step by tiny baby step questions are getting asked...

by the kids!

Left in their hands I feel so much hope.

When Patrick's classmates are old enough to be principals, they won't say no.

That idea alone: a parent asking and hoping...and a classmate of Patrick's remembering his or her own experience of what inclusion is really like...and saying yes....

that right there is the good stuff.

Mary Kate, you did it differently than me...but you sure did a beautiful thing.

Wish out loud.

I know that grace.

I know that beauty.

Let's keep doing it.

Together.

Washing Your Hands

Lately, the world seems to put me in very weird situations.

It seems to be asking me

no, demanding of me,

that I stop and take notice.

NOW.

Tonight I ended up in a care home for people who are needing a whole lot of medical care.

The person whose room I visited was a complete stranger.

I was visiting with the person who was going to visit her...

and somehow, I got included in on the visit.

This person has been struggling with a severe health crisis since June.

She is completely immobile.

She cannot move her fingers.

Cannot move her legs or arms hardly at all.

She is dependent on someone to feed her, offer her a drink, move her...

virtually everything.

Yet, here she was...bright eyes, kind smile, warm and welcome.

The good news is that she will very likely completely recover.

The bad news is that it will take a while.

A long while.

As we made small talk about favorite TV shows...or good singers...my mind wanted to curl up into the corner of that room and just sob at the arduous journey this single mother of three is on.

I wanted to scream and yell and demand the process to hurry...

Yet, there she was...grace in the flesh.

On the path, she'd made peace with it somehow, and showed us the way.

After the visit, I went to the restroom and I washed my hands.

I lingered in the warm water...moved my fingers, fiddled with my ring...

said a holy hello to these instruments of joy that I never properly thank 

as they toil day in and day out.

Hands...thank you.

Feet...thank you.

Eyes and ears and tongue and mouth and lungs...

THANK YOU.

Thank you for this gift.

Right now.

Offered freely every day.

Thank you for friends who visit others in hospitals and can't help 

but hug you right into the visit yourself.

Thank you for the gift of grace...

rescuing me...

encouraging me...

inspiring me.

If your body allows it, go hug someone.

Go sing.

Go dance.

Go laugh and cook and cherish and read and love.

Make a phone call.

Take a deep breath and wash your hands.

Crazy Love

I would often see him when I was dropping Caroline off at school.

He would zip in and drop his girls off at school and head off.

He was a great big bear of a man.

His love was palpable.

Crazy love.

I knew it well.

My husband has that same kind of crazy love.

We rarely exchanged words...

maybe an occasional smile.

But because of that crazy love,

I knew I liked him.

I could feel the blanket of love he wrapped around his two girls, myself.

I didn't even know his name.

Oh, but I knew him.

Knew he'd be the kind of guy I could hang out with at a barbeque.

Someone I could dish with...

...because that crazy love was something we had in common.

Now, my chance is gone.

Yesterday, I learned his name.

Mark left us...

bound for a place filled with even crazier love.

Deeper, more mysterious.

Jaw-dropping and wonderful.

It's hard to imagine...

and all of us left behind just want another few days,

well, maybe weeks or years or 

damn it, decades.

*****

I read a book a while ago called The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

It's about two teenagers who have cancer.

I don't want to give anything away because I want you to read it...

it's really amazing...

but at the end someone has to speak about the terrible torture of a shortened life and uses this quote:

"Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. 

I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for _____. 

But, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. 

I wouldn't trade it for the world.

You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful."

"a forever within the numbered days"

"our little infinity"

That's all any of us get.

Yes, some infinities are bigger than other infinities

and none of it makes any sense.

Why should someone with so much crazy love

go so soon?

Why should someone else who is a rock solid criminal live into old age in prison?

In moments like this I wonder why this love, this life, 

this chance to breathe deep and hold close those we love the most,

why must that end?

But again, I know, that I don't get to know...

not just yet.

On this side, I get to sink into the questions;

try to fight the quicksand of believing we can figure it out.

What I know...all I know...

is that energy doesn't disappear.

I know for sure that Mark's crazy love is cosmic bubble wrap surrounding his girls 

and his wife, Debi, forever.

I know that we are all better for witnessing that kind of love.

I know that his girls have been loved oh so well by their dad.

Isn't that all that matters?

How well did you love?

How deep did you love?

Who did you love?

Mark wasn't stingy.

His crazy love surrounds us all.

*****

"We are travelers on a cosmic journey,

stardust,

swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity.

Life is eternal.

We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other,

to meet,

to love,

to share.

This is a precious moment.

It is a little parenthesis in eternity."

-- Paul Coelho, The Alchemist

My Guest House

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival. 

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

-- Rumi

Tonight I read this poem at just the right time...so I'm thinking you might need it too.

Lately, things have been hard.

Not necessarily directly for me or to me but swirling around for people I love,

it's been hard.

Real hard.

And I stand in awe of those people...

getting out of bed,

every single day,

putting their lives on and getting out there.

Sometimes, when the universe forces me to s-t-o-p and wait in a long line or

sit in traffic,

sometimes I tear up at the bravery of every single one of these people around me

cloaking themselves in the love of family or good music or faith or whatever
gets them through that day
and out into this hard world.

It's hard...no way around it.

But, then I read Rumi's ancient words

and find comfort.

I've experienced the violent sweep...

a crowd of sorrows,

 as Rumi so heartbreakingly writes.

I'm sure you have too.

And I have to admit that I never thought of that as a guest...or a guide.

Maybe now I can.

So, tonight, I'm grateful for my guest house...
for tomorrow's new arrivals...
and the chance at another day.

And, I'm grateful for you.