The miracle of the plane delay and unwanted rain

You will not believe what I am about to share with you.  It is a lovely story.  Get a snack and some juice.  You will like it.

Five years ago, I went to my first international RYLA conference in Chicago.  I was asked to be interviewed on tv.  I met lots of amazing folks.  The founder of RYLA told people I was his best friend.  I marched in a parade through downtown Chicago.  I ate Chicago pizza and rode the L.  But of everything that happened that trip, the most memorable was meeting a kindred spirit of a person named Zdenek.  He is from the Czech Republic.

We instantly hit it off despite every single obvious difference we had.  No common language.  No common history.  No common occupations.  No common life story except we are Rotarians.  That was enough.

We were together again the next summer in Malmo, Sweden for another RYLA.  Happier then the summer before, because we had year of friendship behind us.

I have had him as a Bob the Builder a while ago because he thought it would be a good idea to build a $1 million dollar Boy Scout facility for the scouts.  So he did.  It is just how he rolls.
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Without sounding strange or churchy, last Friday night I had Mr. Fun give me a blessing for my trip this week.  If you know what that is, good on ya.  If you don't, essentially it is a prayer given for my behalf from my husband and God. 

While it is not my nature to put intimate special things out here on the blog (I mean talking about my long nose is as about as personal as I have gotten) I feel like this is too cool to not share.

On Friday, during the blessing, it talked about special tender moments that would come my way and I would always remember them.  In my mind's eye, I could see it involved Zdenek.  Over the years, we had many conversations about Mormonism and what it all means.  He is very intelligent, and has many questions.    He has always been very interested, in a positive way.  When I was listening to the prayer/blessing, I could see us talking about the LDS church doctrine and that I was suppose to give him something.  I cried after the blessing and distinctly remember telling Mr. Fun that I know I had some special something to engage with Zdenek with.  

In my sleep that night (Friday) I dreamt that I was suppose to bring Zdenek a cd of LDS music.  Mormon Tabernacle.  Not the hymns, but the folks songs one I have.  And I was not suppose to bring him a Book of Mormon.  For a LDS person to feel they should not give someone they care about church information is a little unusual.  But I followed my heart and packed the cd and left the book at home.

I was suppose to fly out Saturday afternoon.  Bad weather in Chicago cancelled my plane until Sunday morning.  Which means that I  didn't get to go to the Cathedral in Montreal on Sunday morning as was my plan. 

So I went today because I will not meet up with my committee and any of the RYLA people until Tuesday at 12:00. 

I just lounged around all morning in my hotel room this morning, hoping the annoying rain would clear.  If it had, I would have gone to the Botanical garden instead. 

But because the plane was delayed, I couldn't go to the church yesterday.  And the rain stayed so I went to the church today instead.  I was hungry, but I felt like I should go to the 12:30 English tour of the church.

During the tour, the guide had to tell a guy in the back to stop taking pictures twice.  I thought to myself  "he must not speak English very well."

When the tour ended, she pointed at him and said "You can take your pictures now."  At the end of her pointy finger was my buddy Zdenek.

Shock is not EVEN the word for it. 

Montreal has 1.6 million people in it.   And here in some random church that is not of my faith, in some country that is not native to either of us, we were together with 17 other folks on a tour we both randomly selected.

After our initial shock, the first words he said was "I do not believe that God has accidents."  His daughter is with him for our conference and we all spent the afternoon together.

The story doesn't stop there.  After we found a cafe for lunch, the first thing he started to ask me about was the church doctrine.  Not how my family was.  Not about RYLA or Rotary.  It was about church.

The story in short is a respected business man he knows has spent some time in Utah as of late and told Zdenek some things that are not true.  He is worried about me and what I believe.  But we have five years of friendship together, and we were able to connect.

Mr. Fun has a saying "There is a God, and I am not Him."  I do not even begin to see how God could orchestrate our adventure today by delaying my plane two days ago, but He did and it worked.  It has given me and Zdenek time to talk together without all the RYLA folks everywhere.  It has given me time to think about his questions and how to best lay his concerns to rest.

There is a God.  And I am not Him. 

Thank goodness.

My Wii-al Age

The good news is that we have a Wii now so we can track our health. Rumor is Mr. Fun is too “stout”, The Boy is too heavy, and The Girl is too skinny. Nothing was commented on me so I must be just right, right?


The bad news is that my Wii age is 57.

I went from feeling good and sporty in my new hair cut for the Montreal/RYLA trip to feeling like burning all my clothes and converting to Hinduism so that I can cover my body in extra large saris—which of course then desperately increases my chances of drowning in my house, as we learned last blog post.

Mr. Fun, who hasn’t been doing yoga in the basement or watching his carb intake and even has a bigger BMI index than me didn’t Wii “age” so high. Totally unfair.

Even The Boy, who hasn’t attended a PE class in three years was less old then me, comparably speaking.

So, as I sit here in the airport, I have had to time ponder this conundrum (nice word, eh? The Girl learned it in 8th grade science class from a cool teacher—the kind of teacher that set his desk on fire to catch the kids attention).

This is what I have decided.

I wish there was a magic pill for me. Not so that I would be thin or have a perfect body. I wish there was a magic pill for me to take so that I could finally come to some sort of peace with my body and whatever it really looks like. For years, my husband (and some others) have told me that I have some sort of distorted body image problem. I have read about it. I have studied it. Yeah, I think they are right. I do not have real and clear true concept of what it looks like. It is kind of a pain, no doubt.

I think I know where and when it started.

Ted from 4th grade recess.

If you have never seen me, I have a sharp, long pointy nose. Always have, probably always will (unless of course Mr. Fun becomes a VP of the world and a major amount of discretionary money is laying around for a nose job only AFTER I have given most of it away to the poor and needy—which I read in the Bible today that that they need a voice for them so I actually might be on the right track …).

Kids had always said stuff about my nose since I started school—pretty mean most of it. The worst was “Pinocchio Popper” (my maiden name). It is true, to a little kid it does looks pinocchioish. However, by third grade or so, the novelty had worn off and we had all moved on.

Then, in the fourth grade, we were moved to the Upper Playground, as it was called. The Upper Playground was like going to Heaven from some non-descript place, although the snow burms weren’t as good, high or sturdy for snowcaving like the Lower Playground. It also had a covered bench area for when it snowed or rained. See what I mean by “heavenly?”

Ted was a grade ahead of me so we had never crossed paths before. But with the jump in playground status, he noticed me there. And made sure everyone else did.

He was ruthless. I think sometimes he searched me out on purpose just to make fun of me and my nose.

It wasn’t every day. It wasn’t all recess. It wasn’t like some sort of movie where I was covering my face and hiding behind the portables. But it was enough to consistently remind me that I was imperfect. So imperfect. This went on until he left in the 7th grade to the Jr. High a couple years later.

When we were in high school again together, he would still mention it on and off.

Do I think he had it out for me? No. Do I think he was doing it because he liked me? No. Do I think he was just a stupid insensitive boy? Yep.

The sad piece of collateral damage is that it laid out a path for my self-doubt in my perception of what I deem to be pretty.

Wait. No, not pretty. Just physically acceptable.

This is the strange irony of it all….I am on my way to Montreal for an International conference that I helped design and will help direct. I am the only female in the world on this special committee asked to serve and do this. I will hurry home to direct another leadership academy in Missouri that is used as model program for the entire world for Rotary International. I have been winning awards for various activities throughout my whole life. I was a collegiate athlete. I was an Olympic Torchbearer. I have jumped on the Great Wall of China. I have the greatest pair of green pants to travel in…even with their newly acquired “Chik-Fil-A” grease stains.

I married the nicest man I have ever known. I have some terrific children who are trying to choose the better way and do their best. I have amazing bestie friends, doing some amazing good in the world.

And what am I thinking about here in the cubby space in the Chicago airport?

Man, I feel fat.

In a way, Ted is sitting right next to me. Right here in Chicago. Perhaps Ted has been with me all these years…an uninvited guest in my subconscious, still taunting me and making me feel less than what I could consider myself to be….

I am thinking that Dr. Phil would say that experience I had as a kid was a “defining moment.”

PS/ I Facebooked Ted. He is there…fat.

Bon Voyage

I am going to Montreal tomorrow.

International Rotary RYLA program. 

I have so much I want to write but no order to my thoughts.

I will tell you that I learned something about the women

of Bangladesh that I wanted to share with you.

Did you know that more women from Bangladesh

drown in seasonal floods per capita than any other place?

Strange eh?

You want to know why?

One reason is because they wear saris.

They are lots of material, which gets heavy

in water and drags the women down.

Another reason is they are not allowed

to be taught to swim.

Another reason, which is perhaps the

craziest one of all, is that they

are not allowed to leave their homes

without male chaperones.

So, if their house is flooding and

no male is in the home to escort them

out, then they are not allowed to leave.

They have to stay in their home,

with water pouring in around them,

and they drown.

Assumingly, them and their children.

I have thought a lot about those

drowning Bangladeshian women over the

last few months.

What does this have to do with Montreal?

Nothing.

I guess as I decide how I am going to get from the

airport Saturday night to my hotel in

a foreign country without any chaperone,

I am glad I am not Bangladeshian.

Have a great week.

Friar Val

Everybody loves a Friar.  :)

Have a great week...

Adam Ondi Ahman

Far West