Thursday, July 28, 2011

This is my second post.

So my first post was my last editorial of the summer. And this post contains my very first one. It ran in The Vista the second week of June under the headline of "Redefining the Bad Day." Where it mentions summer school, just think "fall semester," and it has the same effect. 

After much mental denial, yes, the summer semester of 2011 is finally here in all its glory.
Ah, summer school.
Maybe you’re jazzed about it…or not. From snippets of students’ conversations, tweets or Facebook statuses, the dreaded biology class or some other such helpless course get bad reps.  In fact, a surprising portion of casual banter and social media fodder is…complaining.
But consider with me, if you will, for a moment.
It could be so much worse.
Since the May 24 tornadoes, I can’t help but think how absurdly lucky and utterly blessed so many of us are and we don’t even take stock of it all.
I dare complain about a little 8-week class, when there are fellow Oklahomans who now have nothing?
When that alarm clock goes off summoning us to our day’s work, do we curse the clock, or choose to be grateful that we still have a bed in house that hasn’t been swept away by Mother Nature’s latest EF-5 special?
It could be worse.
I think about the parents in Piedmont who in one day lost two kids, their home and their way of life until now.
I think about the high school graduate in Joplin, who at the dawn of his next chapter life, never got the chance to turn the page.
That my friends, is truly a bad day.
I propose that we cannot afford the exorbitant price of complaining.
At the risk of sounding flaky or cliché, remember as you drag yourself out of bed for that 8:00 class or toss your books into your 450-degree car at the end of the day, that it could be worse. Before you take a breath to complain about the science class, take another breath and realize that it could always be worse. In fact, take another breath and be glad you could.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Well, I'm here. Now what?

Hello.
My name is Samantha and I have a few thoughts to share. Some posts (like today's) contain recent material I've written. Others are devotionals and other such collection of thoughts that God gave to me as long as four years ago.

We shall see how this goes.

Leave your comments, tell your friends about this blog, and please, if you see any typos that somehow slipped by me, let me know. (I'm an editor, so typos are epic fails for me...)

The first few posts are editorials that were published in the University of Central Oklahoma's campus newspaper, The Vista. I held the editor-in-chief position of The Vista this summer and had the chance to write four editorials. This is the last one I wrote and it ran under the headline of "School of Sorrow."

Editorials generally are about news but this particular editorial is not about news. It is not about politics and it is not about the campus. It is about people.

My grandfather, who I was close to, died very unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago. Despite dealing with the grief, which will take…well, it takes as long it takes, I have learned some valuable lessons, and maybe it will help someone else through a difficult situation. If not, I guess I am mainly the one that needs this.

First of all, when helping those who have just suffered something tragic, don’t ask questions, just do. Many people were supportive of our family and offered to do whatever we needed, and I know they were sincere. Fact is, people who have just received horrific news, cannot answer questions and cannot think of what they need. If you know the family in need well enough, just make food and bring it to them. Just load the dishwasher without asking. Trust me, it is what is needed, and they will be eternally grateful. We had a few families do that for us and it makes a world of difference. Saddle up your horse and ride to their rescue.

Secondly, I have learned that catching grief causes you to drop other burdens. Suddenly, certain things do not matter anymore. Ever-pressing tasks, pesky problems and annoying memories disappeared from the computer screen of your mind. It is actually a good thing. There were several looming tasks on my calendar the week my Grandpa died and other things that had been nagging at my mind. In one afternoon, that all was swept away.

Thirdly, do not ask if someone is “ok.” No, they are not ok. A family member has just died. This phrase has become so commonplace in our day-to-day conversation, yet to someone filled with grief, it honestly feels like a slap in the face. No, we are not “ok.” We will be eventually, but not today.

Finally, if you ever think your life is not worth living, that it would be far easier for your family to not have to deal with you, please, please think again. Life is ALWAYS worth living and to decide to take yourself out of the game early will leave your family minus one player; with unanswerable questions, unspeakable grief, and silence and space where your words and life should’ve been.

In the words of a Switchfoot song, “Hallelujah, every breath is a second chance.”