I'm an Author

"Dreams, if they're any good, are always a little bit crazy."  ~Ray Charles

One of the bucket list items that I have had on my list for a long while was to have an article published in a magazine.  I almost didn't put this one on the list.  It seemed like something that might not be obtainable, and I'm not a fan at failing.  But I went ahead and wrote it down, figuring that the whole point of a bucket list is to try and dream big, right?

Well last week I had two articles published in Seeing The Everyday.  It's a great ad-free magazine that is all about family and togetherness and how the little moments that we have in our lives are important.  It was so exciting to open up the magazine and see my very own name listed after "author."

So today, I'm going to share the articles with you.  But I'm also going to remind you to dream big.  Set goals that seem beyond your reach.  Go after something you want.  Because you never know what might happen.  With that....here they are.

Best Gift

Ask my dad about the prohibition on admitting hearsay testimony at trial. Ask him about how many minutes a quarter lasts in girls high school basketball.  Ask him the weight of a typical Holstein cow. He’ll be able to tell you about them all.

These are examples of my father's best gift to me. Did my dad have some inner love for the Federal Rules of Evidence or high school sports or dairy cows? No.  He is a simple mechanic and rancher who did not play high school sports, has never been to court, and does not raise dairy cattle.  He had no interest in these things, but my dad had an interest in me.  And, because of that, he took an interest in the things that were important to me.

I remember shooting baskets and my dad coming out to rebound for me or make suggestions about my form. He had never played basketball, and perhaps in a private conversation he would tell you that Single A girls athletics were boring. But he was there helping. When I judged dairy cows in high school he helped me study for the test by asking me the average weight for each different breed.  We spent hours studying for that test.  That work and time together was special.  Our relationship wasn't the only benefactor of that time side by side - we were State Champions and Reserve National Champions.

His commitment to our relationship hasn't changed since I've become an adult. When I would prepare for a mock trial in law school we would talk about the issues in the case, the motions in limine, and how we planned on getting certain statements in. Again—with no legal background at all, he simply cared because I did. And when we got the evidence in and won the trial, he sat in the back of the courtroom, beaming with satisfaction. 

Even last month when I was running a 5k early one morning  Dad called the night before to be sure I knew it was going to be cold and that I could wear tights and a jacket to stay warm. 


Knowing that you have someone behind you, who supports your interests even when those interests are completely different than his own, is a gift,  maybe the best gift that a father could give. I know that my dad is always in my corner truly supporting every effort.

An Old Kitchen Table

I grew up in a trailer house in Eastern New Mexico.  A small laminate covered table separated the kitchen from the living room.  It was nothing fancy.  It was not carved from oak or covered with marble.  But as I look back on my childhood, I realize there was no place that shaped the person I have become more than around that old kitchen table.

That old kitchen table held countless birthday cake: for a blonde haired, blue eyed girl turning three; for grandma dressed in a bathrobe turning 80.  After my grandmother passed away and her home was sold, that table became the gathering place for the entire family--all 40 of us--for Thanksgiving dinner.  On the old kitchen table, history papers were written, 4-H record books were completed, and corsages were set out before the prom.  

The true value of that table was best seen in the normal life of each day.  Every evening at 6:00 pm, my family gathered around the kitchen table.  We all ate together; the television was turned off, phone calls were not taken.  These were rules that my parents wisely planned and upheld.  For 18 years, we ate dinner together at that table--my dad, mom, younger brother, and I.

And during those meals, we talked.  I mean really talked.  Beyond the mere recitation of what we learned in school that day.  We talked about politics and wars.  My parents were open with us about the difficulties that often faced our family farm.  My brother and I gave our opinions on issues facing the nation, and our family. 

At that old kitchen table, we learned to listen, to analyze, to form opinions, and to express them.  We learned to converse with adults about serious issues.  We were taught lessons about life and death, about friendship, about budgeting, and about love.

In our modern, fast-paced world, there is great value in an old kitchen table:  the chance for a family to eat together; for children to learn to communicate, think, and understand how to solve issues that will occur throughout their lives; for grandmas and three-year-olds to blow out birthday candles; for papers to be written about Anne Frank; and for photos of show lambs to be glued into an old green booklet.  Despite that modern, fast-paced world, Mom and Dad showed us how to foster the relational joy and development that takes place at an old kitchen table.