Ringing in the new year

Ever since I was a kid, New Year's Eve/Day have been my least favorite holidays. How can the best holiday of the year be followed a week later by the worst?

New Year's Day historically means only one thing to me: An entire day of sitting around watching football, just like Thanksgiving and somewhat like Christmas has become. While the NFL has capitalized on Thanksgiving and Christmas, New Year's belongs to the sponsors of college bowl games. The other night I watched part of the Meineke Car Care Bowl. Can you imagine the excitement of the two teams when they found out which bowl game they'd go to? "Whoopee!!! We got invited to the Meineke Care Care Bowl!" I suppose the title of the bowl game doesn't matter -- the teams just want to get to one. (However I won't get started on the fact that half the Division I college football teams go to a bowl game now. The University of Colorado Buffaloes, who finished the season with a 6-6 record, went to the Independence Bowl, which, by the way, they lost Sunday night.)

They still have the old-fashioned bowl games, like the Rose Bowl, the Sugar Bowl, the Orange Bowl etc., but they are known first by their sponsor names, like the FedEx Orange Bowl and the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl. Get your chips and salsa ready for that one. I'm still waiting for the creation of the Oxy Clean Toilet Bowl and the Kellogg's Cereal Bowl. Or how about the Panda Express Rice Bowl?

When I was younger New Year's Eve, at least, was a bigger deal. My parents used to host a party, where they and their friends would gather to eat shrimp. drink and play board games. When I was a teenager, my friends and I attempted a progressive dinner on New Year's Eve, but we didn't get past the appetizers because every restaurant in town was so crowded, we gave up on going to a different place for each course.

This year New Year's Eve and Day will be quiet in our household, as usual. Mike has to be at work at crazy hour both days (4 a.m.), so we're not going to be doing much late-night celebrating on New Year's Eve. Not that we would anyway. The turning of 2007 to 2008 calls for more reflection than celebration for us. I have spent some time the past few days thinking back on 2007, which was a great year in some ways for us but pretty frustrating in other ways. We've had some challenging times and hard lessons to learn about people and about life. This fall it seemed like we had one inconvenience after the other, climaxing with the water heater incident earlier this month. All of these inconveniences are minor as individual incidents, but taken as a whole, they challenge us to stay positive and realize sometimes seasons of life are just tough.

Here are some things about 2007 I'm thankful for:

-- Visiting my alma mater, the University of Missouri-Columbia, in January, after not having been there for more than 10 years.

-- Getting to see Mike's alma mater, the University of California-Berkeley, during a trip to the San Francisco area in March.

-- A great summer. We took several day trips and a couple of weekend trips to places in Colorado we'd never been or hadn't been in a long time. Most memorable was a day hike in August along an old mining road from Crested Butte to Marble.

-- A great Beginning Reporting class in the fall at Metro State College of Denver. Each class I teach is so different because each group of students gives the class as a whole a different personality. My students this fall were a joy to teach because they were eager to learn and highly motivated.

-- The Colorado Rockies' amazing post-season run to the World Series. I got to see the Rox clinch the National League championship in Denver and went to my first World Series game with my dad, brother Jeff and sister-in-law Sue. Mike got to cover the World Series games from Denver and Fenway Park in Boston. Despite the Rockies' loss in the series, "Rocktober" is a month we'll never forget.

-- In September we celebrated my mom and dad's 40th wedding anniversary with a suprise party and went to Mike's brother's wedding in Hawaii. You can't complain about a year too much if it included a trip to Hawaii, right?

As I've gotten older, one thing I do notice about New Year's is that I experience the hope of a new year more than I did when I was younger. I know it's a cliche, but I look forward to a fresh start in 2008. I've had fun this week putting our Christmas decorations away and in the process, cleaning some things out, throwing a lot of stuff away and making things different.

Out with the old and in with the new. I'm ready for it. How about you?

White Christmas

I woke up around 7:30 this morning, opened the blinds, and what to my wondering eyes would appear . . . SNOW! And lots of it.

I've lived in Colorado most of my life, and this is the first time I can remember it snowing this much on Christmas Day. According to the weather record books, it's snowed in Denver on Christmas Day only 13 times in the past 106 years. This is number 14. The record books also say the most snow that's fallen on Christmas Day was in 1912, when the city got two inches. We're expecting 6-8 inches today.

And by the way, this storm was not forecast. I went to bed last night expecting it to be cold today, but there was only a slight chance of flurries. It's a Christmas surprise for sure.

My husband Mike couldn't really understand why I was so thrilled to see it snowing this morning. He's a California boy, and snow is just snow to him, even on Christmas Day. It's so special to me because I know how rare it is in Denver. Last Christmas we had lots of snow on the ground -- Christmas Day actually fell between two blizzards that dumped a total of about four feet of snow. But no snow actually fell from the sky on Christmas Day. (The photo above was taken from right outside our condo on Dec. 21, 2006, the day after the first blizzard hit.)

And besides, there's nothing better than a snowstorm on a day when you plan to be inside, drink coffee and hot cocoa, open presents and watch movies. We have nowhere to go, so let it snow!

As for the movie today, I think I'm in the mood for "White Christmas."

Trying to find the Christmas spirit

I started this holiday season with a lot of Christmas spirit . . . I was eager to put up Christmas decorations, make cards, bake cookies and wrap presents. A question posed by the pastor of our church this weekend made me think: What is the "spirit" of Christmas anyway?

An incident at our house last week seemed to zap the spirit right out of me. The water heater in the condo unit above us went out, sending gallons and gallons of water into our walls and carpets. It has been inconvenient, for sure, as we've had to move our furniture out of the living room and office, live pretty much out of our master bedroom, take down Christmas decorations, and live with dehumidifiers and fans drying everything out. Meanwhile, we wait for our neighbor's insurance company to work out the particulars of who is responsible for all of this financially.

At this point, I just want my house back in order, but that's not likely to happen anytime soon. It kind of makes Christmas seem like an inconvenience, with all the baking, Christmas-card sending and wrapping yet to do but not much motivation to do it anymore.

Is that the Christmas "spirit" -- the doing, the running around, the spending, the giving of material things, the lights and decorations that get us into the "mood" of the holiday season? Is it the warm feelings, the wishes of peace on earth and good will toward men, as all the Christmas card verses indicate?

Every year I battle the expectations of Christmas versus the Christmas I'd like to find. As a kid it was all about Santa Claus and gifts. As an adult woman, it's about all the things I think I should be doing . . . creating the "perfect" atmosphere that all the female relatives before me set out to create as well.

Our pastor this weekend said something else that made me think: You can't expect to get out of Christmas what Christmas can't give. Can a holiday really bring you peace and joy and love and hope? Why is it that Christmas usually brings stress and depression and anger and disappointment?

I read a series of books this year, the A.D. Chronicles by Bodie and Brock Thoene, that made me rethink Christmas. The books focus on the ministry of Christ, although the fifth and sixth books go back and tell the story of Mary, Joseph and the birth of Jesus. Like the 2006 movie "The Nativity Story," the story reveals just how poor and brave Mary and Joseph were, how lowly the birth of Jesus really was, how anticipated his coming was among the Jews. The nativity scenes in our living rooms and on our lawns don't do it justice. To me, the story reveals how "off" I've really been about Christmas.

It makes makes me think of my favorite Christmas song. Here are the words:

"Welcome To Our World" by Chris Rice

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God
You've been promised, we've been waiting
Welcome Holy Child
Welcome Holy Child

Hope that you don't mind our manger
How I wish we would have known
But long-awaited Holy Stranger
Make Yourself at home
Please make Yourself at home

Bring Your peace into our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled
Word now breaking Heaven's silence
Welcome to our world
Welcome to our world

Fragile finger sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart whose blood will save us
Unto us is born
Unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God
Welcome to our world

This week I seek a different spirit . . . the Spirit of Jesus who lives inside me and whispers to me every year to put aside what I think the holiday season is all about and embrace what it really is. Maybe I needed a broken water heater and all of the inconveniences that have followed to stop and listen to His voice.

Wiping out the competition

I found this story in today's Rocky Mountain News online interesting. The Boulder Valley School District will eliminate valedictorians from high school classes beginning with the class of 2010. At first I thought the story would be about our society's latest attempt to make students feel good about themselves by wiping out the competition, this time the competition for being at the top of one's class. I guess you could see it that way. According to the story students will now be bestowed with honors usually reserved for universities and colleges -- the cum laude, magna cum laude and summa cum laude designations. Those designations don't single out the top individual. Instead, the top 3 percent would be summa cum laude; the top 7 percent magna cum laude, and the top 10 percent cum laude.

Still, I'll bet a lot of students in the school district's most competitive schools will likely graduate with honors. It wouldn't surprise me, given the fact that the average grade is now a B. The students in my college classes complain when they get a C. Hey, a C is an average grade. It means they're performance is in the middle of the pack. It might as well be an F for them. I don't think it's because they're all such high performers either. A few are, but I think most are just used to getting A's on everything. "Hey, I show up to class," they think. "I should get an A."

Don't get me wrong -- I know there are school districts and universities where the competition is fierce. My high school was one of them. We had 11 valedictorians in my class of more than 500. All of those valedictorians got straight A's -- we had to vote on who got to give the speech at graduation. (This was in 1990, before school districts weighted honors classes, pushing the students who excel in those classes above a 4.0 grade-point average.) There were another dozen or two students who had gotten only one or two B's their entire high-school career. In Highlands Ranch, Colo., where I live, the high schools have a good reputation, and many students are your typical over-achievers. In poorer, more urban school districts, the challenge is to get students to graduate. Here, the pressure is great to get the best grades, be involved in all the right activities and get into the best colleges.

It's interesting to me how the pressure diminishes and the achievement holds less meaning for those who get excellent grades in college. I graduated from the University of Missouri School of Journalism with a class of about 200. Only a handful graduated with honors. I was disappointed in high school not to be valedictorian (I was one of those who got one or two B's), but in college I graduated cum laude -- the bottom rung of those three designations of graduating with honors. I was pleased with it, though. I worked my tail off. No employer ever hired me for my college GPA, but I worked hard because I loved to learn and wanted to do my best.

This brings me to another interesting thing: Why is there so much more hoopla associated with graduating from high school than graduating from college? It's never made sense to me why our culture views graduation from high school as the launching pad to the rest of your life, when you really spend the next four to six years still under mom and dad's wings. Why do all the aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins come to the high school graduation, but students (and therefore their families) often skip their college graduation ceremonies, as if it didn't mean anything, when college graduation is actually more meaningful because not everyone achieves it?

Forgive me, I can see I've digressed. I guess this calls for a part II of this blog on another day . . . .

Where were you 10, 20 and 30 years ago?

I read this on a friend's blog today and, I'll admit it, I stole it from her. She didn't "tag" me with this "meme," and she explains below, but I think the topic is interesting and thought I'd give it a shot to remember back in my own life.

Where were you 10, 20, and 30 years ago?

In the blogging world, when you are ‘tagged’ by a ‘meme’ it means that there is some topic or (usually) a question going around that a blogger writes about and then challenges other bloggers he or she knows to answer as well. Some consider the practice silly or rude for a variety of reasons, and some bloggers refuse to participate. However, if you find the question one of interest you can search by labels, titles, or keywords – or just follow people’s links – to spend hours seeing what others have to say about that topic!

Here goes for my life:

November 1997: I was 25 and had been a reporter at the Greeley Tribune for four months. I was covering night cops (i.e. keeping up with the police beat at night), working from 1 p.m. to 11 or midnight each night. It was a very lonely time in my life. New town, new job, few friends, stressful job. Work was my entire life. I lived in a dumpy duplex apartment near the University of Northern Colorado. I had some interesting neighbors, to say the least, and I remember being a little scared when I came home at night. I tried to make that place my home, but I couldn't wait to move out, which I did the following spring. My job eventually got better, too, and I made some friends. I stayed in Greeley and worked at the Tribune until May 2004.

November 1987: I was 15, a sophomore at Arvada West High School in Arvada, Colo. I had braces and ate a chocolate shake and sour-cream & onion potato chips for lunch each day. (How did I manage to be so skinny back then? Duh . . . I was 15.) My high school at the time was only a three-year high school with 10th, 11th and 12th grades, so the sophomores were the babies of the student body. Even so, that first year of high school was a much better experience for me than my entire three years of junior high. I had a few good friends, and I'm still friends with them today, if you can believe it. I worked really hard to get good grades. Most of my afternoons and weekends were spent doing homework. I knew I wanted to be a writer and thought I'd probably go into journalism. My hardest class that year was biology. The easiest and most fun for me was 10th grade English. I remember my English teacher saying in front of the whole class how good I was at grammar and punctuation. I was mortified -- being smart wasn't "cool" (that didn't happen until college). But it was a foreshadowing of things to come. That understanding of the English language has served me well as a journalist and a journalism teacher who now is a stickler for good grammar.

November 1977: I was 5 years old, living in the home I grew up in in Arvada, Colo. My older brother was 8, and he and the other boys in the neighborhood tortured me mentally. They'd sit around on their bikes in the middle of the street. I'd come along and try to join them with my pink bike with streamers dangling from the handlebars. They'd make fun of me. Somehow, I just didn't get that I didn't belong. I also had an adversarial relationship with my little brother, who was only 1 year old in November 1977. He was too young to truly be my adversary, but I resented having a little brother (I wanted a little sister) and was adjusting to being the middle child, not the youngest anymore. (In case you're wondering, I don't think of my little brother as an enemy anymore. I'm glad I grew up with two brothers.)

Down but not out (yet)

The first-ever World Series game in Denver was an incredible experience. I'm glad I got to go. The atmosphere was incredible (at least until the 8th inning when the Rockies tanked), and it was meaningful to be there with my dad, brother and sister-in-law. I wasn't very happy about the outcome of the game -- the Rockies lost 10-5. The Red Sox fans gloating among us didn't help. (I guess Bostonians have a lot to be smug about. They're sitting on top of the sports world with the Red Sox on the verge of a World Series win, Boston College at No. 2 in the college football rankings and the New England Patriots at 7-0 this NFL season, albeit they've been caught cheating and got only a slap on the wrist for it. Many even predict the Boston Celtics to win the NBA championship. ) This morning I have come to a very simple, maybe simplistic, conclusion about the Rox vs. Sox: Boston is simply playing better baseball.

Conventional thinking says the Rockies are out of the series entirely, and Boston will likely sweep tonight. I'm expecting that in my head, but my heart hopes the Rockies will win . . . if they can just win one game, not worry about having to win four, then maybe there's hope. Those who over-analyze the game would tell me I'm ridiculous for thinking those things, that I might as well resign myself to the fact that the Rockies have lost the big championship. After all, no team has ever come back from being down three games to none. The chances of the Rockies doing it are slimmer than slim. I know what the world says, but I still have a right to cheer on my team and hope against hope for them.

A listener of KOA radio, on which the Rockies games are broadcast, wrote an e-mail to the station with the following link to an article about the Rockies in the New York Times last week. (Click here to read the story.) The listener also wrote about how the Rockies situation is similar to the story in the movie "Facing the Giants," about a small-town high school football coach who determines that whether his team wins or loses, they're going to praise God. After reading the article in the Times, I can see how that applies to the Rockies . . . win or lose, they're still trying to do the right thing, still trying to go about winning and losing the right way. Win or lose tonight, God notices what they're trying to do . . . and that's really all that matters in the end.

The agony of defeat

I'm trying really hard today to adjust my attitude after last night's dismal performance by the Colorado Rockies in the World Series.

They lost to the Boston Red Sox a whopping 13-1. I turned off the game in the second or third inning. I couldn't watch the Rockies, the team that has become the epitome of underdogs in the last month, get squashed so badly.

Mike is taking the defeat much more in stride than I am. He's in Boston this week covering the games. He found out Sunday night that the radio station he works for was sending him to be part of the World Series coverage. He told me yesterday that he knew this series would be tough for the Rockies. It's been kind of a tough trip for Mike, too. I won't go into all those details because we'll just sound like whiners . . . and Mike reminds himself that he's thankful just to be there.

One thing I've realized about myself in the last month during the Rockies' amazing run is that I really don't know that much about baseball -- not about the game, necessarily, but about the perseverance needed to be a true fan. I remember what it was like to be a Denver Broncos fan in the late 1980s, when they lost three Super Bowls. I remember feeling so dejected, as if I was the one who had failed so miserably, not a football team. By the time the Broncos went back to the Super Bowl in the late 1990s and won two in a row, I had come to my senses. I wasn't emotionally attached to how a football team performed anymore. I was sure happy when they won, but I wasn't going to put my hope as a human being in a sports team.

Now I might as well be 15 years old again, looking this time to a baseball team to give me hope. I keep telling myself not to give up too easily. I keep telling myself that it's only one game, that in spite of the fact that the Red Sox look unstoppable, the Rockies aren't out of this yet. I remind myself that the Rockies have surprised us all thus far . . . no one thought even six weeks ago that they'd be in Boston playing for a World Series title. Sure, they could lose it and lose badly. All the talking heads in sports have written them off already. They call the National League minor league baseball. I have to admit the Rockies looked like a minor league team last night.

I'm going to get to be at Game 3 on Saturday night in Denver. I'll be there with my dad, my brother Jeff and sister-in-law Sue, who are flying in from Chicago just to see the game. We managed to get tickets, although not through the online sales system that also turned out to be a debacle this week. We got our tickets through Mike's workplace, which had a bunch of season tickets and sold the World Series tickets to employees.

I sure feel blessed to have gotten the tickets -- the chances of getting them were so slim -- and I've resolved to be there cheering on the Rox no matter what, even if they do come home down two games in the series. The Red Sox endured the ridicule a lot longer than the Rockies have. And how about those Cubs? How long has it been since they won a World Series, and yet fans pack Wrigley Field game after game no matter how they play.

I leave this blog today with the following commentary from yesterday's Breakpoint by Chuck Colson, which a friend sent me. It's a good reminder after last night's disappointing loss that the Rockies are doing something more important than winning -- and what they're doing is worth cheering on wholeheartedly. Click here to read about it. For another related story about the character of the Rockies team, click here.

"God calls us to be people of inner substance, not just outward appearance. We are to demonstrate the reality of His presence in us by an attitude of humility." Marilyn Meberg

Making dreams come true

The fireworks above the scoreboard after the game.

Mike cheering after Matt Holliday's three-run home run in the 4th inning.

The guys sitting in front of us made signs. This one reflected the number of wins the Rockies had until last night's game, followed by how many they'd have to win yet to win the World Series.

UNBELIEVABLE. That's the only word I have for last night's Colorado Rockies game that clinched them a spot in the World Series. They beat the Arizona Diamondbacks 6-4, sweeping the D-backs in the National League Championship Series. I went to the game with Mike, and it was incredible.

Mike has been to several playoff games already because he's had to report on them for his job. I wanted to be able to experience a game as well, and so when a friend offered to sell us some tickets, we jumped at the chance. Who knows if this will ever happen again? The Rockies are on an incredible winning streak. They've won the last 21 of 22 games, including seven games in the post season. It's a streak that has led them to the first World Series in the teams' 15-year history.

The game itself was electrifying. I've been to a lot of Rockies games before, but none like this one. When the crowd got to its feet and waved those white "Go Rockies" towels around, cheering the team on, the energy was amazing. I have to admit, though, that I wish Rockies fans this excited had been with the team long before this late-season/post-season run. The Rockies have struggled for many years -- the owners and managers have taken a lot of criticism for decisions they've made through the years -- and it was only a few months ago when people thought of the Rockies as the team that would always disappoint them. In May the team's record was a dismal 18-27. When they swept the New York Yankees in June, some people started to come around. But the season still had a long way to go at that point. People really started to catch the fever in late September, but still . . . the World Series? I mentioned to Mike last night that three weeks ago, we were enjoying our vacation in Hawaii. It never crossed my mind -- NEVER -- that we'd be sitting at a National League Championship game three weeks later, and the Rockies would win the series.

I think the thing that has touched me the most about this amazing run to the World Series is what it says about life, particularly life for me and Mike right now. This has been a difficult season for both of us in a variety of ways. We've dealt with some disappointments that make us wonder if we'll ever enter into what we believe God has for us. I'm glad I got to watch last night's game with Mike, because I think it's a foreshadowing of good things to come for us. Because of his role in the Denver media, Mike has followed the Rockies closely for the past five years. Throughout their disappointing seasons, Mike continued to believe in the organization and the course set before them. His colleagues in the media thought him naive. The Rockies going to the World Series means so much to him because Mike knew it would happen. He didn't necessarily think it would happen this year, but he knew the nay-sayers would be silenced eventually.

As we both whooped and hollered watching Matt Holliday hit a three-run home run, the thought struck me that we, too, would see a day like this come in our lives. To the world -- the disappointed fans, the arrogant sports columnists -- the Rockies reaching the World Series seemed like a pipedream that would never happen. But it did -- and it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't just luck. It was the result of some hard decisions -- hard for a time anyway -- that to those not involved seemed like the wrong thing to do. But where are the critics now? They're writing columns about dreams coming true, about how "building from within," as the team's owners decided to do five years ago, actually paid off.

Last night was like God telling me and Mike to stay the course and get ready for a harvest, to put our hope in Him because He won't disappoint us. We don't believe what the world tells us. We believe in our big God who can make even pipedreams come true.

Three levels of Coors Field, with the fans waving the white Rockies towels.

Me cheering the Rockies on.

The guy sitting in front of us made another sign. It said, "Hey Byrnes, How's that wall feel?" This is a reference to Diamondback Eric Byrnes, who made some (pretty dumb) comments the other day, saying the Rockies hadn't outplayed the D-backs in spite of winning two games in Phoenix. The day after his comments, Byrnes hit the outfield wall trying to catch a home run by Matt Holliday. Byrnes, by the way, was also the last D-back out in the 9th inning of the game. (I think it just goes to show that there's payback -- although I'd rather call it humility -- for those who run off at the mouth.)

Towels and brooms (for the "sweep" the Rockies made of the D-backs) were prevalent in the crowd.

Frustration and acceptance

I love the "aha!" moments in life. I had one today during a conversation with a student in my introduction to journalism class. This student had asked if I'd mentor him a bit through some questions he has about the study of journalism, his career direction, how to get started getting published, etc. Today we met after class at Starbucks, and I shared with him some ideas, thoughts and advice for where he's at in life. Looking back on the conversation, it revealed a lot to me about where I'm at in life as well.

I've struggled off and on the past three years with this combination of teaching and freelance writing. Freelancing is not an easy endeavor. When I first jumped into it, I didn't know how much ambiguity I'd find, how wide open the world of freelance writing really is, and yet how alone you can feel in the midst of it trying to find your way. I was used to working full time in a newsroom, where the camaraderie with other reporters does many things for your mental health: It inspires you to keep pursuing the good stories, and it helps you deal with the things that inevitably come with the job -- office politics, angry readers, sources who don't want to talk, etc.

Freelancing cuts you off from that peer support. I work from home now, with no one to talk to most days except the sources I call on the phone for interviews. In-person interviews are a rarity now because most of the publications I work for are not local, and neither are my sources. You have to be self-motivated and self-directed. No editor is looking over my shoulder making sure the work is getting done. No fellow reporters are sparking a fire of ambition in me to keep doing my best and keep uncovering the interesting people that make reporting a job worth pursuing.

Coupled with the freelancing, I've been teaching for about three years. For several semesters I saw teaching as a bother. Frankly, I had to start teaching in order to supplement the freelancing income. I'd always wanted to try teaching, though, so I was willing to give it a chance. My first few semesters I really grappled with how to handle students who make up every excuse you can think of as to why they can't do the work on time or well enough to get a decent grade. I felt like they thought my job was to give them an A for showing up. My confidence in dealing with students grew with each little incident I had to handle -- like the students who didn't turn in papers on time and were shocked when I said, "Sorry, it's late. I won't accept late papers," or the students whose grandmother died three times during a semester and they couldn't understand why I wouldn't let them make up the work without proof of their excuses (Yes, I require students to give me obituaries if their family members die or police reports if they say they were in a car accident on the way to class.) Over time I realized I had to run my classes the way I wanted to run them. The students weren't going to run me. My life became much more peaceful after that.

Somewhere along this journey, I started to think about my two roles -- as freelance writer and teacher -- differently. Not long ago, I used to cringe when friends would introduce me as a "teacher." I didn't want to be known as one because I saw myself as a journalist who taught (or had to teach as the situation seemed to me.) I'm not sure when or how it happened, but I don't mind being known as a teacher anymore. I have started to see my students differently. Instead of focusing on the students who irritated me with all their excuses, I started to ask God to show me the students I could really invest in and mentor. Amazingly, these students started coming out of the woodwork. They started to approach me for letters of recommendation for internships. They e-mailed me after the classes they were in were long over with questions about their career directions. A few approached me on the first day of class asking me to mentor them. The student I met with today is itching to learn how to recognize what a story is and tell it effectively. He wants to be a journalist now, before he's even finished some of the basic journalism classes. I told him his passion is admirable, and he's got to hold onto that passion and protect it, but he also needs to accept where he's at and let the learning process unfold naturally. It's this weird balance between desire and patience.

As for the freelancing with me . . . that's a whole different story. I still have writing assignments coming in from regular clients, but I know there's more to do than what I've been doing. I know there are stories in me yet to be written -- I have a folder full of ideas I've sat on for several years. Pitching these ideas to magazines still seems like a daunting process, even though I have a much better handle on how that's to be done now than I did a few years back. My student's passion today stirred that ambition in me again to go after the things I know God has for me to do. I looked through some of my old clips (published articles) yesterday and was amazed that all the stories God has enabled me to do in my career. It's simply astounding the hundreds of people I've had the privilege of interviewing and telling their story. I know that work isn't done yet for me. Just thinking about it brings me to tears. Storytelling is such a huge part of what I've been created to do. I'm compelled to do it -- not out of obligation but out of desire.

The "aha" moment came today when I saw that the teaching and the freelancing really do work hand in hand for me. As a former full-time reporter and freelancer, my role as a teacher is much more real and relevant to my students. And I think teaching has made me a better journalist. It has kept my skills fresh because I have to teach what I do and do what I teach. My knowledge of various aspects of journalism has also increased immensely. As a newspaper reporter I knew practically nothing about, for example, what it's like to be a television journalist. I've had to educate myself in order to teach just the basics. I've brought in guest speakers to my classes who know a whole lot more about particular areas of journalism than I do. That's added so much to my understanding of the field.

Just like the student I talked to today, I have to accept where I'm at and let the learning process unfold naturally. There's something so settling about being able to see that.

Ready to golf -- for real, I think

I've taken four golf lessons so far, and I continue to go to the driving range to practice. I'm at the point where I'd like to try to play . . . not the course pictured here, of course. This is the course in Wailea, Maui -- we actually stayed in a condo right on the course on our trip a couple of weeks ago. Oh, to be able to go back someday and actually play golf in Hawaii . . .

At this point I'd settle for the basic par 3 course down the street from where we live. I was encouraged during my last golf lesson when my instructor told us (me and the two other women taking the class) not to get discouraged when we go out and play golf. "Golf courses were built for professionals," he said. "So don't worry about what the par is on a particular hole. It may be a par 4 or 5, but to you it's going to be a par 8 or 9. That's OK. You're not professionals, so don't expect yourself to play like them right now. So if you get a 7 on a hole, then that's a birdie for you because you're normally a par 8. That's improvement."

I was thinking about that today when I was out at the driving range. The guy next to me was getting upset with himself every time he did something wrong. I've never even played a course yet, but I know golf can be a very discouraging game. Several people told me before I ever took a lesson that golf is great as long as you don't care how you play. I find myself trying too hard sometimes. Instead of allowing my body to turn, and letting the club hit the ball, I feel like I have a baseball bat in my hands and I've got to hit the darn ball if it kills me. I'm working on allowing myself to take a moment, relax, take a deep breath, close my eyes and remember how it feels when the swing is right . . . and voila! I can hardly believe the difference it makes in my next swing.

"Slow down," my instructor told us on our first day. "If you remember nothing else, remember S L O W. You're not going to get anywhere if you go out there and start whacking balls." It takes focus, and that's a great challenge to me. I'm a naturally high-strung, intense person -- not a good combination, I know, for the game of golf. There are spiritual and mental lessons to be learned through golf. Now if only I could apply them to other areas of my life . . .

I do think golf can be discouraging when we don't play very often but expect ourselves to play at the level of the professionals who play every day. Think of that -- Tiger Woods, Phil Mickelson, Annika Sorenstam (and the list goes on) play golf every day. We'd all get pretty good at golf if we played every day and got paid for it. I liken it to a moment a few weeks ago when I was helping student of mine write the first sentence of a news story. She was stuck. I knew where the story needed to go without even thinking about it. I took over the keyboard at the computer and whipped out a sentence in five seconds. "Wow," she said. "That's why you're the teacher." I recognized this teachable moment for her and the other students listening to our conversation. "It's not magic," I told her. "It comes from writing hundreds and hundreds of stories over the course of years and years. You can do it, too, and it's going to get easier for you. It just takes a lot of practice."

Certainly there are people who are exceptionally gifted at what they do, whether they are professional athletes or not. But few people are born exceptionally gifted at swinging a golf club or swimming the length of a pool or writing stories. They simply practice a lot -- that and they have passion for what they do -- and they become skilled.

That realization is why I'm glad I didn't even pick up a golf club until age 35. If I had attempted golf 10 years ago, I think I would have given up too easily. I know it's going to take a lot of practice to be just a decent player. But I'm willing to give it a try.

More views from paradise

As promised, here's just a sampling of photos from our trip to Hawaii. They are in no particular order. In order from top to bottom, they are:

1. The memorial over the USS Arizona, the ship that sank and lost 1,177 men during the attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. (Honolulu) The ship is still visible underneath the memorial in the shallow waters of the harbor. The ship continues to release oil (about one quart a day), nearly 66 years after the attack, and you can see the oil slicks on the surface of the water. The USS Arizona Memorial is the most popular tourist site in Hawaii. We were there during the "off season" (if there is an off season in Hawaii), and we waited with lots of people to take the first ferry out to the memorial. There are lots of Japanese tourists there, too.

2. Mike and me at a waterfall on the Road to Hana. (Maui) This winding road (some people say it's scary, but we didn't think so) is about the journey, not the destination. It takes about 3 hours to drive about 50 miles, but it's well worth the trip.

3. Us with Mike's family. Sitting are Mike and his brother Brad. Standing from left to right, me, Mike's mom Fran, Mike's sister Ann, Mike's dad Howard and Mike's new sister-in-law and Brad's bride Marlene. (They got married the day before this photo was taken.)

4. Me and Mike with our (virgin) "Hula girls" (orange drinks).

5. Sails and boogie boards on Wailea Beach (Maui).

6. Allamanda flowers on the Road to Hana (Maui)

7. The view at Wailua on the Road to Hana (Maui)

8. Another view on the Road to Hana



9. The turquoise waters of Waimea Bay on Oahu's north shore. This is where Mike and I went snorkeling for the first time. We saw lots of colorful fish and two sea turtles. Snorkeling is a blast.

10. Wailea, Maui. Photo taken from the steps of the Marriott Resort Hotel.

11. A boat off Waikiki Beach at sunset.

12. Afterschool surfers at the Banzai Pipeline, Oahu's north shore. It's not quite surfing season yet in Hawaii, but these boys are itching for some action. The waves that afternoon had picked up, and dozens of surfers were out. During surfing season (November to March), Oahu's north shore offers world-class surfing. The roads are packed with surfers and onlookers watching them. The waves can reach 25-30 feet high.

13. The waves and volcanic rocks at Keenae Peninsula, on the Road to Hana (Maui). Amazing shot, I think. (Mike took it.)

14. A sea turtle on the beach at Haleiwa Alii Beach Park, Oahu's north shore. Haleiwa (pronounced hah-lee-ay-vah) is a great little town, a piece of "old Hawaii." We had heard that you could see lots of sea turtles on this beach. We went there at sunset and thought this big turtle was a rock at first. He sat there the entire time. We took lots of photos and enjoyed the sunset with him.

16. A surfer off Oahu's north shore. The surfers swim out off shore and wait for the big waves to come up. When the waves come, you see dozens of them get up on their boards and try to ride the waves all the way to shore. This guy's ride was obviously cut short.

17. Rainbow over Diamondhead Crater, just before sunset on Waikiki Beach (Honolulu). Rainbows happen about five times a day in Hawaii. The rain there feels lighter than running through a sprinkler. The showers last a few minutes, then the sun comes out again. Thus, the frequency of the rainbows.

18. Keenae Peninsula, on the Road to Hana (Maui) This was an amazing spot. Most vivid to me were the colors -- the green trees, blue water, white clouds and black rocks. I could have sat there all day just watching the waves crash against the rocks.

Riding the Rockies wave

I was planning on posting some photos of our trip to Hawaii today (I'll do that later this week) until last night's Rockies game against the San Diego Padres. What a game! I haven't been a baseball follower for very long -- I just started following the Rockies this season -- but that was the most incredible game I've ever watched. Mike has been following baseball most of his life, and he said it was the best game he's ever seen. True to the way they've played all season, the Rockies eeked out a win in the 13th inning, beating the Padres 9-8 to move on to the playoffs.

Mike was covering the game for Denver's KOA Radio from Coors Field, and I was watching it on TV at home. At the top of the eighth inning, Mike called me and said the Rockies were going to win. The game at that point was tied 6-6. Little did we know we'd still be watching more than an hour later, and the game would go into the 13th inning.

The pitching on both sides was amazing. It was excruciating to watch at times. You could tell the batters for both teams just wanted to hit one out of the ballpark and end the game. I literally prayed for the Rockies batters as they came up to bat. I had a fleeting thought that the game would end in the 13th inning -- I think I thought that because the Rockies prior to yesterday's game had won 13 out of their last 14 games. Every time Matt Holliday, Todd Helton or Brad Hawpe went up to the plate, the crowd went wild, expecting them to be the hero of the day. I had a sense, though, that it would be someone else. I don't know why, but I prayed it would be Jamey Carroll, a rather quiet, unassuming guy.

Sure enough, Carroll made the hit that led to the winning run. Matt Holliday was on third base, and he slid face-first into home plate. There's a dispute as to whether he actually touched home plate, but it doesn't matter now. The Rockies won, and today they are in Philadelphia preparing to meet the Phillies for the National League Division Series of the playoffs.

The best thing about the Rockies win last night is that it silenced the critics. The Rockies haven't been in the playoffs since 1995. They haven't been a very good team for a lot of years, and the critics here in Denver have had nothing but negativity to spew about the management of the team, from the owners on down. The management's strategy was to build a team from the ground up -- to build up young, minor-league players -- "homegrown talent," as they call it. The critics, from sports columnists to TV broadcasters to fans, said it would never work, that the Rockies needed to go out and buy some players before they'd ever be any good.

The Rockies may not do very well in the playoffs, although something tells me they have a few surprises up their sleeves yet, but no one can deny that this has been a special season for them. They have talented players. Shortstop Troy Tulowitzki is likely to be named Rookie of the Year. Matt Holliday has a chance to be named the National League's Most Valuable Player for the season. The Rockies bullpen can go up against the best pitchers in the league, as we saw last night. They also have determination to win. They rallied at the end of the season to win 13 of 14 games to even get to last night's game. By contrast, the Mets tanked at the end of the season and gave up their seven-game lead in National League East.

Last night's game had us all on the edge of our seats last night in Denver. For the first time I can ever think of, the Rockies are more important in this city than the Broncos. (On Sunday when both the Rockies and the Broncos were playing at the same time, most sports fans had their eyes on the Rockies game.)

We get to do this all again tomorrow night when the Rockies play the Phillies. I have a feeling it's going to be a wild ride.

The view from paradise

Aloha from Maui! Mike and I have been here for three days. Yesterday was Mike's brother's wedding, held at the Grand Wailea Resort, a spectacular place that is so gorgeous, it's almost overwhelming. What a place to get married. Since we arrived Thursday night, we've done a lot of wedding-related things, had some beach time and taken a few walks along the shoreline. Mike took the photo here during a walk Saturday morning. The early mornings are the best -- the heat and humidity haven't kicked in quite yet, the light is perfect for pictures and it's quiet. It's the off-season here, although there are still tourists around. It's just not packed like I've heard mid-summer and winter can be.

The wedding festivities are over, but our vacation is only half over. Tomorrow we will do the ever-famous Road to Hana (I remember driving this road on a family vacation to Maui as a kid), then we fly out tomorrow night for Honolulu, where we'll spend three days.

This is the first warm weather/beach vacation Mike and I have ever taken. Most of our trips are so busy and packed with one thing after the other, in the end we need a vacation from our vacation. This afternoon we went to the beach with the intention of going snorkeling, something neither of us has ever done. We got there and saw the waves were pretty rough, so we skipped the snorkeling and decided just to spend some time wading/swimming (the waves were too high to do much swimming) and soak up the sun. It was nice just to spend an hour or two on the beach together. We both agreed that the whole idea of a beach vacation is pretty appealing -- more so than we thought. Then again, we've both had quite a crazy season of working the past two or three months. We needed to go someplace like Hawaii, where you really don't feel the pressure to do a whole lot except relax. It took me about three days to start feeling relaxed. I'm still a little uptight. This afternoon I got irritated with an "island driver" going about 30 mph in front of me. I sped around the guy about the same time I realized I'm not in my bustling, had-to-be-there-five-minutes-ago life right now. I can get stuck behind a guy going 30 mph and not care. Where do I have to be to drive in such a hurry anyway?

The sun has just set here. A few minutes ago the sky was ablaze with pink and orange. Now it's cooling down and getting dark. I have some packing to do before the next leg of our journey tomorrow. I'll write more about our trip when we get back.

My first day of golf

I had my very first golf lesson ever yesterday. I had been talking about wanting to learn to play for a couple of years, and Mike gave me a set of golf clubs for my birthday. I signed up for four lessons at a golf course down the street from where we live.

Today my arms and wrists are sore, my neck is stiff, and I realize just how much practice it's going to take to just get a basic swing down. (My instructor calls it a "turn," not a swing -- you're just turning your left hip to hit the ball.) Mike tells me it could be a couple of years before I feel like I have a comfortable swing. No wonder people get frustrated with this sport. We watch these professionals on TV who make it look so easy --not taking into account that the likes of Tiger Woods have had a golf club in their hands since age 3 -- and we think, "Well, gee, I should be able to do that." Yeah, right.

What I've learned so far is that if you pick up a golf club and swing it like you think you should -- without any instructions at all -- you're probably doing it incorrectly. It's not a natural movement. Yesterday I figured out my first weakness -- I twist my wrists in the back swing, and therefore when I bring the club down to hit the ball, I don't hit it right. I've got to keep my left elbow locked, my wrists locked, my body leaning forward, my knees bent but not bent too much. Boy, it's a lot to remember.

After the lesson I hit some balls at the driving range with Mike. He gave me some pointers, and the other men around me started giving me pointers, too. (I quickly learned not to listen to them . . . Mike said everyone who golfs thinks they know how to do it. I decided I'm just going to pay attention to my instructor.) For my first day, I think I made some progress. I'm no Annika Sorenstam or Michelle Wie, and I don't think I ever will be. That's not the goal, anyway. Mike kept telling me to relax and have fun. I kept getting frustrated that in one day, I didn't have a perfect swing.

I think I'm going to enjoy it, though, if I can relax. It really is beautiful out there, with the green grass, trees, the quiet and nothing to worry about except, of course, how you're playing the game. I'm nowhere near ready to attempt an actual course yet. I've still got a lot of time at the driving range ahead of me.

A sight to remember

Last night our neighbors, Mike and I saw something we'll not soon forget. Around 9 p.m., we watched as the Space Shuttle made its way from the northwest sky to the southeast.

Our neighbors told us about the appearance of the shuttle in last night's sky. They had heard on the TV news that it would be visible at 9:01 p.m. We spotted it a few minutes before that. At first it looked like a reddish-colored star, and we wondered if we were looking at the right thing, but it didn't take long to notice it was moving quickly -- very quickly -- across the night sky. The shuttle has to move at 17,500 miles an hour to keep orbiting Earth. We saw a second white light behind it, following at the same speed and in the same orbit. I've done some research since last night and found out what we saw was actually the International Space Station (the first reddish light we saw), with the Space Shuttle (the dimmer, white light) following behind it. A few minutes later, the shuttle and space station disappeared to our eyes.

As we watched, it amazed me that the shuttle was millions of miles away, and we were watching it orbiting the earth. (It orbits the earth once every 90 minutes or so. For more facts about the shuttle, go here.) It amazed me that people were up there, with a view of Earth few of us will ever see or comprehend. What amazes me now is that those same people are home tonight, subject again to the law of gravity. The shuttle entered Earth's atmosphere this morning and landed safely at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida despite some problems with this latest mission. And wow, to think that the shuttle was up there last night in the vastness of space, and it had to come home early to avoid any danger posed by Hurricane Dean. I'll bet the astronauts saw the hurricane from space -- it probably looked like a blob of swirling clouds around the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico.

The vastness of the universe compared to our little corner of it is too much for my mind to grasp. Seeing the Space Shuttle last night reminded me of how big God is -- and how amazing it is that He has His hand on astronauts in a tiny vessel, tiny compared to Him anyway, and people like us on the ground marveling at it all.

I'm not ready for this

I'm just not ready for the football season to start. I know, I know, it's only the preseason . . . the meaningless four weeks that seem to drag on until they finally decide to get down to business. The Denver Broncos played their first preseason game tonight, a win against San Francisco. As I watched and listened to it, I just couldn't fathom that it's time for football again.

Football season means a lot of things in our household. First and foremost, it means our weekends revolve around Broncos games . . . not because we're huge fans, but because part of Mike's job is hosting the Broncos pre-game, half-time and post-game shows on KOA Radio in Denver. For the past few years my contribution to the broadcasts has been bringing lunch (or dinner depending on what time the game starts) to the crew in the studio working the broadcasts. No, I don't make lunch each week (that would be much too ambitious), although occasionally I'll bring homemade cookies. It's usually Qdoba or Quiznos or something other than pizza. For a long time the studio crew ordered pizza almost every week, and they grew sick of it. I don't blame them. So on Sunday afternoons, I go pick up the food and bring a stack of grading to do for my classes as I watch the game in the KOA studio. (In case you were wondering, I get to eat, too. It's my reward for bringing the food.)

Dinner tonight was Qdoba, but as I sat for a while watching the game, I had to admit my heart just isn't in football yet. It was actually a little surreal to be watching the game. I'm still focused on the Colorado Rockies, who for the first time in a long time are playing games in August that still mean something. This summer, I've learned so much about baseball, I think I actually enjoy it more than football. The high temperature in Denver today was about 100 degrees. It's still summer. I've really enjoyed the summer this year, and I'm just not ready to let it go and embrace fall and all its glory, including football.

It doesn't really matter anyway. The last days of summer are still mine to enjoy. Preseason football means nothing. I'm convinced it's just another opportunity to make money (tickets to games, television broadcasts, advertising, etc.) and it gives the NFL a good month to hype up the regular season. Soon enough the weekend after Labor Day will come, and by then I'll feel more ready to embrace the change of seasons and the start to the REAL football season, or at least the part that counts.

The hike was awesome!

We made it! The hike Mike, my Uncle Ren and I did Saturday over Schofield Pass from Crested Butte to Marble was incredible. It turned out to be about 12 miles, most of it downhill. That doesn't mean, however, that our legs weren't sore at the end of the day . . . and they're still sore two days later. By the end of the day, I was praising the opportunities to go uphill for even a short distance. The worst part was the longest, steepest downhill stretch at the very end of the hike as we approached Marble. By then my quads and knees felt like jello.

The weather was perfect -- cloudy at the beginning of the day, sunny in the middle and cloudy again at the end. My mom, dad and Aunt Jan drove Kebler and McClure passes from Crested Butte to Marble to pick us up at the end of the day . . . a huge help. There's no way we wanted to turn around and hike 12 miles back.

The highlight was the diverse scenery . . . Emerald Lake at the beginning of the hike, the green forests with blooming wildflowers, forests of tall aspen trees, having to ford two streams (good thing we brought sandals with us) the steep "shelf road" (with quite a sheer drop-off) we shared with several jeeps, ATVs and mountain bikers, the dangerous Devil's Punch Bowl, the charming ghost town of Crystal and Crystal Mill (one of the most photographed sites in Colorado), the clear Crystal River that we followed for four miles from Crystal to Marble.

I'm so glad we did the hike. What great memories we have. Now I want to hike over West Maroon Pass, which starts near Schofield Pass and leads to the Maroon Bells outside Aspen. The summer is nearing an end for me and Mike because our schedules get crazy in late August and September, so we'll probably have to save that hike for next year.