Stupid Coriander

By: Payton M. Ishmael

It’s unfortunate that some of the articles I feel most compelled to write evolve into confessions exposing the very cries of my heart. A little bit personal, but I suppose things like this must often be shared. Let me preface by informing you that, on occasion, I wake up and choose to be defeated by a negative thought process before I even get to the sink to brush away my morning breath. Today, is one of those mornings…

As I moped and mopped through the kitchen with a silent river of tears streaming down my cheeks, I couldn’t help but envy the happy families I’m surrounded by in east Texas. You often hear the description that Edgewood and surrounding small towns are ‘great place to raise a family.’ I hesitantly agree. I see it every day though. As my new students showed up to my classroom Thursday evening for ‘Meet the Teacher’ night, mom on one side, dad on the other, I longed for that same family bond. With age 27 staring me right square in the face, I sadly wonder if my time will ever come to fall in love with Prince Charming, raise a sassy, over-educated little girl and OU’s next star quarterback. Okay, that might be stretching it, but you get the idea.

With floors mopped and smelling cleanly of Pine-Sol, my OCD caught a glimpse of my dust-coated spice rack. I use it as a decoration more than anything, because it is visually appealing to me. I began scrubbing the shiny, silver and quickly noticed that the glass containers of the actual spice were quite dingy as well. By this time, my pity party is in full force. My vision is most blurred due to the glassy tears that cloud my view. I began wiping down one of the jars and thought to myself, “Wow! So this little spherical piece of nothing is all the faith I need…”
The 17th chapter of Matthew, verse 20 is a promise, “"Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

I stood there staring at the jar full of these tiny, little balls and was amazed by the visible representation of this verse. All I need is a single one of these… and then I flipped the jar over to read the lid, “CORIANDER.”

Ahh man! I thought I was having one of those revelations, where God sends you comfort and peace in the most unexpected ways. The tears came on full force. Now I’m single, childless, and ignorant. Stupid coriander. I don’t even know what coriander is, but I do know it’s different than mustard seed. Poor, pitiful me.

I poured a cup of coffee and sulked into my kitchen chair. I stared at all the spices across the room and dreaded completing the task of cleaning them after such a daunting discovery. It was the second to the last jar that I hastily wiped down and placed in its proper spot on the rack, “MUSTARD SEED.”

As it turns out, mustard seed is even smaller than coriander. In fact, I could rewrite the verse, “With faith smaller than a stupid ball of coriander…” Or perhaps, “With faith only a fraction of the size of coriander…”

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these seeds, but I can’t express to you their microscopic size; Teensy tiny little morsels of almost-nothing. The answer to my heart’s desire is shoved inside a seed smaller than the punctuation at the end of this sentence. That’s all I need. I threw the entire jar in my purse so that every time I’m plagued with thoughts of loneliness or life knocks me down, I’ll remember that I need faith even smaller than coriander, and that I serve God far greater than my circumstances.

It Came Upon Me Wave on Wave

By: Payton M. Ishmael

Oh how salt water burns my eyes. I absolutely adore jumping over and through the sun-kissed waves, but as soon as the salty liquid seeps into my eyes, ouch ouch ouch. The sting is pertinent enough to discourage me from ever opening my eyes again for fear that the pain will worsen. I then float blindly, as wave after wave continues to crash upon me, causing an even greater discomfort to my already-closed eyes.

It’s memories like this week, though, that make the burn seem very well worth it; Spending time with amazing ladies to celebrate the pursuit of happiness of our dear friend, Brandy. Laughing at foreign styles, smiling beneath the sunshine, and giggling with an over-abundance of contentment is a most-desirable place to be.

Well worth the sting of the salty ocean too was the time I spent in Miami a couple years ago with my grandparents. Anna laughed as Poppy and immersed ourselves into every single white cap that rolled its way to the sandy shore.

The same is true of life; sometimes with happiness comes a little bit of sting. Just recently I tried to have the best of both worlds. I tried to enjoy the ‘ocean’ while still keeping my ‘eyes closed.’ Metaphorically speaking, I knew that if I opened my eyes, the burn was sure to come. Although I’d most certainly be able to fully enjoy the salty kisses of the crystal clear waters, I’d have to endure the almost-unbearable burn that accompanied.

Lesson learned, that’s an easy way to drown.

In the future, I realize the importance of walking boldly, with no hesitation, accepting the sting of doing what is right and honest. It may hurt a little bit, but it far outweighs the tragedy of drowning lifelessly in a sea of bad decisions.

The Sands of Time

By: Payton M. Ishmael

My first Mexico morning, I laced up my worn out tennis shoes and took off running into the breath-taking Cancun sunrise. It didn’t take long for my mind to quicken to the sand beneath my feet. Those teensy tiny grains of white powder made my jog at least twice as difficult. I had no complaints, though. I traded my iPod and earphones for the beautiful music of ocean waves crashing. The sand instantly found rest inside my socks. My solution was simply to kick them off and keep running, barefoot. What an incredible workout!

It seems I’ve been spent a lot of time with dirt lately. Just last Sunday, I participated in the Down & Dirty Mud Run; an army-style obstacle course complete with swimming, climbing, and crawling through mud. Although it was a unique experience and I’m glad I participated, I was less than thrilled to douse myself in mud.

Oh how things change! The story is often told of my childhood about a commute home to Canton from Athens on Sunday afternoon. We had just left church and I was safely buckled into my car seat with my young parents. It didn’t take long that I was crying to ride with Anna and Poppy in the car just ahead. Being my parent’s first child, and my grandparent’s first granddaughter, it was very seldom that I didn’t instantly get my way. That being said, my parents pulled the car over and consequently my grandparents did too. After a quick exchange, I was safely nestled between Anna and Poppy so that I could happily enjoy my car ride home. Well, so we thought. Only a few miles down the road, I was crying once again. This time I wanted my mom and dad. I’m uncertain whether they just hadn’t pulled over yet to once again let me switch vehicles, or if they simply weren’t going to let me change again.
I was discouraged, confused, distraught, sad… and an array of other tragic emotions.
“ANNA! Did you see all that dirt?” I exclaimed suddenly.

It took only the big pile of dirt on the side of the road to completely change my way of thinking, dry up my tears, and inspire happiness, smiles, and giggles.
Oddly enough, I was an ultimate tom boy as a kid. Although I enjoyed baby dolls, playing in the dirt was my absolute most favorite. Digging holes, burying silverware, and making mud pies were my idea of a perfect day.

And so maybe the culmination of the recent mud run and my daily beach jogs have taken me back to a place where I have long needed to return. A place where the opinions of people and things around me didn’t matter so much, as the restful peace of enjoying myself and my Creator amidst his creation.

Today, I look fondly at the mud puddles, the sandy beaches, and know that my life-changing pile of dirt must lie just ahead. Maybe it’s time I dig a little deeper.

Learning to Fly

By: Payton M. Ishmael

My beautiful friend Brandy is getting married in Cancun, Mexico in just a few short days. In addition to embracing her short amount of time remaining as a little Miss, I’m privileged enough to escape from Texas, my every day, and myself if you will. Over the course of the next several days, I intend to search my soul, clear my head, and uncloud my piecemeal heart.

Aboard American Airlines flight 1211 is where my journey all began. As a fourth grade teacher, you can imagine my dismay when I was seated with two children; an eighth grader and his little brother, a fourth grader; So much for getting away from my day-to-day. As we flew among the clouds, though, they began to ask questions about the clouds, whether or not we would fly over the ocean, and if it was hard to make a bracelet like the one I was currently completing. I had a renewed sense of purpose and confirmation of calling in my profession. They say curiosity killed the cat. I say it satisfies the hearts of teachers. And so, already, Payton = 1 point.

When braiding string became monotonous and my eyes begin to blur from staring at my Kindle, I took time to simply stare blankly out the window. What a huge, huge world we live in. In the grand scheme of things, I’m just a minute little being roaming around this wild, wild nowhere. If I’m just a microscopic, little dot on the globe, then life’s problems must be even smaller. Living life in east Texas, my disadvantages, heavy burdens, and hurtful questions hang above my head like black thunderclouds. When I’m given the opportunity to soar above the clouds, though, I see how quickly clouds move, and just how very insignificant they are when looked at from a new perspective. Before the plane even landed in Mexico, Payton = 2 points.

In the midst of the NBA Championship series, two points seem hardly enough to boast about. As of late, however, I’ve given up many avenues of my life that I’ve always held near and dear. I’ve truly felt like the underdog with no change to rally. Today, I’ll consider my two points of a victory. Anxiously and excitedly, I move forward in hopeful anticipation as I once again spread my wings. “How do you keep your feet on the ground, when you know that you were born to fly?” – Sara Evans

Lessons of UFC

By: Payton M. Ishmael

With a sour attitude and dreadful mood, I ended up watching some silly fight with a group of friends recently. Some burly men clad in UFC sponsored spandex squirm around trying to kill each other. Going into this situation, I admit I thought the whole UFC trend was a complete joke. After watching, however, I came away from the experience with valuable lessons learned.

Preparation. Expectation. Commitment.

If you’ve ever competed in any type of organized game or sport, you know that success requires adequate preparation. Depending on what’s at stake, athletes prepare months, years, or even lifetimes to reach the ultimate goal of victory.

Expectation is also crucial to winning. You must know what you’re facing, be familiar with your surroundings, and know the rules of the game. The element of expectation can be a tricky one. Although it’s important to approach competition well informed, you must also be prepared for unexpected events to occur. A good person once told me not to worry so much about planning every intricate detail of my life, and instead let life happen.

We can’t forget one of the most important ingredients of success; commitment. A decision has to be made to persevere through all obstacles and challenges and there can be no room left for backing out. Prior to beginning a race, it’s not a question of IF you’ll finish, but when. Commitment means sticking with it, staying in, and not letting go.

Our eternal plans are much the same as preparation for the UFC match; not always easy but well rewarded. We have to prepare; seek salvation, love one another, and love God. We have to expect what’s in store; Heaven vs. Hell. We’re going to conclude our lives in one destination or the other, which do you expect? And, we have to commit to the course; Live out loud leaving out any option to give up.

He never said it would be easy, but He did promise we’d never go alone!

When I Get Tired of Shopping, I Sit Down and Try on Shoes

By: Payton M. Ishmael

It’s no secret that I have a very unhealthy obsession with footwear. I’m no discriminator of style either. Wedges, stilletos, flats, and sandals are made to feel right at home in their very own designated space within my closet. I like to wear boots to the rodeo, heels to dinner, and my worn out tennis shoes to run. They all have a place, a purpose, and have seen different terrains and environments.
Unfortunately, although the distinct personality of each pair is gladly accepted, I’ve noticed lately that all the people in my path are not so warmly greeted. The habits of some of the people I see daily flabbergast me and I wonder what makes them tick or if they’re ticking at all. I get bent all out of shape that a child’s parent can’t find the time to sign and send back a report card, but is quick to write a letter complaining about a daily grade. The patients at the doctor’s office won’t make their children behave, I would be spanking behinds. And why oh why must my students neglect their responsibilities!

And so this week as I complained about these people, my mind kept jumping to their shoes. Even for a very shoe-minded person, I was starting to convince myself I had gone crazy. I don’t mean crazy as in silly, I’m referring to the diagnosis of crazy by a medical doctor. I mean, I don’t know anything about the soles of the people I complain so quickly about…

Then I realized maybe I wasn’t so loony after all. Maybe their soles were brought to my attention so that I would consider their souls. You see, I don’t know where their feet have trod, nor what their hearts have endured. I don’t know what mountains they’ve climbed, not anything about the burdens they must carry. And so, as I continue each step in preferably red patent leather pumps, I will be slow to judge and patient to assume when approaching those in my path. In fact, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to walk a mile in their shoes.

Accessorizing Eternity

Accessorizing an ensemble is like putting the icing on a cake. Imagine putting up your Christmas tree, but not adding any lights or ornaments. Picture a car absent of any of bells or whistles. Ponder a wedding without a single flower to be found. All of these scenarios are quite feasible and probably even happen from time to time for whatever reason. It’s when they are fancily clad, though, that beauty is illuminated.

As you know, in all of the instances above, prior planning is involved. When picking out trimmings for the tree, you may select a theme or simply just a color scheme. When planning the floral arrangements for an event, it’s likely that you select coordinating types and shades. The list goes on. Coming up with a plan and then executing is most often going to yield the most favorable results. Let’s face it. We shouldn’t allow materialistic vanities to become a hindrance in our life, but who doesn’t like to look nice? As far as I’m concerned, the more ruffles something has, the better. Judging by those around me, I’d say “bring on the bling” is an accurate assumption to the tastes of many. With this in mind, allow me to provide some Heavenly fashion advice.Begin storing up treasures of eternal value, Matthew 6:20. There’s not a single piece of Mikimoto or David Yurman that will ascend with us to the pearly gates. Instead, we must begin working now for what we will be able to enjoy later. There are lovely crowns awaiting our arrival. Our life on Earth will determine the embellishments or lack thereof. On the runway of gold, what will your crown display?