Perception, Part 1: Shawn

I love to learn.

When I was a kid, I used to read the encyclopedia.  As a pre-teen, I rejected the banal "Goosebumps" series in favor of books about Greek, Roman and Norse mythology.  I elected to become a Coffee Master at Starbucks because I had the chance to explore more about something I loved.  In nearly every job I've held, I've wound up training or teaching others, because I get excited to share what I learn.

Fabulous Twilight Sparkle GIF found at
 alicemarvels.com.

I learned a lot in college about literature, theatre, and relating to people who are different than me.  I learned a lot in church about my faith and my relationship with God and people.  I learned a lot from my parents (all of them) about life in general, and about myself in particular.

But some of the lessons that have made the biggest impact on my life came from one person in particular: Shawn Speir.

Shawn was my store manager when I worked at the Starbucks in Robinson.  He'd been a shift supervisor when I joined the Starbucks family (well, then it WAS more like a family) in Collier right out of college.  We got along very well, despite numerous differences, and he quickly adopted me as both his little sister and his pet project.  He saw potential in me and he worked hard to help me improve both my hard and soft skills.  Both of us were promoted rather quickly, I to a supervisor and he to an assistant manager.  I remember being crushed the day we learned he was being promoted again, and would no longer be working with us.  He was getting his own store.  I had grown so fond of him and was learning so much from him that I couldn't bear the thought of him leaving.  That week, though, he pulled me aside and told me he wanted me to go with him.  

I probably should make it clear at this point that there was no romance between us.  Despite one person's accusation that we were "involved", I can tell you with absolute certainty that Shawn was not interested in me.  Nor I in him.  Although I must admit, until I met Ross, I was convinced that Shawn had the most beautiful eyes on the planet.

But I digress.

At any rate, hearing him say he wanted to take me, to help me work towards my own goal, which was to become an assistant manager, made my heart happy.  I learned how to drive just so my dad no longer had to take me to work (Collier was just up the road, but Robinson was a different story).  

The reason I share all of this is that Shawn had the unenviable task of teaching me some extremely hard lessons.  He took me on as his own project, took responsibility for me, and in some cases forced me to improve myself as a barista, a manager, and a person.  I remember so many private conversations in the back room on the store, where he'd flail about, hysterically angry about something, then immediately compose himself, return to the sales floor, and address a customer or barista with absolute respect and utter calm.  He was so careful never to crack in front of people.  I, too, found myself angry or upset about something beyond my control, and Shawn would carefully, quietly whisper in my ear to leave the floor and take a break.  Sometimes he'd follow me and clearly, frankly explain what I was doing wrong - it was my attitude, or my tone, or whatever.  Because I knew that he loved me - yes, I like to think we'd grown to love each other like siblings - and because I knew that everything he said was coming from a desire to improve me, I received the criticism.  Sometimes, I responded flatly that I didn't like him or was going to cry, and he nodded and told me to finish my ten-minute break.  

He never gave up on me.

But that wasn't the most important thing I learned from Shawn.

I learned that "perception is reality".

What that means is that a customer doesn't notice or care if you just accidentally spilled a 200 degree Americano all over your arm, because all he sees is you NOT making his latte, and he decides you're lazy or slow.

What that means is that your supervisor doesn't care that you're discussing a very difficult break-up with a co-worker, because all she sees is that you're not making your requisite follow-up calls, and she decides you're avoiding work.

What that means is that it doesn't matter if you want to glorify God, because all people hear coming out of your mouth is condemnation, and they decide that religion isn't worth it.

It's true that we can't decide how other people see us, or our situations.  Each person makes his or her own decisions.  About everything.  And the media is the proof of that.  We see a report about a man being gunned down, and a whole campaign rises up about that, despite the facts about the case not being released.  A celebrity tweets her thoughts about a situation halfway across the globe and she is hailed as a hero for mentioning it.  An overweight woman puts on clothes that make her feel comfortable and pretty, and strangers splash her photo all over Instagram, labeling her with unkind words.

We control our own actions.  We can even control our thoughts.  (I share about that here.) And, though we cannot control others' perceptions of ourselves, we can take those perceptions into consideration when we act.  I'm not saying that we need to tread on eggshells around every person, on every issue, but taking care with our word choices, our tone, our body language - all of that goes a long way in regards to how people see us.

In my next post, I'll share why perception is such a big deal - and how it can change your life.

Lift Up Your Face: A Call to Action

Even now, as I still mourn and grieve, I feel like God is putting a weapon in my hands.  I feel that miscarriage is one of the last great taboo topics out there, the same was homosexuality was, the same way cancer was.   In every pregnancy book you read, you find a thin chapter near the back called "Dealing with Loss" or "Problems During Pregnancy", and it's the one part of the book that no pregnant woman ever willingly reads. Would you blame them?  The running statistic is that miscarriages occur in 20% - 25% of all pregnancies, which is absolutely mind blowing.  That means that, out of every four of your female friends, one has lost a baby (and she has probably never told you). Plus, nothing can be done to prevent them.  Not extra folic acid or pre-conception workouts, not eschewing coffee or eating Romaine lettuce and soy milk all day.  Nothing.

But there is one thing we can change: the healing process.

When I posted yesterday's difficult message, I was literally inundated with calls, texts, private messages, and responses full of love, encouragement, compassion...and empathy.  It turns out that a large percentage of my friends had actually endured at least one miscarriage.  But, of course, since most women don't talk about their families by saying "I have two sons, a daughter, two miscarriages and a Golden retriever", it's a topic that is rarely discussed. 

I find that giving voice to a situation helps to disarm it.  The same way that women who have been raped, or children who have been abused, or people who have been robbed, begin to find healing when they find the courage to give words to their experience, a woman who feels she has "failed" at becoming a mother might be able to better deal with the loss if she shares it.

So, that being said, I am asking my friends to be brave and bold, and help other women heal.  Ladies, will you give your experience a voice?  I would like to create a new blog, solely for the purpose of telling your stories of miscarriage, mourning, and healing.  Everyone deals with grief differently, but sometimes, your journey may encourage another woman on hers. If this is something you want to do, I would ask that you would e-mail me at RebeccaGodlove@hotmail.com and tell me your story.  If you wish to remain anonymous, indicate that.  Tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing.  I am asking you to pray and consider doing this because I already know that my sharing has helped other women, and their response has helped me.

Will you consider blessing your sisters with the gift of compassion?  Please think about it.