Argument for Servanthood

For almost three years now, I have loved the writer's workshop I attend. I have basked in all that is good from the teachers, leadership, mentors, and peers. I now know some amazing people who I hold in my heart as family. For The Write Ingredients Workshop, I am sincerely grateful.

Now the time has come for me to step up to the plate and become a giver--a servant--toward this group that I especially love. I find myself thrust into the position of a shared leadership role.

I don't know exactly how this happened. It just happened.

Well, maybe I have an inkling as to the origin of change; maybe last summer when I had a long heart-to-heart with my beloved friend, and the founder of The Write Ingredients, Kristl. At that time, I sensed a need for change and so did Kristl. But what to do?that was the million dollar question?what to do? Neither of us could quite put our finger on the exact problem or a solution at the time, but we brainstormed, and time passed.

And now here we are. I went out of town for a couple of weeks and when I came back Kristl had stepped away from her position as sole leader of the group and would now share leadership with others who were currently participating as volunteers for various jobs. The meeting leadership roster would follow a predetermined cycle each month: Robert, Rhonda, Kristl, Ivar and Jonna.

Kristl and I talked about the changes the other day. I expressed my notice of a new flavor permeating the group--a servanthood mentality.

The group experience seems richer, the payoff of each meeting sweeter somehow.

More people are giving. And it seems the more givers there are, the more others pitch in as well. It's like just about everyone wants to get in on the action.

I've always known giving is more blessed than receiving. But really, not a soul gives without receiving at the same time.

Tonight I was reminded.

This day, for me, was a twelve on a scale of one-to-ten with one's a great day and ten sucks. Today was my twenty-nine year old precious daughter?s birthday and I didn't call her until 10:30P.M. It was that bad. If you read my blog, 247autism.blogspot.com you'll pick up the gist of what I'm talking about. But for here and now, I'll just say the last thing in the world I wanted to do at 7:00P.M. tonight was stand in front of a group of anyone, smile, and say, "Welcome to The Write Ingredients Workshop."

But that is what I did because it was my turn.

As the evening progressed, I genuinely laughed. I forgot my own messy life while lending my peers a hand. When I touched those hands I felt their warmth.

My pain lessened. My joy returned.

If you have a less-than-perfect life or even feel like pulling the covers over your head, put on some working gloves and give servanthood a try--it rocks.

By the way, friends--you know who you are--Thanks.

Carla Was Her Name

"Put it to them briefly so they will read it, clearly so they will appreciate it, picturesquely so they will remember it, and, above all, accurately so they will be guided by its light." Joseph Pulitzer

I read this quote almost every time I work on my memoir. I am almost done, you know. This is what those closest to me are surely sick of hearing. Maybe the best thing is to keep a long work on the down-low. I plan to do that next time. For now, I'm really almost done, so still talking. Ha. There is a particular girl in my memoir who is a composite of three, yes, you heard right, three friends. One of the friends was from another time in my life even. Fourth grade, I think. Anyway, this is why memoir takes a long time. You think you are writing it true and then all these people from other times come in, with the things they said and did or you remember them saying and doing, but, wait, it was from another time, not the year you are writing about. Oh, my, a sticky sandbox we play in. Well, this girl I'm talking about, she must go. She says goodbye to the Candy Cigarettes gang and she'll crop up again in another story, another day. Carla was her name. She was quite interesting. And wouldn't we all be kooky and fun and have the ability to captivate with intrigue, if we were three folks combined?

The good news is, after Carla goes, all that's left is the truth?how I remember it from 1974, the year my father died, when I was one messed-up puppy. Should make for interesting tabloid once it's on the shelves.

Happy writing, and reading, to you all.

Love,
Rhonda