This past weekend, I had the distinct privilege and pleasure of leading a track at the Iowa Episcopal Summer Ministry School and Retreat in Grinnell, IA.
My friend, Jeanie, who I've written about repeatedly, is a Deacon with the Episcopal church, serving at St. Timothy's in West Des Moines, IA. It's a later in life career for her. She answered the call she had been hearing over the years after working in a number of businesses, the last a home health care organization that specialized in infusion therapies. And in true Jeanie fashion, she has answered the call loudly, with extraordinary grace, energy, enthusiasm, dedication. In fact, she and a fellow Deacon were in charge of the event, which is how I came to be a presenter.
"I think you should do something with your retirement stuff," she said last fall.
"Okay," I replied, thinking, how hard could this be?
Fast forward to early June, when I pulled out the schedule for the workshops to get a sense of how to organize the work. It was then it hit me, full force, that this wasn't going to be just teaching a series of classes. The group signing up for the track would be together from Friday night-Sunday noon.
Hmm, I said to myself. I sort of remember how to do this. I need to brush up on my facilitation skills.
The more I thought about the weekend, the more anxious I became. What if I didn't know how to pull this rabbit out the hat any longer? The classes I've been teaching have some audience participation, but I learned if I leaned too heavily on an inquiry approach, the audience didn't always respond. Consequently and unfortunately, my teaching has become a bit too didactic. I was aware of this and am planning to change this out when I revise my presentations over the summer.
So, in the interest of soothing my anxious soul and getting a full night's sleep, I called Jeanie and told her that developing the workshop was, in a favorite phrase of her daughter McB's, giving me the gout.
I don't recall precisely how she responded as in what she said. Her tone, however, oozed confidence in me. When we hung up, I took a couple deep breaths and said aloud, "Okay, you've got this."
And I did. I worked somewhat feverishly for a few days, ripping apart existing presentations, making a few assumptions about the audience, considering what they should be walking away with on Sunday and what the journey to that should entail. There were multiple false starts, dead ends, slammed doors before I found the rhythm where I felt the confidence instilled in me was deserved. This will work. This would be better. Or, better still, what about this?
Indeed, God was watching over this work because the participants who were drawn to this track were truly an amazing group. I know we often say that a group of people or an experience is AMAZING because we frequently believe our lives should be lived in a state of superlatives. The basic assumption I had about the group before I met them was that they were joiners who would be ready, willing and able to share their stories. The work could capitalize on this; point in fact, the more the work did, the richer, deeper, fuller the experience for all of us. I was able to retreat to the place where, as a facilitator, I sat back and watched it all unfold. Have you ever been there? It is an AMAZING place and especially AMAZING when you are with others who have all been invited, then continually extend the invitation throughout the workshop to each other. By listening. By challenging. By speaking their truths. Through laughter. Through mutually developing a sense of psychological safety where stories, either frequently or infrequently told, can be shared.
Usually, I finish teaching, someone will ask me how the class went and usually, I answer, "Good. It went well." That's always my expectation, that it will go well because if after all these years it doesn't, I have been barking up the wrong trees. When teaching or facilitating or building community, I operate from a position of strength. It better be good. It better have gone well.
Ask me how this one went.
"Great. It went really, really, really, really well."
Cooking
I don't have anything for you. Instead I have a couple poems used during the workshop I'd like to share.
My friend, Jeanie, who I've written about repeatedly, is a Deacon with the Episcopal church, serving at St. Timothy's in West Des Moines, IA. It's a later in life career for her. She answered the call she had been hearing over the years after working in a number of businesses, the last a home health care organization that specialized in infusion therapies. And in true Jeanie fashion, she has answered the call loudly, with extraordinary grace, energy, enthusiasm, dedication. In fact, she and a fellow Deacon were in charge of the event, which is how I came to be a presenter.
"I think you should do something with your retirement stuff," she said last fall.
"Okay," I replied, thinking, how hard could this be?
Fast forward to early June, when I pulled out the schedule for the workshops to get a sense of how to organize the work. It was then it hit me, full force, that this wasn't going to be just teaching a series of classes. The group signing up for the track would be together from Friday night-Sunday noon.
Hmm, I said to myself. I sort of remember how to do this. I need to brush up on my facilitation skills.
The more I thought about the weekend, the more anxious I became. What if I didn't know how to pull this rabbit out the hat any longer? The classes I've been teaching have some audience participation, but I learned if I leaned too heavily on an inquiry approach, the audience didn't always respond. Consequently and unfortunately, my teaching has become a bit too didactic. I was aware of this and am planning to change this out when I revise my presentations over the summer.
So, in the interest of soothing my anxious soul and getting a full night's sleep, I called Jeanie and told her that developing the workshop was, in a favorite phrase of her daughter McB's, giving me the gout.
I don't recall precisely how she responded as in what she said. Her tone, however, oozed confidence in me. When we hung up, I took a couple deep breaths and said aloud, "Okay, you've got this."
And I did. I worked somewhat feverishly for a few days, ripping apart existing presentations, making a few assumptions about the audience, considering what they should be walking away with on Sunday and what the journey to that should entail. There were multiple false starts, dead ends, slammed doors before I found the rhythm where I felt the confidence instilled in me was deserved. This will work. This would be better. Or, better still, what about this?
Indeed, God was watching over this work because the participants who were drawn to this track were truly an amazing group. I know we often say that a group of people or an experience is AMAZING because we frequently believe our lives should be lived in a state of superlatives. The basic assumption I had about the group before I met them was that they were joiners who would be ready, willing and able to share their stories. The work could capitalize on this; point in fact, the more the work did, the richer, deeper, fuller the experience for all of us. I was able to retreat to the place where, as a facilitator, I sat back and watched it all unfold. Have you ever been there? It is an AMAZING place and especially AMAZING when you are with others who have all been invited, then continually extend the invitation throughout the workshop to each other. By listening. By challenging. By speaking their truths. Through laughter. Through mutually developing a sense of psychological safety where stories, either frequently or infrequently told, can be shared.
Usually, I finish teaching, someone will ask me how the class went and usually, I answer, "Good. It went well." That's always my expectation, that it will go well because if after all these years it doesn't, I have been barking up the wrong trees. When teaching or facilitating or building community, I operate from a position of strength. It better be good. It better have gone well.
Ask me how this one went.
"Great. It went really, really, really, really well."
Cooking
I don't have anything for you. Instead I have a couple poems used during the workshop I'd like to share.
And every day,
the world will drag you,
by the hand, yelling.
“This is important!
And this is important!
You need to worry about this!
And this! And this!”
And each day, it’s up to you,
to yank your hand back,
Put it on your heart, and say,
“No. This is what’s important.”
Iain Thomas
Out
Of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.
Not loving is a letting go.
Listen,
The terrain around here
Is
Far too
Dangerous
For
That.
--Hafez
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