Tara Lynn Thompson's Blog, page 3

The more I know the less I understand

Don Henley told me that once. I was listening to my radio in 1989 and he was on the other side of it trying to get down to the heart of the matter. Albert Einstein listened to Henley, too, because he once said, "The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know."

What a peachy fact of life.

Recently, I celebrated a big birthday, the birthday-that-shall-not-be-named. Every time I say it out loud, I black out.



What's shocked me more than the number is reaching this point in life and still struggling with basic life questions, like:

Where to from here?What should I be doing with my life?What's my purpose?Why haven't I purchased an easy grip jar opener by now? 
I mean, really, how many times do I need to bruise my palms before I accept there are jars not meant to be opened?

Stupid pickles.

The not knowing.
Many of these questions we wrestle with our entire lives. I get that. Part of the struggle will always be finding peace with the mystery. Still. I don't know about you, but living in the unknown is antithetical to my personality.

Problems need solutions.
Ignorance needs education.
And all mysteries must be solved. 

Faith asks for something quite different, though. It says to believe without seeing. Hope without reason. Move forward on a darkened path.

Dadgummit. 

The second harvest.
But I have a theory.

What if there was more to find? We traversed life harvesting what we could, but what if there was grain left behind?

I got the idea recently after reading the story of Ruth, who found her future in a field.

A common practice in ancient times was for the poor to go through fields after harvest and gather what was left behind. And God made sure there would always be something left behind.

"When you harvest the crops of your land, do not harvest the grain along the edges of your fields, and do not pick up what the harvesters drop. Leave it for the poor and the foreigners living among you. I am the LORD your God." Leviticus 23:22 NLT

By following after the harvesters, Ruth found food for herself and her mother-in-law. This sustained them until Boaz, the owner of the field, redeemed her in marriage. Together, they had a son, Obed, who ended up being the grandfather of King David.

Not bad for a poor girl gleaning a second harvest.

The next time around. 
To celebrate the birthday-that-shall-not-be-named, I've decided to set aside my plans to take a European, yet also tropical, vacation, while throwing a massive party extravaganza for myself after checking off all the items on my bucket list.

Instead, I'm taking a trip into the past.

Because I'm a girl who likes cheap, meaningful experiences.

What I hope to do is visit the people who have impacted my life up to this point. Not to reminisce. The past is nearly always best left where it lands. This is to remind myself what I gleaned from them the first time and, if my theory stands, glean more.

This is me walking the fields after the harvest. Like Ruth. Except for the whole sneaking down into the threshing floor scene. Breathe easy, men, I won't be uncovering anyone's feet. (Hey, that's a decent joke. If you didn't get it, read Ruth 3.)

The rules.
If this inspires you to do the same, join me! Here are the rules, which I can't actually enforce but I hope you follow them anyway.

1) Do this in person. We are far too disconnected as a culture. We text instead of call, converse on a thread instead of at a dinner party. Face-to-face time is a crucial element to building intimacy and closeness in relationships. So sit down together. Share a cup of coffee. Take a walk. But do your second harvest in person.

2) Don't visit bad memories.This adventure will become dangerous and unhealthy if it turns into digging up graves and exhuming bodies. When you make a list of people you want to revisit, focus only on those who left a positive impact. Not on settling scores or getting closure. This is not that.

3) Take what comes. This journey will have a mind of its own. Which means you may not unearth any life-altering revelations. You may discover something entirely unexpected. So go forward with excitement, but not expectations.

4) Tell them their impact.We rarely know what impact we have on the lives of others. But wouldn't it be cool if we did? This is your opportunity to pay that forward. Give to someone else what you'd love to get. Besides, if you don't tell them what they've meant to you, who will?

5) Share!Comment below. Blog about it, which is what I'll be doing, too. Post and tweet about it. And, if you do, use #My2ndHarvest so I can find you and I'll share your experiences, too.

The first harvest may have ended. But the fields are open for a second round. Go out there and gather some grain, my friends.

You may already be a success. And don't know it.

A friend recently asked me a question. Then told me not to answer.

We were discussing another business venture I was embarking on because I'm always embarking on something. Since he was joining me for this voyage, we needed to go through our next steps. Then he stopped mid-sentence.

"Before we can go any further, I need to know what you call success."

I could Merriam-Webster it for him, if he wanted.

"What's your definition of success?" he clarified. "Before we can start this, I need to know how you define it." Then he told me not to answer. "Just think about it. You need to spend time on it because how can you know you've achieved it until you've clearly defined it?"

I started to say, 'I'll just feel it,' but stopped myself before sounding like a millennial.

Hungry Is As Hungry Does

When I asked him for an example of what he meant, he told me about his dad.

An entrepreneur, too, his father worked for himself for one major reason: he wanted to eat lunch when he was hungry. While most companies established the lunch break between noon and 1 pm, his dad said he wasn't always hungry between noon and 1 pm.

"'What if I'm hungry at 11?' Dad said. 'Or 1:30?' He didn't want it dictated to him when he had to eat. He wanted the freedom to eat when he was hungry and not eat when he wasn't. Having that freedom, for him, was success."

Thinking Outside the Clock
For me, the definition came down to time. Not books sold. Not money made. Not recognition. Just time, oddly enough.

What I didn't want was to spend it in unnecessary meetings, obligatory luncheons, and seeking dust-collecting awards. I'm not a schmoozer. I don't need applause. I don't care if anyone knows my name, unless they want to buy my book. Then I want it tattooed inside their eyelids.

What I did want was to spend my time with the people in my life, to write entertaining/witty/thought-provoking stories, and to work on projects for organizations with eternal value. To do that meant I needed to have control over my time.

Control over my time = success 
It also meant I could eat only when I was hungry.

A Life By Any Other Name
Even though we try to avoid it, we often define our success according to cultural or family expectations. We never stop to put our own definition to it because the world has already done the hard work and defined it for us.

We've been convinced that happiness doesn't come until we...make a specific yearly salary...hold a prestigious title...receive peer recognition...live in a certain neighborhood...follow all the fashion fads...vacation in certain destinations...exude a predetermined beauty standard...have a recognizable name...and so on.

We're often chasing after a success that, once caught, we may not even want.

No wonder some of the richest, most famous among us are also the most miserable. They've achieved "success." And to fully embrace all that happiness, they self-medicate to get through the day.
Your Private Award's Ceremony
We must define our idea of success. I didn't realize how dissatisfied I was with my achievements until I recognized my standard for judging wasn't my own. It had been implanted in me years ago and never forcefully challenged.

I realized what the majority of the world viewed as success, I did not. So I've stopped seeking it.

Maybe it's that way for you, too. You may not even realize you're desperately working for something that, once achieved, you won't want. Or maybe not. But we don't know until we take the time to define success for ourselves.

And, in the end, your definition might surprise you. In fact, you may discover what I did. That success was something I'd already achieved.

The best year yet? Yes, No, Maybe.

"These are the nations that the Lord left in the land  to test those Israelites who had not experienced the wars of Canaan. He did this to teach warfare to generations of Israelites who had no experience in battle." Judges 3:1-2

I'm sorry. What?

He left them? On purpose?

When I read this chapter recently, I asked God if He was punking me. But, apparently, everyone's Bible says this.

God leaves problems, challenges, even enemies in our path to "teach warfare." He didn't hold a class or send a memo. He created an environment that would guarantee future generations would get "experience in battle."

That seems all kinds of wrong. Why would He do that?

My first thought was because God doesn't raise snowflakes, He makes warriors. Booyah. He knew the experience of warfare would convince Israel that God was with them. That their faith would give them boldness. And that boldness would ensure they wouldn't shrink back from conquering new land.

It was like a one-two-three punch knockout strategy. God was showing Israel that their battles scars weren't injuries, they were military stripes marking their rank.

And now, 2017
Well, hello there new year.

One popular phrase I've heard this year has been, "May 2017 be your best year ever." I appreciate the sentiment. But I'm annoyingly future-minded, so my next thought is, "Does that mean 2018 will suck?"

It's not that I wouldn't mind 12 months of bliss. But, let's get real. There's no such thing.

I'd love to believe 2017 will be the year where everything goes amazingly perfect, all my goals are reached, all my hopes are realized, all my pain disappears, and all my days are a balmy 72-degrees with a light southerly breeze. I'd also love to have dinner with Cary Grant on a riverboat cruise, but I'm not going out shopping for water-resistant evening attire.

Sidenote question, is there such a thing as water-resistant evening attire?

Challenges will come
I say lots of things lightly, but not this. To be perfectly honest, I acknowledge this fact with a tinge of fear. Unknown challenges frighten me. As do unknown blessings. Anything unknown, basically. I don't like it.

But the longer I've thought about those verses in Judges, the less anxious I feel about approaching a new year with all those waiting unknowns.

In those verses, God appears to be giving Israel a glimpse into what's to come, as well as encouragement that He was the master planner behind it. He's showing them that the presence of enemies is not the absence of God, nor the indicator of future loss.

He didn't leave the enemies in the land to give Israel something to worry about. He left the enemy behind to give Israel victory.

God had promised Israel blessings. And the battles brought an opportunity for God to show Israel just how big, how monumental, how gracious, how lavish, His blessings would be. The reality of the challenges He left behind was actually evidence of the blessings He already had planned.

Yes? See where I'm going with this? I'm on a roll here, people. Can I get an amen? I'm going to pretend I got one.

All things new
There may be a few problems that followed you - uninvited like - into 2017. In fact, there may be a few problems that have crossed the midnight divide over many New Year's Eves.

When they appear yet again in a brand new year, it can make you feel as if this year will be like all the others - still no victory, still no overcoming, still no prayer answered, still no land conquered.

There's no way of knowing, of course, if this year will be any different. Any better. Any worse. You can't trust crystal balls, positive thinking, or pollsters to forecast the future.

What you can trust is this: God never leaves behind an enemy He doesn't already have a plan to defeat. He didn't for the Israelites and He doesn't for us.

So, take heart and hold on. Victory is coming. Neither the proximity of an enemy nor the length of the battle is an indicator of the outcome. God has a path for you, all He's asking is for you to trust Him.

And, who knows. 2017 really could be the best year, yet.

It's election season which means...yep. Celebrities on a white screen.

Actors seeking political relevance are always cringeworthy, God love 'em. But they really try. And this one takes a stab at beating all us naysaying common folk to the punch. 
Since people make fun of their political ads (don't mind us fault-finders, we're no one special), they decided to make fun of themselves first. And then they went right on ahead and made their political ad. It's enough to get you excited they might have gotten a dose of reality right before realizing they didn't get a dose of reality.
The problem with these kinds of videos is that they tell us nothing new. We already know Hollywood is liberal. It would be like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar going around telling everyone, "I'm tall."
Yeah, we got that.
"I'm really tall."
Yep. Understood.
As for their opinion, I have no problem with it. It's called a democratic republic. They have a right to their opinion and I have a right to disagree. My disappointment is the fact here, yet again, is nothing new under the sun. Another presidential election year, another group of celebrities on a white screen enjoying the sound of their political endorsement. And I thought the Marvel series was never-ending.

3 Lessons in Library Selfies

What do you do the first time you see your first novel at your local library? You stand in the "T" fiction aisle snapping creepy selfies with it, that's what you do.

Doesn't everyone?

Of course they do.

When that moment arrives, you'll be shocked, elated, freaked out, and a dork for taking selfies in the library. But that won't be your biggest problem. Here are the three things I learned from my library selfie photo shoot:

1. Books on the top shelf are hard to see and hard to shoot. If your last name lands you in the clouds or the dungeon, consider changing your name. Something with a "K" might work.


The straight on shock face. 
2. You dreamed of your book going public. And it has. Now your name is out there riding free, living willy-nilly, and at risk of being a dog's chew toy, dropped in the tub, and left on the back of the commode.
The trick to not thinking about it? Not thinking about it.

The side eyeball vein look. 
3. Conquering the world one shelf at a time takes patience and ridiculous, illogical hope. So, shrug. Be ridiculous. It's not like your hope has anything better to do.

The creepy coming-at-you-from-the-side angle.
Good luck out there! If you send me a copy of your book, I promise not to let my dog eat it because I don't have a dog.

Millions of peaches. Peaches for free.

I met a man last week who said “the best job I ever had” was on a GM repair line where he spent the day doing crossword puzzles and sudoku. Then he went home and patted himself on the back for another day well done.It reminded me of the best job I've ever had when I was a kid. It lasted all summer and, near the last part of August, I got paid in peaches. As many as I could eat.Back then, the arrival of Colorado peaches meant the summer season of food harvesting was nearly done. We spent our summers swimming and bike riding like everyone else, but after the work was finished.We had corn to shuck. And green beans to snap. Apples to peel. And tomatoes to slice. Blueberries to pick. And weeds to rip out by the hair.And when we were done with that? The food had to be preserved for winter because food doesn’t preserve itself.That corn was cut off the cob and frozen. The green beans were canned. The tomatoes went into homemade salsa which would burn your eyes for days, even when you were sure you kept your hands away from your face.But when it was all done, we ate like kings. And slept like the dead.I know work is now considered a bad word. Getting something for nothing is considered the ultimate achievement. But, without the labor, I don't think that Colorado peach we waited all summer for would have ever been as sweet.

Fear and the sucker punch

My Dad never taught me to face my fears. He taught me to beat them to the punch. Get in front of them. Don't let them take an inch because then they'll take 10,000 miles. 
And he wasn't kidding. 
When I turned 13, he drove me four hours across the state to the biggest church youth event happening that weekend and dropped me off in a massive field with hundreds of total strangers playing volleyball. 
His parting words: "Go make friends."
Years later, I hydroplaned and wrecked my first car. When Dad got home, he told me to get in his car.
"If it's alright with you, Dad, I'd rather not ride in a vehicle anymore today."
His response: "Nope. We're not going to start that. Get in. We're going out for hamburgers."
And so on and so forth.
So, what do you do when the last time you were at the gym your vehicle was vandalized and your identity stolen?
For one, you never leave anything of value in your vehicle again.
For two, you go buy a new workout outfit and go back to the freaking gym. 



Beating fear to the punch is a sweaty business.

Day Two in the Attack of the Gremlins

My garage carpet flooded today from a mysterious leak that persists in its mystery. And so the water continues being cut off and my landlord continues cutting into walls.

 Best of luck to all of us. 

 Bad days often come in pairs. Or threes. Also quads. Or any number of their choosing. The best you can do is laugh, if possible. Cry, if necessary. Chant "oh no, oh no, oh please no," which is my personal favorite. Then keep moving forward.

 These aren't my favorite kind of days, but they have their purpose. It's a great reminder that our strength easy dissipates, but God's does not. If we truly believe that, then we can confidently face tomorrow because, let's be real here, we have no idea what the Gremlins have planned for Day Three.

Dear criminal class of miscreants...

... who broke into my Jeep and stole my purse this morning,You targeted me for victimization, but, alas, you have failed. I’m just not in the mood. I’m feeling waspy today. Never target me when I’m feeling waspy.Taking my purse is inconvenient. But now you’ve given me a reason to buy a new one. Without guilt.Amateur.You didn’t think this through. You took my favorite Burt’s Bees lip gloss, but the joke is on you. I was ready to switch to a new shade.You just can’t win for losing.
As for breaking my window, you chose the wrong curly-headed chick. My hair always looks windblown anyway. Another epic fail!You broke into my vehicle while I was at the gym. While you were being recorded on security tapes racking up charges at Lowes, Walmart, Target, and Walgreens, I was building muscle. Now you’re a wanted criminal and I have the core strength to kick your arse.Who made the better decision today, hmm?
And then, the worst mistake of all, you took my purse but left behind a signed copy of my first book, Not Another Superhero. Have you any idea how valuable that will eventually be? You’re only playing the short game here.Plus, I’ve been praying for you since the moment I saw your handy work. Do you know what that means? Coals. Heaps of them on your pitiful head. If you get singed by falling brimstone, you only have yourself to blame.Lastly, I’d like to leave you with a bit of advice.First, your smash and grab technique needs work. Eventually, you’re going to develop tennis elbow.Second, never mess with a writer. We’ll spend years hunting you down simply for the fodder.Sincerely,
Your Coming Tribulation

It's funny the things you miss

There was never a clean scrap of paper in the house. Not the front of paper. Not the back of paper. Not the inside of envelopes. Often, not even the toilet paper.

To my brother, the world was a canvas. And if he couldn't find a canvas, well...your journal will do.




That was life growing up with an artist. They must create. He was a doodling furnace that consumed every writeable surface in the house. Have you ever seen an alien battle depicted on an empty paper towel holder?

I have.

A few of them.

Space travel is a bloody business.




I've always admired his talent. More than admired. Coveted. I do well to print my name legibly. He could recreate the minute details of a Boeing 747 within six minutes or less of it flying overhead. Being in the same house with talent like that makes everything you do look like...well...child's play.

Because it is.




Mostly, however, what drove me crazy was never having a piece of paper to myself. As a writer pre-personal computer age, this was like dropping a swimmer in the desert and telling them to practice their laps.

"Mom! He drew all over my notebook again!"

My parents should have bought paper by the bale and ink by the bucket.




Even my homework got in on the action. My assignments were often spruced up with bold but odd doodles in the corner, on the cover, on the back, inside the notepad. You name it. Those doodles were sneaky creatures. They could wiggle into nearly any open space.

Frequently, my teachers would inform me doodling was not allowed in math. Or science. On my English papers or along the spine of my social studies homework. When they'd ask me to explain it, I'd just shrug.

"I left my notebook unguarded last night and Brendon found it."




As a kid, you have certain fantasies of what life will be like as an adult. You dream of all the dessert you'll eat. The late nights where you skip sleep. The freedom to do anything. And the endless supply of paper and pencils always available.

Okay, that last one might have only been me.




My brother and I haven't shared bathrooms, dinner tables, backseats, or notepads for nearly 20 years now. Recently, however, I was combing through my supply of clean notebooks and found a remnant left over. There, as if conjured straight out of a childhood memory, was a notebook with scribbles all over it.

I'm guessing he left it at my place at some point during the last two decades. I honestly hope I haven't kept notebooks around from high school. If so, it's time to sit myself down and have a chat about hoarding.




The funny or odd or ironic thing about that notepad is that I'm never going to let it go. I'll trash all the empty ones first. And, even then, good luck getting this sucker out of my hands. I have an intense grip.

After all those years of wanting to dump his head in a vat of black ink and watch bubbles float to the top, I missed those doodles. Really missed them.

Even though I was often frustrated beyond a healthy blood pressure level, I still had to admire the talent. And the journey. On every page there was a character waiting. Or a scene. Or an impression that left me realizing some creative minds think in more dimensions than the rest of us.

Now, as an adult, I want the doodles back. But my brother has far better things to do.




Next month, he and his wife will welcome their first son. He's already an active critter, my sister-in-law tells me. I'm not a bit surprised. If I had to guess, he's running out of wall space in there to draw on.

Or maybe he'll be more like me. The boring, reading one.

But I rather hope not. I hope, like his father, he is a fount of endless ideas. I hope he dreams of alien battles and draws them everywhere. I hope his curiosity gets him into trouble. And adventure. I hope he recreates creatures from his head into the corner of every piece of Botany homework his older sisters turn-in. And I hope they have to explain it to their teachers. Over and over again.

I hope he's alive with imagination. And I hope, when I leave my notepad lying around, he draws all over it.