Being randomly obsessive, I prefer to arrive to new places in an annoyingly prompt manner. Leaving 10 minutes early creates a cushion. For this first-time trek, I rev the car 30 minutes ahead of time and pull out my trusty GPS, secure Mr. G. to the windshield, and enter the all-important address. Soon the coordinates lock in. The destination is a mere 25-minute drive. No problem, and a final cup of white tea awaits me in the kitchen.
Rain shoes, Ginger Ale, a snack, and a thermos containing tea for the road are lugged to the car. Maybe I'm overcompensating for insecurities, but nonetheless, rain, hunger, and thirst will be controlled and quenched... but how about 60-mile-an-hour wind gusts?!? (I later learned that during my cross-town transport, a tree fell on parked cars and shingles flew off of many roofs.)
As the car starts, Mr. G. falls to the floor and a glow on the dashboard appears. Mr. G. is quickly re-suctioned, but the gas tank light screams to steal those 10 extra minutes with a fill-up. On the way to the station, Mr. G. again takes a dive and needs re-suctioning. Why did I commit to this speech tournament?
The car door flies open at the gas pump and wind gusts pummel me. Styled hair flies about, like wind-blown straw. I streamline press the necessary self-service buttons, insert the nozzle, and return to the shelter of the driver's seat.
After a mere $5 of fuel is dispensed, rats! and "ka-thunk." I reluctantly open the door to again wrestle winds to restart the pump. A Sumo-pose is perfect for the remainder of the fill-up, for balance. As the nozzle is hurriedly yanked, a sneaky wind gust spits gasoline droplets onto my cheek that reeks! Why did I commit to this speech tournament?
Zipping along on the highway, my vehicle feels sporadically wind-possessed. I white-knuckle it and ignorantly decide to pass a 16-wheeler, slipping back into the right lane just in time to exit. A large tree limb lying in the road is successfully dodged as the obstacle course is relentless. I am reminded of how very small I feel! Why, oh why, did I commit to this speech tournament?
Arrival to the destination a few minutes late means training has begun. The temps have plunged at least 15 degrees. Each fighting step to the safe building doors is north-wind frazzling. The arrowed sign at the first set of doors makes me feel even smaller, knowing that more wind-whipping is ahead: "Next door please;" the second set of doors, the same... The third set of doors are incredibly difficult to tug open.
Good thing bladders can flex because, as predicted, training has already begun. A well-meaning worker points to one inconspicuous vacant seat in a claustrophobic room. It is advantageously located near the door, but I feel like a bagel crammed into a narrow toaster slot. Is everyone wearing their deodorant? Do I smell of gasoline? Why, oh why, did I commit to this speech tournament?
Weeks ago the idea of being a community speech judge seemed anything but meaningful. I have a 4-year degree and like to write but have no debate or speech team experience whatsoever. A persistent friend said judges were needed, yet, the thought of small is less than inviting.
Tournament time is here, and this microscopic guppy-out-of-water flops to assigned Room 106. I have hit bottom emotionally and hope the only way to go is up, but preferably not belly-up. It is a relief to see a panel of judges. To blend in like a chameleon with the other two will be comfortable, yet still refreshingly challenging.
We three judges listen intently to six entertaining story-telling presentations (these teens are talented!) The theme is travel, based on Dr. Seuss' Oh, The Places You'll Go. The story of Flat Stanley hits in a kindred way. Because of his deflated and small size, Stanley fits into mailers and travels inexpensively through the postal service to Europe and other fascinating places. It relates well with the travel theme, and a small size definitely brings large adventures to Stanley.
As I reflect back on the overall judging experience, similar to Flat Stanley's opportunities, Going Places Small was overall rewarding. Despite travel obstacles, once judging began, expectations were reachable. In an inconspicuous way, an interesting skill set was experienced in a non-threatening way. Storytelling and blogging are like kissing-cousins, and imagining myself judging Olympic ice dance twizzles and Dancing With the Stars presentations was intriguing.
Tournaments like the Heart of the Ozarks Seussical Speechical can't happen without ordinary volunteers, and talented teens need constructive, written, honing feedback. Day 2's judging felt like delightful beach breezes rather than mega-strong and frigid wind gusts. In Exodus 33, God needs volunteer Moses to continue the monumental task of leading the impossible Israelites. Moses requests of God: "Now, show me your glory." It seems like he was saying: God, let me feel how big and powerful You are, because Your task is big and I feel so small.
The value-packed Bible includes various characters and situations that highlight the University of Small:
- For Noah building the massive Ark, construction begins with just one piece of wood (Genesis 6:9-7:24).
- Draught-ridden Elijah faces off against The Prophets of Baal. He sends his servant who spots one small cloud in the distance. (I Kings 18:44).
- A destitute widow cries out to the Prophet Elisha: "...Your servant has nothing there at all...except a little oil." (2 Kings 4:1-7).
- David is the youngest and smallest of his many brothers. (I Samuel 16:6-13).
- The small Babe Jesus is born in a small manger in Bethlehem (Matthew 2:1).
- At a wedding feast in Cana, the hosts' precious wine embarrassingly runs out to a smaller than small amount... nothing. (John 2:3).
- Jesus says that if one has faith the size of a tiny mustard seed, mountains can be moved (Matthew 13:31 and Mark 4:31).
The purpose of the Season of Lent, with sacrifice and fasting, is to remind me of God's bigness. When I am weak, I feel a tangy yet savory void that points me to Him. It is distinctively satisfying as well as... Tres Bon.
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