This I Believe: Life Lessons Read Free Page A

in her eyes, she told me I could bring my spelling test on Monday. And then she gave me a hug.
    I couldn’t believe it. My disappointment disappeared with this unexpected gift.
    Twenty years later, I still remember that moment. Even though I fell short of what was required of me, my teacher graced me with love and understanding. She could have stood her ground and let me sit out as an example to the other students, but she knew punishing me for this small mistake wouldn’t teach me a new lesson. The lesson I learned that day was how much grace can lift someone’s spirit.
    Yet, I seem to have a hard time grasping grace in my life. I sometimes subscribe to the idea of karma: what goes around comes around. But then I remember that balancing a behavioral checkbook is detrimental to my happiness. If I’m constantly keeping count of what I feel I’m entitled to, I may never be satisfied. If I’m blessed beyond what I deserve, I might never feel worthy. I must remind myself that I know better. Not everyone is punished for breaking the rules, just as not everyone is rewarded for their efforts. Life may not be fair, but when I think about it, more often than not I’m on the fortunate side of the imbalance. And this moves me to offer the same grace to others.
    I believe in being gracious to others, and I believe in accepting others’ graciousness whether I’ve earned it or not. Sometimes you are blessed simply because someone loves you. And that is why grace is a gift—not a reward.
    Laura Durham lives in Salt Lake City, where she works for several arts organizations, including the Utah Arts Council, the Salt Lake Gallery Stroll, and 15 Bytes , a visual arts e-zine. She also sings with the Utah Chamber Artists. Ms. Durham enjoys music, cooking, traveling, writing, and sharing stories with anyone who has the patience to listen to them.

The Sisterhood of Roller Derby

    Erin Blakemore
    When I first stepped onto the rink, I had no idea that by strapping on some pads and snapping a helmet into place I’d be taking a step toward changing my whole life. Now I know better.
    They’re secretaries and moms by day, but every woman who walks through the door of the Wagon Wheel roller rink has an alter ego. Sure, they masquerade behind funny names like Rockett and Ivona Killeau, but every skater in my roller derby league is an athlete in disguise, a rough-and-tumble, hard-core wonder woman who doesn’t fear putting her body in danger on a daily basis.
    At first I didn’t think I would fit in. What does a bespectacled geek really have in common with a bunch of mean roller derby babes? To me, they were pinups on skates—sexy, powerful women with something to prove. That was before I started the grueling ritual of skating drills that taxed my body and my mind to the outer limits of endurance—and changed my insides to go along with my newly muscular frame.
    Through months of training it became clear: I was unstable on my skates, but that wasn’t my only problem. I was too inhibited, a buttoned-up woman on the verge of a quarter-life crisis. I had just moved to a new state, ready to start a new life. Joining the roller derby was just another move in a long chain of flustered and floundering attempts to redefine myself in terms of what I could be rather than what I did for a living.
    And I found I wasn’t alone. Through divorce, death, and bankruptcy, lost jobs and lost boyfriends, the women of the Denver Roller Dolls are there at the rink four times a week beating each other up—and building each other up. My roller persona, Audrey Rugburn, is no different—she doesn’t take no for an answer. She’s tough and selfish and undeniably strong. And before too long, her power started bleeding into my everyday life. I’ve gone from mistrusting my own instincts to knowing true confidence.
    Some dismiss the roller derby as campy sports entertainment that’s past its