Do good anyway

"People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous,
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world your best and it may never be enough;
Give the world your best anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway."

Mother Teresa

"Whodat"

One Saturday morning a while back, I went on my walk and ran into a lady looking around frantically and calling “Whodat, Whodat”. My first inclination was that she was a tad mad, but in actuality, Whodat was her pet yorky. She asked if I had seen it, but I hadn’t. I asked where she lived and told her I would keep my eye out. She lives one street over and a block down from us. A couple hours later, my husband left for the store running into (actually over) Whodat just down our street. The dog was killed instantly. He had darted out suddenly and my husband didn’t even see him. He heard the thunk as he rolled over the poor thing and thought he’d hit a squirrel. When he stopped to retrieve the dead squirrel (to take home for Penny, our dog) he discovered it was a dog. Witnesses saw the whole thing and pronounced my husband completely innocent of any culpability. The dog had no collar or tags, so he left his phone number at the home nearest the scene of the accident and lifted the corpse onto the grass under a tree. He phoned me to tell me about it. I actually wasn’t sure it was Whodat, seeing as how neither of us were quite sure what a yorky looks like. So when Hannah (our resident dog expert) got home, we visited the scene and she confirmed my suspicions, yorky all right. The three of us walked to the lady’s house and I began by asking if she had found her dog yet (I still had hopes). Then my husband interrupted me (cut me off from disclosing the true circumstances of his demise) to say, “We think he was hit by a car. He’s dead.” Way to fess up… We told her where to find him then we came home. She retrieved the body and obviously the phone number, for we got a call from her asking about the circumstances. My husband was very apologetic at first, but as the lady got more upset, he got more defensive and before we knew it threats were flying back and forth between the two of them and Hannah and I were beginning to wonder if he was GLAD he’d killed her dog. She never did make the connection that the kind people who told her about the dog were the same people who had caused its death. But perhaps it is better that way; some people don’t know that “vengeance is mine, saith the Lord”.

Jane Ann

Jane Ann is my Dad's sister, younger by almost two years. My middle name is Jane, after her. My daughter and grand-daughter also share that middle name. My first memory of her is attending a stage production of South Pacific where she had the starring role of Nellie. I was very young. I think we were seated in the balcony. I remember trying so hard to stay awake, but finally falling asleep sometime after she washed that man right out of her hair. I am so glad I have that memory, for she died Sunday. She was in her early seventies. Her life had been hard and now she has relief. I will always think of her young, glamorous, beautiful. I will remember her singing. I imagine she is singing once again.

fifty states

To celebrate Independence Day this year my children and I decided to honor our nation throughout the year by having a "state" dinner each Monday night. We draw the name of a state randomly from a jar then have a meal featuring foods and traditional dishes from that state. It has been great fun researching the states, their foods and history (so much of the food culture is tied up in the history). We are amazed at the diversity of our great nation from the Mexican influence of the southwest (we had chile rellenos and refried beans for New Mexico) to prairie fair (we had rabbit stew and cornbread for Oklahoma but not to worry, the neighborhood rabbits are alive and well, we got our rabbit from a meat market). Tonight we celebrate Michigan, birthplace of the coney dog! Pass along suggestions/recipes from your state; we'd love to hear from you!

jammin'

The fall fruit is on and it’s the perfect time to make some jam. My family’s favorite is this peach jam. I make several batches every fall to share as Thanksgiving gifts and make sure we have enough to last until the next season.

PEACH JAM

5 Cups ground peaches (peel, then mash with potato masher)

5 Cups sugar

1 Cup crushed pineapple

12 maraschino cherries, diced

Mix together, boil 15 minutes. Turn off stove and stir in 1 sm. Pkg. orange Jell-O. Stir 5 minutes. Pour into hot jars and cap. Do not process; jars will seal as they cool.

*VARIATION: for PLUM jam: omit cherries, use raspberry Jell-O.

A clerk at Albertsons shared this rhubarb version with me. It’s past the rhubarb season here, but perhaps it’s still growing where you are!

RHUBARB JAM

5 Cups fresh rhubarb, cut in ½” pieces

1 C. crushed pineapple, drained

3 C. sugar

3 oz. pkg. Jell-O (raspberry, strawberry, or cherry)

In large, heavy pot mix rhubarb and sugar, let stand 10 minutes. Add pineapple and stir. Bring to a boil and boil 12 minutes, stirring frequently. Remove from heat, add Jell-O and mix well. Put in hot jars and cap. Do not process; jars will seal as they cool.

*to heat jars and lids, simmer in hot water for a few minutes.

"Our deepest fear..."

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous" Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so other people won't feel insecure around you. We are born to manifest God's glory within us. It's not in just some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." Nelson Mandela (inaugural speech)

Israeli Salad

Don't let the summer pass by without trying this fabulously easy and delicious salad. Now, with the gardens giving us their fresh produce, is the perfect time.

ISRAELI SALAD

Mix together:

2 tomatoes, chopped

1 cucumber, peeled & chopped

4 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley

½ tsp. salt

¼ tsp. pepper

1 Tbsp. olive oil

1 1/2 Tbsp. lemon juice

Serve immediately.

in a nutshell

This is the fifty-fifth day! I am sad for this adventure to come to an end, although it never really ends, for as long as life continues there are lessons to be learned. I’ll continue to share thoughts from time to time as well as favorite quotes and movie lines, recipes, ideas, and just the day to day happenings in the life of a middle-aged woman… For today, I share highlights of the lessons life has taught me…

*Life is good! Feast upon it. Make the most of it. Live life as a total body experience.

*Be real! Be passionate! Discover who you are then become your best self.

*Respect your feelings. Nurture your soul with beautiful things, music, art, nature.

*Do the best you can with what you have. Be patient with others, they’re trying to do that, too.

*God knows the end from the beginning, trust Him. He answers prayers; we are important to Him.

*Things could be worse; things could be better… Make things better.

*Everything happens for a reason; there is an answer to every question.

*Duty is a great motivator, but love is a better one.

*The conviction that we are loved is the supreme happiness of life; the reverse is also true. Love truly, love deeply, love purely, and love passionately.

*Never give up on your dreams; anything and everything is possible!

*Respect your needs. You can never have enough of what you don’t need, for that which you don’t need can never satisfy.

*Be grateful! Appreciate what you have, take good care of it, use it to do good.

*Death is only the gateway to the next life.

*Let the light and energy of the universe fill your soul, and then pass it on.

*Lighten up! Never sacrifice what is good for the sake of what is right.

*Your mind is your most powerful tool, use it wisely. Let your learning lead to understanding. Remember that you don’t know everything (neither does anyone else).

*Look at the big picture, consider consequences, avoid choices that will cause regrets.

*Follow your heart. Follow the promptings of the Spirit. Follow the map!

*When in doubt: check a mirror; dress “up”, not “down”; keep your mouth shut; assume nothing; get a second opinion; ASK.

*Treasure friends and have many; treasure children, all of them.

*Never give unsolicited advice; take any unsolicited advice with a grain of salt.

*Don’t burn any bridges; take the high road; be kind, always be kind…

promptings

When we were newly married we lived in a little town in Germany called Asperg. Our apartment was the main floor of a quaint house at #1 Monrepostrasse. An Englishman had the basement apartment and our landlady and landlord lived upstairs with their grown son. It was a lovely place. I liked to walk across the bridge over the train tracks next to our house and browse the shops downtown. One morning when I was out on a stroll I had the sense that something wasn’t quite right, that I was being followed. I casually glanced at my surroundings and noticed a man across the street. I paid close attention to him and noticed that he walked at the same pace as I, the same direction as I, and when I stopped to look at a window display, he would also stop to look at a window display. When I changed direction, he, too, changed direction. He was following me. I casually headed for home and he followed. What was I to do; how was I going to get out of this? When I saw the bridge the answer came to me. As soon as I crested the bridge I took off running. He was just far enough behind me that by the time he crested the bridge I was safe in my apartment. I watched from my window as he came over the bridge and looked around for me, wondering where I’d gone. He stood at the intersection, searching each direction for several minutes, but I had vanished!

I can only imagine what might have happened without the promptings that tuned me in to the situation and then helped me out of it. We all receive promptings every day; they are sometimes almost afterthoughts: I’d better grab the keys, check the lock, make sure the stove is off… Sometimes the promptings don’t make sense: take a different route home, go check on so-and-so, bring such-and-such with you. Sometimes they nag at you with an urgency that won’t let you rest until you’ve listened and followed. Sometimes they are given in a clear voice, sometimes they are only impressions, but they should never be dismissed. Far too often I have neglected a prompting and later caught myself saying, “I knew I should have…” “I thought about it, but…” “If only I’d…” “Why didn’t I listen?” Promptings are guidance from above and I, for one, am mighty grateful for it.

the derby

We moved here just before Jesse turned eight and joined the cub scouts. The following spring was his first pinewood derby. Being as Jesse was our third son, we had had much experience with the inner workings of making the cars and the derby itself. Jesse had done a very nice job on his car, for a beginner. He won his first race! He won the first 2 out of 3, securing for himself the trophy in his age group. But the crowd favored another boy and the cub master bent to their cries for the boys to keep on racing, best out of five. Jesse won that, too, but the crowd cried for best of seven… They kept on racing until finally the other boy came out on top and was declared the winner. Jesse was very disappointed, angry; he’d been robbed. His was the only age group that raced more than three races, it had been very apparent that they didn’t want the new boy to win. I was angry, too. That night I stayed up late to craft a letter to the cub master, letting him know of my disappointment in the way he had handled things and of Jesse’s crushed feelings. It wasn’t a scathing letter, and although it was honest, I regret sending it. I have since developed a wonderful friendship with that cub master. He really is a kind and tender spirit. I’ve come to realize that he wasn’t responsible for what happened; he, too, was probably saddened by the turn of events, that’s the kind of guy he is. Although we’ve never discussed the derby or my letter, I am very sorry that I misjudged him; I am so grateful that he didn’t take offense at a letter written in anger and mailed in haste. It would have cost me a dear friend. Now I consider carefully the way I respond to perceived injustice. I take the high road (the highest I can muster, anyway), and remind myself that regret is a difficult burden to carry.

healing tree

When we moved into our home nearly 16 years ago, the yard was quite overgrown. Over the next few months we took out fifteen trees, bushes, and stumps. We put on quite a show for the neighbors with all the action going on, even inspiring a few of them to do a little fix-up. There was a large tree in the back yard, that was mostly dead. Rather than take it out, we decided to build a tree house in/around it. I had wanted a tree house ever since I saw Swiss Family Robinson as a girl. We cut wedges out of the trunk for steps; then designed and built a big tree house six feet off the ground, complete with a three-foot railing around, a slide and trap door, pulley system for hauling things up and down, a knotted rope to climb up to the highest branches, and even a Jolly Roger. It shaded a swing and sand box underneath. It wasn’t as grand as the Robinsons’, but it was mighty grand!

It has been great fun for the children and their friends over the years. Nate even rigged up a movie night for his friends in it one summer evening. And an interesting thing has happened to the tree. It came to life. It sprouted new growth in the branches, and the bark healed over part of the steps cut into the trunk. This tree which we thought was dead is now very much alive. It has continued to grow over the years, even surviving a severe snow storm one October two years ago (it lost one of its two major limbs). We have rebuilt the tree house once, and it is due for another rebuild next spring, to accommodate the growing tree. Watching the change that has taken place in the tree has made me think that what it needed to survive was the energy and vitality of the active children. Their life gave life to the tree; they gave it purpose. I’ve wondered, too, about what the tree has given to my children, and to me. I have named it the “Healing Tree”.

I have named other trees too, about a dozen that I pass every day on my daily walk. There is my “Courage” tree, my “Grace” tree, “Mercy”, “Friendship”, “Faith” , “Hope”, and “Freedom”, among others. My “Giving” tree is a peach tree that drops a fresh peach on the sidewalk for me every morning in late summer and fall, that is, until a good pruning this year cut back the branches that hung over the fence. Being that everything in the universe is connected, that everything is energy, I touch my trees as I pass them, I let my energy flow to the universe through them, I let the energy of the universe come to me as I reach high and brush my hands through their leaves. It is a happy thing to do, a healing thing.

tatted baby bonnet

Custom order for Ruth in Florida

mothering

Mothers Day is a difficult day for many mothers. All the efforts to honor motherhood seem to fall short of capturing the challenges mothers face and the sacrifices they make for their children. There truly is no way to adequately honor them on a single day. But we try. Since it falls on a Sunday, the meetings at church focus on motherhood. I am always grateful when the talks aren’t too sappy. Traditionally, each mother receives a small token of appreciation, perhaps a plant for her garden, assuming she has a garden. This year we each received a chrysanthemum stem (I was glad it didn’t wilt by the time meetings were through and we got it home into some water). This year they also decided to include all the girls twelve years old and up, honoring them as future mothers. I thought that was nice. But afterwards an older gentleman approached me for my “take” on that, complaining that it was inappropriate to honor women/girls who weren’t even mothers; according to him, there should even be some sort of standard for women who are mothers, for, in his words, bad mothers shouldn’t receive a flower/recognition at all!

I chuckled to myself, it’s just a flower after all, but he was serious, so I shared with him my thoughts on the matter. Mothers day isn’t about mothers, it is about “motherers” and “mothering”. I think back on my own daughter when, at age three and a half, her little brother was born. Having that little baby in our home brought out a mothering side to her. She became protective, nurturing, tender at times, stern at others. She was comforting, encouraging, she delighted in his accomplishments and his cuteness. When he learned to do somersaults she’d count for him as he’d somersault back and forth across the living room floor in a flurry of tumbles, sometimes a hundred at a time. Then she’d giggle and catch him when dizziness overtook him. She plays games with him, she takes him places, she manages his tennis team. She reminds him to brush his teeth and do his homework. She is, well, his other mother, and it does my heart good to see their relationship. She comes by it honestly, I was that way with my little brothers and sisters, and I have seen it in other big sisters, aunts, teachers, and neighbors, as well as mothers. It is something in-born in girls and it was ever thus.

And so, on Mothers Day this year, she and I put our mums together in the same vase, mother and future mother, two motherers. Mothering is hard work, but we are doing a good job!

Christmas tree

An important tradition of Christmas is the tree. My children have always made ours an interactive tree, using it as the stage for their play, be it army men, action figures, or the ornaments themselves. It tipped over a few times over the years before I finally rigged a way to tie it to the wall…

The Christmas I was 11, my mother had remarried and our new dad had moved us to Iowa. We were far away from extended family, with new dad, home and school, but we counted on the Christmas season to make everything right with the world. Then our step-dad announced that there would be no Christmas. He matter-of-factly told us there was no money for such things. Surely we could have a tree? No, not even a tree, and that was that.

My brothers and I were brave, we had learned not to complain, but inside we were crushed. Money had been tight when my mother was alone, but somehow she had always managed a very happy Christmas celebration. We had expected her remarriage would make things better, but instead, we were losing even Christmas.

I was in sixth grade at Olmstead Elementary, my teacher was Mrs. Hoss. We had a beautiful, full-sized real tree in our classroom, decorated with ornaments we had made in class. I reassured myself that it would be enough. Every day we rehearsed our Christmas play, re-enacting the Christmas story (those were the days when we could do that sort of thing); I was the creative consultant. The last day before vacation we presented our play to invited guests, then retrieved our ornaments and got ready to leave for the holiday break. Mrs. Hoss announced that if anyone wanted to take home the tree, they were welcome to have it. My heart skipped a beat, could it be we would have a tree after all? I hesitated, in case someone else wanted it, but no one did, and I got it! I can still feel the thrill and excitement of dragging it home, the excitement of my mother and brothers when they saw it. One phone call and we had a stand and ornaments, borrowed from a friend.

Mrs. Hoss never knew how much that tree meant to us. But God knew, I think He had a hand in providing it for us, another tender mercy. It was our Christmas, and all was right with the world.

tender mercies

The five years my mother was a single mother were quite challenging for our little family in many ways. Mother first took a job at the newspaper and then later enrolled in college. Although we didn’t lack the necessities of life, money was very tight. One of my diversions in those days was making a paper chain out of gum wrappers. I was probably 8 or 9. By cutting the paper outer wrapper of a piece of gum into two pieces lengthwise, giving it a few precise folds, the pieces could interlock (without glue). Adding more and more gum wrappers made a strong, quite beautiful, paper chain. The girls my age worked on their chains diligently, for the belief was that your true love would be as tall as your chain was long.

Needless to say, we didn’t buy much chewing gum, so my true love would not be tall... I was in the habit of looking for gum wrappers everywhere I went. I seemed to find what I needed, for my chain steadily grew, but my practice of picking up “trash” off the streets rather annoyed my mother. That is until one mid-November night. We were out after dark, walking home from downtown. I was scouting the streets for wrappers and found a ten-dollar bill! I picked it up and said, “Look!” My mother snatched that out of my hand so quickly, and dancing for joy, exclaimed, “We will have thanksgiving dinner!”

She didn’t complain about my hunting gum wrappers anymore, and I learned a lesson about the tender mercies of God. Because of His love for each of us, things that are important to us are also important to him. I’m sure it delighted Him to provide that ten-dollar bill for me to find. There have been many other occasions since, when my needs, though seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, have been important enough to Him to provide for. When I get discouraged, I need only ask for help and it will come, in the form of His tender mercies, tender mercies that remind me, “I am here, you are important to me.”

wages

When Nate was in fourth grade and Eli in second, we hired them to pick up the seemingly hundreds of sticks left in the yard by one of Nebraska’s fall storms. The boys were to be paid by the pound. Dollar signs filled their eyes as fast as the big trash bag filled with sticks. Periodically the boys would weigh the bag to see how things were coming along. I think they hoped sticks would be heavier. I don’t know who came up with the grand scheme, but they decided to increasing their earnings by slipping a five-pound rock in there with the sticks. They brought the bag to me to weigh and pay them their wages. I was very impressed. They were very pleased I was so impressed (and not suspicious). But something didn’t seem right, it’s that annoying quality mothers possess, that same thing that gives them eyes in the back of their heads and that lets them know things they couldn’t possibly know. And I knew something was fishy. I found the stone and my being impressed gave way to being terribly disappointed.

They were paid their wages, but not in money, in punishment. Each boy was to carry that rock to school in his back pack for one day. It seemed an appropriate lesson on the wages of sin and the burden of guilt. Nathan took his punishment like a man and carried the rock the following day. Then it was Eli’s turn. He wasn’t long out the door when he realized, that’s too heavy to carry! So he dragged the backpack all the way to school and dragged it all the way home, wearing a huge hole in the bottom too huge to repair, necessitating the purchase of a brand new back pack. Ah, yes, a lesson for mother: be careful of the punishments you inflict on the children, it may be you that gets the raw end of the deal.

bench warrant

One night several years ago I was involved in an accident. A driver turned in front of me and I couldn’t stop in time (minor damage to my car, hers was a little worse off). It was not my fault, but I received a ticket for not having proof of insurance (our glove box sometimes serves as a “black hole”). The officer wrote out a ticket, which I signed (by the light of a flashlight), and gave me a form to fill out with my insurance information and send in to the capitol (which I did the following morning). End of story.

A couple of years later I went in to the DMV to renew my driver’s license and was sent downtown to the courthouse, they didn’t tell me why. At the courthouse they told me that they couldn’t renew my license because there was a bench warrant out for my arrest! “But I can’t be arrested, I’ve got only 45 minutes left on my parking meter!” I phoned the kids to have them put supper in the oven and bid them my farewells; (they started planning my jailbreak). Apparently that ticket from the accident way back when told me I had to appear in court on a certain day, but the officer had neglected to give me the ticket, they still had my copy of it in my file. However, the law is the law, and the judge told me I should have paid attention to the ticket when I signed it and remembered the details even without the ticket in hand, which is true… I paid the fines and avoided arrest and finally got my license renewed. End of story?

A few years later my license needed to be renewed again. The DMV refused because I had outstanding obligations with the law. Not again?!? But I was on to their schemes this time; even though they had no record of my paying the fines from my previous brush with the law, I had kept the receipts and knew just where they were. Case closed, and another would be “criminal” was free to wreck havoc on society…

Let’s hope the story ends there, my license needs to be renewed again in 2012, I’m not looking forward to it…

"sisser siff"

My son, Jesse (the champion collector), had a difficult transition into nursery at church, probably because we were in three different wards during that time. It also made the transition into Sunbeams quite the challenge, too. He hated Primary. He’d undress. He was inattentive. He was like a little lost soul. At in-service meetings the leaders discussed the inactive children and the many ways to help them be involved in Primary. No effort was made for the little lost soul, Jesse, after all, he came every week. I was with a group of ladies one day, discussing problem-solving methods and posed Jesse’s problem to them. They were full of advice. One suggested I lock him in the bathroom after church, for the amount of time he misbehaved during church. Another suggested as soon as he reached his fill of church I lock him in the car for the rest of the time. There were other suggestions, punitive and cruel, none of them appropriate in my estimation of things. It made me sick to hear it, sick to think what these mothers were doing to their own children. I went home to Jesse, took him in my arms and cried and cried, so grateful he had come to my home, to me. I would not punish him for struggling in church, I would help him through it, I would help it to be a good experience for him, I would help him love church.

The turning point came when Sister Sue Stiff became his teacher. She was very patient with him, very kind to him. She, too, wanted him to love church. Each week she sent him a kind letter, telling him how much she loved having him in her class, how much she loved him. She decorated the letters with pretty stickers. Week after week they came and then one day, after I read his letter to him, he took it in his hands and looked at the writing he was to young to read, he looked at the stickers, then he clutched the letter to his bosom and exclaimed, “I love Sisser Siff!”

I have been forever grateful to her for her kindness to him. I try, too, to be kind to the children, especially kind to those who struggle. I greet them by name and tell them how glad I am to see them, I let them sit by me on the piano bench when they get restless, let them have a life saver. Perhaps I can be the “Sister Stiff” in their lives and help them through that rough day.

And I am very careful about offering or asking for advice…

light

When I was in my second (and last) year of dental hygiene school, I lived on the medical center campus, in an apartment building across campus from the dental school. For a few weeks at a certain time of year and in the late afternoons, I witnessed a peculiar phenomenon. As I’d walk home from school between the many buildings on the medical center, I came to a certain place where there would be a great pillar of light stretching high into the sky, reaching seemingly to heaven itself. It was huge and bright, a glorious thing to behold and I looked forward to the sight of it each day, for it was such a thrill to see, that it melted away every pain and trouble of the day’s work. I surmised that it was caused by the sun’s reflection on the many glass skyscrapers in the area, the pillar of light being created when all the reflections hit each other. And I happened to be at the right place at the right time. As the earth’s axis shifted with the season, the phenomenon ended. But thinking on it since, and even now, I can still feel the thrill it gave me, and the power the light had over me.

I have a dozen or so crystals hanging in my picture window in the living room. The afternoon sun shines in and the light is refracted through the crystals onto the walls. A breeze will make the crystals dance and the rainbows scatter and move. It, too, melts away the cares of the world.

There is power in light, more than just to illuminate our living. We know it to be the power of life itself, with the power to rejuvenate and strengthen all living things, including us, in both body and spirit. Even in death, we are told to go toward the light, toward life, the next life…

double-check

One Halloween weekend when Eli was a junior in high school, he was away for a singing competition with the high school madrigal group. It was several hours away and the group traveled in two vans and spent a night there in a hotel. Competition went well and afterwards the whole group stopped for supper before making the long trip home. Eli and his friend, Ben, dashed to the men’s room for one last pit stop and came out to find everyone had left. Both cars were gone from the parking lot. They didn’t worry just yet, surely someone would notice they were missing and come back for them within a few minutes. But after a while, they realized that no one had noticed they were missing, probably everyone had just assumed the boys were in the other car. That is exactly what happened. So on Halloween night they were stranded in a far away place, nowhere to be and with very little money…

Eli called home, hoping we would come to his rescue. Dad was perturbed at the whole situation, so wasn’t much help, plus we were in the middle of selling the car Eli used (adding insult to injury). We tried to reach one of the drivers by cell phone; it was turned off. We called Ben’s folks, the boys called us back again… Finally, after a few more phone calls, it was arranged for the boys to spend the night there with a distant relative of Ben’s mother and the boys could be retrieved the next day. No harm done, a funny story to tell to the grandkids, right?

And tell it to the grandkids we will, for Eli married one of the girls in that car, the driver is now his father-in-law!

understanding

Over thirty years ago a friend told me that she wished most in life to be understood. I thought that was an odd thing, for it was fairly low on my own list of priorities. But over the years, probably because of many experiences with being misunderstood, I’ve come to realize the value of her yearning. Being understood is the key to being valued, respected, and even cherished. Misunderstanding fosters confusion, distance, even resentment. Knowing someone (even knowing yourself) well enough to understand them is a priceless gift, that takes time and effort, and a measure of compassion.

It reminds me of an incident with my oldest son, Nate. He began his study of the trumpet in 5^th grade through the school’s music program and with a $35 trumpet from Good Will. He enjoyed it very much and kept up with it through middle school in the marching, symphonic, and jazz bands. When he got into high school we got him a beautiful new trumpet and he started taking private lessons from one of the best teachers in the area. He progressed very nicely, becoming a fine trumpet player and musician. He was a valuable asset to the high school bands, marching, symphonic, and jazz. He had the nickname “Natedawg”.

At the band awards banquet and concert the end of his senior year, he received many outstanding local and national awards for his accomplishments in music (his name is on a permanent plaque at the school). While there was much in the way of cheers and congratulations for him from his friends and peers as award after award was presented, I could overhear several parents whispering among themselves, “Again? Who is this kid?” and “he must be the teacher’s pet”. Then came the final performance of the evening, a solo by “Natedawg” with the jazz band as back up. It was truly amazing. His tones were strong and clear, he hit those high notes with ease and perfection, his flourishes were flawless. His emotions came through in subtle nuances of gentle passion as his trumpet became an extension of almost his very soul. As the final, perfect note gave way to rousing applause and a standing ovation, I could tell that those doubts about “this kid” had given way to understanding.

Learning is the means to an end: understanding; as the proverb says, “Wisdom is the principle thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.”

lost opportunities

I was chatting with a lady at the doctor’s office a few days ago. She told me about her dad who had a dream of becoming a bartender. After he retired he realized his dream, but he didn’t last long in the business because at his advanced age he had trouble staying awake past 9:00. He was OK with that, there were other dreams. Although he didn’t drink, he had always wanted a bar in his home, so he built one in his basement, a fifteen stool bar. His daughter said to him, “Why do you need one that big?” “Because I have an oven back here and when I bake cookies I’ll have all this counter space to spread them out to cool.” Then he became a car salesman, but he wasn’t too good at it, the “father” in him came through and he tended to talk people out of buying new cars they couldn’t afford… Still, these were his dreams, his passions, and pursuing them brought joy into his life.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a dancer, a musician, a secretary, and/or a grade school teacher when I grew up, among other things. Girlish dreams and hopes… Although some of those opportunities have been lost, the dreams remain and it has been interesting to see how they have been realized, at least in part, in unexpected ways. There was never any money for me to take piano lessons, but the first thing I bought when I was on my own was a piano. Over the years I have taken lessons several different times (one time trading them for babysitting), fitting in my practicing around taking care of the growing family. Progress has been slow, but it has been progress; and although I am not accomplished by any means, I can play well enough to accompany the children at church. It brings much joy into my life.

My parents decided for me that I should be a dental hygienist so I didn’t become a grade school teacher, but I have taught many church classes for children and spent four years teaching an adult gospel doctrine class. A highlight of my life was the three years I taught a 6:30 a.m. seminary class to teenagers. It used every one of my skills and talents and was very fulfilling to me; it was a dream and passion realized. And as far as being a secretary, I had the opportunity to manage the Bishops’ Storehouse (a food bank) for 19 months as a volunteer, fulfilling that dream.

Sometimes we are disappointed that our lives haven’t gone quite like we had hoped; things would have been better, or at least different “if “only”. But I think that just because an opportunity is lost doesn’t necessarily mean it is gone forever.

I’ve yet to become a dancer, but notice I said “yet”…

know what you want

One of the biggest challenges of parenting is knowing what your child wants and needs. For parents of a baby it is learning to read the cries and figuring out which one means “clean diaper, please” and which one means “I’m hungry”. A parent learns quickly that misreading “play with me” as “I want a nap” only creates frustration on the part of the child and stress on the part of the parent. It doesn’t get better when the child learns to talk, for I discovered that children often don’t know what they need, they just know that they don’t feel good. It is easy for them to confuse tiredness with hunger. And feeding a tired child only momentarily and temporarily relieves his anxiety. Teenagers are more challenging as their needs get more complex. They think they need freedom when they really need limits; a parent thinks they need discipline when what they really need is compassion and understanding. It is easy for teenagers to confuse their needs as well; they often treat their exhaustion with food, giving them only temporary relief.

Even adults can have difficulty knowing what they need and want in life. I know a woman who is constantly redecorating her home. In the few years I’ve known her, every room in her home has had two or three different makeovers as she tries somehow to be happy. I know a man who buys cars that he doesn’t need (much to the frustration of his wife and the neighbors) as though he is trying to fill a need that he just quite can’t put his finger on. It is a true fact of life that “you can never have enough of what you don’t need, for that which you don’t need can never satisfy”. We’ve all wondered at Imelda Marcos and her shoes!

A couple of years ago a friend said to me, “I hope you find what you want in life.” You see, I had learned to ignore so many of my needs and wants over the years that I had to be reawakened to the idea that I DO have needs, I DO have wants.

So much of “knowing who you are” is figuring out what you want and what you need out of life. Only then can you set about getting those needs and wants fulfilled; only then will your life be everything it can be and will you be everything you are meant to be.

enough

One of my favorite quotes is from Mary Poppins, “Enough is as good as a feast!” That is an interesting philosophy, one to which I’ve subscribed throughout my life, mostly to squelch yearnings for more of a good thing. In many instances it truly applies and is a good way to approach things. I am at that age when blood-sugar levels have become a concern and I’ve had to think of certain foods with a different perspective. I read somewhere that the first bite of anything tastes the best. I’ve experimented with that and believe it to be true. If I really savor the first bite of my favorite (problem) foods, realizing that each bite after that will be less delicious (the law of diminishing returns), I can be satisfied with that one “best” bite and it is enough, it is as good as a feast, it IS a feast.

However, there are things in life for which that philosophy does not apply, things for which enough is not as good as a feast. For example, can we ever get to the point where we can say that we have enough knowledge; can we ever have “enough” friends, enough love; can we decide when we’ve had enough living? For some things, “enough” is a resignation to mediocrity. For on some things in life, we are meant to feast. There are things in life that we must feast upon to stay alive, the things that nurture and nourish the depths of our soul. They are our dreams and passions, the yearnings of the inner artist which needs to be free to feast…

catalogs

I grew up in the days of catalogs; after the days when they were used in outhouses but before the days when they gave way to shopping malls and now internet. We still get catalogs from time to time, but they don’t carry the same excitement as they did back then. My cousin (just 3 years older) and I loved to get the old catalogs when the new ones arrived, they were great fun. One game we played with them was much like paper dolls. Each of us would go through the pages and cut out pictures to make a family, furnishings for their home and everything they would need to play a sort of paper doll “house” which we laid out all over the living room floor. It would keep us happy for hours, even days.

We invented another game that we called simply “the catalog game” and I have to admit I still like to play it. These are the rules: For one or two players. For two players, sit next to each other with the catalog open on both laps. Open the catalog to the first page. The left page is the playing page for the left player, the right page is the playing page for the right player. (When playing alone, both pages are your playing pages). Taking turns, you must choose one item from your page to “purchase” (all pretend, of course) and tell why. You can purchase something for yourself or for someone else, you must state for whom you purchase is. When both players have finished their shopping on that page, turn the page and shop another item. You may not purchase more than one item per page, and you may not skip a page, you have to choose something for someone on each page. There is no spending limit. Play continues as time permits or until the end of the catalog.

It is a very exciting game, actually, for who doesn’t like to shop (well, I’m really not much of a shopper—I visit the mall about once a year). It is the thrill of the shopping without the driving and parking, spending, or putting things away. It satisfies the need to acquire things without the burden of having things. And somehow, although I don’t quite understand this part, it makes me very happy and satisfied with what I already have; after playing the game I can set the catalog aside, totally convinced that there is nothing in it that I need or want.

More on this tomorrow, I hear a catalog calling my name…

rules

Rules are a means to an end. Rules (laws, commandments) provide the perimeters of good and decent behavior. The hope is that as we keep the rules, good and decent behavior becomes our habitual way of being and we reach the point where we don’t need the rules to be good and decent, we just ARE good and decent.

We run into trouble when we lose sight of the role of rules, when we get caught up in the letter of the law and forget the spirit of the law. Too often, keeping the letter of the law prevents us from exercising the compassion and understanding required by the spirit of the law. Then the “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts” become chains that can actually keep us from the good and decent they were meant to create in us.

We all experience this distinction many times in many ways throughout our lives and what we choose in these situations tells us a lot about ourselves. One such incident happened when my daughter was in 4^th grade. One day out on the playground the class bully was picking on some girls, trying to make them fall from the monkey bars where they were swinging by their legs. Hannah saw the problem, danger of them falling on their heads, and without giving it a second thought, gave him a swift kick in the shin. It stopped him, but she was caught, a report was written up in her permanent record, and she was made to formally apologize for her infraction of “the rules”. I reassured her that she had done the right thing, the good and decent thing, even though the school officials didn’t see it that way. Several years later she received a letter in the mail from her fourth grade teacher saying, in part, how proud she was that Hannah had stood up to the bully. School policy required the reprimand she had received, but in her eyes, Hannah had been the hero that day.

One of my favorite movie quotes is from “The Rainmaker”. It is “You’re so full of what’s right, you can’t see what’s good.” Rules are merely a means to an end and sometimes the end is best served by bending the rules. Whether it is yielding in traffic even though you have the right of way, relaxing the curfew for extenuating circumstances, or that occasional dessert before supper, let’s not sacrifice what is good for the sake of what is right; it can be a heavy price to pay.

on being real

The early morning is my favorite time of day. In the summertime I beat the heat and take my daily walk as the sun comes up. Even though we live in the city, I run into many wild creatures. In addition to the cats, dogs, squirrels and birds, I see rabbits, foxes, and even deer. One morning I met a most delightful creature, a barefoot boy, about eight, singing at the top of his lungs “We Are the Champions”. I could hear his singing a few blocks before I saw him and when he turned at the corner to walk the same direction as I, I hoped he wouldn’t notice me and stop his singing, I was enjoying it. But he saw me and stopped the music, not because he was embarrassed, but because he wanted to talk. We walked along together, well actually, across the street from each other, but the same direction and at the same pace. And we had a nice visit. His name is Elijah. I asked him if he was hoping to be on American Idol one day. He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand, “No, no, I’m into scary movies.” And he proceeded to excitedly tell me about one he promised was sure to give me nightmares. We reached the corner where he was turning again and said our goodbyes. I was a bit sad that I didn’t even know where he lived, that I likely wouldn’t see him again. But he had made my day, this little boy, so uninhibited, so delightful, so REAL. I think we all start out that way, real. But somewhere along the way we lose some of that genuineness as we are taught how to fit in socially. Be this way, don’t do that, that is inappropriate… don’t sing at the top of your lungs; don’t talk to strangers. One of the greatest gifts you can give to another is to let them be real. And one of the greatest joys of life is to be with someone who lets you be real, someone who loves the uninhibited, the delightful, the real you.

name-in-lace

Custom order for Linda in Texas

grateful hearts

And so when good things come our way we need not second-guess them, wondering why, wondering if we deserve them. Rather, we accept everything graciously and let our hearts be drawn out in gratitude for what has been offered to us, always appreciative of any goodness, small or great, from wherever it may come. We then take good care of what we have been given, manage it well, not waste it. And then we share our abundance with those around us, using it wisely to do good.

Interestingly, those three principles can also be applied to the not-so-good things that come into our lives, although it is much easier said than done. Can we muster gratitude for the challenges of life, realizing that they provide the learning and growing experiences we need to become our true, best selves? Can we manage the struggles well, accepting the pain, not rushing through the process of learning, not wasting the opportunity (it is said that what we don’t learn from will be repeated)? And then, can we share our learning with others, letting our insights comfort and strengthen those who are experiencing similar struggles?