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.