Thanks - for smells

My best friend spends half his life not being able to smell because of allergies.  Another of my best friends has lost her sense of smell because of blockages in the sinus cavity which will need to be removed surgically. 

So my first item today is that I am so grateful for the ability to smell things, to be able to identify an odor and appreciate (or remove myself from) it.  Knowing when someone is wearing perfume has given me the lead-time I need to be able to vacate the area so that I don't become sick.  I am so very grateful for the ability to smell. 

The other nine things, well - there are certain scents that I am quite fond of, and a lot of them have to do with food - but not all.  Some of them might surprise you.  I'll start with the most obvious: a good steak charbroiling on the grill.  Nothing quite like the smell of meat searing and the fire sealing in the juices.  It makes the mouth water!!  

I also love the smell of certain kinds of flowers.  Roses, yes - love roses!  But my favorite flower smell is of a "Hoya Carnosa" - an amazing heady fragrance coming from clusters of flowers, each dripping with syrupy nectar. ( For a photo of this, go to http://www.californiagardens.com/images/Hoya_carnosa_c.jpg ). - just open a new tab and copy the address into the address bar, so you don't lose your spot on this page. ;)  

Vanilla ice cream.  The smell of it brings back memories of days so hot you could hear the whistle in the air - and the sound of the ice cream truck jingling down the road as I waited with my fifty cents to get a couple of tiny tubs of plain vanilla ice cream, the kind that comes with the little wooden spork.  It was such a treat - we usually had to wait until winter (when ice was plentiful and Dad could use the ice-cream maker) to get ice cream. 

White clover.  Fields upon fields of it.  The purple has no fragrance - the white, though smaller, has a delicate scent that is like a breath from heaven.  

Turkey dinner, replete with home-made pumpkin pie (and if I'm really ambitious, apple pie too).  Something about the smell of a turkey roasting with dressing inside - puts a smile on my face. Complement that with the smell of the pies cooling on the counter - wow.  I can be trudging in from outside and that smell will stop me at the door and transport me to another (happier) place.  

Pan-fried new-potato hash.  Just salt, pepper, and a little butter to lightly brown up these newly-cooked, fresh-from-the-ground potatoes.  It takes me right back to my maternal grandmother's kitchen in the old homestead and the delicate flavor of the first new potatoes of the year.  

Smoking wick.  I love the smell of a candle (unscented of course) just after it's been blown out - people think I am nuts when, after a candle-light Christmas Eve service, I blow out the candle and sniff the smoke from the wick.  It is symbolic for me of all the birthday celebrations when birthdays were a 'big deal'.  The birthday girl (or boy) got to do whatever he or she wanted on that "all-about-me" day.  What a great feeling.  

Snow before it snows.  Yes - it has a smell. There's something almost metallic about the smell of the air just minutes or hours before a snowstorm.  There's a crispness to it.  I can't explain it. Those who can smell it - you know what I mean. My kids have learned that when I say, "I smell snow..." - there is snow on the way. The first time I said it to them, they thought I was loopy.  Now even they can smell it.  

A real Christmas tree. It is reminiscent of the smell of the forest on a fall or winter's day and brings back such fond memories!  We have an artificial tree now, to save on the hassle of transporting a real one home, but for many years we used to go as a family to pick out a real tree from the vendors who sell them in parking lots.  Now, we get an evergreen wreath to have the smell of fir and spruce in the house between mid-December and the first of January. We still find needles from it in June - bonus! 

Thanks - for memories

While visiting my family yesterday, I was able to relive some old (fond) memories and one of my daughters turned to me and said, "I thought it was horrible growing up here."

Ouch.

No, I explained to her.  There were some good memories - we hold onto those things with all our might.  

So this gratitude-walk is about the memories I have - things that sustained me in what seemed to be such a confusing and dark time in my life.  So, I am thankful for:

Growing up in the country.  Space to take long walks was one of the ways I coped with being misunderstood and/or criticized.  Being close to nature (sometimes too close - I'm sure the mosquitoes had twin engines!) was an escape for me, watching the clouds roll by, going for bike rides and feeling the breeze in my face. 

The church on the hill.  My mother was a Sunday School teacher and she had a key to the church because we only lived a hundred and fifty yards from it.  When I took piano lessons for a year or so, I would borrow the key to the church and tell Mom I was going up there to practice.  I'd go up there and would have the whole church to myself.  The place was acoustically perfect - no need for a sound system.  I played the old upright piano with the chipped "E" key for over an hour at a time, practicing my lessons and then playing what I wanted to play.  What a treat it was for me, a haven of rest and peace.  

The old guitar.  My brothers played guitar and each had his own.  When I was ten, I wanted to learn to play - and Dad handed me this old Harrington guitar with the strings about a quarter-inch off the frets.  "Learn on this," he said.  "If you still want to play after that, we'll see."  I near cried every time I played it, my fingers hurt so much.  But I learned.  And through an amazing sequence of events which I won't describe now, I inherited my brother's guitar (yes I still have it) and that instrument became my best buddy for many years.  When life just didn't make sense, I played my guitar and the confusing and conflicting voices in my mind would subside.  It introduced me to some friends of mine, as the song goes, and brightened up some days, and helped me make it through some lonely nights.  (thanks, John Denver, for those words.)  

The singing.  When we traveled in the car, we sang.  We sang hymns - or country songs from before the time when the electric steel guitar crucified country music.  The sound of our voices together in 4-part harmony is one of the consistently good memories I have.  When we sang, nobody was angry with anyone else.  Nobody was trying to "get" anyone.  True, sometimes we felt put-upon to sing on command when company would visit or when Dad tried out his new toy (a four-track reel-to-reel tape recorder).  But for the most part, singing was an oasis, a time of refreshing.  When was about 14, I figured out how to sing harmony - and from that point onward, my two brothers and I sang together, up until I moved away from home - and beyond. That time in my life was one that is full of many sweet memories - and now bittersweet because one of us is no longer here.

Christmas.  Every year Mom and I would trudge out (with the neighbours' permission) to find a fir tree to cut down and drag back over the snow to our house.  It would sit outside in the snowbank for a couple of days; then we would bring it in.  Mom and Dad would put on the garlands and the bulbs, and it was my job to put on the icicles.  One at a time, I was told.  And don't let Dad help - he throws them on.  The icicles were made of lead - not like today's flimsy ones. We re-used them every year.  And Mom and Dad made Christmas magical for us kids.  They would stay up late Christmas Eve wrapping presents to let us believe that Santa had come.  They saved up for months to get us the one thing we had wanted all year, whatever that was.  I remember one year all I wanted was one of those little toy dogs that bobs its head in the back window of a car.  And there it was.  No more than 5 inches long but it was there.  And there was always a box of chocolates (those big 5-pound Strand ones).  We'd serve them when the neighbours would come in and ask to see what we got, for everyone set up a display beneath the tree and got to show off their haul.  And nobody got to wear or use anything that wasn't in their stocking, until after December 31 was over.  The food - wow, that was amazing in itself.  All kinds of pies, cakes, cookies, not to mention Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.  Those were special times.  

Grandma's barn.  Another shelter from the judgmental eyes of adults.  Her husband - my mom's stepdad - had a couple of dogs which he took with him to work because he was a guard at a nearby fort (a tourist attraction actually), and one of the dogs was a female which had a litter of puppies once in a while.  She kept them in a special, sheltered spot in a deep pile of hay.  I remember going in there and calling out to her, and she would look up at me with those shining, proud-mommy eyes and give one of her puppies a lick as if to say, "These are my babies. Aren't they just precious?" She'd let me hold them, pet them, and put them back one at a time, and obviously loved to share those moments with me.  Her work-a-day job was forgotten. She was just a doting mom who loved her kids and who wasn't too proud or hung-up to show it. I could be having a really rotten day and something like that would turn it around for me.  

The rippled skating rink.  Our house was next to marsh-land all around.  In the winter, the marsh would freeze over and the wind was so strong that the water would freeze with little ripples every couple of feet. My cousins and I would go out there to skate on too-dull skates, and play some one-on-one hockey; we'd trip over the reeds, too. It was all part of the game. We even made a couple of reeds into goal-posts.  Some of my best memories were spent on that marsh, getting my feet ice-cold and coming in the house with my legs all red and prickly.  Then I'd change my clothes, and put on some warm pants and socks, and Mom would make some hot chocolate on the stove.  

Uncle Weldon.  This man was like a demi-god to me when I was growing up.  He is my mother's little brother ... and he thought (and probably still thinks) that the sun rose and set on us.  A bachelor all his life, he devoted his time and effort to making life easier for us - and for my parents.  I remember every Christmas he gave me a new pair of skates - beautiful white figure skates.  One time when I was about 13, he even took me to an indoor rink.  I was mesmerized as I watched him lean forward, lock his hands behind his back and glide around the ice effortlessly, and with a great deal of speed.  He drove me places my parents didn't have the time to take me to visit, and he drove me back afterward. To this day, whenever I see him, my heart leaps within me, even though now, he's about 78 or 79 years old.  What an amazing guy.  

The kiss.  It happened every day and it was always the best part of my day; I didn't know why at the time.  Dad would be ready to go to work and had left the kitchen.  He paused - only for a few seconds - at the door.  And suddenly she was there.  No matter where she'd been, it was like everything was suspended and she was suddenly at his side.  A quick two to three-second kiss, and he would be off to get in the car and go to work.  It happened every day without fail.  And it warmed something inside of me, touched a place in me that made me feel secure.  Like everything was as it should be. Because for that moment, it was.

Bumpity bump in Grampa's truck.  I remember riding in my grandfather's 1940-something truck, the one with absolutely no shocks - and come to think of it, no seatbelts -  jouncing along his lane over rocks and ruts - enjoying the sweet smell of pipe tobacco that permeated his plaid flannel shirt and green workpants, watching his lean, weathered face enjoying my company as he drove my mother and six-year-old me back home after a visit.  I'd time my words to the rhythm of the bouncing and say, "Here we go again, bumpity bump in Grampa's truck."  I didn't get to enjoy his company much longer than that; a tractor accident in that same long lane with the deep ditches took him from us much sooner than it should have.  But I am grateful for the memory of him liking it when I was with him. 

There might have been a lot about growing up the way I did that was not safe, not healthy.  But these things, these vignettes, will remain as among the most memorable.

Thanks - for transformations

Day 8 of 14. (I started this post last night - but fell asleep before I could finish it!) 

Here's something I'm noticing about this gratitude challenge.  As I am more thankful on a more consistent basis, I find that I'm a little less likely to skip to the worst possible scenario in any given situation.  Hm.

I am grateful for the transformations that slowly are taking place in my life and the lives of those I hold dear - as I grow in a lifestyle which demands rigorous honesty with myself, with God, and with others.  I am not saying I never return to the old ways.  I am saying that they no longer dominate every encounter.  For this, I am grateful to God. 

I lie less.  I used to lie all the time (and delude myself into saying that I was telling the truth, as far as it went.)  I'd tell people I was fine when I wasn't; I'd cover up for my hubby's drinking by saying he wasn't feeling well or must have ingested something that disagreed with his system.  I used to be so afraid of what people would think of me that I would tell them what I thought they wanted to hear. I said yes when I wanted to say no.  As I grew in a new lifestyle of integrity and honesty - these behaviors dropped off of me.  Today, I let others bear the consequences of their own  actions, and if I am feeling crappy, I will not say "great" no matter who asks me how I am, and no matter if they are displeased with me NOT saying "great."  

I'm feeling more and more at home in my own skin.  Before I entered this healing process, I didn't even know who I was and I wasn't sure if I'd even like that person if I ever got to know her.  As I have been healing inside - facing my personal demons, so to speak - and starting to believe that I have a right to exist, that I am allowed to have a life and to be happy without feeling guilty, I have more of a sense of occupying space in the world. I used to try to disappear, and yet I resented anyone who made me feel like I didn't exist. Since starting to heal, I have more respect for myself and have even stood up for myself on occasion.  This still amazes me.  


My unhealthy relationships have ended or are being changed.  I can recognize when people are trying to manipulate and control me, and I have called them on it.  If they deny it and still try to manipulate and control me again and again, and show (or even say) that they really don't think they are doing anything wrong, that "everybody does that," I have ended the relationship rather than (do what I did before which is) make excuses for them and stay under their thumb.  This has led some people to refuse to speak to me.  Before, that would have driven me around the bend - I lived my life for the approval of others. ALL others. But now I figure that if they have a problem with me having my own ideas and saying "no" if I don't want to do something, then that is not my problem. And I don't have to allow it to happen; I don't care who they think they are.  Those who care about me are happy to see these changes.  Those who don't care - I don't want to be around them.

My immediate family relationships are changing.  I used to look down on my husband and kids, or allow one or the other of them to dictate how I behaved.  Treating them as equals never crossed my mind.  I was either controlling someone or allowing myself to be controlled by someone. I thought of myself either as lesser than or greater than, depending on the situation. They vacillated between being afraid of me and having contempt for me.  Or (worse yet) they pitied me.  Now, it's different.  They have seen the metamorphosis that is taking place - up close and personal, warts, setbacks and all - and they are more comfortable around me.  Our relationships are relaxed, easy, even fun.  We laugh more, and we fight less; we are more secure in our love for each other.  

Acceptance is becoming a way of life for me.  I used to be threatened by anyone who was different from me, who held different beliefs than I did, or who had a lifestyle that I considered wrong.  I'm learning that, as Pete said in The  Muppets Take Manhattan, "Peoples is peoples."  I'm learning to separate belief from person - not only in myself but in other people - and to enjoy the goodness and the beauty that I see in both my own self and in the selves of others.  It doesn't mean that I agree with everyone, or share their beliefs or life choices, but it does mean that I am not threatened by them, and can accept them as they are - without trying to fix them or convert them.  That makes them more relaxed around me, instead of being on the defensive all the time.  I like it better that way and I know they do.  

That feeling of consistent and continual loneliness I lived with for pretty much all of my life ... is dissipating.  I have more friends now than I ever thought I had or ever would ever have. This is such a trip for me!!

I have more confidence than I used to have.  When I think back over the last three years, God has led me into some amazing places that I never thought I could be.  I've done things in the last couple of years that - ten years ago - I could only imagine doing, as if in a wonderful dream.  Some of those dreams have become a reality:  being respected and heard, helping people in tangible ways, leading people, making a difference in people's lives.  Part of me can't even believe I'm talking about me that way, and wants to pinch myself.  Yet ... if this is a dream ... don't wake me.  

I'm a little less selfish than I used to be in some ways.  In other ways, I'm more selfish.  I'm more selfish in that I insist on looking after myself, believing in myself, doing what I need to do in order to maintain the relationships I have with God, myself, and others.  And as I have learned that I'm okay, that I'm all right just the way I am, I'm less selfish in that I have more of my true self to invest in other people, to listen to them, to care about what happens to them.  Before, it used to all be a variation on that old Anne Murray song, "Heyyyyy, what about me?"  Now that I have made some space for me to exist, I don't need to ask myself as much whether I'm being belittled or minimized.  I can choose to give - and I can choose to not give, and not feel guilty for saying "no" if I don't want to do something.  I've found that most people will respect that, too.  Who knew?

Found through Google Images at:
http://www.redgage.com/photos/metamit/sun-breaking-
through-the-storm-clouds.html

As I am healing, I am finding that the people in my life whom I have always wanted to "fix" have been watching me heal.  While I have been letting go of my need to fix them, they have been going through their own transformation, freed up from having to defend themselves from my efforts to "help" them, and able to do their own thinking about how their own lives are progressing.  It's uncanny.  I remember one person who originally couldn't understand how I could be upset over something that happened forty years ago, sharing with me one time after I had begun to heal from my past, "I guess the things that happen to you as a child follow you into adulthood."  She wasn't talking about my past, either; she was talking about her own.  Without my even trying - she had come to it on her own.  I've seen miracle after miracle happen just like that. 

Best of all, I am happier - much happier and much more consistently happy - than I ever was before.  Nurturing my relationships with God and with myself has given me the resources to be able to give instead of always taking.  I remember appearing to give of myself, and then being offended that people didn't appreciate what I did for them.  I was giving out of a deficit within myself, which left me in a continual state of burnout. And I was miserable. Giving from a place of fulness allows me to enjoy giving of myself.  It helps me have a healthy, happy attitude.  It doesn't mean I'm happy all the time; I feel what I feel when I feel it and I don't lie about it.  If something displeases me, I usually feel free to say so.  But on the whole, I am happy more days than not.  Which, as Martin the clown-fish says in Finding Nemo, "is a big deal ... for me."

Thanks - for help

Yesterday I put my back out at work.  Sciatic pain is not fun.

That said, I can think of several things for which I can be thankful, even IN this situation.  

I can still walk.  Okay, I am limping, and have to go a lot slower, but I can still get from point A to point B.  

I can ask for help from my family members ... and I can usually get it.  My husband and kids have brought me things: coffee, food, pills ... and hubby has provided transportation to and from doctor, physiotherapist, and pharmacy.  I have nothing for myself except what must be done by myself alone.   I am grateful to all of them.

A conversation with a friend this morning via Skype.  It lifted my spirits when I was hurting pretty badly, gave me something else to think about (other than my own stuff) and allowed me to vent about the situation that brought on this last attack.  

Workers Compensation Board.  I am grateful that this organization exists to compensate for lost time due to workplace injuries.  They really took care of my needs the last time this happened.  

Social networks.  As much as I complain about facebook, it's a great way to get information out there to a lot of people at once.  I just wish more folks were on Google Plus (no ads, no ticker, and lots more choice of privacy.)

My close friends who love and support me. I know they care - they have been sending me their love and support all day long.  Awesome! 

Drugs.  When anti-inflammatories don't work, other prescribed medications usually will - like the opiate analgesic known as Tramacet®.  It's starting to kick in just now, and I'm so very grateful for the relief it provides while I am waiting for physio to work its magic.  

Thanks for this photo (via Google Images) goes to:
http://northcoast.medichair.com/Products/
Mobility/Canes/offset-cane.php

The brilliance and skilled hands of para-professionals in the health care field.  I'm specifically thinking of physiotherapists, massage therapists, acupuncturists, and chiropractors.  How fortunate I am that WCB will cover these things and even if the Board doesn't, my health insurance will.  

The attentiveness of my dog, Shari.  She has been whining at me for the last hour.  (Or perhaps she just needs to go out.)  (grin)  [Okay she did have to go out - but when she came back in, she waited for me to follow her and kept looking back at me to make sure I was okay... and she is about 5 feet from me on her bed right now, keeping watch.]

Aids to daily living.  I'm using a cane I had used after a previous injury to help take the pressure off my right leg and hip as I go from place to place.  It lessens the pain spikes.  

All things considered, God has indeed blessed me in the midst of all of this.  And strangely, in spite of the pain, I am smiling.

Thanks - in spite of's

This is day six of fourteen.

I am thankful and grateful for the things that remain true no matter what.  Here are some examples.

The sun is always there in spite of how many clouds or raindrops are in the way.

Time passes at the same rate whether it seems like it or not.  

God loves me - even when I don't. 

My children will forgive me if I ask them - in spite of how badly I've screwed up and done it wrong.  

My friends care about me even if they could care less about some of the stuff I consider important.  

I can always count on God to be listening whenever I call out to Him, no matter what time of day or night or how unimportant the subject matter might seem.  I'm so thankful He doesn't need sleep.  

No matter how rotten a day I am having, I can find something - even a small thing like a green traffic light - for which to be thankful.  If I look.  

My husband loves me with all his heart, even when I drive him nuts with my messiness and other annoying little habits.  

Even though he's gone now, I will always be Daddy's little girl, and I know he is proud of me.  

As long as I am committed to being who I am without compromising, I am happier - in spite of the circumstances - than I ever was when I tried to be someone else just to please someone else.

Thanks - for everyday things

Before I get going on my gratitude list today, I just realized that I have been posting on facebook and Google Plus (LOVE Google + and wish more people would switch!) that I'm doing "day three of ten" and so forth, when the original challenge was to do two weeks, not ten days.

My bad!

So, this is Day Five of Fourteen.  Just so you know. 

Someone reminded me today just how much I take for granted - the little things that wouldn't matter to me because I "don't have that problem" or just wouldn't think about it because it's so much a part of my life - so I started thinking about these things and decided to be grateful for them (or their absence, as the case may be). 

A place to live.  How many homeless people are out there and I don't thank God for my own shelter? I am so thankful for a warm, dry, safe place to call home.  I love to listen to the sound of the rain outside, knowing I don't have to be out in it. The sounds of laughter and singing come from a place of fulness, of security, of safety. 

Pure and running hot and cold water.  Wow.  I remember my mother telling me that she used to have to go to the neighbour's well-house with a couple of buckets to get enough water to do the cooking and the washing with.  Then she'd have to heat the water on the stove to put in the sink to wash dishes or clothes.  Sometimes she'd have to make several trips. I can't imagine having to do that! And there are still millions of people every day who have no pure water to drink - what water there is comes from polluted sources, with nasty things like e. coli in it.  How fortunate I am to live in a place where those basic necessities are not a problem for most!

Indoor plumbing.  I actually remember having to use a chamber-pot when I was  a lot younger than I am now.  My earliest memory - I would have been around five - is of my mom carrying the pot down the stairs and to the outhouse, complaining that people let it get too full. I remember how hard Dad worked to put in the bathroom that she still uses at night.  What a gift it was to not have to go to the outhouse anymore.  Or empty dirty water from washing dishes out onto a patch of ground beyond the vegetable garden. What a gift it still is!  Even going without a bathroom for a few days (like during the aftermath of Hurricane Juan) was enough to drive our family to distraction!  How grateful I am for this simple, everyday luxury.

Health.  I'm healthy - more or less.  More THAN less.  Some friends of mine are going through some really tough waters in the health aspect of their lives.  Whether a terminal illness or chronic pain, being unhealthy is NO FUN.  The few bouts I've had with poor health convince me that good health is a gift, not to be taken for granted.  Yet often I do.  Or I complain about frittering little things that don't matter compared to the good things (like my health) with which I've been blessed.  

Health Care.  Yes, the health care system in Canada leaves a lot to be desired. Wait times are abysmal, and the proprietary attitude of some doctors is unbearable to more than just the nurses who work with them.  However - there are children who live on a mountaintop in Haïti who don't have access to medical care at all - unless a missionary team comes in and donates it.  Mothers and children in El Salvador have nobody to turn to if they become sick or there are complications with a pregnancy.  At least in Canada, even if one has to wait eight hours to see a doctor, one is available. And the money to pay that doctor - though it comes from our taxes - does not come out of our pockets at the most stressful moments of our lives.  It's a matter of perspective.   We truly are blessed.

Source (through Google Images):
http://www.dreamstime.com/free-images
/stock-image-adorable-girl-turning-off-
the-light-switch-image16375861

Electricity.  Flip a switch; the light comes on.  Push a button; a stove preheats to 350º F.  Without electricity, we would be in the dark for the majority of the year.  Fire hazards would abound from people lighting candles to keep from stumbling into things..... just like it was for centuries before man learned how to harness this amazing tool.  Electricity powers all our gadgets - on which we have come to rely: refrigerators, stoves, microwaves, televisions, the electrical components (batteries) of cars, even some phones.  Not to mention computers.  Life would be so much different without it.  We get a taste of it when the power goes out - and we are so grateful when it comes back on.  Yet when it works, we hardly think of it.  Wow.

Technology.  Computers, cell phones, the Internet, e-readers, iPods, iPads, even older technologies like cars, radio waves and - of course - the invention that has transformed our world more than anything since the invention of the light bulb:  Television.  Instantaneous transmissions by satellite so we can see things happen in our world in real time.  It's all so incredibly amazing - we can get information, or surround ourselves with music, or be in touch with anyone in the world, in just a few moments.  What would our great grandparents have thought of all of this when they were young people?  To them, the most amazing thing was the motor-car and the airplane.  To us, these things are common-place.  It seems that our ability to create new technologies and improve on old ones is limited only by our imaginations. I just hope we use our powers for good (wink). 

A job.  Especially since my husband retired, I have been more and more grateful for a steady source of income, even as difficult as it is sometimes to make ends meet.  If it were not for my job, we would not have some of the things we enjoy today - a mortgage-free house, and the ability to pay the monthly bills and put food on the table.  So many need to reach out to wonderful places like the Food Banks or the soup kitchens (here it's called "The Upper Room.")  But for the grace of God, there go I.  

Government services.  Everything from garbage pickup to job-search assistance programs, to public schools, to transportation / highways, to police.  We complain a lot about the quality of some of these services, but if they didn't exist - we'd be buried in trash, and only the most wealthy could be educated. We'd never be able to get around from place to place as easily as we do now.  Crime would abound and nobody would be safe - ever.  

Community services.  These would include churches, other charities, drop-in centres, crisis centres, 12-step groups and self-help groups.  So many resources exist in our western society to help just about any high-risk group or to provide support for those who need it when we need it most.  They provide a rallying-point for people to come to, for help and information.  And they provide an outlet for people who want to help someone else.  

And the list goes on ... and on ... and on.  I've only just scratched the surface.

Thanks - for tastes

Okay, this one is easy.

I had the most amazing chili con carne today - lip-smacking, smooth and spicy without being overpowering - it had three different kinds of peppercorns slow-cooked into it, plus ingredients I would never have expected - coffee and cocoa, garlic, and more than 3 different kinds of hot peppers.  And so this becomes my first taste to be thankful and grateful for  -  a good, steaming, medium-spicy bowl of chili con carne topped with grated mozzarella and mild cheddar cheese, and paired with a nice big roll with real butter on it.  

Turkey dinner with all the trimmings.  Dry winter squash, fluffy mashed potatoes, gravy, carrots with butter and oregano tossed in, and lots of dressing.  Mmm.  

Home made ice cream - like my dad used to make in the hand-cranked ice-cream maker.  Mom would put in all the ingredients everyone else did, plus (secret ingredient here) a package of instant vanilla pudding: who knew? Dad provided ice, salt, and elbow grease. The result - ice cream as smooth as silk, and absolutely delicious.  So much so my dad often said he wished he had a tongue a mile long so he could taste it all the way down.  (Not sure if he really thought that one through, though... grin).

Source (through Google Images)
http://2centsfromnobody.com

Tender, juicy rib-eye or T-bone steak, charbroiled to perfection, and my favorite steak sauce on top, served with crispy-skinned baked potato, butter and sour cream, and baby carrots - or broccoli with grated sharp cheddar on top.  (Is it suppertime yet?)

Shepherd's pie - leftovers from that turkey dinner, preferably, with the potatoes on top to form a crust as it bakes with the gravy bubbling up through.  One of my all-time favorites!  

Mince and tats - this is a Scottish dish made with loose fried ground beef (ground pork or lamb will do if you like). Onions can be added if you like them, just cook them right in with the meat.  Once everything is browned, you make the gravy right in with the meat (mix in flour with the drained meat and use the water from the boiled vegetables to add  flavour) and let it thicken and mix the flavours together - I put in a little salt and pepper, crush some oregano into it, just let it simmer a few minutes.  That's the "mince" part.  Then you put mashed potatoes (tats) on a plate, surround or cover with some sort of cooked veggie - say, green beans or carrots - and just ladle that mince all over the top. Instant steaming yumminess.  

Pan-fried sole with a lemon butter sauce - served with au-gratin scalloped potatoes and broccoli.  Okay um, what was for supper again?

Maybe about once or twice a year - a single slice of pecan pie.  Decadently, sinfully sweet and smooth.  

Canned tuna, drained, mixed with Miracle Whip and about 6 good shakes of pepper.  No bread, nothing crunchy in it either.  Just the filling.

A Granny Smith apple, washed, cored and cut in wedges, and a spoonful of peanut butter to dip each piece into. Followed by a glass of breath-takingly cold milk.

Thanks - for sounds

I was writing an account today of an experience I had back in 2001, which highlighted my appreciation of the gift of hearing, being able to hear voices - music - and so much more.  Rather than just being grateful for the ability to hear, I thought that it would be more meaningful for me to mention some of my favourite sounds, without which my life would be less rich than it is.

The varieties of birdsong.  How often I've thrilled to the song of a tree sparrow in the spring!  or mourning doves as they bill and coo to each other atop our eaves.  Hearing the plaintive calls of the Canada Goose in the spring and the fall, earliest harbingers of spring and winter for me, leads me to look to the skies to see if I can pick out the V-formation against the clouds.  I hope not many will fall from the sky to grace some hunter's table and that if they must, that their demise will be swift.  My heart has leaped to the roller-coaster melody of the meadowlark, the high trill of a canary in full-throated, joyous song, and even the screech of the blue-jay in mid-winter.

The laughter of my children.  I can be having a pretty awful day and hear them bantering back and forth, giggling at some inside joke (okay, part of me hopes I'm not the subject matter!) and I can't help but smile - at least a little.  

My hubby's voice.  Whether he calls me on the phone or just calls out to me when he comes into the house, I love the sound of his voice...the closer the better.  I even like to hear him snore; there was a time when I thought I had lost him for good, and ever since then, I smile when he saws logs or does other things that used to annoy me.  My favourite time of all is when I nestle my ear against his chest and stay there - just to hear his baritone voice in normal conversation.  And when he sings while I'm there, I just melt inside.  

Music.  This is such a part of my life that I can't imagine being without it.  It is both an outlet and a source of strength for me.  I almost always have a song running around in my head - usually something I've heard at church - but sometimes (it's the oddest thing) I will find myself humming a tune I haven't heard in  years, only to find out (once I realize what song it is) that I needed to hear the message contained in the lyrics to that particular song, on  that particular day.  It's like God uses music as a vehicle to get my attention and tell me something.  Weird - and wonderful.  And it happens quite frequently!  

The sound of rain hitting the windows.  In the evening, that spattering noise (especially if coming in gusts of wind) makes me drowsy.  Every time.  Perhaps it's the knowledge that I'm safe and warm while the world outside is anything but that.  

The sound of horses whickering to each other.  I've loved horses since I was six and saw one for the first time.  Their quiet grace in spite of their size, and their love of being with each other (or even with another animal of a different species) just for the sake of the company, really whispers into my spirit and gives me a sense of calm, as if all is right and as it should be. I'm one of those who believes that animals and humans could once understand each other. I've even been known to watch "Mantracker" on TV and listen to the horses that Mantracker and his sidekick are riding, as they make little sounds: the half-snort, the scenting the air, the little harumphs they say when they hear something and don't know what it is exactly. I like the hoofbeats when they canter toward the people who are trying to evade the trackers. It scratches an emotional itch for me.  

The sizzle of steak charbroiling.  Need I say more?  

The sound you hear in the cinema just before the movie trailers start - it's called the "THX Deep Note": the most recognizable piece of computer-generated art in the world.  I can be doing something else and that sound comes on a DVD and I'm instantly mesmerized - all movement stops and I close my eyes and let it soak into my psyche.  I love that ten seconds of bliss!  

The sound of the house when everyone is safe inside, and in bed asleep.  I can hear my hubby breathing (or snoring softly); if I go to the living room (which I do when I have insomnia in the middle of the night) I can hear the faint ticking of the clock, and the furnace and/or sump pump kicking in and turning off.  And the sound of my own typing - because I usually blog when I can't sleep.  It's all so peaceful.

The faint tumbling and grating of the key in the lock, and the muted click of the bolt retreating into its sheath, when we come back home from a stressful all-day or all-weekend trip - returning from being away from the familiarity of our own kitchen, our own bedrooms.  There is something soothing about knowing that we are where we belong.

Thanks - for pivotal moments

Today my thoughts strayed to those moments in my life when something crucial changed because someone did or said something, or stuff just happened that seemed to be "co-incidences" (which is simply - according to Einstein - God's way of remaining anonymous.)  

I am grateful for those moments where things have changed in the direction of my life or of my thinking just by certain people being placed in my path or by certain events happening.  Here are some examples:  

Fifty cents:  When I was about 9 or 10, my mom kept house for various clients.  One of those people was a severe, wizened old crone who seemed to have had all the joy sucked out of her.  She owned the apartment building and had one tenant upstairs. When it became too much for me downstairs, I would mount the stairs to Amy's little apartment.  Amy, as sweet and soft-spoken as the other woman was sharp and curt - was timeless to me.  She was probably about 80 years old in reality.  She had never once cut her hair, and kept it in a bun on the back of her head, held up by decorative hair barrettes made of dyed porcupine quills, leather, and sticks of wood.  Watching her take down her hair and brush it was mesmerizing to me.  She was kind to me.  She would talk about my schooling, my friends, take an interest in me.  When she saw me fidgeting after about ten minutes of conversation, she would press two quarters into my hand - a fortune to me, especially from a person who wasn't a family member - and let me go into town to buy myself a treat.  Her kindness was a haven for me in what was often a world of people twice my height who seemed to be angry with me all the time.  Her belief in me helped me believe - if only just a little - in myself.  Thanks Amy!  

The road home: I was twelve, old enough to attend the youth class in Sunday School.  It was taught by a lady named Jean.  Jean had been a war bride from England - with a rich Yorkshire accent and a heart for young people.  To me she was old - but she was probably only about 60.  She valued my contribution to the class, and never ridiculed me once for asking or saying anything stupid. She never once yelled at me for anything. When I was about 13 and in the midst of my teenage rebellion, some correspondence course material started arriving for me in the mail, something called the "Road to Emmaeus".  I never really knew who sent it, but I'd be willing to bet it was her.  I did the lessons and sent them in to the company; they came back to me with check marks on them and someone wrote encouraging words in red pen: "Excellent!"  It gave me a spiritual anchor in what were those tumultuous teen years when everything was topsy-turvy.  

The reflection: It was grade 9.  I was at the zenith of my teen rebellion... even stole cigarettes from my dad's packets to smoke at school.  I had started smoking to get a bully off my back, one who got her face into mine and yelled - threatened - cajoled me into trying tobacco with the oh so persuasive peer-pressure argument, "How do you know you don't like it if you haven't tried it?" ( I hated it, by the way, my mouth tasted like an ash pile.  I was just doing it to get out of being bullied. )  I was hanging out with some pretty rough characters, had developed a reputation that took me years to live down afterward.  In the midst of that, my guidance counselor, Mr. Moleman, called me into his office.  Very quietly he mentioned he'd seen me around the schoolyard with some people, and had noticed that I had started smoking. If he had gotten angry with me or raised his voice with me, I would have dismissed him.  But he just locked his gaze into mine from about 10 feet away - and simply said, "I want you to do me a favour when you get home.  Go find a place at your house with a full-length mirror.  Take out a cigarette - don't light it - just hold it in your fingers.  Watch yourself put it into your mouth.  Then look at yourself and ask yourself - is this what I really want for myself?"  He ignored my quizzical / innocent look.  "Just do it, ... please."  That afternoon after school and before my parents got home, I went into their room where the only full-length mirror we had was placed.  I took out the cigarette, and did as Mr. Moleman asked.  What I saw, I didn't like.  That was when I decided to quit - and over the next three weeks, the desire to smoke left me as I stopped lighting up.  The bullies - for some strange reason - left me alone after that.  Who knew.  It was the beginning of a long road back from nowhere.  Thanks, Mr. Moleman.  

Source: (via Google Images):
http://connectionstogod.wordpress.com/2011/04/27/doors/

The lifeline:  I would be sixteen in three weeks. Someone had said some very harsh words to me.  I was smarting from them.  I was miserable, lonely, and totally unhappy.  Yet Someone waited for me behind that empty bedroom doorway.  I went into the room, closed the door behind me and sunk to my knees beside the bed.  Hot tears spilled over and soaked into the bed-spread as I sobbed my way back into His waiting arms.  There was no condemnation, there were no harsh words there.  Only forgiveness, only goodness, only grace.  In those moments, the course of my life changed permanently.  Had I continued with the road I was on, I would have ended up in a ditch somewhere, dead - or worse.  He rescued me with His love.  I will never forget.  Thank You Jesus.  I owe You my life.  

The schoolbus:  I was almost 18 and had been away from home for the first time in my life that was more than 2 weeks, at a Bible camp in the States.  I'd been corresponding with a friend all summer - and had just gotten a letter from him.  I went into an abandoned schoolbus behind the camp to read it by myself.  As I read, my friend revealed a secret to me which should have made me furious with him.  Yet all I could do was sit there and forgive him, want to talk to him and tell him everything was going to be fine.  Part of me was baffled by my reaction - and I asked myself why I would behave this way, why?  And then the answer came to me, as if that part of me was an entity outside myself.  "Because you're in love with him, ya dummy!"  That moment of realization turned everything around for me, put a lot of things into focus.  By the way, I ended up marrying the guy.  (grin).  

The interview:  I was looking for work - I'd have been around 22 - and had only been able to get summer jobs as a waitress here and there.  Finally I went in to talk to a counselor about this job I saw that I knew I could do.  Her first question to me was, "So what was your major in university?"  I was flabbergasted.  I'd never been to university.  You didn't need to be a college graduate to do those duties I had read on the job posting.  What was she talking about?  I told her I had not been to university and she said bluntly that I couldn't apply for the job, then.  I got angry.  "Well then, what would it take to say, have YOUR job?"  She told me it would take a Bachelor of Arts with a major in one of the social sciences, like Psychology or Sociology.  "Fine! I retorted.  "I'll see you in four years!" And I stormed out of her office.    Later, I mentioned that conversation to my hubby.  And he said, "Good!"  (Huh? I thought.)  "Why not?" he queried.  (What? me?  college?)  He urged, "You can do this, why not show her?"  And I found myself saying, "All right, I WILL!"  And that's when I applied to go to university.  Getting my degree opened a lot of doors for me in so many ways I can't begin to count - all because of one interview.

The employment counselor:  There was this guy who had been in a diving accident which left him a quadriplegic - he also happened to be an employment counselor and I found myself in his office quite frequently as I looked for work near the end of my university days.  He believed in me, went to bat for me, and encouraged me.  I will never forget Tony, nor will I ever stop being grateful to him for never giving up on me.  

The telephone voice: I was a brand new mother and trying to nurse my child.  I'd gotten all the wrong advice from well-meaning people in the hospital, people who had never nursed their children - one who had never even HAD a child.  When I got home from the hospital I was sore - things were burning and stinging all over the place.  Finally hubby said, "Wasn't there a booklet we got at prenatal class with the number for a support group somewhere?"  I dug out the booklet and called the number.  The voice at the other end was one of a kind and understanding woman.  She listened as I described my situation and then said one word which let me know she knew what I was going through:  "OUCH!"  In the next five minutes, she corrected the misinformation I had been given, gave me some positioning tips and within three days the pain was completely gone.  I started going to the support group and through this same woman, became the co-leader of the group.  For six years, I was able to help people just like she helped me - and that experience as leader has stood me in good stead in my career development - believe it or not! 

The crucible:  The children were young, and after a failed business we were in such deep, crushing debt that we couldn't see our way out of it.  The defining moment came for us as we sat across from a loans officer at a finance company to borrow money to pay for groceries that week... for the second time.  We knew we were in way over our heads. So after much soul-searching and weighing options, we finally sat across from a bankruptcy trustee and filed for personal bankruptcy.  We lost friends over it, we lost the support of people whose theology didn't include that sort of thing - and yet we saw so much good come out of it.  Most notable was that we learned to trust God for everything.  Every thing.  (I've spoken at length about this in previous posts, so I won't repeat myself here).  We also learned a lot about the nature of grace - and although I would rather crawl over ground glass than do it EVER again, I am so grateful we went through that experience.  We learned lessons we never would otherwise have learned.  And through it all we knew the provision of God, day to day.  

The policeman:  One incident which happened on March 24, 2009 is burned into my brain.  I called my husband when he didn't show up at the appointed time to go home with me from work.  I reached him only to find out he was at the hospital.  I rushed out there, and saw him in the "quiet room" which is where they put the drunks to dry out.  A policeman guarded the door.  He was a young man and had spent over two hours with this fellow twice his age who couldn't string two coherent sentences together.  I went up to him and without going into a lot of detail, there were grounds for pressing charges against him for public drunkenness. I was beside myself.  My hubby had been scheduled to go into the Rehabilitation program of the local addictions centre within a week. And now this. The officer looked at me - I must have appeared in some distress because he took pity on me.  He gave me a choice between letting the police have my husband to book him, or me taking him home in his present state and letting him sleep it off.  Justice - or mercy.  For me there was no question.  I chose mercy.  Because of that kind policeman's offer, my hubby was able to get the help he needed when he needed it most.  He has not had a drink since that day. God used that young man to help give my husband back to me.  
Thank God.  Thank you, Officer.

Thanks - for people

In my last blog post I challenged myself to think of ten things, whether people, places, or things, for which I am grateful and to state those things so that I can see or hear them - and others can too.  

I am most grateful for God in my life, and He is so much a part of it that it's hardly fair to list Him along with other things/ people.  So, here are some flesh-and-blood people in my life for whom I am grateful - and some of the reasons why.  

Hubby.  I love how he can make me laugh - or tries to - even when I am crying.  I love how he quirks his eyebrows up into an inverted "V" when something strikes him really funny.  I love how he used to get on the floor and play with the kids when they were growing up.  I love how he looks at me, the way he says my name, like it's something precious in his mouth.  I love how kind his eyes are (and how kind he is!), how he is so patient, more patient than I could ever dream of being. I love those ears - those glorious ears that first drew me to him - because he took the hint from Mother Nature that one should listen twice as much as one speaks.  I love his passion and desire for an intimate, personal relationship with God.  I am so grateful for his sobriety - now over 2.5 years - that was probably the greatest gift God has given to me in the last 28 years.  I love the way he plays "air bass" and hums tunelessly when he has his earphones in his ears and listens to music. I love how he quietly goes about helping people and truly thinks that nobody notices.  I love his faithfulness - to me, to the kids, to his ministry.  I love how he watches me when he thinks I'm not looking.  I love how the kids can talk to him about anything - he's so accepting.  I love to listen to him breathe when I wake up in the morning.  Every day with him is a gift.  I don't tell him enough how much I love him.  

My kids. (This counts for 2 because I have 2 kids.)  

I love how my youngest brightens up a room just by being in it.  How she has such a great sense of humour and can see the funny side of just about anything, like her uncle (my brother).  I love it when she tries to make people feel better if they're feeling down.  I love how tenderhearted she is - how loyal and how caring she is.  I love it that she is so honest about how she feels.  I appreciate so much the little things she does around the house - tidying up this room and washing the dishes in that room, putting the dog out and putting her to bed when I'm too tired at the end of a day.  She helps keep me honest about how I feel too.  I appreciate that about her - she can see through the hypocrisy and knows when someone is lying to her.  I wonder sometimes if she is aware of just how beautiful she is and how fiercely I love her. 

My oldest - so serious, so focused, so talented.  I love that she and I can share so much in the area of the arts - writing, singing, art, music-making.  I love how dedicated she is - how easy to talk to she is (she gets it from her dad, I think).  I love how she can mediate conflicts by seeing both sides, how she empathizes with people and can usually find a way to make peace.  I love how shy she is, how she is so unassuming, yet can worm her way into the cockles of even the coldest heart by looking for the good in everyone.  I love her humility: it makes her star qualities shine through even more.  I am sure that she has very little idea how greatly I admire and love her.

Mary.  Oh what a friend she's been to me for many years!  Hers was the first friendly face I saw at the first paying job I ever had.  I was nearly 18, she about 15 and a half.  We went through some pretty incredible things together!  The miles have not diminished my love for her or hers for me.  I love it that she knows just what to say to turn my frown upside down and get me giggling.  I love her zaniness, her special turns of phrase, her honest and direct approach to life.  As she would say, she's as "nutty as squirrel poo" - and we can be nutty together.  I love her faithfulness to me when things looked their bleakest.  I love how she has been my advocate, my confidante, and my greatest fan - how much she has believed in me, stood up for me, and stood up TO me.  It's been over 31 years since we first met, and I hope we're still there for each other in another 31 years. 

My brother.  This guy taught me to play the guitar, to sing harmony, and to defend myself. He and I laughed, cried, sang, and fought together.  We survived our childhoods together.  We saw each other's foibles and finest moments.  I've hated him with every fibre of my being.  And I've loved him just as much.  After all the pain and the suffering we've both been through, after every ounce of bitterness is wrung out and the fragrance of the rose remains - I love him.  I love how he can take the mundane and make it ridiculous. I love how he can make me laugh at my fears and how they lose their power when I've learned to laugh at them.  I love how he can make up a tune out of thin air, build it into an amazing song, and communicate it to others.  I love the beautiful lyrics that have come from his heart.  I love how he does everything he does and feels everything he feels: with all of the passion and fierceness in his soul. I love how he abhors hypocrisy.  I love how he knows what is right and gets so very angry when there is injustice in any form.  I wonder if he knows how much he has inspired me to stand up for the truth even when nobody else stands with me. 

Phil.  What a sweet soul!  If anyone epitomizes the love of God coming through a person to others, it's him.  I love it that no matter what he's doing, he'll take the first opportunity to say hello to and hug people.  I love how he really, truly cares about what the honest answer to his, "How are you?" is. And that he'll take the time to listen if the answer is less than "great!" I love it that he is so passionate about what he believes, and that he can communicate that passion without being overbearing or judgmental. I hope he knows how precious his friendship is to me. 

Margo.  What an enigma she is! Hilariously funny, amazingly deep, incredibly smart, fantastically talented, and all that in an irreverent exterior but deeply caring spirit.  I love it that she challenges me to look beyond the tip of my own nose.  I love how she and I can giggle about jokes that would appeal to a 12-year-old, and yet in the next breath be discussing the mysteries of the universe.  I love it that we share so many common bonds and yet we're so completely different from each other.  Yet, we're strangely the same, in a lot of the areas that count.  I hope she knows how much I admire her, how deeply I value our strange-but-true friendship.  

Dorothy.  A straight shooter, delicate but strong, faithful and as loyal as they come.  What would I have done if God hadn't brought her into my life?  I love how common sense is so common with her.  I love it that she gets right to the heart of a matter in a very short time.  I love how deeply, completely, and enduringly (if that's a word) she loves.  I love her hugs; she communicates a LOT through them.  I love how she just loves my kids to pieces - and they love her right back. I love it that she considers PEI "home" even though most of her family isn't here. I'm so grateful for Dorothy.  I hope she knows that.  

Judy.  Wow - so deep and so straightforward, a young and yet timeless spirit.  I love that she is who she is and doesn't pretend to be who she's not.  I love it that we can share deeply on a spiritual level, that she "gets" me without me having to go into a big long explanation, and yet she'll let me explain it anyway.  I love it that we can laugh and cry together.  I love it that we can pray together, appreciate each other's talents and special-ness, that we can learn from each other's strengths.  I love it that we can be honest with each other about our failings too.  I love it that we can be children together.  That we can be old women together (if that's what we choose to be - wink!)  What a treasure I found when she and I crossed paths. I am so very grateful. 

Lisa.  How do I count the ways!  Talented, honest, spirited, beautiful, tough, and vulnerable, all rolled into one. New to faith, I love that enthusiasm mixed with doubt that she carries around with her. I love it that she can cut straight to the chase and put her finger on exactly what is at the heart of a matter.  I love how artistic she is - her writing, painting, sculpture, needlework, decorating skills (food and otherwise), drawing, and on and on the list goes - these all flow out of her.  I love it that in her quiet, unassuming way, she questions and reads, wrestles and prays until she comes to her own conclusions on things that a lot of us just take at face value.  I love how beautifully she is growing and transforming from the inside out.  I love it that I get to see that, up close and personal.  What a joy it is to almost be able to hear and see the growth that is happening in her in leaps and bounds.  

Wow - is that really just ten?  I feel like I just got started.

Sounds of Silence

It dawned on me recently that even when it is quiet and all is serene, it has been many years since I have heard the sound of silence.  

I suffer from constant pulsatile tinnitus.  Most of the time, the noise of the day drowns it out, and sometimes I must ask people to speak a touch more loudly especially if they have a high-pitched voice.  But when it is quiet, like in the middle of the night, I hear a loud cacophony in my right ear.  I've described it as a combination of cicadas and peeper frogs.  The cicadas have a buzzing sound (they are flies, after all), and the frogs, well, best to show you (have the sound on..)  
 



I told you it was loud.... For this reason, I have a white-noise maker in the bedroom to keep the tinnitus from driving me crazy in the middle of the night.

Anyway, I guess I was thinking about this because a friend of mine has lost her sense of smell and it affects her enjoyment of not only the taste of food but the pleasure of preparing it for people.  She told me that you never really appreciate something until after it's gone.  And it's true.  We tend to take these seemingly small things for granted.  Gratitude is something we need to cultivate; it doesn't come naturally.  

So I have a challenge for myself - and for you, if you would like. It's something I heard about a long time ago and I thought was nuts!!  Now - I'm not so sure.  Every day for the next two weeks, think about and say out loud to yourself, to God or to a friend (and all three if you can manage it) ten things for which you are truly grateful, which you would miss if they were suddenly absent from your life.  They can be things, people, whatever.  Try to make at least some of them different each day.  See if it makes a difference in your daily life, in your attitudes toward others, your work, your play, your family and/or your friends.  

I'm willing to try it; are you?

Neither high nor low

It's easy to be serene and peaceful on the mountaintop when the strife of the climb is over.  It's even easy (though less so) to have inner calm in the valleys of life, when it seems that we are at our lowest ebb, for those are the times we shed the extraneous and tend to depend on God more - and He does often give the peace that passes understanding.  

What is the hardest is having peace and quietness of spirit during the climb.  

When the going is really tough, adversities abound, and progress is being made but there is still far to go - when we are caught between being satisfied with what we have and wanting more - that is when it is hard to become settled and tranquil in our daily lives.  

Finding balance when the task ahead consumes us, living a life of grace and being centered when so many voices compete for our attention in our busy lives - this is a daily challenge.  We are so focused on the task at hand that sometimes we forget to look for beauty in the midst of the chaos, harmony in the discord, the fragrance of little God-moments in the mundane, the still small voice of God during the noisy rush hour traffic.  

I don't think there is one pat answer for those times.  It's a combination of seeking balance, picking our battles, letting go of the small stuff (and some would argue it's all small stuff), and concentrating on what's most important instead of allowing the urgent things to grab us by the throat.  It's found on the fly, at opportune moments, at stop lights, even.  

A momentary self-check can identify preoccupations, fears, worries, and disquieting imaginations that can run away with us if we let them.   Periodically willing ourselves to physically relax, even if only for a few minutes, can set the tone for letting peace reign.  The effort we make to spend time with God, centering in on what really matters: these priorities we set for ourselves are well worth the effort.

Uncharted territory

I was having a chat with a friend when seemingly out of the blue, she referred to me as a pioneer, someone who blazes a trail for others to follow, where there are no footprints as yet.  The term surprised me because I hadn't thought of myself like that.  But in a way, it seemed to fit. I have been on a journey and at times it has seemed like I am the only one, traveling through thick woods, slicing out (as if with a machete) a path just big enough for me to see a place to put my foot for the next step.  

And all the time I'm wondering if I'm even in the right forest.  That feeling of uncertainty is what keeps me grounded, keeps me trusting God for the next step, keeps me from getting overconfident.  

Life reminded me again last night and today that as far as I think I have come, I still have far to go. 

I still AM powerless over other people and over their choices.  I need to continually remind myself that it is not my job to live another's life for him or her.  And I need to constantly turn my will and my life over to God's care, and trust Him to do for me what I cannot do for myself.  As much as I would like to say I can make those changes in myself that I know need to be made, I know that I can't - and I can cite years upon years of trying (and failing) as proof positive.  

I no longer make any pretense that I have "arrived."  I am coming to know myself well enough to know that I still freak out, I still get upset and obsessed about things others do (over which I have no control, and I hate that I don't have control over those things OR people).  What I do know is that when I let go of my need to control the outcome, when I let people be who they are and let God be who He is, I can relax my inner grip.  The more relaxed I can become, the happier I am inside my own skin, the better able I am to live with myself and with others.  

Sometimes some people misunderstand my letting go to mean that I approve of their choices or that I would choose as they did.  That may lead them to inadvertently hurt me.  I have ended up feeling betrayed, bewildered, and beaten. And I'm learning to feel those feelings without feeling guilty for having them, to talk about how I feel in a safe atmosphere, and to release those feelings and not hold on to them.

I am also learning how important it is to not only respect other people's boundaries, but to communicate my own boundaries to other people.  Learning that I am important enough to HAVE boundaries is a new concept, and it is taking longer than I would have liked to be able to identify and articulate what my boundaries are, without letting people trample on them to the point where I explode and over-react.  It is a delicate balance, which I am still learning how to achieve. 

It is better than it was.  But there is still far to go.

Bound to Happen

I'm sure you've met the kind of people who pay a lot of lip service to living a life of trust and faith, and yet their actions belie their words.  I've been there a few times more than I would like to admit, myself.  We want to believe things will work out fine, but in the final analysis our feeble affirmations do nothing to delay the inevitable that (if we'd really been honest with ourselves) we knew was coming down the pike.  In fact, our denial that anything was wrong might even have put us in danger because we just failed to get out of the way.  After all, things might improve.  (Uh, that's called denial.) Usually it ends up with us being in situations out of which we can't extricate ourselves because we realized it too late, much like when Wile E. Coyote sees a boulder coming toward him and puts up that little teensy umbrella with one hand and a sign that says "Help" with the other hand - without ever thinking of trying to escape it.

We can get sucked into that kind of mind-set too.  It's really easy.  Become obsessed with a single idea to the exclusion of all others and it's bound to happen.  Denial sets in. We ignore the warning signs that we should get away, out of a bad situation, or that we need to seek help for something that is beyond our ability to fix.  

We shove down the doubts that creep in, and try to put a positive spin on things.  Or we succumb to worry that things will end badly, and we become fretful and upset, feeling guilty for "not speaking in faith."  And the inevitable happens.  Stuff hits the fan and we end up hurt, grieving, lost, and bewildered. And disillusioned.

Instead of accepting what circumstances (or people) we can't change, we rail against what is, wonder why it is the way it is, and waste precious energy in trying to find someone to blame for the way it is.  Instead of changing what we can (and from experience I've found that the only thing I can change is my own mind and behavior, and only with help) we hesitate, paralyzed by fear that we'll make it worse.  And when the fallout hits - it usually does - we feel this nameless sense of guilt but we aren't quite sure why.  After all, it has to be our fault somehow, right?

The truth is so much more freeing.  Yes, actions have natural consequences.  Yes, bad things happen sometimes.  Yes, sometimes even after we pray and pray and pray, people get sick, lose their jobs, or are cruel to others, and there seems to be nothing we can do about it.  We rebel against that.  We like to think that we have some control over the outcome.  

The truth is .... that we don't.  It's not out job to control what happens, to dispense retribution for wrongs committed, to fix other people's problems or dysfunction.  The truth is that we can let those things go, that we can release our grip on all those injustices.  We can set boundaries around our own lives and we can trust others to set boundaries around theirs; if they don't, they will learn to do it the hard way.  Just like we are learning  -  if they (and we) are honest, open, and willing.  

It's bound to happen.

Winding down

When I was a child, perhaps about 10 years old, my family used to go and visit my mother's uncle who lived about two and a half hours' drive from us.  Aunt Sue was probably my favorite aunt.  She and Uncle Ernie lived in a quaint little house that reminded me of a doll-house.  The pantry-style kitchen spilled out into a parlor, and I spent my time in the large living room where they made up a bed at night on the sofa.  In that living room there was a clock - one of those old mantle clocks that chimed, and you had to wind up the chimes when you wound up the clock.  It would chime on the quarter hour, half hour, three-quarter hour and the hour.  

I loved it.  There was something comforting about knowing that every fifteen minutes this thing would just keep reminding us that time would pass at the same speed whether we thought it did or not.  

I could hear it ticking faithfully in the night as well, a soothing reminder that I was not alone.  Others in my family thought it quite annoying.  They weren't used to the sound it made, it woke them up.  That was part of its charm for me as a child who was terrified of the dark - it gave me something to focus on, something that was constant and reliable.  

Every so often the movement would slow down, the chimes would become lazy, and the clock would lose time. It would "wind down." Sometimes the ticking would hesitate - a sure sign of loosened springs on the inside.  So it wasn't long before Aunt Sue would get out the key and wind the clockworks up again.  She'd have to do that first, and then slowly move the minute hand forward, stopping at the 15, 30, 45 and hour positions to allow the clock to chime and keep track of where in the cycle it was.  It was such fun to observe her doing this - a little woman not much taller than I was at 10 years old - and so intent on keeping this valuable machine in good shape, crucial in the days well before cell phones were even invented, much less pick up the correct time from a satellite during or after a power outage.  

I guess I started thinking about this as I pondered the tendency I have to "coast" sometimes in my recovery and in my daily relationships with God, myself and others.  When I start to coast like that, I become less reliable, more likely to mislead myself or others into a false sense of security.  It feels "loose" inside.  My reactions start to hesitate - I become unsure, insecure, obsessive.  I wind down in my motivation to maintain those crucial relationships.  

So that is when I need to take out the Key of prayer, meditation and self-examination and tighten up the primary relationship (with God) and the secondary one (with myself).  Then it's easy to wind up the third relationship (with others) and before long I'm "keeping time" .... and the hesitation, the insecurity, and the obsession are all gone.

Unwinding

"Mona, take a break."  

This is my favorite line from an old Caramilk TV ad from 1973, where Leonardo da Vinci tells Mona Lisa (as he is painting her portrait) to take a break because he can't get her to smile just right. So she takes a bite of the Caramilk and the rest - "Mona! hold it!" - is history.  

Back before I started my process of healing, I would come home from work and hit the ground running.  Hang up my coat, put supper on the stove immediately.  Go, go, go.  Gotta, sposta, woulda-coulda-shoulda, as the events of the day whirled around in my head.  (Whew!)  

And when I was healing, one of the things I decided to do in order to look after myself and support my healing process was to take about twenty minutes or so when I got home and do whatever it is that I wanted to do. I still do it.  I call it "unwinding."  It's pretty incredible what just that 20 minutes does - it allows me to shed the stresses of the day and gear up for the events of the evening, whatever that holds in store.  I can check my emails, start a blog post, read something from a book, or even have a conversation with someone via Skype or one of the social media.  It doesn't take long, but it is time well-spent.  

What it does for me is freshen and sharpen my perspective, bring me into the moment, boost my gratitude factor, and underline for me the relatively new fact of life that I am a person too, and that I have the right to be cared for.  Even if I'm the one doing the caring. That it's okay - that I'm worth looking after.

When I feel that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, when I sense the slime of that slippery slope of becoming too personally involved in things that are none of my business, I know that there is an area of my life which needs work.  I have allowed myself to slip back into the insanity of trying to fix or rescue people, or otherwise influence the behavior of a person or the outcome of someone else's situation or plan. 

That is the time I need to pull aside and look after me.  Unwinding, taking a break, looking after myself reminds me of the existence of boundaries that other people have, because it reminds me of my own boundaries. Since the concept of boundaries is a new one, it is helpful for me to keep it front and centre so that I won't forget and cross one - or allow one to be crossed.  This makes for better relationships with God, with myself and with others.  

It's funny how that works.  But it works.  Every time.