Turkeys, To Dos and Perspective

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY THREE

The Program was today. I just spent some time at Bug and Baby Girl’s preschool for the annual Thanksgiving Program and lunch. It was fun times with a cute little turkey and a very handsome pilgrim. We brought our own turkeys made out of Oreos and a plate of cheese slices to contribute to the sandwiches of the crowd. They smiled and waved. They sang. They clapped and touched their head, shoulders, knees and toes. They were happy. And they knew it. It was all the unexpected silliness you would expect from a preschool program.

It took two hours of what was an already busy day if you include the assembling of the cheese plate and the gas that had to be purchased before I could get the van home. I walked back into my office to a piled up desk and an iPad app full of tasks waiting to be checked off. Still, although I may feel a little stretched with this week’s schedule, I just know those were two of the best hours I could spend today.

Yes, I received all the standard reminders of Thanksgiving at The Program. The blessing of the holiday. The food we could partake. The sweet faces and infectious smiles. But this year I was also reminded of what a blessing it is for me to have the freedom to do all the things that seem to be required of Mommies during the holidays.

A year and a half ago when I learned that the company I had worked with for 16 years would be closing, that freedom wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t really have a moment of panic then (I think that came later), but it did seem like a setback. Some limitation (what felt like another limitation) I would need to scrape through. A financial strain. An emotional strain. A colossal change in my normal.

As it turned out, I really didn’t have much time to ponder the limitations. In the same breath she told me she was retiring, my boss/friend/mentor said “you need to start your own design business.” And she proceeded to articulate several ways she thought I would succeed. Wow! It was a new thought to me. The short story is that I did just that, and I was right. It WAS a colossal change in my norm — a change I am now so grateful is my new normal.

Although I could barely imagine it at the time, this experiment of a new business and the decision to work from my home has been a Godsend. It’s given me the opportunity to be that Mom I wanted to be. I wanted to be the Mom who could go on the field trip or organize the party or knock off the afternoon early for snow cones. I’ve also come to enjoy the freedom to cultivate my own mix of design services, consulting strategies and writing skills I can offer to clients. I relish the chance to hone my own commitments into those that most closely resemble my ideal. I love making the determination to give away my time to some of the clients if I feel it’s right. And when it comes right down to the bottom line, I’m so grateful for this chance to provide for my kids in a way I probably wouldn’t have been able to in my previous work situation.

As I look around this office I’ve organized and adorned with design books, color chips, kid drawings and throw pillows, I find that I wouldn’t have my normal any other way. What a blessing to be able to spend my days enjoying tasks and the place I have to do them! What a blessing to be able to lay them aside for two hours to devote that time to what matches with my own priorities — my only responsibility and accountability being the things that matter most to me in work and life. Life is too short to settle for less than that.

Today, full on kid songs and Oreos and burgeoning project tasks, I’m so thankful for the realization that what seemed like a step backward actually brought me right were I want to be. Funny how that happens.

The Pile

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY TWO

Yesterday I spent some time with my little ones outside again. I love the magic that fresh air often provides to our spirits. We’ve been working on a project this year in the back yard. For me, it’s a project to transform the back yard into the back garden. That distinction is lost on the kids, of course. They are simply enjoying the opportunity to dig in new dirt. I’m enjoying the opportunity to reclaim something.

I call it “the pile.” The back corner of my property had been left as a growing debris pile for many years — the place where unwanted plants, dirt, clippings, and limbs were all left to decay. As “the pile” grew, it had become an eyesore. The huge display of rotting and drying vegetation had begun to take over the yard, the view and my enthusiasm. In my mind “the pile” had become a symbol of growing frustration with other areas of my life I felt had been neglected and left to dry up and wither. Areas that seemed to be taking over and squelching my vitality.

Beyond that, “the pile” had become shameful to me. It was ugly. It was unkept. It was irresponsible. It was intimidating. It represented my own resistance to stand up and cultivate the life of significance I really want.

I’m writing in past tense. It WAS. Back in the Spring, I decided to tackle “the pile” and operation reclamation began. I hired someone to come and haul the pile away leaving bare ground. Slowly (with the help of my Mom and the cheers of my kids) I’ve thought through that plot of earth’s possibilities. I’ve marked off areas for plantings. We’ve pruned and cleared unwanted plants. We planted azaleas and tea olive shrubs. We added a wooden swing. With great excitement, we hauled in a funky shaped playhouse for Baby Girl’s birthday. We even added a few plants around its little stoop.

All the while, we’ve been giggling. We’ve been digging. We’ve been getting muddy. We’ve been working. We’ve been planning and imagining. We’ve been ENJOYING that space. We’ve been LIVING in that space.

Yesterday, we put out seed in that space. We bought the rye seed. We stood amazed at how tiny they were. We dumped them into the seed spreader and we rolled them out into that reclaimed earth.

As I think about Thanksgiving and the recognition of bounty it provides, I can’t help but be reminded about the power of sowing seeds. About the need to clear ground before new growth can occur. About the joy and confidence that comes from reclaiming what has been squelched. About the reminder that spaces must be empty before they can be filled. Bit by bit, step by step, cultivating is inspiring. In all its messy stages. It’s admirable. It’s worthy of gratitude for each foothold that is gained.

It’s so easy to focus attention on where we are NOT in this journey of living. It’s so easy to give credence to the place we haven’t yet reached. It’s so easy to discount the necessary small (and big) steps it takes to get there. I’m so thankful for “the pile’s” tangible reminder that green grass — the grass I can’t see now — begins with removing dead branches. It begins with determining that something must be cleared if I am to gain NEW ground. I’m thankful for the reminder that preparing the earth is a necessary step in enjoying bounty.

From Empty to Bounty: 12 Days

DAY ONE

Today is Sunday — the one that’s a week and a half before Thanksgiving. If I’m going to commit to the Eyejunkie 4th Annual 12 Days of Thanksgiving posting series, today is the day to begin. I woke up thinking that this morning.

Fourth annual. I can hardly believe it’s correct to even write that. Yet, it is. It’s hard for me to believe that I’ve been writing this blog long enough to have a 4th annual anything. But, I guess I have. As I’ve glanced through the  12 Days themes of year one, year two and year three, it’s easy for me to see the changes in my own life — my own heart — as portrayed through this odd little record. It’s easy to see the constant aspects as well.

I’ve spent the last week trying to decide if I really wanted to bite off the daily morsel of a 12-day writing commitment this year. On Friday at the end of a long (and somewhat busy) week, I was feeling the pressure of many things. One of those things was the choice of writing about Thanksgiving for twelve days. The choice of thinking about thanksgiving for twelve days, in addition to everything else that seems to be enveloping my mind. To say it was daunting at that moment is an understatement. Honestly, I really couldn’t imagine how I would do it.

“My life is so empty right now.”

Ha! I actually had that thought. As I sit here taking a rest from the morning playing with Little Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl, I know that statement doesn’t even approach the truth. I mean, not even close. Yet, I thought it. And although I knew the folly of it almost before I articulated it in my mind’s voice, still there was some element of the statement I had to consciously admit and explore.

My life is not empty. But, at least at that moment, my spirit was. My gumption was. My joy meter. My energy level.

It happens sometimes. There is something about life that squeezes us out — even if we don’t mean to get wrung. Sometimes it’s the reality of grabbing everything we can from an experience. Sometimes it’s the reality of scraping the bottom of the barrel to claim at least something from an experience. Sometimes it’s the reality of carving out time and energy and brain space from a multitude of activity to believe we are actually having an experience at all — a life. And, whatever combination of those realities had materialized in my thinking over the last few weeks, the result manifested itself as a sincere and credible feeling of emptiness.

The great chasm between empty and bounty doesn’t really have alot to do with how much is in the refrigerator or the closet or the project list. In my limited experience, it doesn’t have much to do with the bottom line or the season’s record or whatever other tangible poll standings my thoughts may try to calculate.

No, if the last three years of 12-day thanksgiving experiments holds true, the transition from empty to bounty has nothing to do with those things. And everything to do with perspective. An internal perspective, a way of seeing and interpreting that leaves us bursting rather than wanting.

About two seconds after the fateful thought of “my life is so empty” crossed my consciousness, I knew. I knew I was in serious need of a perspective adjustment. There is a certain misery that I imagine results from spending a life running on empty. I believe the joy of gratitude is just the jump start needed to shift the balance. My own experience can testify that the giving of thanks is a heart and mind readjustment. It can provide a recognition that enables me to draw my living from overflow rather than from scarcity. Life DOES overflow. MY life overflows. My life is full of many precious things and people and experiences. I don’t want to claim “living” from any other perspective.

So, the 12-day experiment in the power of gratitude begins again. A journey from empty to bounty. Join me.

The Courage to Make Change

“I want to make changes. Not let change happen around me.”

I read that comment this week, and it rocked me. I write a lot about change, it seems. I guess it comes from being in an intense season of change over the last year. That whirlwind can sometimes blur your vision where change (and everything else) is concerned. So the comment rocked me. It stopped me and made me re-examine the subject.

It’s one thing to accept change. Even to want it. It’s quite another to make it.

So often we look at change as this ethereal force happening all around us that we are left to compensate for, overlook, grab hold and ride, or be blown away by. Take your pick of one of those positions; the navigation is the same. It’s out of our control. Some unknown and seemingly rampant tide is in charge, pulling us along for the ride. And we are relegated to letting it happen.

I haven’t written about courage (my 2010-11 theme word) in several months, but I think the decision to”make change” certainly requires it. To reject the mentality that change is out of our hands and firmly take the reins of responsibility ourselves takes courage. (Why does a rodeo bull-riding metaphor come to mind?)

It takes courage.

The courage to imagine something new and different — to see it.
The courage to see it as possible.
The courage to see ourselves as worthy of this new possibility.
The courage to recognize our own value.
And our own values.
The courage to ask questions.
To take stands.
To dare to be bold. Even brazen in our pursuit of that possibility we see.
And the courage to move and step and act and speak.

Just as “making change” in the mundane sense is exchanging currency like dollars for coins, to make change in broader strokes requires a more prominent exchange. We exchange this direction for that one — the one that more closely aligns with the destination (and journey) our souls require. We exchange someone else’s priorities for our own — the ones we own in that secret place that comes alive in our hearts when we know we are where we need to be. We exchange the superfluous for the necessary — that list of essentials representing the lowest common denominator for our unique life of joy. We exchange the ever-abstract big picture for exquisite details — those nitty-gritty, real-world specifics that characterize the life we MUST have each and every day.

Those exchanges can never happen by chance in the billowing tide of an ethereal “wind of change.” No, those exchanges only happen with intention, with choosing, with moving and acting. With making change.

And that takes courage.

Day of Rest

I’ve been thinking about rest again. It seems to happen on the weekends naturally. This being Sunday, the “day of rest,” I’ve been thinking about it again in the context of the Sabbath. The Bible says that God instituted the concept of the Sabbath on the seventh day of his creation of the world.

“On the seventh day God had finished his work of creation, so he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because it was the day when he rested from all his work of creation.” (genesis 2:1-2)

Thus, the idea of a holy day of rest was born. In the account, God had surveyed the words of his mouth and the work of his hands at a stopping point the day before. He determined that it was all very good and he “rested.” Just what was this resting about, that the God of the universe chose to do it?

Was God tired? Did he need sleep after the exhaustion of his labors? That doesn’t really fit with the concept of God revealed throughout the Bible, and yet I see that pervading some of the ideas surrounding what men do with the Sabbath.

After the success of his creative endeavors, did God suddenly feel the desire to be worshipped? Did the demand for a designated day of worship somehow reveal itself on the seventh day? That doesn’t seem to fit either. No, God was no more worthy of worship on day seven in his pause of creation than he was on day six or day five. He made no command for any of his creation to join him that day in his “rest”, nor did he demand any act of worship for himself out of the day’s holiness. Although, that seems to be the popular sentiment as well. That admonition came later, and I’ll admit that I’ve always viewed it a part of the idea of Sabbath. But, it really wasn’t indoctrinated that way in this dawning of a day seven.

A year or so ago, I came across the definition of the Hebrew word for Sabbath — “shabbat”. To cease. I’ve written about it several times in this EyeJunkie space. Yet, as evidenced by this post, I keep coming back to it. I keep coming back to trying to understand it, or trying to implement it’s obvious importance into my life. Why an obvious importance? Well, God himself observed it, after all. Between the thoughts of worship services and just catching up on sleep, what does it mean to rest, to set apart a “day” of rest? What did it mean, that God would choose it?

It’s interesting to me that this was perhaps the first act in a process of worship that began as a declaration of a holy moment–a designation–and progressed into a command  to remember it and continue it. To keep stopping. To keep setting it apart.

To cease. It makes perfect sense, but so often I overlook it. I breeze right through it in an attempt to get on with the business of doing something. The ceasing part so often eludes me in the process of doing and creating and living. Yet, God chose to stop, to cease. He surveyed what he had done. He evaluated it. He recognized it’s significance. And he claimed it’s success. He named it “very good.”

That’s a powerful concept. I’ve been reminded recently how important it is in roads of change to recognize milestones. To take stock and acknowledge the small (and big) successes along the way. It makes long journeys shorter. It gives difficult moments an easier comparison. And yes, it brings rest to weariness. It brings the chaos of moving forward to a welcomed cease.

I’ve had a crazy idea since I began this adventure in paying attention of creating a 12-step program for EyeJunkies — yep, one of those hare-brained notions I may or may not get around to. But, should the idea materialize, surely “to cease” is the first step. I certainly can’t pay attention to anything until I choose to stop — least of all my own progress. The choice to cease enables so many other choices. It enables that intention I crave so often. It defies the notion of busy-ness. And yet it sometimes defines the idea of accomplishment. And the emotional, mental and spiritual “rest” initiated from simply stopping and looking and calling it good is hard to come by any other way.