Oh Happy Day: Hula Hoop Edition

It’s Friday! Oh Happy Day! It has been quite a while since I’ve written for my Oh Happy Day gratitude project. You may recall that I started as a way of making the TGIF statement my own — as a way of consciously incorporating gratitude in my life so that the TG wasn’t just a silly acronym. In my experience, there is no better cure for stress, worries or a case of the down-in-the-dumps than heaping dose of gratitude. The joy that comes from taking stock of the blessings you have right in front of you is powerful.

I learned that lesson from my 6-year-old this morning. Again.

We were walking into school and discussing the day. I couldn’t remember what extra activities he had on Friday. Was it art or music? Little Drummer Boy was quick to confirm art with this commentary…

“I love art. And PE. Because we get to play with hula hoops.”
[insert Mommy smile here]
“I can do magic with the hula hoop. Do you want to hear about it?”

Who in the world could resist hearing about magic with a hula hoop. From MY spectacular first grader. So, of course, I gave him a resounding “yes!”

Little Drummer Boy proceeded to explain. [You'll be happy to learn that his first grade teacher confirms he is indeed a drummer boy. In math.] He told me how he could roll the hula hoop and make it come back to him. I asked in amazement if he had a magic command to make this happen. He said “no,” that he could just do it. There’s my little magician, all happy and full of expectation about the possibilities of hula hoops and magic on Friday.

I couldn’t help but compare his enthusiasm to my own begrudging thoughts when I first woke up this morning… Ugh. It’s time to get up. I’m so tired today. I’m just not excited about anything today. Sigh. And a plethora of other dumpster attitudes.

Today is Friday. When I think of LDB and his PE tricks, I’m reminded of the magic to be found in each day. In THIS day. This day is another gift with the privilege of three little hearts in my house. Baby Girl dressed in pigtails and her brother’s torn jeans and plaid shirt for “farm day.” Bug all aglow with jets flying toward “vegetable soup” day with saltines in hand. And Little Drummer Boy. With the hula hoops. This day is another gift with the privilege of doing something I really enjoy. And getting paid for it. It’s a day with the privilege of choosing my steps, big and small. Of setting my own schedule from my own little office in my own blessed world. It’s another day with the opportunity to let my best self shine. To do my own bit of magic. To live according to what matters to me. For Friday is TODAY.  And at this moment, TODAY is the only day I have to live. The only day.

So, I think I’ll search down a hula hoop. And it’s magic.
Oh Happy Day!

12 Days of Thanksgiving: G

Giving thanks.

Well, through whatever wrestling required, Thanksgiving leaves its mark. On our hearts. On our mindset. Jacob wrestled with an angel. He left the experience with a blessing and a wound. A wound, perhaps, of laying aside his own will, his own preconceptions, his own ingrained thinking. A wound from succumbing to the blessing. The wound was a remembrance I think he carried his whole life. The book of Hebrews describes the end of Jacob’s life. He worshipped “leaning on his staff.” Perhaps the result of a hip dislocated in a wrestling match with an angel. I can’t help but admire how very much he wanted the blessing. How valuable it was to him. How he recognized its significance. I want to recognize my own blessings in that same way. And I want to wrestle against whatever thinking might rob me of seeing them.

I started this 12-day journey with doubts. I stepped into it kicking and screaming. And I’ve found, as I have each year, that of all the blessings enumerated at Thanksgiving, the act of giving thanks itself offers its own indelible joy. The act of acknowledging all the wealth bestowed on our lives is a blessing.

Last night, Little Drummer Boy asked me a question.

“Mommy, are we rich?”

It made me giggle inside. He’s learning about money and that we have to earn it in order to be able to spend it. That we need it to get special things. He knows that Mommy works. So, he is becoming conscious of whether we have money. My answer…

“No, sweetie, we aren’t rich.”

A sigh. And a half-growl. “So that means we’re poor.”

“No, sweetie, it doesn’t.”

“So, we’re somewhere in between.”

“We have just what we need, love.”

We have just what we need. Through the blessing of giving thanks, we can hope to understand that anyone can be rich. Through grateful hearts, we recognize our own wealth in any circumstance.

Happy Thanksgiving.

12 Days of Thanksgiving: I

Investments.

I’ve been thinking during these 12 days about how blessed I am by people who have chosen to make an investment in me–parents, mentors, friends, clients. The confidence and encouragement of others has such a powerful and long-lasting impact. Sometimes it takes others showing that confidence before we can believe it ourselves.  The investments of others are gratitude-worthy, to be sure. But, beyond that, I was reminded last week about what a blessing it also is to invest IN someone else as well. After all, good investments bring a return.

I had a conversation with a friend last week about a simple phone call. I didn’t know the other party, but felt as if I did to hear my friend describe the encounter. A man was calling to inquire about job opportunities–not always an easy task for someone who’s been in the workforce for a long time or in these challeging economic times. During the course of the phone conversation, with a few well-placed comments and sincere reflections, this friend really blessed the man on the other end of the line. What’s interesting is how exhuberant my friend was to talk about the encounter. How much the conversation prompted his own recollections and gratitude for the impact this man had made on him many years ago.

Two things struck me. One is how “easy” it is to turn something difficult for someone into a day-changer, even a life-changer. My friend lost nothing but a few seconds of time in communicating some things that perhaps gave this man renewed confidence. It requires so little from us to bless others. The one thing it does take is paying attention. Noticing. Reflecting. This conversation required thinking with sincerity about an individual’s impact, thinking with gratitude about a person’s role in another’s life. That’s the hard part sometimes. It’s so easy to live only in self-awareness, oblivious to the needs or even strengths of others around us. Yes, noticing those things requires an investment of our time and energy and emotional space. But, the return allows us to reap the benefit of soaking up what another human has to offer, the benefit of really experiencing some person or place rather than simply pushing past them to get to the next thing on the list. It made me want to think more carefully about the seemingly insignificant conversations I have each day, and infuse them with a desire to show that person their worth. That type of investment has so much power, and to wield it is a privilege.

The other lesson from this friend’s conversation was how much the act of blessing another person prompts us to see our own blessings. Giving is such an odd little mathematics-defying equation. When we give, we so often get in multiplied measure in return. When we show confidence and value to others, we more easily embrace it ourselves. When we recognize the amazing qualities of others and their impact, we are reminded of the blessings WE have received. We are reminded that people and experiences ARE blessings. It tells me that if I’m feeling gratitude-challenged, perhaps the first step to recovery is blessing someone else.

Tues Ten 031610: Handwriting Samples

I found some old letters recently. They were sent from old friends, from my mother and a few from my grandmother. Reading them again was an emotional experience. It took me back to other times in my life, and helped me relive experiences, remember the impact of people, and benefit again from encouraging words.

I’ve been thinking about letters recently, perhaps spurred by one of the selections in my recent Tuesday Ten list of books I’d enjoy re-reading. The book, A Woman of Independent Means, is a story told entirely in the form of personal letters. Although fictional, the power of the letters as they reflect the life of the heroine was unmistakable.

In particular, I’ve been thinking about the handwriting found in letters, and the specific moments in time they often describe or commemorate. In this increasingly digital age, the physical act of writing is in danger of becoming a lost art. I think I have maybe penned two or three actual letters in the last 12 months, providing much frustration to the readers in deciphering my handwriting. But, it is MY handwriting. I find that these days I sign, date or initial many documents. I record phone messages or grocery lists. But, most of my “written” words are actually typed. I often type my brainstorming lists. I’ve even been typing almost all my journal entries for the last year.

While the typing may be a faster way for me to record ideas, something is definitely lost in the process. There is a very tangible quality to the process of scrawling words on a piece of paper — a quality that just isn’t matched by pecking on a keyboard. Perhaps the quality comes from the fact that it DOES require slowing down to form the letters. It DOES give the mind a chance to compose thoughts more carefully. Beyond that, words on a page–letters–can be held in the hands. They can be stored away for later reading. They can be tacked to a bulletin board as a reminder. They can be hung in celebration of a new skill. They have their own presence.

It strikes me that to know a person’s handwriting is an intimate thing. There are countless friends and acquaintances in my life from whom I’ve never seen an actual written word. We’ve corresponded, to be sure, through email or Facebook or even on the telephone. But, I’ve never seen their handwriting. I’ve never seen how they sign their own names, how they form their capital letters, whether they use strictly cursive or print or some combination of the two, whether there is a slant to their written views or how they scratch through an error in their thinking. The handwritten understanding of a person can be a rare privilege. Experiences or sentiments recorded by hand offer a glimpse of specific situations, of larger contexts, of unnamed impressions. When I see my Grandmother’s handwriting again, I can sense the quiver in her fingers that made her writing slower as she aged. When I see my Mom’s handwriting, I can remember its carefully formed letters on the many hand-written tests she gave (and graded) during my growing up years. To this day, it is the handwriting of an elementary Language Arts teacher. When I see the handwriting of old friends, I recognize how it (and they) have changed over the years. I’m just now beginning to see the carefully formed alphabets of Little Drummer Boy and Bug as they learn how to write.

In celebration of the powerful act of physical writing, I give you this week’s Tuesday Ten: Handwriting Samples from the letters that have impacted me recently. No, I’m not offering the actual written shapes, but snippets of the letters and words shared. And like the cues experts glean from actual handwriting, these samples offer me some welcomed glimpses and reminders of the hearts of the people that wrote them. Some probably need further explanation. Some are just descriptions of a time or experience that warranted a written record at the time. I’ll let you use your imagination and enjoy.

1. “Dinosaur”
Little Drummer Boy presented me with this specimen of his preschool activities, complete with a picture of a brontosaurus and the typical guidelines found on writing worksheets. He copied the dotted lines to form the letters two times and then branched out on his own as instructed. The process broke down a bit through the “au” section, but wow! One of his first forays into letters not found in his name.

2. “Sometimes the top of a ladder seems a long way off, but you get there only one step at a time. So ‘hang your ladder to a star’ and climb. With all our love.”
One of the off-to-college letters I was privileged to receive from my Grandmother & Granddaddy.

3. “Bravo”
A congratulatory note from the Queen of my day job after the launch of some project. I can’t even remember the project, only that the impromptu tabletent was sitting on my desk when I arrived in the morning.

4. “C, E, T, I”
To my surprise, Bug formed these letters with his finger on a handy Leapfrog writing board we have. Toward the end of the process in a my-brother-is-my-best-friend moment, Little Drummer Boy showed him how to turn a capital “T” into a capital “I.” New knowledge is born.

5. “I spent the morning setting up questions to discuss: ‘If it’s cold outside and you could choose between sleeping with lots of blankets to stay warm or an electric blanket, which one would you choose, and why not the other.’ You know, typical existential questions.”
This description of a friend’s teaching preparations is a reminder that being witness to the passions of another can be a great pleasure.

6. “Dusty sends his love”
This epilogue was found in Mama’s letter to camp when I was 11 years old. It was accompanied by Dusty’s Cocker Spaniel “paw signature” accomplished with an ink pad and much patience, I’m sure–evidence of a Mother’s love, creativity and attention to detail.

7. “He will keep your soul.”
This little word of encouragement came as the fruit of an unidentified “Secret Service” communique. I suspect it was the doing of a group of high school girls with whom I had the privilege of enjoying each week in a Bible study. But, I’ll never know for sure.

8. “This check is small but maybe enough for a ‘burger & fries.’ So good to hear from you my love. P.S. I think Mama & Daddy are missing you.”
My grandmother always knew the value a college student would place on a good burger and fries. And I’m sure she was right about Mama and Daddy.

9. “We walked all afternoon through some of the most breathtaking — it took my breath away — countryside. The views were magnificent. The wild flowers were abundant and created a colorful carpet on the lush green of the grasses and ground covers. The terrain was, at times, formidable. The hills weren’t difficult, but it was no easy endeavor climbing them. I guess because the air was so pure.”
A description of a place I’ll likely never see can be almost like being there–at least like being in the mind of a friend who’s there. And that place is extraordinary.

10. “You have now embarked on perhaps the most rewarding journey of a woman’s life — that of motherhood. As you have already discovered, it is a wonderful, yet awesome responsibility & as we have already observed, you are a great mother.”
My mother wrote this to me in a letter for Little Drummer Boy’s first Christmas. The approving statement of someone you admire is powerful and worth remembering.

Please share with me your memorable handwriting samples…

Gift Tag: Sing!

It’s hard to muster up a song sometimes. The tiredness of the day, the busyness of the schedule and the frustration of the combination sometimes just sucks the song right out of me. Then, I hear the simple, sweetly spoken request. “Sing!”

Our nightly bedtime ritual includes a beloved lullaby CD that I made for Little Drummer Boy and Bug from iTunes downloads several years ago. The CD is worn and the sound is crackly from use. The songs are so familiar that any time we hear them on the radio, a chorus of “our bedtime song!” follows in unison. Each night as each boy takes his turn reading with Mommy, then climbing in bed, I cover them with blankets, rub their backs and start the music. Invariably on the weariest nights, the nights when supper was late on the table and baths took longer than expected, the ones when I’ve been the most impatient or the most haggard, I hear it. “Sing!”

It’s hard for an impatient heart to sing a song of peace. It’s hard for a hurried heart to sing a song of rest. It’s hard for a heart screaming with a million and one distractions to sing a quiet song. Still, in this heart of indulgence toward my precious gifts, I try. I sing. “Come to Jesus. Come to Jesus. And live.”

Something happens when I ignore the resistance amid yawns. When I lay aside the fatigue and the irritability and offer the frequently off-key and misregistered melody of “yes” to my little ones, I find that my heart actually opens to believing the lyrics anew, to embracing the words I impart. And in my spirit, I say “yes.” I sing.

Sometimes God allows me a special blessing akin to the one He enjoys from His children. Every now and then my gifts sing along–their minds following and anticipating, but only able to release the last words of each line. Often the only word they sing clearly is “Jesus.” Their tender hearts, unstained by cynicism and self-consciousness, sing out to Him. Ever open, all that they are calls out to all that they know of Him. In that moment, unhidden, it’s His name. In song.

And in that moment, opened by their openness, I find that I sing. Broken down and revealed, in desperate restlessness, pronouncing peace, I sing. To these gifts. To this God of all seasons, of all days. And, all that I can know of my heart calls out to all that I recognize of Him–summarized. In His name.

I sing.

Untitled Hymn by Chris Rice (our personal favorite)

Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head, for love is passing by
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus and live!

Now your burden’s lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain, so
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus and live!

And like a newborn baby
Don’t be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk
Sometimes we fall…so
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live!

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus and live!

O, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus and live!

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory’s side, and
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live!

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)