Oh Happy Day 111309: Seasons

Happy Friday, again! My Oh Happy Day gratitude project has seriously fallen through the cracks over the last few weeks, as has my “5 grateful things” habit that was intended to fuel it. Nonetheless, with the Thanksgiving holiday looming, now seems like the perfect time to revitalize my own version of “thank God it’s Friday” in post form. On Sunday I’ll be beginning this year’s 12 Days of Thanksgiving celebration with a post each day leading up to the national holiday. I can’t wait to see what I learn this year about the power of a thankful heart.

I’ve been thinking about seasons this week. It’s easy to notice the changing of seasons in Fall as the leaves begin their display of colors. The changing of seasons in life is not always as easy to spot. Yesterday I drove Little Drummer Boy and Bug to see Disney on Ice in Tupelo, Mississippi–about 75 miles through mostly farm lands. We saw combines harvesting and cows grazing and big trucks rolling and seasons changing. I’ve always thought that Mississippi didn’t have much of an Autumnal show of color with our mild climate, at least not the kind of show you see in cooler locales. But, lately I’ve realized that our trees have their own display, if you only know where to look.

More often than not, our Fall color comes in varying shades of greens and reddish browns, sliced by a gray entanglement of bare branches. This backdrop makes the less prolific Sugar Maple, Crape Myrtle, Bradford Pear or Ginko simply shine with vibrance. The bright reds, yellows and various in betweens they produce become jewels in the normal Mississippi sight line. It’s all in where you look.

Last November, only Little Drummer Boy and I went to see Mickey Mouse ice skate. It was a special Mommy-toddler day where we caravaned with the rest of his class from preschool. When we returned, we visited McDonalds–just the two of us. It was a rare pleasure. Yesterday, Bug was with us and it was just as special, only with a few signs of seasons changing. Signs that have been sneaking up on me for a while.

Bug wasn’t old enough last year, and LDB spent his visit to the “show” sitting in Mommy’s lap. This year, LDB was content to sit in his seat beside me or stand to see better. He covered his ears when the music got too loud rather than look to Mommy with concern. It was Bug’s turn to sit in my lap with the wide-eyed wonder of new and uncertain experiences.

Last year, LDB was awed by the Tinkerbel “show light” we got and the cotton candy–a memory that hasn’t faded. He decided early on in our planning that Bug should get one this year. They both got a “Nemo” light this year (yes, we contributed to the massie Disney machine, much to my chagrin), but a year older meant Little Drummer Boy was somewhat more savvy in his understanding of his purchasing power. He wanted another toy as well, so of course, Mommy obliged for both boys. We’ve slowly become more and more aware of the culture around us. Seasons change.

Last year, I was hard-pressed to convince Little Drummer Boy to leave the McDonald’s booth to play on the big slides. It wasn’t because he was afraid of the toys, it was because sitting next to Mommy was more of a treat. This year, I was hard-pressed to get both boys to come sit at the table long enough to scarf down their chicken nuggets. And, even though I could see the delight in their eyes as they catapulted out of the slide chute and came running to Mommy for a hug, I also saw the turning of the leaves. LDB still looks back to say “I love you Mommy,” but he’s off. Simply sitting beside Mommy to share french fries isn’t all there is anymore.

The seasons are changing. I can see their independence growing and their immersion in the culture around us expanding–the things that pull them and push them from my arms into the unknown. But, this is still a Happy Day post. Though the changing of seasons inevitably involves a bit of mourning for the old, it also bears an eager anticipation of the new. I’m very thankful that God offers us the promise of changing seasons–in nature and in life. All life, be it leaves or humans, is created to grow, to change, to move toward its destiny–or die. Those are the options. To hold back the change would be to do my gifts a great disservice in inhibiting their launch toward the people God made them to be. With the promise of seasons, we can see change. We can see growth. We can see that much is temporary and refine what isn’t. We can see ends and beginnings, both of which have their own blessing.

“In everything there is a season. And there is a time for every event under heaven–
A time to give birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.
A time to kill and a time to heal; A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate; A time for war and a time for peace.”

(ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

Oh Happy Day!

2nd Day of Thanksgiving: Dreams Realized

I’m thankful for newborn calves, newborn people, bumpy ant hills, jumping boys, crunchy gravel, cupcakes, Radio Flyer wagons, stuffed Elmos, hot dogs, hoodies, and naps.
And, that dreams really do come true.

We spent the weekend at my family’s farm.  We call it Busy Bee, named after a “black” church that was once located in the area.  I don’t know if anyone outside our family knows it by that name, but sometime before I was born the name stuck.  It’s 180 acres of pasture, a herd of cows, baby calves and two bulls, a giant pecan tree, and a three-bedroom farm house where my mom grew up.  And, this weekend it was the place where we realized our dreams.

I spent most weekends there as a child, and for me, it has that comfortable feeling of home that comes from close sleeping quarters, lots of laughter and powerful memories.  My dad has raised cattle there as a hobby my whole life and goes there almost every day, but noone has lived there since my grandparents moved into town.  They are gone now, and the house had fallen into tearful disrepair until a few years ago when my parents renovated it–with some sweat, sneezing and color selection from the rest of us.  I think they had some reservations about investing in the house because it is just a “second” home only 15 minutes from their house in town, and we knew we would probably never spend every weekend there again.  Still, it was time to either renovate it or tear it down–and I begged, even though I knew the financial bullet would be theirs to bite.  I wanted to be able to share the farm with my children “someday.”

“Realizing your dreams” is an interesting phrase.  It implies a sneak-up-on-you quality that separates dreams from goals.  It describes that moment when you are suddenly made aware of having something you’ve always wanted, even if you didn’t know you wanted it.  Dreams are funny things.  We tend to focus on big ones–the once in a lifetime, pie in the sky, ship comes in type of wishes.  Sometimes those big dreams are easy because our mind halfway assumes already that they are out of reach.  It’s the simpler, actually attainable dreams that can scare us.  Those are the sacred desires that reveal our hearts, and show us what we’re really about.  They require an inner commitment beyond just hard work.  They beg for stubborn spirits and firm grasps, not of things and places, but of people–through thick, thin and thorniness.

My grandmother realized her dreams looking out the kitchen window in that farmhouse.  My grandfather realized his dreams listening to beagles hunt rabbits from a lawn chair under that pecan tree.  We realized our dreams in the cab of an extended cab pick-up truck by the barn.

We were just pulling out of the driveway by the tractor barn, heading to the “back” to tour the pastures and see the cows and bulls–something that had already produced much anticipation, squealing, and a flurry to put on coats.  Dad was driving with my aunt in the front seat.  Hub had the driver’s side back seat with Squiggle, pup-pup and bear-bear in his lap.  I was in the middle getting some “sugar” (as we say in the South) from Little Drummer Boy.  Mama was on the other side with Baby Girl wrapped up like a little snow bunny.  The boys had already examined the remains of the bonfire that produced much jumping, laughing and hot dogs the night before.  The sky was crisp and partly sunny in a blue that only Autumn can bring.  I think it was my mom who said it first:

“This is what we dreamed of.”

Then, as if everyone had been secretly sipping on the same cup of sweetened bubbly joy, we all added our own realizations.

“Umm Hmm.”
“This is why we did it.”
“Our three gifts.”
“My sweet boys and Baby Girl.”
“Yes.” with an extra hug and squeeze
“Our dreams come true.”

I’m thankful for realized dreams, the fruits of our hearts’ labor with God and each other.
“For he will not often consider the years of his life, because God keeps him occupied with the gladness of his heart.” (ecclesiastes 5:20)

Thinking About Courage

One of my children’s favorite DVDs is Winnie-the-Pooh and the Honey Tree. In one part of the story, Winnie follows a bee to its honey tree. After a failed attempt at climbing the tree, he comes up with an ingenious plan to get to the honey (as only a bear of “very little brain” can do.) He asks Christopher Robin for a balloon and then rolls around in the mud to create a clever disguise. When Christopher asks him what he is supposed to be, Pooh bear responds, “a little black rain cloud, of course” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of course the “disguise” didn’t work out well for Pooh (and therefore, Christopher Robin) and some chasing by bees ensued — just another mishap for the cause of honey in the Hundred Acre Wood. But, I can relate…

Last night I realized that I was discouraged. Isn’t that how it happens sometimes? It sort of sneaks up on you. I had gone about the day (the weekend, actually) all muddied in mind and spirit, and adopting the persona of a “little black rain cloud” — of course. Nothing overwhelmingly discouraging had happened, I was just vaguely aware that I was feeling down, dissatisfied, uncertain, overwhelmed, tired, and all the other partly cloudy emotions that stand ready to release their storms when conditions are favorable for a downpour.

There were quite a few random downpours.

Chalk them up to the emotional upheaval and exhaustion of being 7-months pregnant in Mississippi in June, the struggle to balance love and discipline with training our children, the hesitation about looking for a new church that we feel we can “plug into,” the concerns about my husband’s business growth, the financial needs that go along with that, or the desire to be outside watching my boys play in the water, but knowing that would do me in for the rest of the day. Regardless, it took needing to formulate an answer to the third or fourth time my husband asked “so, what’s going on?” for me to realize and articulate it. I was discouraged.

I was reminded recently that “courage” is at the root of both discouragement and encouragement. It seems obvious now — right there after the prefix — but, strangely, I don’t often associate courage with my partly cloudy experiences. I looked at the derivation of “discourage” and found it stemmed from an Old French word meaning literally “away + courage.” Being “away” from courage. Discouragement boils down to a lack of courage in facing situations. We get overwhelmed or intimidated or fearful. We lose our gumption and forget our power in conquering the hurdles.

How can we regain our courage?
For me, it started with correcting a few basic assumptions:

1. Courage is not about me. Contrary to the greeting cards, mustering it up from within can only get you so far. We learn to summon courage in the face of challenging circumstances not because we are important, but because the positive outcomes of those circumstances are important. Soldiers behave courageously in battle because they know winning the battle is more important than themselves.

“Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win.”  (1 Corinthians 9:24)

2. Courage is not a result of my power, which is limited. Courage derives from a true source of power. I can maintain courage in a situation because I know Who’s really in charge. If I know who’s in charge and who’s character is really on the line, then I can trust the outcome. My husband reminded me of this verse:

“Ah Lord GOD! Behold, You have made the heavens and the earth by Your great power and by Your outstretched arm! Nothing is too difficult for You” (Jeremiah 32:17)

If that is true, then to give in to discouragement is to deny God’s power, not mine. You see, sometimes I have the idea that courage is a lack of fear. Not really. It’s actually the presence of a healthy fear, a recognition of my own shortcomings and the place of rest I have in the One with no shortcomings.

3. Courage isn’t necessarily a one-woman show. The picture of courage we sometimes conjur is one of me against the world. Most often, however, that’s not really the case. It’s just our own self-sufficiency talking. I like to be “strong.” I don’t like to rely on someone else. The truth is, however, that I will never be the last one standing. God will always still be standing there, not to mention the “great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1) that have already stood the test. And if I pay attention, I’ll also find others as well — my husband, my family, my friends, my support system. True strength really is found in numbers:

“A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.” (Ecclesiastes 4:12)

Certainly not as easily as one measley thread. (Just ask the buttons holding my every-growing baby bump!)

Beyond Assumptions
When I’ve reminded myself of everything that’s true, sometimes the best path to regaining courage is just to focus on the task at hand and let time work its magic. I had every intention last night of delving into my own discouragement issues after everyone went to bed… Until a sleepy little 3-year-old became convinced he “wasn’t tired” and a sniffley little 18-month-old decided one bottle wasn’t enough. So, after another bottle, finding pup-pup, reading the best of Dick and Jane, a few extra kisses and stumbling to bed, discouragement wasn’t at the top of my list anymore.

Two pint-size distractions. One new perspective.  Today’s forecast:  mostly sunny with only a small chance of little black rain clouds.

(See this article on ehow.com under the title “How to Overcome Discouragement“