good gifts

     For the past few days, I have watched parents giving good gifts to their two-year-old.

     They enjoy him. They enjoy watching him discover things (like the splash that pebbles make in a stream). They enjoy watching other people enjoy him. They enjoy him just the way he is, without any shoulds.

     They’re patient with him. When they want to get him dressed and he wants to be a dump truck beep-beep-beeping as he backs away from them, they wait. They know he’ll come back.

     When he’s tired of playing or he bumps his head or something scares him, he goes to his mom and sinks into her for a while, all limp and content. He stays until the holding is enough, and then he runs and plays again.

     They are his safe place. They pay close attention to him. Their eyes and ears are always open to him, no matter what else they’re doing. They let him explore and they give him small choices, but they’re always keeping him safe.

     His little days are filled with the good gifts of good parenting.

     So are mine.

“If you . . . know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts. . . ?” Matthew 7:11

weather

     Weather is a funny thing. It changes.

     Yesterday was cold and rainy. The wind blew, and we wore layers and raincoats. It was a gray, heavy, inside-looking-out sort of day.

     Something in me hunkered down for a long spell of gray, heavy, inside-looking-out days. I didn’t really expect it to change. It felt permanent.

     But it wasn’t. It changed.

     Today is a surprise – a shining, blue-skied day, all warm and welcoming. Now I can’t imagine all this sunshine and color ever turning to gray.

     I guess weather is a lot like life. When it’s all gray and cold and struggle and sorrow, you feel like it will be gray and cold and struggle and sorrow forever. But it won’t.

     After a while, the sun always surprises you again.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5

really here

     A few days ago, I heard somebody say, “I’m feeling here – not just physically here, but really here. All here. Present. And that doesn’t happen often. It’s unusual for me.”

     That made me wonder how often I’m really here, so I’ve been watching and noticing. I’ve been asking myself, “Where are you?”

     Usually, the answer is not-really-here. I’m either living in a past moment or jumping ahead to a future moment or wishing the present moment were different than it is – wanting to change where I am or what’s happening.

     That seems like a waste of now, so today I’m going to practice being really here -- seeing and hearing and feeling and living right here in this present moment.

     I’m new at it, so I may only be really here a few times today. But that’s okay. I’m just a beginner.

“And God called to the Man: ‘Where are you?’” Genesis 3:9

the committee meeting

          Lately I’ve been off-balance, and now I know why. It’s the committee inside. A few members are trying to take over again. They’re so loud and strident that I can hardly hear the others. In fact, lately I’ve been forgetting that there are others.

     The ones who are trying to take over are feeling unsafe and threatened. They’re scared of losing control. That’s because change is on the horizon, and they like status quo. Change scares them, so they go into high gear trying to protect me. They come up with long to-do lists and tell me that, if I can just get those things done, I’ll feel safe and in control again. I know they mean well, but they’re making me as tired and anxious as they are.

     So this morning I spent some time listening to the other committee members -- the ones who haven’t had much airtime recently. I liked what they had to say.

     A few of them are actually excited about the change that’s coming. They like adventure. They’re sick of same-old-same-old. They want fresh air. They reminded me of all the possibilities – new experiences, new people, new ways of thinking and seeing and doing. They say that I’ll feel a lot freer when I stop trying so hard to stay in control. They want me to start letting life flow with beauty, ease and grace. I like how I feel when I listen to them.

     There are other committee members who want change, too, but they have a different focus. They mostly want me to love. They want me to treasure other people and music and myself. They don’t want the to-do lists to get in the way. They want to simplify. I like that idea, too.

     Now that I’ve listened to everybody on the committee, life feels balanced again. I’m glad I called a meeting.

 “May the Lord . . . give you His peace.” Numbers 6:24-26

wider and wider

     I don’t want to waste any more time scrambling for applause (especially my own). I want to enjoy being me. 

     I don’t want to be closed and cramped. I want to open wider and wider with each passing hour.

     I’ve been practicing.

     Each early June morning, I bring one magnolia blossom inside. I enjoy it all day. I enjoy everything about it – the fragrance and the softness and the white and the wonder of its opening wider and wider with each passing hour.

     I never say it’s not enough.

     It is God’s handiwork.

     So am I.

     Thank You.

“Each of us is God’s handiwork. . . .” Ephesians 2:10

"A rabbi named Zusha died and went to stand before the judgment seat of God. As he waited for God to appear, he grew nervous. He began to imagine that God was going to ask him, 'Why weren’t you Moses or why weren’t you Solomon or why weren’t you David?' But when God appeared, the rabbi was surprised. God simply asked him, 'Why weren’t you Zusha?'" an Hasidic story

a kinder voice

     Inwardly, I have been racing for a long, long time.

     I have listened to the voice inside that says things like ‘you should be doing it better’ and ‘you should be doing something else right now’ and ‘look at what So-and-So has done.’ When I pay attention to this voice, I feel stretched and worn, tense and torn. I feel guilty about doing the things that make my heart sing, because there is always a long list of shoulds. Rest is an as-soon-as thing -- always just around the next corner.

     Lately, I have started listening to another voice inside. It is a kinder voice. It says things like ‘relax and enjoy this conversation’ and ‘that’s enough work for now’ and ‘it’s okay to just be where your feet are.’ When I pay attention to this voice, the anxious thoughts roll off like water off a duck’s back. I can rest (even when I’m working hard), which lets the people around me rest, too.

     I’m learning to be at home right-now (which is really the only place one can be at home).

“Love others as you love yourself.” Galatians 5:14