little things

     Someone who loves me gave me the gift of an overnight in the country. I didn’t plan it or orchestrate it or pay for it or earn it. It was gift, and I lived it as gift. I looked for all the little things that were gift—rain and fire and quiet and tastes and nowhere to go and a good book and good company. I savored all the little things. I didn’t hurry past them or toss them aside or ruin them with complaint and comparison. And the little things, all together, perfumed the air.

“Little things seem nothing, but they give peace like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.” Georges Bernanos

“I will give thanks to the Lord (for today’s little things, too). . . .” Psalm 9:1 (parenthetical added)

shine like a jewel

     I want to shine like a jewel in the eyes of certain people. The more I want to shine in their eyes, the harder it is to be myself around them. I can’t relax and enjoy their company, because I’m trying so hard to make sure they enjoy mine. It’s exhausting.

     Every once in a while, I remember this simple truth: I am powerless over what other people think of me. That puts a skip in my step. It lets me stop trying, so I can relax and be myself. Before I know it, I’ve forgotten about wanting to shine in their eyes. I’m just enjoying their shining in mine.

“If I could be granted a wish, I’d shine like a jewel in your eyes.” Bette Midler

“Stop striving, relax, let go. . . .” Psalm 46:10

hurry

     Wise people say that hurry is making us sick, body and soul, so I’m trying to quit. Little by little, I’m practicing things like walking slowly and eating slowly, reading slowly and answering slowly. Sometimes I choose to hurry anyway. That’s okay. I just say, “Now isn’t that interesting?” because I can see now that the hurry is usually a habit, not a have-to. That’s still a big improvement over decades of always telling myself the same exhausting thing: hurry.

“Ruthlessly eliminate hurry, for hurry is the great enemy of the spiritual life in our world today.” Dallas Willard

“Stop striving, relax, let go and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

new glasses

     I heard about an eye doctor in Texas who heard about a group underprivileged children who had serious visual impairments. He had the good idea of making a pair of glasses for each of the parents so that they would be able to see the world the way their children saw the world. If the child couldn’t see color, the parent (with her new glasses) wouldn’t be able to see color either. When he handed out the new glasses and the parents saw the world for the first time the way their children saw the world, they hugged their children and they cried. They finally understood.

Lord, please give me new glasses, too, so that I can see the world the way the person beside me sees the world.

“Be compassionate. . . . Do not judge. . . .” Luke 6:36-37 

in baby smiles

     Last night, a baby smiled at me. He smiled at me over and over and over again. He looked right at me, and he smiled and smiled as if we were the only two. I felt his delight. I felt delightful. For a few minutes, the answer to my gnawing am-I-enough question was a sure and shining ‘yes.’ I wonder whether he was telling me something a lot bigger and better than I can imagine . . . something that seems too good to be true . . . something that I don’t dare to believe unless it sneaks past my defenses in baby smiles.

“The Lord delights in you.” Isaiah 62:4

light as a feather

     I surprised myself a few days ago. I was having lunch with friends, and I told them about something I was ashamed of. I had been carrying this thing around in secret for months, but at that lunch I wrapped words around it.

     They listened. They asked me questions. They looked at me with kind, me-too looks. They looked at the thing I had been carrying around, and it didn’t look shameful to them. After a while, it didn’t look shameful to me, either.

     By the end of lunch, the shame was gone. It couldn’t survive being shared. And I felt light as a feather.

“Shame . . . hates having words wrapped around it. It can't survive being shared. Shame loves secrecy. When we bury our story, the shame metastasizes.” Brene Brown

“[O]ut of darkness into His wondrous light.” 1 Peter 2:9