Lots of people believe happiness is a choice. Me, too. I think it is sometimes a hard choice, but it is still a choice. So how do I choose it when I don't want to? sigh ....
Honestly, I think it is an accidental choice much of the time. Someday maybe I will be good enough, smart enough and wise enough to always make it a conscious choice. For instance:
Yesterday I discovered that I had made a terrible error on the projected budget for work. A really big one. Big enough to create a real train crash for my program. At first, I couldn't even accept it. Then I was angry with myself. Then I was at a loss what to do. Then I closed all the doors, turned off the light in my office, and prayed. I simply said, what shall I do? Then I had a few great ideas. Wouldn't it be nice if we could actually hear a voice different than our own telling us the answers to our questions? But no. We hear our own voice. We think of something that makes pretty good sense, and we say "I had an idea" Anyway, I went with my idea and got some relief from the knot in the stomach... enough to go home and give Sarah a perm without being nervous or preoccupied with other things. In fact, we had a nice time together. We laughed and had fun.
Later on, I was asking God again for more ideas about "the problem" Then I had another idea. I thought I should thank Him for the first one. What??? It wasn't MY idea? oops, guess not. So I did that. I thanked Him and told Him I was sorry that I had taken credit for the solutions. The next thought I had was I should thank Him for the problem and especially for the circumstance that led up to discovering it. I hadn't even thought that perhaps He was blessing me from the beginning of the day to FIND my error. I had no clue there was an error. But I did find it, not expecting it. So I had to admit that was also inspiration and a great blessing. I needed to know! And I didn't know what I needed to know or that I even needed to know anything. I, naturally, thought I knew it all .... I usually do.
So at that point I thanked Him for leading me to discover my big blooper in the first place and then to take away the anxiety surrounding it long enough to help Sarah have a good afternoon getting her curly locks, to boot.
That made me happy. The problem is still there. I have more ideas and I know they are not all mine. I am thankful for the knowledge that a higher power is aware of me and getting me through one day at a time in spite of my own pride and willfulness and sometimes, downright stupidity!
That makes me happy.
I doubt I will be happier when I actually resolve the problem. Relieved perhaps. But happiness is something else. It is a sense of well being, and that comes from knowing you are right with the Lord. And THAT is a choice.
Mom
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Too Easy To Hurt; Too Hard To Heal
Happy New Year, Little Ones,
A long time ago my mother said "If you can't say something good, don't say anything at all." She also said, "You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar."
In fact, Mother had a quote or a saying that covered every situation she encountered and they always made you smile. She had a way of putting a soft touch onto every hard situation. It was a special gift I have always wished I could have.
But she did not wish for that gift. She earned it. She read good books and literature continually and she had a mind that could remember details. I imagine she cultivated that ability to remember and to quote big pieces of literature as well as small homilies that suited her and helped her to say a lot in a few words. Wishing was not the way to grow that gift. It took work. I wish I had not wasted so much time wishing I were more like my mother and had worked a little harder at it. But "if wishes were fishes, we'd all have a fry."
I wonder what she would think of the internet? I wonder if she would write perfect words in short order that would put a fine point onto everything. I wonder how she would respond when someone put into writing things that hurt. I know she would not have used this easy medium to speak unkindly. But what would be her message to her posterity today?
I think she would say "If you can't write something nice, don't write anything at all."
I have heard others say that the internet has given us the opportunity to say things we would never say in person to one another. It is too easy now to vent what is going on in our heads without any monitoring. What we think, our fingers write, almost without thought. Then we hit "send" and off go our thoughts, unmonitored, uncut, unedited, and too often, unkind.
And the trouble is, it is impossible to take them back. And there they are ... real things; hard things; words that hurt. And amazingly enough, they hurt over and over again. And no matter how hard you try, you can't take them back.
Why is it that we feel it is okay to unleash our anger, frustration, annoyance, disappointments, bad day on another human being? Why is it that we justify ourselves in doing to another something that would be intolerable to have done to us? Why is it we cannot live the commandment to "do unto others as we would have them do unto us?"
How do we live the commandment to love one another? Will we be judged more harshly for those things we have written than those things we have thought? Is it necessary to write everything we think? Can we think that someone has disappointed us or let us down and not ever tell them? Is that kinder? Is it possible that with time we may learn that our original thought was not completely accurate or informed and that we are glad we never wrote to them? Or may we someday regret that we wrote things and inflicted wounds and created scars that were cruel and unnecessary only to discover down the road that WE were the person in error?
My mother was correct. Our words must be carefully chosen. Now we have to choose more carefully than ever, because a written word is so terribly easy to misunderstand - there are no smiles, no inflections in the voice, no casual lifts of the corners of the mouth, nothing to indicate the intention of the writer. Only the words remain. And they remain forever.
In this day where we have the incredible blessing of instant communication, it is far too easy to hurt one another, and it far too hard to heal from those wounds.
I will from this day forward never write something that I would not say to a person face to face and never say something at all if I cannot say something good. I cannot take back what I have already said or written. I have no way to know if there are those who have been offended by my words unless they have told me so, and so far that has only happened once. That was one time too many, but it was enough to remind me of the lessons of Mother.
Still wishing I were more like my mother,
Your Mother
A long time ago my mother said "If you can't say something good, don't say anything at all." She also said, "You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar."
In fact, Mother had a quote or a saying that covered every situation she encountered and they always made you smile. She had a way of putting a soft touch onto every hard situation. It was a special gift I have always wished I could have.
But she did not wish for that gift. She earned it. She read good books and literature continually and she had a mind that could remember details. I imagine she cultivated that ability to remember and to quote big pieces of literature as well as small homilies that suited her and helped her to say a lot in a few words. Wishing was not the way to grow that gift. It took work. I wish I had not wasted so much time wishing I were more like my mother and had worked a little harder at it. But "if wishes were fishes, we'd all have a fry."
I wonder what she would think of the internet? I wonder if she would write perfect words in short order that would put a fine point onto everything. I wonder how she would respond when someone put into writing things that hurt. I know she would not have used this easy medium to speak unkindly. But what would be her message to her posterity today?
I think she would say "If you can't write something nice, don't write anything at all."
I have heard others say that the internet has given us the opportunity to say things we would never say in person to one another. It is too easy now to vent what is going on in our heads without any monitoring. What we think, our fingers write, almost without thought. Then we hit "send" and off go our thoughts, unmonitored, uncut, unedited, and too often, unkind.
And the trouble is, it is impossible to take them back. And there they are ... real things; hard things; words that hurt. And amazingly enough, they hurt over and over again. And no matter how hard you try, you can't take them back.
Why is it that we feel it is okay to unleash our anger, frustration, annoyance, disappointments, bad day on another human being? Why is it that we justify ourselves in doing to another something that would be intolerable to have done to us? Why is it we cannot live the commandment to "do unto others as we would have them do unto us?"
How do we live the commandment to love one another? Will we be judged more harshly for those things we have written than those things we have thought? Is it necessary to write everything we think? Can we think that someone has disappointed us or let us down and not ever tell them? Is that kinder? Is it possible that with time we may learn that our original thought was not completely accurate or informed and that we are glad we never wrote to them? Or may we someday regret that we wrote things and inflicted wounds and created scars that were cruel and unnecessary only to discover down the road that WE were the person in error?
My mother was correct. Our words must be carefully chosen. Now we have to choose more carefully than ever, because a written word is so terribly easy to misunderstand - there are no smiles, no inflections in the voice, no casual lifts of the corners of the mouth, nothing to indicate the intention of the writer. Only the words remain. And they remain forever.
In this day where we have the incredible blessing of instant communication, it is far too easy to hurt one another, and it far too hard to heal from those wounds.
I will from this day forward never write something that I would not say to a person face to face and never say something at all if I cannot say something good. I cannot take back what I have already said or written. I have no way to know if there are those who have been offended by my words unless they have told me so, and so far that has only happened once. That was one time too many, but it was enough to remind me of the lessons of Mother.
Still wishing I were more like my mother,
Your Mother
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wasting Time, or Not
" I wasted a lot of time today, " Harry said. "What did you do?" I asked. "Talked with Sarah several times; loaded some washing; paid some bills; picked up the mail and some groceries; put one coat of paint on the airplane; replaced the wicks and the oil in the emergency lanterns; repaired the legs of a chair; answered e-mail; went to the Planning and Zoning meeting; talked to a couple kids on Facebook; cleaned the garage; took a load of weeds to the recycle center at the landfill; picked up our meds; moved money from one account to another to cover an unexpected debit [no reference to me, the guilty party], and cleaned behind the washer and dryer. That was about it. Didn't get anything done on the house, really."
That made me laugh. It sounded like one of my days when I was the stay at home mom and he was the hard working bread winner. I just did lots and lots of seemingly unimportant and insignificant things that usually had to do with one of the 5 kids having to get somewhere or eat something or wear something. Now the roles are slightly reversed. I work at the opera company and he is retired.
So I have pondered a lot about time - wasted time, particularly. And I have decided that there is no such thing as time wasted in the service of our families. All that mothers do and all that fathers do - old or young, retired or working - that serves the family is good time spent; not wasted.
The day in 1976 when I got up at 5:30 to bake cookies for the boys to take to class for Halloween they do not remember. It was just one event in a long, not-listed and unnoticed, train of "Stuff Mothers Do." I will not be written up in a book or given any kind of prize. No fame. No fortune.
I could have spent 20-30 years of my life determined to do something to fulfil "my destiny." Who knows? Maybe I was meant to be a famous singer, composer, artist (not), dancer (never), writer. Maybe I would have discovered the cure for some obscure disease. Maybe I could have saved someone from drowning if I had been a great swimmer/lifeguard.
But I didn't.
And I am glad, because -
Although lots of my time was spent tired and much was used up doing seemingly endless, mindless little jobs and projects, it was ALL GOOD.
Even the time I spent wondering if I was spending my time appropriately was not wasted. We all have to figure those things out. We have to ponder and pray. We have to discover what is right for us. We have to have choices, make decisions, follow the Spirit. Live.
Whatever we decide is the right path for us, we will never waste time if our time has been overlaid with the desire to love and underpinned with the desire to serve.
Harry now spends all of his days in the service of his family, mainly us, since you - my children - are grown. He is so lucky! What a great way not to waste time.
Mom, the Retired : Driver, Cookie Baker, Washer of Endless Clothes, Maker of Endless Beds; Weed Puller, Floor Sweeper, Nose Wiper, Sad-Child Hugger, Singer of Bedtime Songs, etc ......................
That made me laugh. It sounded like one of my days when I was the stay at home mom and he was the hard working bread winner. I just did lots and lots of seemingly unimportant and insignificant things that usually had to do with one of the 5 kids having to get somewhere or eat something or wear something. Now the roles are slightly reversed. I work at the opera company and he is retired.
So I have pondered a lot about time - wasted time, particularly. And I have decided that there is no such thing as time wasted in the service of our families. All that mothers do and all that fathers do - old or young, retired or working - that serves the family is good time spent; not wasted.
The day in 1976 when I got up at 5:30 to bake cookies for the boys to take to class for Halloween they do not remember. It was just one event in a long, not-listed and unnoticed, train of "Stuff Mothers Do." I will not be written up in a book or given any kind of prize. No fame. No fortune.
I could have spent 20-30 years of my life determined to do something to fulfil "my destiny." Who knows? Maybe I was meant to be a famous singer, composer, artist (not), dancer (never), writer. Maybe I would have discovered the cure for some obscure disease. Maybe I could have saved someone from drowning if I had been a great swimmer/lifeguard.
But I didn't.
And I am glad, because -
Although lots of my time was spent tired and much was used up doing seemingly endless, mindless little jobs and projects, it was ALL GOOD.
Even the time I spent wondering if I was spending my time appropriately was not wasted. We all have to figure those things out. We have to ponder and pray. We have to discover what is right for us. We have to have choices, make decisions, follow the Spirit. Live.
Whatever we decide is the right path for us, we will never waste time if our time has been overlaid with the desire to love and underpinned with the desire to serve.
Harry now spends all of his days in the service of his family, mainly us, since you - my children - are grown. He is so lucky! What a great way not to waste time.
Mom, the Retired : Driver, Cookie Baker, Washer of Endless Clothes, Maker of Endless Beds; Weed Puller, Floor Sweeper, Nose Wiper, Sad-Child Hugger, Singer of Bedtime Songs, etc ......................
Thursday, October 8, 2009
pulling weeds
Pulling weeds can become very addictive. I found myself pulling them along the route Sarah and I took for a walk the other day... just to see if I could. She was only a little embarrassed because she knows, understands and accepts her mother. I wish it were as easy to pull out other things along the way.
Judy's birthday is in two days. She gave me a nice present when she told me not long ago she never had to forgive anyone, because she refused to take offense. She forgave as quickly as the deed was done or the unkind word was said. We are getting up there in years, you know, and yet she still manages to teach me a thing or two from time to time.
How nice it would be just to spray my heart with a no-offense spray, like a pre-emergent weed killer. Then the hurts and offenses would never arise and there would be no anger and nothing to forgive.
But on the other hand, it does feel good to pull up a deep rooted weed and toss it away. Some of them look pretty grandiose waving their fancy little flowers in the air like brave and wanton flags. But when you get close to the ground and give a good tug, they just come up - sometimes with a big whoop that knocks you over with the surprise of the ease with which it was done. And joy of joys, there underneath the smart aleck weed is always nice clean dirt or a little tiny new leaf from the vinca I have tried to encourage along the edges of the grass, or at least something that was being hidden and choked out from lack of water and sun.
Yesterday I was reminded that forgiveness was important with regard to anxiety and frustrating feelings I was experiencing at work. I pondered that and decided that maybe that was true and I should try. It surprised me how easily it was done and what pleasant things happened afterwards. I am kind of glad I had the weed to pull, because the relief is so pleasant. If things were always just easy and happy I know I would not appreciate them as much. I may even begin to believe that I deserve a weedless, trouble free life. Then if a problem came along, I may decide that I have been treated unfairly. Whatever. too deep for me on this beautiful morning.
I wish all my family a weed-free day today. Grams
Judy's birthday is in two days. She gave me a nice present when she told me not long ago she never had to forgive anyone, because she refused to take offense. She forgave as quickly as the deed was done or the unkind word was said. We are getting up there in years, you know, and yet she still manages to teach me a thing or two from time to time.
How nice it would be just to spray my heart with a no-offense spray, like a pre-emergent weed killer. Then the hurts and offenses would never arise and there would be no anger and nothing to forgive.
But on the other hand, it does feel good to pull up a deep rooted weed and toss it away. Some of them look pretty grandiose waving their fancy little flowers in the air like brave and wanton flags. But when you get close to the ground and give a good tug, they just come up - sometimes with a big whoop that knocks you over with the surprise of the ease with which it was done. And joy of joys, there underneath the smart aleck weed is always nice clean dirt or a little tiny new leaf from the vinca I have tried to encourage along the edges of the grass, or at least something that was being hidden and choked out from lack of water and sun.
Yesterday I was reminded that forgiveness was important with regard to anxiety and frustrating feelings I was experiencing at work. I pondered that and decided that maybe that was true and I should try. It surprised me how easily it was done and what pleasant things happened afterwards. I am kind of glad I had the weed to pull, because the relief is so pleasant. If things were always just easy and happy I know I would not appreciate them as much. I may even begin to believe that I deserve a weedless, trouble free life. Then if a problem came along, I may decide that I have been treated unfairly. Whatever. too deep for me on this beautiful morning.
I wish all my family a weed-free day today. Grams
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Happy Birthday, Libby
Today is Libby's birthday. She is having fun for the two hours that Peter is in pre-school while Anna is in school and it is just Libby and Eli time. Happy birthday, dear Libby! I am happy for you.
I remember times like that when for some reason I could spend a few delicious hours alone with one child. What treasured memories. Some of the children didn't get that as often as did Norman, the first, or Michael, the last. But eventually you all did.
I hope that in spite of our large family I was able to give focused time, love and attention to each one of you, my children. I would like to be able to give it to each one of you, my new daughters and my grandchildren. I have been blessed by your love for me and it has been the greatest joy of my life to be your mother and grandmother. I hope I have enough time on this earth to clearly inform and demonstrate to each of you, singly, not as a mass of people with the same last name, that it does not matter to me whether you are short, tall, fat, skinny, blonde, brown, red, trumpet players or book readers, dancers or singers or cooks or runners or sitters or serious or cheerful or studious or playful, or if you like bright colors in your rooms, or earth tones, if you are a designer label Ames or a thrift store junkie, if you are an engineer, or an artist, a teacher, if you are tidy or unorganized, if you tie your shoes or not, if your hair is long or short, your pants baggy or tight, you play LaCrosse or Scrabble, you like Classical or Jazz or Country or Pop, WHATEVER .... none of that makes a bit of difference to my love for you. You are mine. You are my children and my children's children. I accept you as a great big bouquet of many colors and types of flowers, and you are all beautiful to me. I love you each, singly, as if I picked one of those flowers and gazed upon its differences and its beauties and sniffed its fragrance and felt my heart swell up with love and gratitude. Always know that. Believe it. Say to yourself your whole life long: my mother, my mother in law, my grandmother ... knew me, accepted me and loved me just because I am who I am.
"Grans"
I remember times like that when for some reason I could spend a few delicious hours alone with one child. What treasured memories. Some of the children didn't get that as often as did Norman, the first, or Michael, the last. But eventually you all did.
I hope that in spite of our large family I was able to give focused time, love and attention to each one of you, my children. I would like to be able to give it to each one of you, my new daughters and my grandchildren. I have been blessed by your love for me and it has been the greatest joy of my life to be your mother and grandmother. I hope I have enough time on this earth to clearly inform and demonstrate to each of you, singly, not as a mass of people with the same last name, that it does not matter to me whether you are short, tall, fat, skinny, blonde, brown, red, trumpet players or book readers, dancers or singers or cooks or runners or sitters or serious or cheerful or studious or playful, or if you like bright colors in your rooms, or earth tones, if you are a designer label Ames or a thrift store junkie, if you are an engineer, or an artist, a teacher, if you are tidy or unorganized, if you tie your shoes or not, if your hair is long or short, your pants baggy or tight, you play LaCrosse or Scrabble, you like Classical or Jazz or Country or Pop, WHATEVER .... none of that makes a bit of difference to my love for you. You are mine. You are my children and my children's children. I accept you as a great big bouquet of many colors and types of flowers, and you are all beautiful to me. I love you each, singly, as if I picked one of those flowers and gazed upon its differences and its beauties and sniffed its fragrance and felt my heart swell up with love and gratitude. Always know that. Believe it. Say to yourself your whole life long: my mother, my mother in law, my grandmother ... knew me, accepted me and loved me just because I am who I am.
"Grans"
Monday, October 5, 2009
My Sister
Happy Birthday to my sister Judy ... October 10
I only ever had one sister, and her name was Judy.
She was my first friend.
She played dolls with me.
She taught me how to sing, play the guitar, crochet, and sew.
She taught me to laugh.
She taught me to love flowers.
She made my wedding dress when she was still just a girl herself, and then -
She sewed soft things for my babies.
She taught me to bottle anything that grew on a tree and
To make mincemeat out of green tomatoes.
She taught me that you could not handle bread dough “too much”
Or pie crust “too little”
She taught me to love beauty in all things and
To work to make something beautiful out of something plain.
She was always kind, never thoughtless or impatient with a “little” sister.
She was my protector against the harsh realities of childhood.
She taught me to pray and to know that my prayers were heard.
She taught me to love going to “church” and to have faith in the Lord.
She taught me to love the Scriptures and to believe them.
She taught me how to change diapers (when we used pins) and to care for a wee baby.
She taught me patience in trials.
She taught me faith in people and affirmation of their goodness.
She taught me never to stop loving people.
She taught me to believe in Christmas.
I only ever had one sister, but that was all I ever needed.
My Sister Judy -
From her Sister Susan, Christmas 2008
Saturday, October 3, 2009
In His Own Time
On Sunday morning I had a great experience with Sarah. We talked about something silly and we both laughed. We were on our way to church. It struck me how our conversation was so normal between a mother and a daughter and how that was an answer to prayers offered over and over again beginning 30 years ago. Sarah has a lot of challenges and one of those made normal interaction between us impossible for all of her childhood and young adult life. She has always been adorable and lovable and we have loved each other without reservation, but I could not just talk with her and laugh with her in the normal ways that mothers do with their daughters.
Since she was our only daughter, I used to mourn for the loss of that in both of our lives. And I prayed every day, not that a miracle would happen and she would be a normal everyday girl, but that we could just enjoy each other without this wall between us. In those "olden" days I would always receive a peace and comfort from my prayers, but the little miracle I wanted didn't happen. At least it did not happen on my time-table. But it has happened gradually and over a long period of time and with the help of modern medicine and mostly with the real answer to prayers that were answered in the Lord's way and in His time. He does hear all of our prayers and He always answers our righteous desires, but not in our way and definitely not always on our time table. I was thinking on Sunday about how our time is different from His. It was an immediate answer on that eternal scale. I wish I could go back to 30 years old and know all this stuff, but I can't. However, I know it now and that is very sweet.
Since she was our only daughter, I used to mourn for the loss of that in both of our lives. And I prayed every day, not that a miracle would happen and she would be a normal everyday girl, but that we could just enjoy each other without this wall between us. In those "olden" days I would always receive a peace and comfort from my prayers, but the little miracle I wanted didn't happen. At least it did not happen on my time-table. But it has happened gradually and over a long period of time and with the help of modern medicine and mostly with the real answer to prayers that were answered in the Lord's way and in His time. He does hear all of our prayers and He always answers our righteous desires, but not in our way and definitely not always on our time table. I was thinking on Sunday about how our time is different from His. It was an immediate answer on that eternal scale. I wish I could go back to 30 years old and know all this stuff, but I can't. However, I know it now and that is very sweet.
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