Sparkle At Every Opportunity!

A typed letter came to me the other day. The return address was familiar but not the name. I just knew it wouldn't be good news. The spouse of one of my pen pals was kindly letting me know of the recent death of his wife. I've lost a precious friend.

Would you believe that I've never met my pen pal, Billie from Reno? We've been corresponding for ten years or so. We've shared all sorts of events, holidays, and everyday happenings over the years. Getting a letter from Billie, was like a special celebration from a close friend that left you feeling the warmth of companionship.

Each letter that came -- usually once a month or so. The letter itself was handwritten on two or three pages of pretty stationery, often with a card. But that was NEVER EVER all of it. Billie included articles, pictures and stories out of magazines and the local paper. She often included the forecast for Reno's weather --quite a bit nicer that Michigan's in the winter. Occasionally she'd add a pretty slip of paper with glitter on it. I still have a particularly pretty yellow piece that I use for a bookmark. It makes me feel like sunshine just to look at it. Then there's a smattering of stickers and always a quote that she's written out. I think Billie would then add a spritz of perfume as her final touch.  All of that and more was the cheerful visit she packed in an envelope.

Her husband told me that Billie had over 50 pen pals. Can you imagine how much time it took her to do all those special touches for everyone? And the effort it took to remember all our stories and information? I currently have 13 pen pals and it's hard to keep track of everyone!

Last year she sent me a package,  for my birthday in February. Inside was a beautiful pair of grey gloves with gemstones sprinkled on the back. I got to laughing, because I would have know they were from Billie even if there wasn't something written to tell me so. Billie was synonymous with  glitter and sparkle. And it suited her. In fact, she told me her family called her Aunt Sparkle.

She taught me a lot about being a good pen pal. Billie taught me that small efforts make a BIG IMPACT. You can tell when someone takes time for you, and that feels so good. Grand gestures are nice, but little day to day acts of kindness are so meaningful.  It isn't very difficult to better someone's day. She was a professional!  She taught me that if you can sparkle and glitter, please do! And she showed me investing in people is a worthwhile endeavor.

Billie was a grand pen pal, a good friend and an amazing person.



My sparkly gloves from Billie. What a wonderful gift to treasure.

Surrounded by Life

 

I delight in being surrounded by plants, animals and things I'm making  It's more than just a happy things, it seems to be a necessary thing for me. Science is finally catching up with what I've know since I was a kid -- it's a nurturing, life giving phenomenon to be surrounded by things that are growing and being created.

 

When I was growing up, we lived across from a corn field that was sometimes a goldenrod field. It was huge news when just a couple miles away and sprawling mall was to be built.  Everyone of every age was talking about this turn of events. There was community excitement at all fronts. 

 

 

Sears opened first and my mom took me along with another friend to shop for at least an hour.  It had to have been when I was in 4th or 5th grade. Of course, we felt very grown-up exploring this brand new Mecca of consumerism.  It was all very interesting and I'm sure we looked at everything but the tools and lawn mowers. 

 

 

There were two places I wanted to spend my time. In future trips, I would be spending a great deal of my allowance in the houseplant department and the yarn department. Over 45 years later and I'm still spending my money on houseplants and yarn.

 

We all need to know what keeps us grounded, feeds us, give us a sense of peace and pushes us to grow. All thanks to mom for taking me shopping at Sears.

One of My Treasures

I have a lot of stuff. I enjoy collecting quite a few different things--cheap and tacky snowglobes, goats, schnauzers, turtles, hens on a nest dishes,  mini buddhas, etc. I am unapologetic that I like to have a home crowded with lots of things -- in addition to plants and pets. It somehow makes me feel safe and cozy in this sanctuary I call home. Most of the things that I truly treasure wouldn't be valuable to other people, but they give me great joy. The items on my list of treasures were owned by people I love or created by those same people. 

In a sense, I am at home among these items, because they help define who I am, remind me that I am loved and bring me joy as memories are brought forth. I love being surrounded by and sharing my daily life with all this good stuff.

My paternal grandmother was the first person to love me without reserve. Her love was lavish and all encompassing. My parents were quite reserved in demonstrating their love and praise was extremely limited for fear of raising an egotistical daughter. Of course I gravitated to my grandmother. She's been gone since 1980 but the foundational love she provided is solidly part of my foundation of self esteem.

My grandma, or Gummie as I called her -- or Helen Knight, enjoyed her jewelry. That's something else she passed on to me! I picture her in her rings, and my favorite earring of hers -- lime green triangles, a charm bracelet and often -- a beautiful cameo.

I hadn't seen that cameo in years, but wanted to get a closer look in order to maybe find one similar for sale.  My estimation of elegance stems from that cameo. I asked my two cousins about it. In an act of wonderful selflessness, they gifted me with Gummie's cameo.  I felt like I'd won the lottery.

Because of the importance of the pin in my life, I've only worn it once. I wore it last Christmas Eve to church. Maybe it was also because both of my children were home with me to celebrate the holiday, but wearing that cameo allowed me to feel so connected to both the past, the present and the future of my family.

Arden on the left, Nicholas on the right and me in the middle wearing my treasured cameo.

Slow Down, You Move to Fast

Wasn't it just yesterday that being fast was the desirable speed of operation? One was to go as fast as possible, doing as much as possible, while doing other things with the same break neck speed. It's exhausting. Sometimes we get loads of things done, sometimes we don't--but we're speedy and to all the world it looks like we are very important and productive.

Here and there, we are starting to realize that speed isn't always a good thing. Just like when you're driving quickly, you miss an awful lot on the way. Once you decelerate, you see all sorts of things around you that had been eclipsed by speed.

In meditation, we learn the value of being still. One basks in the presence of the now, the senses are more fully engaged. With that sacred slowing down there is a corresponding fullness in our experience of living.

The slow food movement, encourages us to make a deeper investment in our food.  This investment begins with seeds that aren't genetically modified, to treating animals in a humane manner using non toxic means of raising them. It is growing food locally, in non artificial means. It's sitting down, gathering with others to fully taste, completely smelling and totally savoring and appreciating all that has gone into the effort of creating a meal. It is not snarfing a burger through the drive thru, while driving, talking on the phone and putting on mascara all while driving 70 miles an hour to get ten other errands completed.

While shopping on Etsy, my favorite place to window shop and explore -- I discovered a category I was not familiar with -- slow stitching.  Being a terrible seamstress anyway, I wondered how I could get any slower. But I was intrigued.

Slow stitching is taking one's time in creating out of the box pieces of art.  I bought a little kit and was delighted to play with my little collage of fabric swatches, bits of lace and thread. It was interesting, in that I had to repeatedly remind myself to slow down, and just enjoy the act of creating. There's no way to do it wrong -- except if you just don't enjoy it, I guess.

I stitched, switched colors, added buttons, and delighted in the creative process until I decided my little creation was done.  The project gave me permission to take my time, to create with no expectations or deadline and to completely embrace the healing, celebrating world of play.

Creative play, in the guise of Slow Stitching is something I should learn to do often.

It's For the Birds -- And I Like That!

As I was entering independent adulthood, I had a few things on my mind. For me, it was a clear sign I was grown up because I had my own telephone number (this was over 30 years ago, so no cell phone), a briefcase,  business cards and my very own apartment. There were a couple of animal related goals still to fulfill but I knew there'd be no dogs in my current situation.

My residence was a second story, one bedroom apartment. I'd been traveling cross country in my little red Chevy Chevette in August with no air-conditioning. My dad was adamant that air-conditioning was a frill I didn't need.  I still claim he was wrong.  I traveled with my two goldfish in a protected bowl, and my cockatiel, Francis as my co-pilot. I was so happy to have finally arrived at my home.

It was safe and clean and it was all mine. When I arrived at my abode, the first thing I saw was the gold flecked wallpaper at the entryway.  It looked like something my great aunt Lillian would have adored.  I didn't.  I was okay until I walked into the tiny kitchen to see very old turquoise appliances. I slid to the floor and just cried.  But I was a grown-up so I stood up and set out to make it a wonderful place for me.

One of the things I felt I needed to do, in order to make my place feel more homey, was to have a bird feeder.  For some reason, I was sure that feeding the birds from my own bird feeder, would give me a sense of adulthood, permanence and hominess.  But remember, I'm on the second floor. So I set out to find a feeder that could attach to my window.  In no time, I'd found just the thing -- a feeder that hung on my window by suction cups. I became quite adept at popping out the window's screen and adding the appropriate food for the birds frequenting my area.  Every once in a while, my coordination failed and I dropped the screen to the ground two floors below. 

If  I've remembered correctly, I've moved at least 10 times since that little apartment. One of the first things I do at my new home, is put out my birdfeeders in hopes of welcoming new feathered friends. I am not sure why this is so important for me. My parents didn't feed the birds while I was growing up. But like sending out Christmas cards, having a wreath on the door and a welcome mat on the ground--it's just something you do when you are an adult and have a home. 

The Joy of Simple Pleasures

It's the simplest things that make me smile, that make me feel that life is good, that give me absolute joy.

It's watching the sun rise or set . . .
It's the melting into  my husbands arms after a long day . . .
It's hearing a happy chicken softly chirp . . .
It's the way my dogs welcome me home . . .
It's the sound of milk spurting in the pail as I milk my goat . . .
It's the feel of the wind across my face . . .
It's the smell of the petunias in my yard . . .
It's the delight when a letter comes in the mail . . . .
It's the taste of corn on the cob with butter running down my chin . . .
It's the sound of children giggling . . .
It's the presence of my children . . .
It's the wildflowers and weeds gracing the meadow . . .
It's making a snowman or playing in the leaves. . .
It's a hot cup of coffee with just the right amount of cream and sugar . . .
It's the sharing of stories around a bonfire . . .
It's baking cookies that have been baked for generations of my family . . .

I think I could go on with this list for hours. There are so many things that give me such pure happiness -- and they are little everything things.  None of the things I've listed are from grand gestures and magnanimous events -- just the simple mundanities of life. 

Isn't it good to know that such happiness comes from such humble beginnings? It means that it doesn't have to take a while lot of effort to experience that happiness and joy.  Perhaps it could be said that happiness can be within everyone's grasp if we just reach out.

I'm going to continue not just making my list, but living it continuously. My goal is to experience each day, paying attention to those little things, those simple pleasure and not take for granted the joy that they bring. If we don't pay attention, we miss it.  I don't want to miss anything.

Rewarding Work

My list for the next several days is longer than I could possibly accomplish. It's probably longer than several people could accomplish in several weeks.  But by golly, I'm going to have a go at it. In a week I head to the Michigan Fiber Festival in Allegan, Michigan. Just me and two vehicles and three people. One of those vehicles is pulling my camper and holding five pygora goats in the back. The other vehicle (my mini Cooper) is taking two people, a dog, and a smelly pygora buck. Inside that camper is all that I need to wear and eat for almost a week, all the supplies I need to care for and show six goats. I'm also taking what I need to care for, entertain and train my Cardigan Corgi, Sundae. I'm taking classes, as a result I'm taking my spinning wheel and other accessories. And I can't leave home without my craft projects in progress, a months supply of Dr. Pepper,  several cozy mysteries to read before bed and my ukulele.

And that doesn't even go into what needs to be done to prepare the goats to show them.  Everyone needs a bath--preceded and followed by a ridiculous amount of grooming. Hooves need to be in good shape so four times six = 24 hooves, each with two toes=48 toes to trim.

 Like I said, it is a whole lot of work. But this is something that we work on all year long. We look to be responsible breeders who seek only to make the breed better. The shows are a chance to "show" our work and pride in that work. It is extremely rewarding.

We are The Best of Times Farm and our herd is name is: The Price Bouquet. All our goats have flower names (except Rooster Cogburn). With my wickedly sharp sense of humor, I like to tell people that we have a bouquet of goats instead of a herd.

 

It's time to get back to all that work. It just feels go to work this hard and be able to gather with others who do the same. It's rewarding to show them off and be proud of them and our work. 

Home Sweet Home

I used to live for adventure and travel! At one time, I would crave the next trip, the stories and photographs my journey would generate.  I was younger then, and filled with the desire to see the world.  A world citizen I called myself.

Now, I like to go places -- but I'd prefer to be back home before it's bedtime. It's been kind of a big blow to my ego, acknowledging that I'm a homebody. How boring is that? How predictably middle aged of me!  Geez, now I'm predictable and that might be even worse than being a homebody. Next thing you know, I'll be wearing sensible shoes!

Home is my favorite place to be because most of the people, animals and things I love most are there (or at least represented there). It's my cozy bungalow, my castle, my safe place, my happy place, my sanctuary from all the scary things of the world.

There, I'm surrounded by photos of people I've loved, handcrafted treasures, family heirlooms, my favorite pieces of art. There are lots of THINGS involved, but its more than the material. It is no more or less than the understanding of sacredness of place. This is the joy of a place where I belong and that belongs to me.

I'm currently in Dayton, Ohio. I've been gone several days, and I'm more than ready to be back home. One more day, and about six hours of travel and I'll be back where I belong.  When I walk in the door again, I will be greeted by my understanding husband and he will tell me, by both word and deed, that he loves me. All three dogs: Truffle, Cupcake and Sundae, will bark and clamor for my attention thrilled that I'm back with them. Of course, they will do that all over again, if I come back 15 minutes later. Dogs have that amazing gift of always making you feel unconditionally welcomed and loved.

I'll go sit in my fuchsia leather recliner that fits my body perfectly, catch up on my mail while continuing to acknowledge each dog. My heart beat will slow to a pace reserved only for the bliss of being at home.

Maybe it's just that middle aged boring thing talking, but I'm pretty sure that I'm still on an amazing adventure every day of my life. I may have days where I would rather do other things, but it is never, ever boring. I love being at home because it's part of me and it gives me strength and joy.

You want an adventure? Get out of bed and go have one! Have one right in your own backyard. The best ones are right there.

Once Upon a Time

Would you like to hear a story?

Yes, of course -- please!!

We all love stories. It seems that from the moment we are born, we are entertained by the telling of stories. Nursery rhymes are taught, Little Golden books are read, beautifully made animated movie classics are shared.  And then we hear stories every day of what happens during the day to the people we interact with.

I was weaned on the stories of my dad's work stories around the dinner table. He was my hero -- he swore at everyone, yelled at the idiots and said exactly what was on his mind. My mother cringed and tried to balance my dad's stories with the reality of what good manners could accomplish instead.

At every family gathering, old stories are told once more. The stories are old and cherished and sometimes met with groans and an eye roll.  As we lose one generation, the next hunger to hear the old stories. I am now the teller of those stories and I add my own to be rolled into that family history.

We learn stories in school about our world, our country and heritage, our struggles and our victories. They aren't always accurate I think, but we hold fast to them. Changing them is difficult.

Whatever it is we believe in, we have stories that shape and further inspire our faith. My foundation is Christianity and I find strength in the story of the fully told Christ event. But my faith is greater than even that, and my soul yearns to hear the stories of other ways of looking at the divine.

Many of us learn much better when we hear a story to teach us a lesson. We watch all sorts of television, and most of it -- is story. We are a people with an insatiable interest in stories. We are entertained, we learn, we laugh, we are chastised, we are heart broken and we live to tell a story another day.

I'm currently attending a Biblical Storytelling Festival in Dayton, Ohio. There's about 200 people here from all over. I had lunch with a group of people that came from Korea just for this experience.

The focus is to continue to improve in our ability to share our faith in a way that draws people in and connects with them. We tell our story, at the same time we tell a piece of God's story.  We tell God's story, we tell a piece of our story.

In effect, we are story. Story weaves us together individually -- our family history, our ancestry, our beliefs about God and ourselves. Story weaves us together as a faith community, a country, a culture. It's a good and powerful thing to pay attention to our story and to allow my story to interact with your story.

 

Release the Creativity!

I clearly remember the day I was reprimanded in class for coloring bears the wrong colors. In my defense, our elementary grade class was subject to coloring a plethora of wildlife scenes -- all in the same colors, over and over and over again. I was bored and I thought if I had to color another thing brown or black, I was going to scream. My solution, and what a beautiful one it was, was to color the bears, trees and fox such tangy colors as yellow and purple. They were vivid masterpieces. I sighed with triumph as I turned them in to the teacher. She sent me right back to my desk with the directive to color things correctly. Heartbroken, I retrieved my well-worn brown and black crayons.

Certainly, I know what colors bears really are, and the teacher was just doing her job to train me up into a rule following, responsible community member. But my soul ached to use more pink and maybe periwinkle.

We are all, each and everyone of us, born with the ability to create. Creativity is our very birthright. People need to create and not just copy the creativity of someone else. Although some of us settle for that, for fear of the power it bring to us when we let those creative muscles flex.

Once, I wrote a paper that was to communicate theological precepts in terms that all could understand. I worked for months on this paper, creating something vivid, creative and even fun. Going before the group that would evaluate me, I was excited to hear the responses. My writing was ranked the very worst among all those who were writing papers.  Why was mine so bad? I was told that I was too creative.

Too creative? How could there be such a thing? It's taken me forever to bounce back from that abhorrent critique of my work. It is in the job description of creativity to push limits, try what's far fetched.

In my experience, people don't always encourage creativity. If it rocks the status quo--that's upsetting to many, and in some places it can be inappropriate. We can't let those creativity stoppers, stop us from doing what should not be censored. And then, there are those people who are wet blankets in our lives who smother any spark of creativity we put forth.

If I've had a time of creating, whether it be working with fiber, setting a pretty table or writing my blog -- just to name a few -- my whole self feels different. There's a sense of satisfaction to my being and I delight in it.  Even if I've made a mess of my effort, I feel better for the task.

Once we've squirted the toothpaste out of the tube, there isn't anyway to get it back in there. And once we allow ourselves the abundance of creativity, we can't go back to the way we were.  Create, my friends, create.  And then create again, and just for me -- use some delicious colors while you're at it.

People are constantly stopping by the little library that sits at the end of our driveway. I've done everything I can think of to make the tiny building look warm and inviting. Numerous times each week people stop by and take a book or two, sometimes they leave one in return, occasionally a box of books will appear, and once in a while a kind soul leaves a note of appreciation. We live in a town that caters to those on vacation, coming to enjoy Lake Huron. Our road is a commonly traveled route between the two main roads to get to the very top of Michigan's Thumb. Lots of tourists make use of the colorings books, colored pencils, or bubbles we stock.

I take my responsibility seriously to keep my little library in good order. Wouldn't it be interesting to know how many people stop by in a year's time? I have no idea, but I know I'm having to restock a significant amount of books each week during the summer. Therefore, I am confident that it's presence makes a difference.

That's something we all want, isn't it? One of our basic needs by virtue of being human beings, is to make a difference, to matter, to know that we have touched a life, made someone happy, delighted a child. We don't have to do big grand gestures to be valuable, but we do have to DO SOMETHING.

I don't believe we have just one purpose, but many that change, evolve and grow in different ways as we change, evolve and grow.

Don't ever stop look for your purposes. Don't ever stop believe that you are important enough to do meaningful work.

And . . . don't stop reading and coloring and blowing bubbles along the way.

Tales of Simple Kindness

There's 14 of them all together--

• Ava in Missouri
• Kathleen in Virginia
• Jami in Texas
• Neen in Tenessee
• Marlene lives in Iowa but winters in Florida
• Bessie hales from Kentucky
• Audrey calls Georgia home
• So does Tina
• Sandi is from West Virginia
• Billie lives in Nevada
• Nancy is in Montana
• Maggie in New York
• Shirley lives in Indiana
• Angela in Mississippi

Once a month for several years I write to each of my pen pals. Most of them send me a letter just as often.  It has been quite an adventure as I've gotten to know each of them over the years. Some open up and share their stories easily and others are more guarded.  We've been through birthdays, crises of children, aging, loss of husbands, parents and friends, vacations, dreams and frustrations.

These are powerful relationships, but I've only met two of those ladies in person.

Me, Allie and Tina meeting in Georgia for the first time.

Just over a year ago, my husband, Dave and I drove down to Georgia to pick up a goat (people do that). We planned our trip so that I could meet with Tina, one of my pen pals I've gotten to know quite well. Because of our closeness, she'd shared her love and joy for her grandchildren. As a result, I fell in love with Allie, and we talk, write and text, too.

Jami and I enjoying our time together in Texas

 

The end of March,  I decided to attend a conference in Texas. I immediately wrote to my Texas pen pal, told her where and when I'd be in the state.  Hours after she received my letter, she called to tell me she had her room reservations and we would be able to meet. I was more excited to meet her and give her a huge hug than I was to go to my conference.

With both ladies, we had never met before, but we weren't strangers.

One of my pen pals, writes almost the same letter every time. At one point I was thinking I would stop writing to her as I thought maybe she was just bored with the relationship. But then she wrote and told me how I was like a sister to her and that our friendship meant a great deal to her. My heart melted.

My pen pals friendships are extremely important to me. They are truly an integral part of my life, I love them and I count on them caring for me.

I'm continually surprised at how grateful each of them are for the simple act of taking pen to paper and writing. I delight in finding little gifts to tuck into my monthly mailings, creating the Christmas gift they will each get, and choosing photographs of my life to share with them. There's lots of silliness involved as well.  One time I sent each one, a box of Junior Mints with a label on it that read, "we were mint to be pen pals."

With each letter, I hope I make as much of a difference in their lives as they do in mine.

The greatest lessons I've learned collectively from having 14 pen pals is that even the smallest act of kindness offered with a full heart, can mean something powerful to both the giver and the recipient. Please read that again. Simple acts of kindness can change your world.

The Moon and Chillicothe

My grandmother, Gummie and I posing in her dining room.

Aside from wishing for a dog, my greatest wish as a child was to spend time with my maternal grandmother. To me, she was the definition of love, a walking hug, the master giver of gifts and the one person in the world who lavishly gave me the attention and praise I so craved.

My wish was coming true in July of 1969.  Mom and Dad drove me all the way down to my Gummie's house in Chillicothe, Ohio. The drive in our 1967 blue/green station wagon seemed to take forever, but it was worth every long, boring minute. I was received like a beloved royal princess. Homesickness never ensued because being with her was like the home for my heart. It was a wonderful time of being treated to fudgsicles, playing matron of the manor in the huge dining room, and catching fireflies on the hot humid nights.

But then it ended. My Gummie got the flu and was so very sick she couldn't take care of 7 year old me. It was unfair as I was in the midst of my fairy tale summer vacation with her. Mom and Dad had to make the trip in the middle of the day and take me straight home in what seemed like the middle of the night. I didn't want to see my parents and I didn't want to go home.  But as it was, I didn't have a single thing to say in the matter.

My parents weren't too happy with the situation either. It was inconvenient. Dad was stuck driving late into the night and may have had to work the next day. Back then he was working long hours seven days a week for General Motors in Saginaw, Michigan.

What's even worse, history was being made and my parents were stuck in a car. They'd planned on witnessing the Apollo Moon Landing on television with the rest of the world, and watching Walter Cronkite explain what they were seeing. Instead, they heard it on the radio.

I didn't care what was happening on the radio. It didn't matter to me that history was being made. I was a kid. I wanted to be with my Gummie.

Since the drive took several hours, I had time to get over my temper tantrum. As I was lying in the back seat (no seat belt on of course), I watched the moon.

 I started putting pieces of information together. I realized there were some people on the moon --on the moon.  In one jolt of connection, I understood, with the brain of a seven year old, that something amazing was happening.

I spent the rest of the ride with my eyes transfixed on the moon. Studying the surface closely I tried to spot anybody walking around. Neil and Buzz must have been inside at that time, because I didn't see anyone, nor a shuttle or a flag. But that didn't discourage me.

At that moment something was born. I'd always thrived on my imagination, but men walking on the moon encouraged my impressionable mind. Imagination with the impossible can create something out of this world! Adventure and fantasy isn't just for movies and books -- it's for real life, too.

If men can walk on the moon, then  . . . . . .
. . . who knows what's next!!

A Good Balance

Look what was in the grocery bag when Dave, my husband, came home from the store. A container of prunes and a box of car wipes for his Camaro convertible. I found this combination hysterically funny.  I must have laughed for ten minutes.  I don't think Dave thought it was that funny. 

 

What can I say? I loved the blatant display of opposites right there before me. It seemed to be an object lesson about aging and hanging on to adventure." I'm getting older, but I've still got some zip in me," this duo said to me.

 

This is a great life lesson, especially for those of us who are of a certain age. I'm not going to say what that age is, but I think we know when we are there. When people would ask me how I was doing, for years I'd reply with "no bad for a middle aged woman." My daughter has now informed me that I can no longer refer to myself as "middle aged." She suggested I could use the term "elderly" instead.  I suggested to her that … well never mind what I suggested. Let's just say that I'm just not ready for "elderly" to be my classification. In fact, I may never be ready.

 

I believe I will embrace the message of the prunes and wipes! There are the everyday, responsible things we must do and take care of in life. Some of those responsibilities have to do with aging. But none of that prevents us from continuing on with living fully.

 

My mom, an amazing woman, was a beautiful example to me of this idea. At age 73, she retired from teaching at Saginaw Valley State University. Her gift from her colleagues was a certificate to go sky diving. She was thrilled and loved the experience.  Just days before having a having a stroke that would take her life, she was planning a trip, seeking new adventures. That's how I want to be. I want to continue to embrace the adventures of life until the very end.

 

 

Embracing the Gift of Imperfection

Three hens live at our house -- Cinnamon, Clove and Pepper. The first two are friendly Buff Orpingtons and the latter is a Black Maran. The buff lay the lighter brown eggs and the Maran lays what is know as chocolate eggs. Who wouldn't want a chicken that lays chocolate eggs? Now if I just had a goose that laid golden eggs, I'd be all set. Disclaimer: the shell is chocolate colored, no actual chocolate was used in the making of this egg.

 

That sad little smaller than a ping pong ball egg was Pepper's best effort. She hasn't given me another egg since then. I'm hopeful she'll lay many more and perhaps more in line of the size that the other to girls offer.

 

When my husband handed me that wee egg, I immediately felt for Pepper. I've had plenty of days when I've given everything I had but all I'd had to show for my work was something tiny and feeble. I walked over to where Pepper was nesting and patted her back. "Thank you," I told her with sincere empathy. "I appreciate your egg today." I was very careful not to make fun of her or tell her there was anything wrong with her egg.

 

I was tender with her as I would want someone to be tender with my efforts at creativity. Often, I will refrain from creating anything, because I am afraid that my results will be less than stellar, that my efforts will be puny and even comical.

 

Well, sometimes my creations are puny and comical. I've made, cooked, and written things that went right into the trash. I once spent days weaving and crocheting a blanket that turned out to be extremely out of shape and just squeehawed. But I kept it. I have it neatly folded and stored away because I learned so much in making it. "It could have been beautiful," I thought, if I'd known more. But now I see the potential behind the puny effort.

 

It's taken me a long time to boldly go and make terrible things. It's part of making excellent creations. Of course, I've had to come to terms with the concept that when I'm learning, I have to plan on making something twice. Make, tear out, repeat. Or sometimes -- make, laugh, toss and recreate.

 

I'm going to go off and making some things today. I will remind myself that I embrace the gift of imperfection. Perhaps I'll make something really grand, maybe not. And as I allow myself that adventure, I want to pass it on to those I encounter as well.

Lifted Up!

Did you see that movie "Up?" It was animated film, with Ed Asner voicing the grumpy old man. It was a cute movie, but honestly, what I remember most is the scene where tons of colorful balloon are attached to the grumpy old man's home and is lifted up and away. It was a "feel good" movie and the opportunity to suspend my disbelief at the scientific impossibility of balloons transporting a whole house was fun and fantastical -- "funtastical."

There are times when I feel that high and lifted up. Seeing my family, having a stress-free day, enjoying breath taking scenes, being creatively fed and hearing certain songs can all cause that lifted experience.

There are several hymns that have the power to elevate my being. I'm particularly fond of "Victory in Jesus" and "He Lives." Those are two great camp meeting and Easter Sunday choices. "Amazing Grace" is another old stand-by that is near and dear to many and chosen often at funerals. I've heard bag pipers play it in a way that touches me at my very foundation and leaves me shaking. But my favorite is "It Is Well With My Soul."

It takes me back to my three years as a ministry student at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky. Chapel times were not to be missed as the singing was amazing, the preaching powerful, and the presence of God was palpable. Imagine singing "It is well with my soul" with a large group of people, the majority men, singing our hearts out, feeling and living the words, at a volume where you did not hear your own voice separate, but one with the others. 

Now, I just see the words and I am once again reminded of that presence of God, I am lifted up and I am a part of something big and amazing.