Celebrate Someone Else’s Beauty

It takes a mature heart to truly celebrate someone else’s beauty.  For some reason we fear that there is only so much good- be it love, admiration or joy- to go around.  If we give too much away, there may not be enough left for us.

Paradoxically, the more good we give, the more we receive.  When our heart is open enough to celebrate the beauty in another, it is better able to take in more goodness for itself.

To celebrate another’s beauty, we have to take the focus off ourself and place it on another.  We have to honestly care about someone other than ourselves. We expend energy in celebration of their good fortune.  When that celebration is genuine, we lose awareness of our own petty desires.  Ironically, in that moment we have never been more beautiful.

The Gate

Too many people spend their energy building walls.  So much effort is put into separating “us” from “them”.  Race, lifestyle, religion, politics…each a brick piled one on the other until the wall finally keeps us apart, isolating us from the richness we could experience, robbing us of a deeper understanding of life.  I am bone-tired of so many walls;  oh, for the gift of a gate.

Although these words could have been penned today,  I actually wrote down these thoughts in 2015.

TToT: Throwback to Summers Past

…back in Kansas,  there is much to be thankful for.

Little kids and their great sense of style.  How can you go wrong with a red glitter visor and patriotic tutu skirt?  Not to mention the confidence to wear it in public!

Rain that brings the temperature out of the “hazardous” range and offers a life saving drink to the outdoor plants.

Watermelon.  Cold, juicy watermelon.

Summer binge reading.  

An example of graciousness: Sunday at church an elderly gentleman mistook a decorative gem stone for a mint, placing it in his mouth and causing concern among the crowd.  I attempted to get him to spit it out for fear he would choke, but only succeeded in confusing and embarrassing him.  Soon after, a lady sitting near us reached for her purse.   Pulling out a tissue she lightly folded it into a square, leaned over to him and said, “When you are finished with what you have in your mouth go ahead and slip it into the tissue.”  Genius, unadulterated genius.  He swished the hard stone around his mouth a couple more times before discretely depositing it into the tissue.  Not only did she stave off a choking disaster, she allowed him to retain his dignity.  Her gracious act was a thing of beauty.

Sun tea by the gallon.  Cold and crisp.

Mammographic proof of healthy breasts.  And 364 days of smoosh-free existence.  I am never quite ready for my close-up.

Watching my friend at her father’s funeral this week, I was reminded of my mom’s funeral a few years ago.  My kids surrounded me with both physical and emotional support.  It is one of my earliest memories of them all three as adults, roles reversed with them caring for me.  The pride and affection of the memory is still as strong as it was in the moment; I am tremendously grateful for these three people who make life pretty much as good as it gets.

~~~~~~~~

The entry above was written several summers ago.  I happened across it today as I was deleting some old files from my computer, and it was a timely reminder of how much of what is really good in life remains the same from year to year.  As another week comes to an end I remain thankful for all that gives refreshment, for the love of family, the company of friends,  the innocence of childhood, the written word, and fathers.  This week I am especially thankful that I never had to face the possibility of someone beyond my control separating me from my children; and though it has been far too long in coming I am grateful that faith leaders are raising their voices to say that our government doing this to families is morally and spiritually wrong.

Ten Things of Thankful

Sending Out a Ripple

Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

Excerpt from Bobby Kennedy's Ripples of Hope speech

One of my earliest memories outside things that happened to me personally is the assassination of Bobby Kennedy.  The images of him first at the podium and later on the floor live in the recesses of my brain.  They launched for me an awareness of the nightly news and a world in turmoil beyond my front door.  From that time on I have been an obsessive news watcher.  This news story was my gateway drug to a lifelong habit of consuming far more news than is probably healthy.  Current events leave me weary.  Hearing snippets of Bobby Kennedy's encouraging and wise words this past week lifted my spirits and restored my hope.

Ripples of hope that make me thankful...
The vegetables currently growing in my garden
The flowers that fill the yard
The light of long days
The chance to relax and restore the soul
My son who is a good man and is spending his "year off" working at a residential treatment center for troubled adolescents
My daughter who is a gifted teacher
My daughter who improves people's health and self-esteem by caring for their smiles
My husband who is faithfully by my side
American history which reminds us we have been through turbulent times before and emerged battered, but not broken

Ten Things of Thankful

Central Market

We went to a wedding in Golden, Co last month giving us the perfect excuse to spend a few days exploring the Denver area.  By the time we arrived the first night we were hungry for dinner.  All of the restaurants we called were busy and had wait lists of an hour or more.  Road-weary we were hoping for something quicker, but didn't want fast food.  Searching for alternatives, we stumbled onto Denver Central Market.

The place reminded us of markets our children shopped in during their study abroad experiences in Europe.  Vendors hawk their products from individual booths set up inside one large commercial building.  Fishmongers, bakers, butchers, and cheese sellers stand side by side.  Strolling through the market you are able to pick up everything you need for a simple, delicious meal.  

Distractions like candy and magazine racks tempting you at check-out are completely absent.  The items are all fresh and labeled simply.  Excessive packaging and multiple brands competing for your attention are not issues.

Each vendor offers only the category of products which they know best.  Their expertise ensures quality merchandise and solid advice as to how best serve it.

There is a life lesson in this style of market.  None of us can be everything to everyone, and that is OK.  It is much better to know who you are and to concentrate on being the very best of whoever, whatever that is.  In that you will find real success.

I don't wish to be everything to everyone, but I would like to be something to someone.  

                                                                        Javan

Make Lemonade TToT

Life has been crazy lately.  Too many things to get done in too little time.  Spring refused to spring for far too long. A couple weekends ago though we didn't really have the time or energy, we slipped away to view Tulips at Twilight at the local botanical gardens.  Many of the tulips had refused to bloom due to unseasonably cold weather, so the parks people sprinkled light displays throughout the garden instead--a visible example of the philosophy that when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade.  The result soothed my soul.

Ten Things of Thankful

Beauty

People willing to work to improve life for us all

Truth

Community

Gardens

Actual spring finally arriving

Respite

Light

Vision

Love

It Matters

I rediscovered this piece I wrote five years ago before I had taken my job permanently.  Even when I thought I was only there as a substitute, the kids had worked their way into my heart. I still try to make connections with them daily.  I still hate the paperwork and often dodge it in an effort to make more time with the kids; and still, it matters.

I continue to spend part of my week with middle-schoolers.  The maternity leave coverage I agreed to provide through January grew to a part-time commitment for the rest of the school year.  I’ve been asked if I would consider signing on next year, but to do that I would lose my substitute status.  The beauty of being a substitute is that it excuses me from some of the report writing that staff has to do, and I have been having the best time using that paperwork time with the kids instead.

The administration emailed us a video clip created by PBS on early warning signs a student is likely to drop out of high school.  Research has shown that sixth graders who fail one or more core subjects and have frequent unexcused absences are on the road to becoming a drop out.  It is alarming to realize the dye is cast for some kids as early as sixth grade.  It is horrifying to realize it when you have real live faces to attach to that warning.

So began my latest passion.  I scan attendance records each time I am at school.  I have a list of students I am concerned about.  Once I discover they are present I head off to their lockers where I slip a note, some candy or some sort of small token through the vents in their locker.  It is a sweet nothing, but its message is significant.  It says someone noticed I was here today, and it matters.

These kids are going to know me for five months of their lives.  For some of them I am a bandaid on a hemorrhage.  Will my efforts make a long term difference?  I don’t know.  But today-for this very day-some young people experienced school as welcoming.  Today I saw smiles where there had been none.  I noticed, and oh, yes! it mattered.

TToT: School Social Work Week

It was School Social Work Week.

My co-workers and my school kids showered me with love every day.  I was incredibly touched.  Several co-workers independent of one another chose cards, mementos and treats all in hues of yellow, a color I don't wear or use in decorating. Looking into how color and personality are related, I discovered that yellow is associated with perfectionists who think big and dream of how things could be. I'm good with that.

TToT

My colleagues

My school kids

Their families

Meaningful work

Supportive administrators both at school and in the Social Work Department

The opportunity to dig in the dirt planting tomato seeds

Time spent with my own grown kids this week either face to face or over the phone

Living in the age 

when long distance calls are free

Bookstores

Yellow

River Town Residences

Hermann, MO

 I love the feel of an old river town where the houses seem all brick with
 white porches. Get close to the Mississippi or further East and those humble houses tend to sit shoulder to shoulder lining the street all in a row.  I love a town where not only the mansions are adorned and gilded, but the tiniest of homes is dressed to the nines in gingerbread and stained glass.  I love a town where beauty is not reserved for a lucky few, but within the grasp of us all. 

TToT: Holding onto Hope

We had tickets to the symphony last night.  I was tired, and not in the least enthusiastic about leaving the house on a bitterly cold night that was promising to become icy.  In the end I was glad I did.

The program was a celebration of Black History Month.  It opened with pieces from Porgy and Bess; Gershwin is consistently good for my soul. Another set featured pieces by William Grant Sills, the first African-American to compose an opera.

Hands down my favorite part of the night was a powerful delivery of Martin Luther King Jr.'s I Have a Dream speech.  As the poetry of the words spoken in the rich tones of Richard Todd Payne's voice filled the auditorium, the symphony played Precious Lord, Take My Hand and We Shall Overcome in the background. The effect was incredibly moving.  Any residual hesitation about leaving the comfort of my home I might have still clung to melted away as Payne spoke of the symphony of brotherhood and my heart felt a sense of hope for our country that it hadn't felt in a long time.

Ten Things of Thankful

Gershwin

Music that soothes the savage soul

The wise and lovely words of Martin Luther King Jr

A reminder that this country has faced difficult times filled with hate and anger in the past, and has managed to weather the storm

A closely related reminder that this too shall pass

Strong voices who lead in peace through example

Winter

The arts

The company of my husband

My community

TToT: Light

In the midst of winter in a dark world, this sunbeam greeted me when I woke up Thursday morning. Shining its rainbow light on my happy sign, it just made me feel better about the world.  I experienced a particular pang of thankfulness reflecting on all the people who contribute to my personal happily ever after.

I have also noticed lately that the days are getting longer once again.  I am a winter person, but the realization that one day is a little longer than the day before just picks up my spirits this time of year.

I have been feeling healthy --both light of heart and light of step-- lately.  

The Annual Women's March makes my heart soar.  It restores my hope. It made me so proud that my grown kids participated.  As for me, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to serve on the poster committee giving me the opportunity to take part in my own introverted way. 

I believe love really does trump hate, and that light will overcome the darkness.  For that I am truly thankful.

tenthingsofthankful.blogspot.com

Missionary

The job you dreamed you wanted when you grew up.

While other kids were playing things like Kick the Can and Cowboys and Indians, my imagination took me to some odd places.  I played things like Democratic National Convention and a dramatic play game called Uncle Fargo and Aunt Margo which was nothing more than a thinly disguised plan concocted by my friend Chris and me in an effort to fan the flames of romance between her sister and my brother. But perhaps my perennial favorite fantasy play was Missionary.  

Lining my dolls up side by side I would evaluate their needs.  Some would be desperate for clothing, others required medical attention and all were in need of a nutritious meal. Dinners were served on the set of Blue Willow doll china I received one Christmas. Any dolls who had been orphaned were paired with suitable doll families.  Once these immediate needs were seen to, the preaching began immediately followed by academic instruction.

As an adult my work style might be best described as serial monogamy.  I am passionate about the work I do.  I throw myself into it completely.  Single-mindedly,  I tend to give until I am used up.

I then retreat for a period; I rest and refocus. After some self-care and soul searching I stumble onto the next vocation that sparks my interest--vocations that would seem quite familiar to the little girl at play so long ago.  I work very hard in each chosen field for several years until I have once again used up my reserves.

Though I have never journeyed to far off lands to find work as I did in my imagination during childhood, my work has seen me travel through multiple careers. After college I taught both elementary school and pre-school children.  Following grad school I spent several years as a social worker working with families.  I moved on to the job of Director of Children's Programming at my church.  Currently, I am back in the school system serving as School Social Worker to middle school students.

Looking back I would have to say I've been playing Missionary for a good long while now.  It is hard to imagine that will ever change.

Leaving Cedar Street

I climbed over my big brother onto the pickup seat next to my dad.  This was it, the last load.  When we left this time we would not be coming back.

The family had lived in other homes.  My siblings told lively stories about the Pearson house though I had no memory of it.  This was the only home I had known, the house on Cedar Street. I loved this house.

I hadn't wanted to get in the truck.  Hadn't wanted to leave. But when you are four no one asks your opinion.  You just have to go along.

As dad starts the truck I swing around backwards and climb up on my knees.   I ball my hands into angry fists and rest my chin on them with my elbows propped on the back of the seat. I never want to forget this place that I love.  I will keep it in my sights for as long as I possibly can memorizing every detail of it.

The engine sputters and we pull away.  One block on Cedar then a right on West Street. Not a long time to keep it in my sights.  It doesn't matter much anyway.  It is hard to see through clouds of tears.

http://www.mamakatslosinit.com

Childhood Neighborhood

This is my earliest memory.

All American Thanks

July 4th is always bittersweet to me.  It marks the half-way point of summer.  Sure enough my notification of the first day back to school popped up on my phone that very day leaving me feeling a bit melancholy.  

The glass-half-full side of this equation is that half of summer remains...long days of rest and restoration, days set aside to tick a number of items off my ongoing to-do list, days to spend along side family and friends.

Those remaining days of summer will be packed with some of my favorite things: vine-ripened tomatoes, juicy peaches, a family reunion, natural wonders in the sky, books, laughter, my own backyard, and no matter how messy things get summer brings me a joy in witnessing another year of democracy in the land that I love.

TToT

Formerly Mighty Oak

For the past three weeks Thursdays have come and gone with me hardly noticing.  This has meant I haven't been part of Mama Kat's Writers Workshop for a while.  It happened again this week, but I am slipping in late using as my excuse the prompt Yesterday I forgot to... 

MamaKat

For the past eighty-six years two pin oak trees have stood sentinel in front of my house.  By the time I arrived on the scene the trees towered over the house giving it the curb appeal that originally caught my eye.

Someone had the foresight all those years ago to plant two oaks on the front lawn of each house on the street.  I will never know if there was a wise city planner at work or if the homeowners banded together thinking of the canopy of green that would greet them each time they turned onto our street upon returning home.  What I am certain of is that someone thought of those of us who were yet to come.  Someone put in the labor and expense required to plant the saplings that grew to line my street for many years--years they themselves would not be around to see.

For two decades the care of these behemoths has fallen to us.  We have faithfully cut away the dead and dying branches.  My husband doses the oaks with iron suppositories every spring.  Time marches on and predictably the trees are showing signs of age just as an arborist once told us they would.  We believe we can baby one of the trees through a few more seasons, but things don't look as promising for the other oak.

Despite a recent trimming of all visible signs of death or decay, we spotted three more branches this afternoon that are clearly dead.  A pile of wood chips lies at the base of the tree.  Lift the chips into your hand and they crumble at your touch.  These brittle pieces of wood apparently come from within the tree, making us wonder what might be happening where the bark keeps us from seeing.  

We stood a long time looking up at the branches and then circling the base of the tree in silence, neither of us wanting to say what we both know to be true.  We need to take the tree down before gravity does it for us.  

I can't imagine the hole that will be left when the grand tree is felled, but I know that it will not be permanent.  We made a pact standing under the meandering branches.  Once someone we never knew planted an oak tree that has provided us shade and beauty. Now it is our turn.