Tag Archives: Thankful

Everyone Needs Help Sometime

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“It’s okay…I’ve been there before…Everyone needs help sometime…”

Deana was calling our store’s adopted “Christmas family” to get specific items they needed.  The person on the other line was overwhelmed.

Hearing Deana’s side of the phone conversation took me back to a time when one of my husband’s colleagues showed up on our doorstep with four or five bags of groceries.  It was 1983 or 1984.  My husband was teaching high school, I was home with a baby. We didn’t have two dimes to jingle in our pocket; it was a paycheck to paycheck life. 

Then the flu flattened us. The fridge had free space on every shelf. It was all we could do to make a fire, wrap a blanket around our shoulders, and stare at the wall. Dave Steen, a legendary high school baseball coach, called to check on our Thanksgiving plans. He listened to Curt’s explanation and heard the unspoken pathos between his words. 

And the next day there he was on our front porch.  Cheerful, matter of fact, generous.  Paper bags spilling over with groceries.

I felt embarrassed, relieved, exhausted, awkward, thankful, humbled, uneasy, shy. Reluctant to admit that we needed help and yet incapable of arguing otherwise.  
How grateful I am for that Thanksgiving. That pitiful, miserable, rotten Thanksgiving that turned a corner when our front door opened.  Admittedly, it’s easier to be thankful for hard times when they are in the rear view mirror.

Any of you been there?

Everyone needs help sometime.

Love Continuing in Gratitude

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We measure time by its deaths, yes, and by its births. 


For time is told also by life. 
As some depart, others come. 
The hand opened in farewell remains open in welcome.


[…] And time that is told by death and birth
 is held and redeemed by love, which is always present.
 Time, then, is told by love’s losses,
and by the coming of love,
and by love continuing in gratitude for what is lost. 

It is folded
and enfolded
and unfolded
forever and ever,
the love by which the dead are alive
and the unborn welcomed into the womb. 


The great question for the old and the dying,
I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough,
but if they have been grateful enough
for love received and given, however much. 
No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. 
Let us pray to be grateful to the last.

~ Wendell Berry in Andy Catlett

Aroma of the Soul

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I’m grateful for a slice of time,
that slippery, elusive commodity,
to be with our kids and their kids.

For Carson,
whose little bum I wiped,
offering me pointers on the art of diapering.

  We take pleasure in watching this man
giving baby-baths and piggy-backs.

For Levi, who at three weeks’ age
has the visage of an octogenarian.
His furrowed forehead seems to say,
“I reserve the right to withhold my opinion
until more data is in.”

For family extended,
our daughter-in-law’s parents,
whose lives are braided with ours
through our mutual grandsons.

Last night they taught us Hand & Foot,
soundly defeating our novice hands
and awakening that competitive urge for a rematch.

The joy of cooking is magnified
in a large kitchen with a common goal:
chopping vegetables,
gathering rosemary,
mixing biscuits,
slipping skin off peaches,
blending pastry,
stirring soup,
watching the pie.

Noah!
We wait for you to wake up,
to hear your happy vocals.
You repeat the sounding joy,
a face tilted back in laughter,
trying out every word you hear;
every word but one,
that ponderous word no.

I bless the day that Taryn entered Carson’s life.
She enriches those around her,
bringing beauty, depth, laughter and grace.
Feet pitter patter,
toys toggle between shelf and floor,
hungry stomachs growl.

Sleep deprivation can’t stifle
the aroma of this home,
 wafting up from contented souls.
The fragrance of good memories remains.

Be Always Coming Home

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Audrey and Carol in the middle, circa 1965

Several years ago, while reading a biography of Laura Bush, I discovered she takes an annual vacation with her childhood friends from elementary school.  I remember the very spot I was sitting when I read that. I loved the loyalty, endurance and comfort of those friendships.  It made me wistful.  Ah…wouldn’t that be grand?

Grand is too tame a word.  Wouldn’t it be…magnificent?

There were six girls that grew up together.  We didn’t all go to the same school, but we were together up to three times a week at church.  Our parents were the pillars. We are all the same age. We all have older siblings.  It seems strange by today’s nomadic standards, but our entire childhood was at the same church. 

1967 Lombard Awana Olympics Team

By the time we graduated from high school three families had moved to different parts of the country; we all went our ways.  And we just lost contact.  You know, the Christmas letter connection that fades away as life’s busyness intervenes.  Too many moves.

This summer, thanks to Facebook and siblings, we found each other.  And emails began flying back and forth at a furious speed.  Audrey is overseas, but planned to be in the states in September.  Would we, could we get together?  It seemed impossible, too grand.  But it is true! We booked a cabin so the six of us could reconnect.  We’re coming together from Albania, Arizona, Georgia, Oregon, Texas and Illinois.

I often tell my adult sons: Be always coming home.  

I see this reunion as a home-coming.  We shared the roots of our lives.  We are familiar with the incipient underground growth before we started greening up and blossoming.  How many friends know the entire structure/dynamics of your family of origin?  We’re eager to hear all those chapters that happened after the 1970s.  We want to know and be known. Between us, almost every heartbreak common to mankind has happened (lost a young parent, lost a young child, lost a marriage, family members with disabilities).  We all have a story.  And, amazing grace!, we all still love God. 

We simply want to be under the same ceiling, with time to talk. I am certain that I will learn things about myself just being with these friends.  We’ll have about 66 hours together.  We want to talk, laugh, cry, sing, pray, eat, giggle and sleep only if we must.  I anticipate healing will take place. 

I consider this coming weekend one of God’s great gifts in my life.  It is profound love. It is extravagant grace. It is a magnificent mercy.  Color me thankful.

Diamond Days

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Diamond days.
Rams, lambs, llamas, geese.
A bald eagle convention.
Bracing cold and piercing bright.
Grace multiplied.
Newborn babes with rosebud mouths.
Singing that carries you to heaven.
A grand slam sermon.
My husband, a car and a country road.
A cup of chai to go with sunset.
A heart quaffing mercies,
attempting to print these wonders
permanently in my memory.

O taste and see that the Lord is good.

Hospitality Practicum

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It’s a still, quiet morning, and I have to admit that November is growing on me.  It’s a hard act to follow September and October.  But most of the hustle and bustle of getting wood in, cleaning the garden, canning, and trading tees for turtlenecks has been accomplished. 

The great work of November is preparing to give thanks.  We’re excited to have extended family and family-by-extension join us in two weeks. And I have a new cookbook this year: Thanksgiving 101 by Rick Rodgers.  Yay!

Our recent trip to San Francisco has got me thinking.  We were the recipients of gracious hospitality at every stop along the way.  Hospitality is an art; I find myself needing refresher courses at various waypoints in my life. 

The best way to learn to be a host is to be a guest.

The best way to learn to be a guest is to host others.

Here’s a short practicum on what I’ve learned over the years up through last week:

~ As a host

    The most important thing is to be welcoming.  If you can see your guests arrive, go to them to meet and greet.  Thank them for coming.  If you are in the midst of a cleaning frenzy, stop.  People are more important.

    As a host, give your guests the best you can offer.  Bestow honor.

    Give instructions in advance if your shower has a peculiar operations system.

    If you have a guest room, a pleasant basket of goodies can include bottled water, lotion, a mint, magazine, pad of paper and pen. 

    Find ways to bless your guests as they go.  A sandwich to go, a bottle of water, a bag of scones.  On this trip, one of our hosts washed the windshield and windows of our car while we were packing up.  He learned it from a motel (*some* motel!) and has done it ever since.  It was a lovely grace.

~ As a guest

    The most important thing is to be thankful and appreciative.  Express thanks for the efforts made on your behalf.

    It is good to bring a small gift: a bottle of wine, a bunch of flowers, a bottle of lotion, a book (of course), a hunk of cheese, or a loaf of banana bread. 

    Be accommodating.  That means helpful and obliging.  Help set or clear the table.  If there are young children in the house, read them a book. 

    Let your host know in advance if you have dietary restrictions.  I will gladly make vegan dishes for vegan friends; but meat is the default at our house!

    Keep your things together and out of the way.  This applies even when your host has a relaxed housekeeping style. 

    If your host doesn’t mind, strip the bed linens before you leave.

    Write thank you notes.  Really organized people leave them on the pillow.  The rest of us mortals send them within, ahem, a month’s time!  

The wonderful thing is that hosting and guesting begin and end with thanksgiving.  Gratitude is the lubricant that smooths relationships. 

Bonk!

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One of the great joys of being Nana is watching my kids being Dada and Mama.  They have provided security and stability for their boys with lots of laughter and tickles, and plenty of good food.  When one faceplants and is smarting with pain, there are hugs, comfort and plenty of love.  And, sometimes, a bandage. 

But, if the bump, scrape or fall is one of the minor daily occurrences of toddlerhood the response is, “Bonk!” with a cheerful voice.  So often the child gauges his response by the adult’s response.  It is a joy to watch the teaching process involved in one word.  It says yes, you hurt yourself, but stand up and try again.  This is the kind of thing to ignore. 

I realized that my native tendency is the opposite of “Bonk!”  I really want Acknowledgement of the Struggles and Difficulties and Frustrations and Challenges of my life. I am a regular Florence Nightengale when it comes to nursing my own aches and stresses.  I need someone to say, So it was a hard day with barely time to catch a breath?  Bonk!  I need to remind myself every time the printer jams yet again…Bonk! 

And that is where gratitude enters.  Choosing to be thankful instead of choosing to mope and pout.   I think gratitude, like repentance, is a gift from our Creator.  That is my prayer this morning.  “Give me a thankful heart.”  And I need people around me to remind me to take the little problems of my life less seriously.  Bonk!

O Lord that lends me life,

Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.   


~ William Shakespeare

Isaiah’s Back!

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Oh my.  Around Easter, a friend produced a video of greetings for Isaiah, a young man in our church who survived a 350 ft. roll-over accident with critical head injuries and an extended coma.  As my friend ran the camera I told Isaiah I missed his faithful service with the sound system.  I also said I looked forward to the day he would be back with us, but got choked up and had to force the words through throat blockage and tears.

There were tears again today.  Tears of rejoicing.

Today, my friend, Isaiah was in church with us.  It’s incredible.  It’s unbelievable.  It’s a miracle.  Isaiah is back home, walking around, a little more quiet than usual, but ready with a smile.   He joined the guys on the lawn for a game of Frisbee.  He throws a mean Frisbee, but has a harder time catching it. 

He doesn’t remember the accident on March 31st or the first hospital.  He says his first thoughts when he woke up were that he was glad to be alive and thankful to God for preserving his life.

After the service I was chatting with Isaiah’s mom and noticed her pretty necklace.  She turned the pendant around and it had the word HOPE on it.  Her husband bought it for her the day after the accident. 

Isaiah–and his family–have more hills to climb.  He will continue therapy twice a week.  His father will tutor him in academic subjects.  The next glorious event is the wedding of his older brother at the end of the month.  Isaiah, of course, is in the wedding.

Right now, he is a walking display of God’s kindness.  Our hearts are swelling with thanksgiving.

Thankful, Spring Edition

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Sky_Lark_e09-1-072_l_1

photo credit: National Audubon Society

Thankful, Spring Edition

Fair sunshine and small flecks of green,
revealing treasures emerging,
an opened window, freshened air,
the deep inhaling of this grace.

Sorrow distilled,
ache and agony
poured in one vessel,
yearning for relief;
You who gather tears in a bottle,
hear our prayer.

For reunions in the produce section,
full-exposure answers to politely worded questions,
so satisfying an exchange
that we wonder
why
we ever let our friendship drift…

For a cataract of books,
flooding my shelves,
swamping my senses.
I splash
and sing
and scoop them up,
drenched in delight,
mesmerized by the mist
of so many nourishing words.

Balsamic vinegar,
fresh-squeezed lime,
tangy smooth yogurt,
crumbled cashews,
aroma of cilantro,
pan-fried asparagus,
savory lamb,
sweet oranges,
a cup of cold water.

For a well-placed chord or two,
a progression that knocks down
any preconceived notions,
a new way of hearing
a familiar tune.

For nicknames and
the way they bore
through apathy and passivity.
The current that keeps cracklin’
when I hear his voice say
“Hey, Babe!”

The foreshadow of Easter
in the springtime cycles:
awakening,
arising,
blooming,
growing,
lightening,
warming,
returning,
rejoicing.

The song of the crocus and daffodil,
the squeaks and chirps and outside noises,
The solid joy of this abiding truth:
Winter is past.
Death is dead.

Awake, my soul, and sing!

~

“Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
my daily thanks employ;
nor is the least a cheerful heart
that tastes those gifts with joy.”*

* Joseph Addison

More Thankful posts.