Kickin' & Screamin'

We’ve all heard the saying, being in the “right place at the right time.”  And really….when you think about it, every human alive today is a result of this very saying–in one way or another.  Perhaps you were conceived because your parents were just in the right place at the right time.  Had one little thing changed during the course of their day, perhaps you would have never been.  Yes, they would have most likely conceived at another time…but YOU–the exact YOU  that you are today…might have never been.

Many of us are where we are today because of that perfect moment….something, somewhere along the way, had us in the right place at the right time.   A chance meeting with an old friend….a good deed at the right moment…perhaps a job opening at the exact time you desperately needed employment.

Many couples claim that their romance only began because of a chance meeting…because each of them were in the right place at the right time.  Many of these relationships have lasted longer than some of us have been alive, because of that one moment when each of them happened to be exactly where they were at the right moment…linking them with the one they would spend the rest of their lives with.

Sometimes the feeling of being in the right place at the right time can be a fleeting moment of laughter.  I broke quarantine today to head up to the Home Depot for some yard supplies.  Don’t judge….my yard work is keeping me sane, and trust me– sanity is most definitely the direction I should be striving towards these days. As I quickly bustled through the garden department wearing my lovely mask (hand crafted by a sweet friend….so, yeah…I was feeling kinda cute)…I tripped.  I mean, I tripped bad.  And often, when I trip, I scream.  I don’t know why…but I always scream.  Like an idiot.  Somehow, my brain insists on adding even more attention to the fact that I’m already toppling down to the ground, dropping a tray of begonias as I go… but the added scream was a surefire way to guarantee that everyone in that garden department saw my not-so-pretty exhibit.  Good times.

As I approached the register to pay, carefully waiting six feet behind the gentleman ahead of me, I noticed him looking back at me.  I figured he was just admiring my cute mask or my “ask me about my cats” t-shirt.  He looked me up and down and finally asked, “Are you okay?”  Before having a chance to answer his unexpected question, he said “that tumble you took over there was EPIC.  I was ready to help you up if you’d gone all the way down.”  I burst in to laughter, and he quickly joined me…as I could tell that he was holding back laughter from the beginning of our conversation.  He went on to add, “I’m sorry….but I’ve just had a really hard week, and I needed a good laugh more than you could ever imagine.  I’m sorry to be laughing at you.”  I told him that I was very happy to provide him with a laugh.

I don’t know why his week had been so hard.  Maybe just the quarantine?  Maybe he has a sick loved one.  Maybe he’s lost his job.  I’ll never know.  But he was in the right place at the right time to see my graceful fanfare, and I’m glad.

So, all of this has me thinking about this shelter-in-place.  The COVID-19.  The scare.  The nervousness.  The fact that we don’t even know what “normal” is anymore.

Are we, perhaps, at the right place at the right time?  Right now?

I know that I am practicing shelter-in-place with my daughter.  We are spending more time together.  We’re playing games.  We’re putting puzzles together.  We’re laughing.  We’re dancing.  We are growing.

We aren’t going to restaurants.  We aren’t going to movies.  We aren’t going shopping.

Every minute that we would normally spend doing those things is a minute spent bonding together.  Experiencing happiness.  Simple happiness.  Nothing fancy….just staying at home and making the best of each and every day.

When I’m much older, I will look back on these days with fond memories.  Sure, I’ll also remember the sadness of hearing of those who’ve passed away from the virus.  I’ll remember the stories of those who can’t even plan a proper memorial service for their lost loved ones.  I’ll remember the stories of those who can’t visit their parents in the hospital.  I’ll remember the stories of those who have lost money.  Lost jobs.  Lost more than they think they’ll ever get back.

But I’ll also remember the simpleness.  The baking of cakes and singing in the kitchen.  Working in the yards, finding birds nests and planting flowers. Listening to music on the front porch while eating dinner.  Writing letters to friends.  Paying it forward by delivering highly coveted toilet paper to a friend, after the same kind gesture was done for me weeks before.  Watching movies I’ve watched five times before, but crying this time….because I see everything differently now.  Songs make me cry now…songs that I didn’t even know the lyrics to before all of “this” happened.

My daughters laughter has always been one of the most beautiful sounds in the world…but now it gives me chills.  It brings happy tears to my eyes.

My Mothers voice makes me love her even more.  She is beginning to sound just like my grandmother.  And I’m beginning to sound just like her.

I’m praying more.  I’m reading my Bible more.  I’m crying more happy tears.  I’m singing more.  I’m appreciating every single day.  I’m in the right place.

This is only happening because of what is happening in our world.  I’m in the right place, at the right time.  Were it not for what’s happening, I wouldn’t be in this place…the state of being that I’m in right now.  I’d be somewhere else.  Mentally.  Emotionally.  Even physically.  I’d simply be somewhere else.  I bet the same is true for you.

Let’s all be in the right place, at THIS time.  This crazy, scary time.   And let’s be the RIGHT PERSON for this time.  This unbelievable, different time.  Let’s be a person who stays positive.  A person who prays.  A person who will strive to remember how this felt, and never, ever take things for granted again.

It’s hard for some to believe, or understand.  But we ARE in the right place right now.  We are where God wants us.  We need to learn from this.  I will learn different things than you….for my heart needs different things than yours.  We will all change, in different ways.  We will all grow, in different ways.  We will all come out of this different than we were before.

We’re in the right place, at the right time.  Let’s strive to be the RIGHT PERSON in the right place, at this time.

We’ve got this!

God Bless….

 

Oh, how I’ve missed writing.  I’ve had many thoughts I wanted to share over the past few weeks, but they remained in my head (a scary place to live, no doubt), as I haven’t been able to type until today–my first attempt in weeks. (But YAY!  I can do it now….very slowly)  A broken wrist has interfered with my writing and life in general and it’s been a huge bummer.  I hope this finds you all safe and healthy in this rather scary time of not really knowing what’s going on, and what’s to happen.

Those who know me well know how much I love animals.  My heart desires to help them all–providing love and homes and security.  I surely can’t help them all, but I’ve certainly taken on my share with my three dogs and six (yes, SIX) cats.   The cats are cats.  They don’t care if I’ve had a good day or bad, they’re weird and moody, and I’m pretty sure at least one of them is plotting my death.

Dogs, on the other hand are the most loyal companions of all.  As Annabel Goldsmith penned,  “A dogs love is unconditional, and its companionship unsurpassed.”  Each day as I arrive home, whether having been gone for ten minutes or ten hours, my dogs greet me with excitement comparable to none other.  I often wonder what our world would be like if we as humans were truly that happy to see each other, day after day.  It would no doubt be quite a sight to see.

On the afternoon of January 27, my big, long-legged Karl was over the moon with happiness to see me, though I had only been gone for a few hours.  His happy, running fit led him to sweep my legs right out from under me, causing me to fall so hard–I’m certain the shingles on the roof actually shook.  For about three seconds, I thought the scariest part was how hard I hit my head on the hardwood floor.  Then the real pain hit…the pain in my left wrist.  Finding out shortly after at the local urgent care it was broken in two places, my 50 year streak of no broken bones ended.  All that “knock on wood” stuff had let me down terribly.

For all of you who have had a broken hand, arm, wrist–anything that has kept you from being able to use both of your hands…let me just apologize right now for never realizing how BAD you had it.   Jeez Louise, there are so many things you just can’t do with one hand. While in my hard cast,  I think the hardest was trying to pull my pants up.  And when I say “pants” let me clarify that I wore the same three pair of yoga pants for six weeks, because they could be pulled on with no zippers or buttons.  I actually tried to look decent one time and decided to try a pair of “jeggings”….figuring the denim would at least be a notch nicer than my usual look.  I pulled and pulled with my good hand, finally getting those suckers pulled up almost to my waist, then accidentally let go of the waistband, causing my hand to go flying up quickly, smacking myself on my face. I fully expected to have a bruise on my cheek the next morning.  Such a graceful move on my part.

Showering, washing my hair, washing my face, driving, cooking, scooping cat litter for the little devils plotting my demise, eating, doing laundry….the list goes on and on.  Things that make you realize how thankful we should be for two functioning hands.

One of my favorite days was when I realized I am apparently incapable of pushing a grocery cart with one hand.  I couldn’t keep the dang thing straight.  I ran over a woman’s foot (she was not very pleased with me), banged so hard into the shelf of bananas that three bunches fell to the floor (but ONE bunch fell into my cart–that was pretty impressive), and most embarrassingly, I knocked over an entire display of Stacy’s pita chips.  Ahhhh, good times.

What I missed most, however, had nothing to do with my hands and the inability to use one of them.  It was my hikes.  My walks in the woods.  No, I don’t hike on my hands (but that would be a sight to see, no?) but I was actually afraid to walk for several weeks on anything other than a flat surface (which still proved tricky at times if a grocery cart was involved).   My doctor warned me that a second fall could injure me to the point of requiring emergency surgery, and possibly never having full range of motion in my left hand again.  Every time I dreamed of a hike, I imagined myself tripping on a rock, stumbling over a tree root (things that actually happen quite often), and falling on my injured arm.  So I stopped.  For weeks, I stayed scared and idle.

But yesterday, I realized I simply couldn’t do that anymore.  I couldn’t continue to live in fear of additional injury.  My desire to get outside in nature overwhelmed me.  Of course, some of this desire was simply due to the fact that is was actually sunny, and NOT raining (Lord help us here in Georgia with all this rain)…and like so many others, I just needed some air.  Some sun and air.

I drove to my favorite local trails and I set off on my hike.  With my music playing in my earbuds, I felt like I was human again.  But I was still scared.  I couldn’t look up.  I had to carefully watch every single step that I made.  I fear the tripping, the wrong step, anything that might make me fall.  Though I enjoyed my first hike in weeks, I never looked up.  I didn’t look at the trees, the lake, nor did I look up to try to spot the birds that I could hear chirping loudly over my music.  I kept my head low, in fear.  But the important thing was–I was moving.  I was back.  I was doing my thing…hiking through those trees that I love so much.

I realized through all of this that many of us are living our lives in a similar fashion these days.  We’re afriad.  We fear this time in our lives….hearing all of the frightening stories on the media about the coronavirus.  Learning that our children’s schools will be closed for at least a week, possibly more.  Hearing that major sporting events are cancelled.   Courthouses, amusement parks, restaurants…closed.   Libraries, museums, universities…closed.  People in panic, stocking up on groceries and supplies.

People trudging on, day after day….keeping their head down.  Not looking up to see the beauty that still exists. Keeping their eyes on their feet as they simply get through the day, hoping to stay safe and healthy.  Scared of what will happen if they don’t.

My timid hike made me think so much of our current situation.  I hope that my next hike will bring me a bit more confidence, a bit less fear.  And I wish this upon all of you as we push through the next few days…the next few weeks.  Let’s try to hold our heads up to see all the goodness there’s still to see.  Let’s not live in fear.  Yes–we need to use our common sense and take precautions…but let’s not feel defeated.  For, we are NOT defeated.  We’re going through something rough, like a broken bone.  But broken things  heal.  Not always perfectly….not always the way we want, but healing will–in time, occur.

God bless you all, as we live through this strange time.   For, no matter how hard times are, we must meet it face to face and keep on keeping on.  If you catch yourself staring at your feet in fear of a wrong step, look up.  Look up and thank God for what you have.  Even if you look right back down at your feet again, at least you took that one moment to be thankful in the midst of a storm.

This too shall pass.

God Bless.

 

Sweet Karl….whose happiness I wish I could bottle and share with others.

Hello, 2020.  Nice to meet you.

Today was an awesome New Years Day.  Mom cooked the traditional collard greens and black eyed peas, pork and her perfect cornbread, and we ate and laughed and ate some more.  I went for a hike and thanked God for the beautiful sunshine, and I took time to rest, taking full advantage of the old wives tale that says you shouldn’t clean your house or do laundry on New Years Day.

As I hiked through the woods today, I thought of this year to come.  I don’t do resolutions, but I do often do a lot of thinking this time of year…pondering on what might be in the near future.  What exciting events might occur in 2020….some expected and some a complete surprise.  The past couple of years have been chocked full of not-so-great surprises, so some good happenings would be greatly appreciated….most definitely.

I turned the big 5-0 in 2019.  I dreaded it terribly, soooo terribly.  But when the day came, I suddenly felt fine with it.  I decided that I was, indeed, Sally O’Malley from Saturday Night Live (and if you’re not familiar with Sally, stop right now and look her up on YouTube… seriously….NOW)  “I like to KICK!  Stretch!  And…KICK!”  Why not make it fun?  Why not make 50 my best year?

Well, tomorrow is January 2….my “half-birthday” so to speak, so I’m already halfway through with this being 50 business.  I’ve kicked ass pretty well so far, but I can do better. I’d like to up my game these next six months.

I will say, every now and then, this getting older thing trips me up just a bit.  Just this past weekend, Ella and I were in Nashville enjoying a wonderful Mommy/Daughter trip.  As I walked into the bathroom of our hotel room, I noticed a big magnifying mirror hanging on the wall.  One of those that you could pull out from the wall and angle just right, to apply make-up, shave, or whatever.  This sucker wasn’t just a triple magnifier.  It was at least five times the normal magnification.  AT LEAST.  Maybe more.  Have you ever looked at your face in one of those?  Oh dear Lord in heaven….it’s just awful.  Every wrinkle looks like a huge river.  Every blemish is so pronounced.  It is, no doubt, absolutely terrifying.  If you’ve never looked at yourself in a mirror that strong….just DON’T.  Avoid them at all costs.  And shame on that hotel for installing those.  SHAME on them.  The first time I hollered out in shock, as I looked in to that mirror, Ella ran to the bathroom door to find out what the problem was.  I answered, “oh nothing….I’m just old and haggard, apparently…and this hotel is just mean!”

I spent the next ten minutes “freshening up” as Ella waited….for I didn’t dare walk out of that room looking as pathetic as that horrible mirror had made me feel.  Once I got myself together, I took a deep breath and hung a hand towel over that evil contraption as I walked out of the bathroom.

The next time we got into my car, Ella wanted to listen to music from my phone.  She hit the button on the stereo to switch from local radio to my collection of music.  I have hundreds of songs in my music….and anything at all could have started playing.  Ella likes to hit “shuffle” and just see what comes on, and sometimes it’s a funny surprise, as there are still a few songs I’ve not yet deleted from my elementary teaching days.  Just a few days before, she hit shuffle and “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” started playing, and she thought it was hilarious.

This time, the song seemed to be cosmically chosen to accompany the fact that the evil bathroom mirror had truly hurt my feelings.  Brandi Carlile began to sing “The Story” and the first few lines were clearer to me than they’d ever been before:

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am

YEP.

You know what?  I’ve earned all of these lines across my face, and I most definitely have a story to tell.  And without those stories, I wouldn’t be where I am.  And where I am is a good place.  A better place than I deserve.  A better place than I ever imagined.  So, TAKE THAT, you evil hotel bathroom mirror!

The next morning, I took the towel off of that mirror and I looked in to it again, this time smiling.  As I smiled, I noticed how many more wrinkles seemed to appear.  Though that could be depressing, I think it’s pretty cool…we have wrinkles that we’ve developed because of smiling.  With smiling often comes laughter.  Laugh wrinkles!  I love it.

Ella got a kick out of that mirror, as even she–at the ripe old age of 13– noticed things about her face that she’d never noticed before.  “I have a freckle in my eyebrow!” she yelled out, giggling.  “Wow, I really DO have a lot of eyelashes!”….agreeing with what I’ve told her many times. Oh, what I’d give to have that girl’s eyelashes.

That evil mirror become a fun thing to her….and eventually, to me.  As Ella put it, “this thing helps you see things you didn’t know were there!”

For a 13 year old, that’s fun.  For a 50 year old…kinda scary.  But also fun.  I just needed to remind myself that my wrinkles and age spots have been earned by a life well-lived.  A life of ups and downs.  A life with sorrow, a life of laughter.  I life with sadness, a life with joy.  Wonderful, abundant joy.

Simply….a life.

LIFE

There’s a famous quote that says “the best part of the art of living is to know how to grow old gracefully.”  

hmmm….gracefully?  Let’s define that:

GRACEFULLY
[ˈɡrāsfəlē]

1)  in an attractively elegant way.
2) in a respectful and dignified way.

I used to possess definition number one–somewhat.  When I was younger, I performed all the time.  Opera, solo performances, recitals, etc…. and my friends used to laugh at how I seemed to only have “stage grace.”  I would walk onto that stage with the utmost grace, looking as elegant and professional as I possibly could.  Then once I left the stage, I would no doubt trip over my own feet backstage simply trying to get to the dressing room.  One time, I tripped and fell over absolutely nothing as soon as I left the stage, and literally rolled ten feet across the backstage area as my fellow performers laughed until they cried.  I ripped my costume so badly, I had three women gathered around me  (still laughing) with safety pins, trying to get me put back together before I went back on stage.   I guess I only had grace when I knew the audience was watching–when I was performing…but in real life, I was the clumsiest person around.  And unfortunately, it just gets worse with age.  I can still trip over absolutely nothing,  better than anyone. I really should get an award for it.

Definition number two is harder to achieve, in my opinion.  To act gracefully– in a respectful and dignified way.  To possess this type of grace, we must know when to take the high road.  When to bow out of a conversation that we know might get uncomfortable–perhaps to the point of hurting or offending someone.  Know when to keep our mouths closed.  Know when to keep our opinions to ourselves.  That’s a tough one.

Though I’m getting worse at definition number one, I hope that I’m getting better at the second.  It takes practice.  But, if we want to be good humans and strive to not hurt others….being respectful and dignified is crucial.

So maybe I can manage to grow old gracefully, as I stumble and trip and fall into the room.  Maybe I can maintain a bit of dignity as I pull myself up off the floor.

Earlier tonight, I told Ella that I needed to grab a few things at the drug store tomorrow.  She quickly said “oooh!  we should get one of those funky mirrors!”  And I replied, “absolutely NOT.”

I don’t need THAT much of a reminder.  I’d be fine if I never looked in one of those mirrors again.  But an occasional reminder is nice.  A reminder that growing older is okay.  And there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it.

Every morning we awake we are a day older.   And hopefully, we’re also thankful to have awaken.  Thankful to be given one more day to live our best.  With grace?  Maybe. With a grateful heart?  Most definitely.

We’ll all grow a year older in 2020….some of you may have a birthday coming up soon, others later.  When it comes, no matter your age, embrace it with joy!  Be thankful to be given another birthday.  And if you really want to see what life’s done to you, go ahead and pick up one of those mirrors in the drug store.  But don’t freak out like I did at first…just laugh.  Because the coolest wrinkles are the ones that show when we laugh.

May 2020 bring you LOTS of laughter.

God Bless

 

Merry Christmas, all!  My hope is that you’ve all had a blessed and happy holiday with your families.  But no doubt….there’s someone out there who has barely made it through…for the holidays can be hard for many.  Some of you might be barely hanging on…

“Hang on.”  It’s a short phrase I’ve said to myself a thousand times.  I bet you’ve said it too.  Just keep hanging on.  As the year comes to an end, I realize this common phrase has two meanings to me.  The many times I’ve mumbled it to myself, I was telling myself to keep on going.  Don’t give up.  Assuring myself that I CAN do this….whatever the task might be.  The phrase has brought me some comfort, brought me some assurance –as I tended to believe that I could indeed hang on and keep moving forward, if only a little bit.  It’s also brought me frustration, as I have often found myself sick of hearing it.  I remember getting angry a couple of years ago, after going through the loss of my husband, when a friend with good intentions sent me a card through the mail.  It had a little frog on it, barely hanging on to a branch.  The message on the outside of the card said “Hang in there!”  It infuriated me.  Was she really telling me to hang in there?  How dare she?  After what I just went through?  Then I opened the card to see the rest of the message, which said “God’s got this.”  At the bottom, was the scripture Philippians 4:13, I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.

I was humbled.  I was ashamed.  I was quickly sorry for feeling anger towards my friend, who truly wanted to help.  The card that, at first, I wanted to throw in the trash ended up on my refrigerator for the following year.  Many evenings, after a rough day, I would look at that silly little red-eyed frog, and I’d say to him….”I did,” as I gave him a fist pump or a high five.  I didn’t care how insane I felt talking to and high-fiving a greeting card on my fridge.  For, I had hung in there another day.   Those days became weeks, months, and now a couple of years of hanging in there.  And, I guess this so called “hanging” is indeed good for the heart, as I have grown stronger.  Those three words that used to rub me the wrong way now come out of my mouth quite a bit, as I often notice that I’m saying them to others.  I do, however, try to always follow up those words with a reminder that “God’s got this.”  Sometimes I even add on ….. “trust me, I know.”   I do know.  I really do.

As the year comes to an end, I think of the second meaning of the much used phrase, “Hang on.”  I think of things that we hang on to.  Either literally, or within our hearts and mind.  Many of us, including myself, often do a year-end clean out.  We go through things that we’ve hung on to for a bit too long.  Whether it be clothes in out closets or other items around the house, the end of the year brings on a desire to declutter.  Maybe we’re making more room for the things we’re about to accumulate through Christmas.  Perhaps we yearn to greet the new year with less “stuff” and more hope.  More dreams.  More excitement for what is to come.

And often, the year end brings sadness.   To many, the arrival of New Years Eve brings a feeling of bleakness.  Some of us feel lonely.  Some feel scared…not knowing what the new year will bring.  And some feel emptiness, because things they have held on to have somehow not fulfilled them as they’d hoped.  And for many of us, the year end brings a revelation that we simply need to let go of some things that we’ve held on for too long.  Our heart convinces us that it’s time….the end of the old year, the beginning of a new one–what better time to let go, and STOP holding on.

Hold on! HOLD ON!  We tell ourselves that so often.  But when that time comes, to finally let go….it can be quite a moment.  To do the opposite of holding on….to LET GO.

As I write, I ask myself…WHAT have I had to finally let go of?  What have I held on to for too long?  With a tight grip?  Convincing myself that I’m simply not ready or able to let go?

Anger….most definitely.  Anger over what happened in my life.  Anger at God.  Anger at everything.  Anger that ate me up, from the inside out.  It crippled me for weeks, then months.  Then one night almost two years ago, I laid on the floor in my bathroom and cried until I felt it leave.  I felt it leave my body, and I have no doubt where it went.  It went to God Himself, who took it from me, and replaced it with hope.  Never, EVER had letting go of something hurt so bad, yet felt so amazing. So comforting.  So right.

The hope of a perfect life.  I wish I could say I was smart enough to have never expected this.  I mean, nothing is perfect…right?  But for a very short time, I felt like I had it….and when we have something we love for a short while, we quickly get used to it.  It becomes a habit.  And if it’s a good habit, we want it to last forever.  Not only did it not last, but it spiraled downhill so fast I thought I’d never recover from the fall.  But I did, and in doing so I realize that perfection is a pipe dream.  I no longer expect perfection, and I thrive in the chaos that is absolutely NOT perfection in my life.  I have so much imperfection going on now, it’s become my new habit.  My new happy.  I’m the farthest  from perfect that you’ll ever find, and that is totally okay.  This actually makes me think of another thing that many of us humans need to let go of….and that’s caring about what others think.  WHO CARES?  Why do so many of us waste so much of our lives worrying about what others think of us?  I’ve learned to make decisions that make me happy, and that are best for my daughter.  Then, like a contestant on a game show who has bet everything, jumping up and down, hoping they’ve make the right decision that will win them the big prize….I smile and jump in with both feet.  If I fail, OH WELL…..I’m still alive and I’m still happy.  Did I look like an idiot?  Absolutely!!!  Do I lay awake at night and worry about what others think?  Nope.

There are things I will hold on to forever….pieces of my life before.  They might be physical items that make me smile when I look at them, or memories that I pray I’ll never lose.

And there are things that I’ve had to let go.  Both physical items and memories.  Feelings, opinions, even people.

It’s okay.  It’s okay to let go.  HANG ON as long as you can, as hard as you can.  And then, do the exact opposite.  Just let go.  LET GO of whatever it is….then don’t look back and wonder if you did the right thing.  You did.

As 2019 ends, I’m still hanging in there.  I’m the frog who looks like I’m about to fall off the limb at any minute.  But my secret is, my grip is actually stronger than it looks.  My hiney might be dangling in the air, but I got this.  And better–GOD’S got this.

I look forward to 2020.  I look forward to how much my daughter will grow and change.  I look forward to new opportunities, perhaps even new people.

I’ll screw up, no doubt.  I’ll make stupid mistakes, and yet another year will pass by without me being the recipient of the “Best Decision Maker” award.  Oh well….it’s all good.

Hang in there!

…..then, Let Go

God Bless!

Those who know me well might giggle over this…but I’ve taken up yoga.  I know I’m an unlikely candidate, for an hour long yoga session means I actually have to be quiet for an hour, but I’m kicking it–thank you very much.  It is bringing me inner peace, additional physical fitness, and a true sense of relaxation.

Other than one time–when a tall, slim 20-something year old plopped down right in front of me–I am usually the youngest in my two classes, other than the teacher.  I’m a bit possessive of this fact, so young-uns need not attend my classes to strip me of that title.  Let me have that one thing….I mean, come on.

One of my favorite parts of each class is the conversations that occur during the few minutes before each class starts.   During a 10-15 minute period when we’re all getting settled, spreading our mats across the floor in our chosen spot, interesting conversation always begins.  Some prime topics have been:  overly amorous husbands (not awkward at all)…. shingles (yikes…that poor woman!), too-close bear encounters (yoga lovers tend to be nature lovers as well)…. and pie crust recipes (yes, I did take a few notes).  However, this morning the topic was heated toilet seats.  Apparently, the two bathrooms in our yoga studio don’t have their own heat vents…therefore, they are quite cold on chilly mornings like today.  As one of the women emerged from the cold bathroom before class began, she exclaimed “my bum is in shock!”  Not realizing what exactly she was referring to, I was a bit taken aback.  I mean, anyone yelling anything about their bum as they exit a bathroom can be a little concerning.  After a bit, I learned she was talking about how cold the toilet seat was.  One of my fellow yogis shared with us all that she proudly had heated toilet seats in her home.  Two more ladies quickly added that they also have the luxury of these heated toilet seats.  I’m started to feel a little left out….hmmm, should I look in to this?  I mean, those middle of the night trips to the loo can truly freeze your hiney, right?

My favorite part of this conversation was when one of the proud heated toilet seat owners announced “I am so thankful for mine.” We all giggled a bit, thinking that these heated toilet seats were an odd item to actually be thankful for…as she asked “What??  I love them, and I’m thankful for them!  You can be thankful for the tiniest things you want!”  I quickly took note of that last sentence, as everyone continued to laugh, while agreeing with her.  You can be thankful for the tiniest things you want. I love it!  And HOW TRUE.

Most of us have the same type things on our list of things we are most thankful for…right?  Family, friends, our home, our health, our jobs, and the list goes on and on, usually listing items categorized into the “big stuff.”  But what about the little things?

I think kids definitely do a better job at this than adults.  A while before Thanksgiving, I told Ella she only had sixty seconds to list ten things she was truly thankful for.  Her list was pretty awesome:

1.  Our many, many (so many) animals
2. Her Mommy (yesss!)
3. Buffalo Chicken Dip (see what I mean?  The small stuff!)
4. Laughter (that’s actually HUGE)
5. The Office (her favorite TV show…don’t judge me, please)
6.  Her good grades on her report card
7.  All the leftover Halloween candy (it’s all gone now…I helped)
8. NiNi (my Mom)
9.  Pretty sunrises and sunsets
10. Her Friends

A nice, nice mixture of big and small. With only one minute to think, she did great.  Maybe we take too long to think, sometimes.  We always tend to think that we must imagine the BIG picture when thinking of what we are thankful for.  But if you stick to the moment you’re in–right now–what would you say?

Right at this very moment, I’m thankful for this hot cocoa I’m sipping.  I’m thankful for the pine scented candle burning nearby.  I’m thankful for the quietness. I’m thankful for my messy house, which I’m currently ignoring.  If I had nothing to scatter around, it wouldn’t be so messy.

I asked Ella to do the same thing a few days later, but this time I gave her one rule:  No big stuff at all.  Just little things.  Once again, pretty awesome:

1. turkey sandwiches
2. pillows
3. Christmas ornaments
4. sleeping dogs who love to cuddle
5.  rainy nights
6.  warm clothes straight from the dryer
7.  Dairy Queen blizzards
8.  toothpaste
9.  the sound of cats purring
10.  pictures of friends and family

BAM.

The big things are important.  If we didn’t have them, our lives would be something we probably can’t even imagine.  No house, job, family….it would be our worst nightmare.  But without the little things, we’d be bored.  Bored, living with the big stuff….but not knowing how to appreciate the little stuff.  I’m not only thankful for the small stuff, but I’m thankful that I have learned to appreciate each and every little thing.

Sometimes, these little things can actually be annoyances that can, and do, at times fall completely off of the list of things we are thankful for.  But would we rather have a bigger problem?  Of course not.  We often have to remind ourselves to be thankful for the little issues, because they’re just that–LITTLE.    As I sit here at my kitchen counter writing, the sound of my dripping faucet is scratching at my last nerve.  Sure, it’s my own fault for neglecting to call a plumber day after day.  But would I rather have a bigger problem of no water at all?  Nope.

(note to self….call that plumber)…..but be thankful in doing so.

I’m thankful for the cold, rainy morning we had today.  That led to the cold bathroom in the yoga studio, that lead to the funny conversation about heated toiled seats, that led to me feeling like doing a little blogging today.  One thing leads to another, to another, and to another…..with each of those things usually being something we should be thankful for.  We often don’t.  But we should.

I’m thankful for you–whoever you are.  If you’re reading this, then yep–I’m talking to you.  Because of you–my silly thoughts would just remain my own.  But if you’re reading, it’s like I got to share my thoughts with you today.

Let’s all be thankful for the small stuff.  Make your own list. There’s a lot…. take time to realize it, enjoy it, and be thankful for it.

 

 

 

Scrolling through Facebook this afternoon, I ran across a post from a former high school classmate. She had posted a childhood picture of herself and her older brother, in which she was wearing a big red football helmet.  She was around three years old in the picture, and looked super happy.  Happy and protected.   She states in her post that she wore the helmet everywhere, that is was all the protection she needed.  After all, “nothing can hurt you if you are wearing a big red football helmet!”

Knowing that this friend has recently been through some personal trials, I’m sure there have been some days when she’d love nothing more than to once again be protected by her big red football helmet. When she was three, she no doubt felt safe in that helmet, in the way we felt safe in our pillow forts built in the living room.  You remember…the sheets strewn across the room, tied to chairs and filled with pillows. The coziness of snuggling under that fort, ready to tell stories with flashlights and popcorn.  Perhaps that helmet gave her the same safe feeling of a grandparents hug, or the warmth of snuggling with the family pet in front of the fireplace, or maybe the peacefulness of being tucked in by Mom after she’s read your favorite book to you for the twentieth time.  Kid stuff.  Kid comfort.  Things that made us feel safe and protected.

Perhaps her big red football helmet helped her feel invincible.  Maybe it lessened her fear of falling off the monkey bars or slipping off the slide.  Maybe it was the physical feeling of that protection on her head that provided great comfort.

As kids, most of us had some type of physical item that provided security.  Most babies have pacifiers, or their tiny little thumb.  As we grew older, we would latch on to a favorite stuffed animal, toy or blanket.  Mine was the beloved blue “binky.”  A small, tattered blue blanket that went everywhere I went.  My binky.  Though it didn’t protect me physically, that ragged blue blanket was my big red football helmet.  Security.  Comfort.

The sad thing is, we’re expected to “adult” at some point in our lives, and hanging on to our security items would most likely be frowned upon.  Though, I’ve seen the day when I would have taken that old blue binky to the grocery store with me if I had thought it would have given me more strength to carry on.

When Ella came home from Guatemala, I took a hiatus from teaching in public school to take part in the best job in the whole wide world–being a stay at home Mom.  The pay was rough, but the love was amazing.  When Ella turned two, I decided she needed to socialize a bit more, so we both found our spot at a local preschool program.  I began teaching a class of tiny two year olds, and Ella’s class was right down the hall. One of the little girls in my class brought a Tinkerbell doll with her every single day.  She spent every morning holding it tight in her little hand.  It laid in her lap during story time. It went to the bathroom with her.  We even used our extra chair at the lunch table to let Tinkerbell have her own seat.

I’ll never forget the beautiful fall day that her Mom walked her into my classroom, pulling me to the side, whispering into my ear that they had accidentally forgotten Tinkerbell.  Mom had realized it right as they pulled in to the parking lot, and didn’t have time before work to return home to get it.  I was horrified.  I felt like she was leaving me with a ticking time bomb.  I knew that, once she realized Tinkerbell wasn’t in attendance that day, my tiny little student would lose it.  I had seen that look in her eyes once before and I truly did NOT want to see it again.  We had accidentally left Tinkerbell in the classroom once before, to take a walk on the nature trail.  The meltdown was so bad, I had to leave my class with another teacher while I sprinted back to the building to retrieve good old Tink, feeling like a superhero who had saved the day once I returned.

It was a hard day.  Many tears were shed.  An hour or so into the morning I realized that I had become Tinkerbell.  My little student had a tight grip on me and didn’t leave my side all day.  She cried when I told her I had to use the restroom–alone.  This made no sense to her, as she assumed we would just go together…just like she does with Tinkerbell.  We made it through, me and my new little shadow, until the end of the day when Mom arrived to pick her up.  Mom had gone home during her lunch break to fetch beloved Tinkerbell, and my little friend was absolutely bubbling over with happiness when she saw her long lost best buddy.

I enjoyed being Tinkerbell for the day.  I actually hoped I might get another chance, but she never again forgot to bring her doll to school.

Sure, as her teacher, I could have tried to encourage her to spend a few minutes each day without that tight grasp on Tinkerbell.  I could have tried to help her release whatever insecurities she had, making her feel as though she HAD to have that doll with her at all times.  But I just knew it was too soon.  She was only two.  She needed that doll.  For whatever reasons, she felt safe with Tinkerbell, and terrified without her.  She had Tinkerbell in her little hand on the last day of school that year, and didn’t return the following year.  After hearing that her family had moved away, I thought of her almost every day for quite a while.  She would be 13 now–Ella’s age.  I’m sure she eventually let Tinkerbell go.  I wonder when it happened.  I wonder where she was when she realized Tinkerbell had been left at home.  I wonder if her parents “forgot” Tinkerbell on purpose one day, to see how she’d handle it.  I wonder if she had a meltdown, or if she was okay.

I don’t remember the first time I left home without my blue binky.  I don’t know if I got scared or sad once I realized I’d left it behind.  Maybe I panicked, maybe I cried.  But that day was the first of many….for eventually, I left that binky at home for good.  I didn’t feel like I needed it anymore.  I felt secure without it.

As an adult, I’ve had many days that I would have given just about anything to feel comfort and security.  Oh, to be a child again….a child that can be comforted with a favorite toy, that blue binky, or a big red football helmet.  Oh, to be back in the pillow fort, giggling and feeling protected from the world.

I guess, as adults, we still have our security blankets…but they become different.  They might become people.  Our children.  Possessions.  Faith.  God.

I most definitely have insecurities that can only be tamed by God, through prayer.  Through meditation, waiting on prayers to be answered….and often thanking God for NOT answering prayers that I’ve prayed–so certain that I knew what was best for me, when I truly had no idea.

I have insecurities that can only be calmed by hearing my daughter’s laughter, or from a good talk with my Mom, or by a hug from someone who loves me more than I feel like I deserve.

Some insecurities are tiny, and can be soothed by a heaping spoonful of peanut butter, or a good laugh with friends.  Others are so much bigger–almost crippling, but are always calmed, in time… one way or another.

Ella has no idea what an amazing security blanket she is.  She puts up with my random hugs, assuming it’s just a “Mom thing.”  She doesn’t know she’s my beautiful, teenage, tattered blue binky.  She’s my big red football helmet.

To my high school friend, I hope you read this, and I hope you feel peace.  You’ve been through some trials.  You’ve had days when you’d give anything in the world to put that red football helmet back on.  You even mentioned that in your post today…

…..” I need to go dig that out of storage, I bet it still fits! Watch out, I may start a new fashion trend!”

I hope you do.  That big red football helmet might not fit you anymore, but wear it anyway.  Wear it as strength.  Wear it as confidence.  Wear it as knowledge.  Knowledge that some days are going to be hard, but those who love you will serve as big red football helmets for you, just when you need them the most.  Wear it as LOVE.

And if you DO start a new fashion trend with that big red football helmet, I’ll proudly wear one with you.

We got this.

 

 

While in the grocery store this morning, I overheard two women talking about Halloween.  One of them was apparently a bit more gung-ho on the occasion than the other…as she was complaining about how much effort they had been putting in to her son’s costume.  “It’s just so much trouble for one night of silliness,” she said.  Though I didn’t catch what her son was dressing up as, it was apparently an intricate costume that Mom just didn’t find to be worth the effort.   The other woman was a bit more excited about the upcoming night of trick-or-treating, as she shared that she and her husband were dressing up along with the kids, going as Papa Smurf and Smurfette.  Mom number one was completely shocked by this.  “WHAT?  You’re not painting your skin blue, are you?  That’s so much trouble!  It will take you forever to wash that off!”   I loved Mom number two’s reply… “it’s so worth it to have a fun night with the kids! THEY want us to be Smurfs, so Smurfs we shall be.”  I was SO tempted to high five her right there, but decided to keep it a secret that I was eavesdropping on their conversation.

After realizing I’d lingered a bit long in the snack and cracker aisle, I feared these women knew that I was listening to their conversation.  As I moved on, I thought to myself…how often do we think something is just too much trouble?  I also questioned myself as to whether or not I’d ever thought that something was “too silly”–but quickly smiled and realized that no–I am indeed the Queen of Silly, so that’s never been a problem.

But the first question–yes, that one struck a chord with me.  I have often thought, that something is too much effort, taking the easy way out.  I thought back to Halloween several years ago, when Ella insisted that her costume would be an actual trick-or-treat bucket.  She wanted to walk around in a huge bucket, constructed of yards of material twined around hula hoops.  She thought it would be a hoot that she could literally walk around wearing her bucket, having people just throw their candy into her costume.  It was a GREAT idea, but not one that I wanted to tackle.  I dreaded it.  I casually discussed other costume ideas, hoping she’d bite the bait and change her mind.  But nope–her mind was set on this image she’d drawn in her head, and we had to make it happen.

It was SO much trouble.  It was so much work, for one night of fun.  And it was so, so worth it in the end.  Seeing her smile, watching her face light up every time she received a compliment on the costume.  It was all very much worth it.

As I left the grocery store this morning, I passed by a woman loading her groceries into the trunk of her car.  We were about the same age, and she seemed to be struggling in some way that I can’t quite describe.  She almost seemed to be in pain, though I couldn’t determine if it was physical pain or something else.  Right as I passed by her, she dropped a two liter of Coke onto the ground.  I couldn’t believe it didn’t explode.  I decided to stop, declaring that “I wouldn’t open that one for a few days.”  She managed a slight smile, when I realized her eyes were full of tears.  I insisted that I help her load her remaining bags into her trunk, while making casual conversation.

As I turned to go, she touched my arm, and said “you have no idea how much it means to me that you helped me.”  I’m sure she was exactly right– I have no idea.  I don’t know what this woman is going through.  I don’t know what the rest of this day will hold for her.  And honestly, I was very close to walking past her when she dropped that Coke.  I still had my own groceries to load into my car, and helping her was a bit off course from my plan.  But I did it, and there was a reason for it.  And in my opinion, the fact that I don’t know what that reason is, makes it even better.

There were people who went out of their way to do things for me when I was at the lowest point of my life.  They did things that might have been “too much trouble”….but they did it anyway.  My goal, since that time, has been to pay it forward and do things for others as often as I can.   And yep, some days I convince myself that certain things are just “too much trouble.”  But I always regret not doing those things.  Always.

I drove away from the store this morning with the goal of always being Mom number two from the conversation I overheard.  I want to be the mom who paints herself blue if it makes for an awesome night with my child.  I don’t ever want to be that mom who says “it’s just too much trouble.”  I want to be that friend that asks myself, “what can I do for someone today?”  while never talking myself out of it because it’s just too much trouble.  I want to be the random stranger who pays it forward for someone I’ll most likely never see again.  I want to be the source of pure silliness and laughter for someone…someone who needs a boost.  Someone who perhaps hasn’t laughed in days for reasons that I’ll never even know.

LIFE is trouble, my friends.  It’s not easy.  Quite often, it seems to get harder every day.  But what happens if we adopt the attitude that everything is just “too much trouble?”

If we adopt that attitude with our children, what kind of childhood are providing them?

If we live one single day saying “it’s just too much trouble”–what did we miss out on?  How could we have made that day better?

If you see a Mom and Dad dressed as Smurfs on Halloween night, give them a high five.  That blue body paint is a LOT of trouble.  They don’t care.  They GET IT.

Have fun with your kids this year.  If they’re too cool to want to hang out with you, make it a fun night for someone else.  Find a costume.  Go to the trouble of dressing up.  Give out candy.  Be the funny one that the kids will be talking about later that night as they sort through their treasure of candy.

I guarantee you, whatever it is in your life right now that’s “too much trouble” — it’s probably worth it.  Not to sound like the running shoe tagline, but JUST DO IT.

Is it REALLY that much trouble?  Nah….probably not.

Will it be worth it in the end?  Almost always, absolutely.  100%.

 

 

 

 

Walking this morning, I found a fallen tree.  The rather large trunk had uprooted and fallen downhill, landing exactly in the crook of two branches of another tree, still standing strong, now holding the weight of the fallen tree.  My first thought was, “what are the chances?”   The falling tree could have fallen two inches to the left or right, and wouldn’t have landed in this perfect holding spot.  A slight change in the direction of the wind could have kept the falling tree from landing as it did.  It could have even taken the second tree down with it, had they collided just right.  But things happened just right–just perfectly, for the fallen tree to lay in the arms of his neighbor.  It looks as though the standing tree is providing comfort for the fallen one….though it also looks like the weight of the fallen tree might be causing a burden upon the standing one.

What are the chances of us taking a fall and landing perfectly into the arms of someone strong?  Someone who can support us, even if it hurts them.  Even if the load is almost more than they can bear.  On the other side…what are the chances that WE might be the one who catches the falling?

That tree received no notice, no time to prepare for the heavy weight that was about to fall on to him. And as it appears to those of us who roam through the woods to observe,  the tree has no choice but to bear this burden.  It was given no option.

There have been times in my life when a burden was cast upon me that I immediately labeled as “too heavy”– quickly seeking a way out from under the unwanted interruption to my life.  And there have been times when I was most definitely the falling tree.  I was the one about to hit the ground with a force that would have no doubt broken me, yet that tree appeared out of no where and caught me in its strong branches.  There have been a few trees in my life, who were perfectly formed by God to be just what I needed….outstretched branches perfectly placed to catch me as I fell.

I’d like to think that I’m a strong enough person to represent the helping trees–those who catch the ones who fall.  But I most definitely often feel like Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree….barely strong enough to support one ornament without breaking.  But reality is, no matter how strong of a tree we are, we still serve a purpose.

Trees improve our air quality by absorbing pollutants.  I think as humans, most of us spend too much time spreading pollutants, rather than absorbing them.  Whether it be littering, spewing curse words around innocent ears, or spreading negativity….I think we could all spend a bit more time cleaning up our act.  I brought this subject up a few years ago with a class of young students.  We were learning a song about nature, with verses about trees, flowers, and water.  To expand on the lesson a bit, we got in to a conversation about trees.  When sharing with the students that trees absorb “bad stuff” in the air which makes it easier for us to breathe, one rather outspoken boy announced that we should have a tree in our classroom, so that maybe it would absorb the farts.  It was one of those “what the heck do I say to that?” moments.  I mean, he wasn’t wrong.  It would have been a really good thing.  A fart tree, he called it, as everyone in the class, including me, laughed until our sides hurt.

I think about that student sometimes, and how I’m sure he has no idea that I still laugh about that day.  He was known for saying funny, though sometimes not so appropriate things…so to him, his “fart tree” comment was probably just one of many shady things he said that day.  I was probably the only teacher who laughed with him, rather than correcting him for being a tad inappropriate.  I hope he remembers that.  Maybe he does.

So yes, trees absorb bad things to help us breathe easier.  And trees produce things for us.  Some simply share their leaves, providing shade for us in the hot summer, and beautiful color for us to enjoy in the fall.  Others provide nuts and fruit for many creatures, including humans.

Just like us–trees give, and they take.  They absorb.

What do I give?  What do I take–absorb, to help others?  That was a deep thought for me on this Monday morning as I trudged through the wet leaves on my daily hike.  No longer teaching in a dungeon of a classroom with no windows and poor air circulation, I hope I’m more than just a fart tree.  But I do hope that I absorb some of the “bad stuff” for those I love.  I hope they know that they can share stuff with me, and I’ll absorb it into my core, and not repeat it to anyone but God…Who I’ll say a prayer to, for them.  For my friends.  For those who I know love me, and would catch me in their branches when my roots get weak, and when I fall.

I hope whatever I give is good.  No doubt, if I truly were a tree, I’d be a nut bearer.  Being such a nut myself, it just seems appropriate.  I hope those theoretically produced nuts are nuggets of hope, laughter, support, more laughter, and love for those I care about.  I might not have the strongest branches to catch them when they fall, but I will provide for them the things I can.

I wonder how long the fallen tree I saw this morning will stay right where it is.  I wonder how long it will take the supporting tree to get weak and begin to fall itself.

I wonder if anyone I know will need me to be their supporting tree in the near future, and I wonder if I might be the one needing somewhere to fall.

So many things to wonder about, and absolutely NO assurances that events will or will not happen in our lives.

But this much is true.  You’re not the only tree in the woods.  You’re never alone.  You might fall hard one day–hitting the ground, or you might find yourself leaning on someone else for a long, long time.  You have a choice to produce good stuff, or keep it all for yourself.  You have a choice to absorb things for others, or to refuse to listen.  We have something the trees don’t have.  A choice.  A will.  A soul.   We possess so much more than the trees, yet they can teach us an abundance.

Take a walk in the woods.  Find a tree, and lean on it.  Look up at it.  Let it absorb some “bad stuff” that you might be going through.  Take a deep breath.  Say a prayer.   Then continue your walk as you thank God for all He’s given you.

Some days you’re going to feel like nothing more than a fart tree.  Some days you will have absolutely no idea that you changed someone’s day by just being there, like the strong tree who holds the fallen one in its grasp.

Who knows….you might be someone’s absolute favorite tree in the whole wide world.  A world that would never be the same with out you….Without you being exactly where you are right this very moment.

“Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.”
― Chad Sugg

I’ve always loved turtles.  So much so, that I have a tattoo of one living forever and ever on my ankle (sorry, Mom).   There’s just so much to love and admire about the slow moving creatures.  I’ve had two turtle encounters over the past few days.  The first, doing the “I’m a good human” deed that so many of us do when we see one trying to cross a road.  We pull over and move the little fella to the side of the road he was attempting to cross to, right?  If you’re not a turtle mover, I’m not sure we could be good friends.  I mean, really.  You just have to do it.  That heart racing moment when you think to yourself, “Yeah….I’ve got to help that guy” and you pull your car over on the shoulder, get out, race out into the road,  risking your own life, move him to his destination, then get back in the car and curse yourself for not having hand sanitizer with you.  We’ve all done it, right?  No?  If you haven’t, please do.  Seriously, everyone needs to be a turtle mover.  In this scary world we live in, it’s the very least we can do.

Then just this morning, I had another run in with a nice box turtle.  I was walking on my favorite trails when I stumbled upon the little guy, who was attempting to climb up a small hill.  Of course, I assumed that he needed my assistance, so I reached to pick him up–planning to place him on top of the hill he was staring at so intently.  As I reached to pick him up, he did as turtles always do, retreating his head and legs into his shell, and he added a little unexpected hissing noise that startled me a bit.  I honestly felt like he was telling me to back off and mind my own business.  So, for the first time in my life, I left the turtle alone.  I reluctantly continued on my hike, wondering if I’d done the right thing.  After twenty minutes or so, I looped back around to return the same way I’d come, to check on the turtle.  I was convinced he needed me.  I had no doubt that he’d be sitting in the same place, staring at the hill before him, unable to tackle such a steep incline without my assistance.  Considering I’d seen no other humans in the time that had passed, I knew I was his only hope.

I looped back around and found the spot where he had been.  I immediately noticed he wasn’t there, so I began to look around for him on the flat trail…assuming he’d come to the conclusion that he couldn’t make the steep incline.  On the other side of the trail, opposite of the steep hill, the ground was flat.  I was sure my turtle friend had retreated back to the flat side…the easy way out.  But then I heard a small rustle in the grass….and looked up just in time to see that stubborn fella right as he peaked the top of the hill, moving faster than I’d ever seen a turtle move.  He made it.  All by himself.  He didn’t need me.  I just assumed he did.

I spent the rest of my hike wondering how many times I’ve done the same with my child.  How many times have I rushed in to finish a task for her, assuming she couldn’t do it without me…when indeed, she would have succeeded greatly if I’d just left her alone for a while.  How many times have I done this to a friend?  Jumped in and gave my advice or opinion, encouraging them to take a certain path in their life (maybe advising them to stick to the flat side of the path–the easy way out?), when they probably just needed time to figure it out on their own.

Yes indeed, if we find a creature–turtle, child, loved one, friend, who is in definite need–the turtle in the road–of course we sweep in.  If they are in the middle of a road–whether a literal road (as with the turtle), or a road of sorrow, pain, danger….it’s our obligation to rush in and do whatever we can to help.  But what if they just need time?  What if they’re simply facing an obstacle that needs thought, prayer, and a good plan?  It’s hard not to rush in….and encourage them to move to where we think they should be.  But should we?  It’s a tough call, most definitely.

I stood there and watched my buddy this morning, after he topped the hill.  He actually turned around and faced me.  I’m convinced he did this on purpose, as if to say “See?  I can do it by myself.”  We stared at one another for a good minute.  I smiled at him, and yeah…. (y’all already know I’m crazy)…I felt like he smiled back at me,  just a little.  I named him Billy, short for William, for not long ago I read somewhere that William meant “determined” in it’s origin.   And let’s face it….”Will” is no name for a turtle.  It has to be Billy.  Simple as that.  Then, as I walked away, I asked myself why I assumed the turtle was a boy.  I walked back and looked once more at the turtle who was still perched on the top of the hill, which to a creature it’s size, must have felt like a huge mountain.  I thought about the mountains I’ve climbed, both physically and metaphorically, and I quickly changed my mind.  Billy became Billie….and was deemed a girl as I walked away and continued my hike.  Girl power, and Godspeed to little Billie.

We as humans are quite the same as turtles in that we are at the mercy of others.  We can encounter kindness–those who will help us off the road in a time of crisis and encourage us as we conquer the mountains.  OR, we can encounter the cruel souls who will place us on a fencepost, keeping us from doing anything…keeping us from going anywhere.   We sometimes don’t realize who these people are–but most of us have had them in our lives at some point.  People who don’t want us to thrive or succeed.  People who want us to be stuck, unable to move forward.  They put us on a fencepost.  And like the poor turtles, we become stuck with very little hope…until someone who cares comes along.  Someone to place us back on solid ground, where we can begin to use our legs again.

Turtles have been around for millions of years.  With over three hundred species, they can be found all over the world.  And just like humans, some are grouchy–like the snapping turtles–and will not tolerate you at all.  Others depend on your kindness to simply survive the day.  And some just need time to do it all by themselves, to prove that it can, indeed, be done.

Let’s be kind to the turtles, and to the humans.  Let’s give them the space they need, but never leave them on a fencepost.   And if you are currently on a fencepost, please don’t give up.  Use the time to rest and pray, but do not–under any circumstances–give up. Someone will come along who wants to set you free, who wants you to feel that amazing feeling of using your legs again and travelling to your greatest destination.  They might even travel along with you.

And remember….speed doesn’t matter.  Forward is forward.  You’ll get there.

Take a walk with a turtle. And behold the world in pause.      ~Bruce Feiler