The Struggle

In life, we have setbacks, challenges, trials or whatever you want to call them.  They are the rocks in our path, the handicaps that slow us down, the thorns that hurt our hands.  However you label them, they have always been blamed for being the 'bad' part of life.  So, this morning, while I was just thinking about some of the recent events of my life, I saw something I did not expect.  I saw myself struggling to reach a goal, working hard, sacrificing, and striving.  Then I saw myself during that process sometimes weighed down with discouragement, wondering whether or not I would succeed.  So far, all of this probably sounds familiar, like something most of us have been through time and again.  Well, then I saw the unexpected thing.  I saw myself achieving goals, accomplishing some of the things I had set out to do and finding great joy in it.  Then I saw in my mind's eye, others who had not had to struggle so much, accomplishing the same tasks and finding little or no joy in it for themselves.

Now this may not seem like a breakthrough in atomic physics, but to me, it marked a major shift in my thinking.  I realized in that moment that it was precisely because of having to overcome my difficulties that my joy was so great upon accomplishment.  Without them, I would be like the other people I knew who had done the same thing but had simply expected it, or taken it for granted.

Take for example someone I know who learned to
play the piano. It came easily and quickly to her.  Reading notes, playing scales and learning songs was as easy as walking or talking for her.  When people said that she had a gift, she merely shrugged her shoulders and kept on playing, for fun.  And that's all it ever was for her: fun.  And there was no reason it should be anything else, right?  Now, take another girl who, from birth was given the prognosis that she would not live to be one year old.  Her mother took care of her and she did live.  Then the mother was told that the girl would be a vegetable, severely mentally and physically handicapped.  The child still grew, and learned not only to walk and talk, but to communicate freely.  The mother, not satisfied with this progress, at the child's request, began to teach the girl to play the piano.  The ordinary methods were too complicated for the girl, so the mother invented a new system of notes that the girl could understand and read.  When I first met this severely mentally and physically handicapped girl, she played "You Light Up My Life" on the piano, with no help from her mother.  Then, not only the mother and child, but all of us in that room were filled with joy and wonder in that moment, at the miracle of overcoming obstacles.

What I'm getting at is that most of the time, I have thought of setbacks as some sort of 'bad karma' in my life and have felt a little bit sorry for myself.  (OK, a LOT sorry sometimes).  But I see now that the obstacles were actually the power behind the greatest joys in my life.  So, for example, my singing voice, that was labeled 'damaged', caused me the greatest joy when I was able to perform an extremely difficult piece for an audition and someone said that they enjoyed it. 

I began to see my whole life differently.  No longer did I feel that life had dealt me some bad cards, but that when I had tough situations I realized that they could be turned into opportunities for greater joy, and that's worth celebrating right now!

People are Amazing!

Every day is something new!  I love my life.  Really.  Although I've had ups and downs, as have all of us, I still feel that life is basically good, happy and worth living.  Why would I want to begin a post with a declaration of the goodness of life?  Well, I suppose it has come from my most recent experiences with people.  I work in a business of health and wellness.  I see people every day who have serious challenges in their lives.  As I meet with people who are struggling just to survive each day I find myself amazed at human resilience.  We really are amazing creatures!  I've seen people who have been through indescribable trauma, come out on the other side and still keep helping their neighbor who seems worse off than they are.  Often I just shake my head and wonder how we do it!  I've heard people all my life say that life was never meant to be easy, but was it really meant to be this tough?  My hat is off to all those people who have gone through and are going through @#%!  You are amazing. And my hope is that life will return to you all the good things that you have wished for in your life.  

Not Hitting the Tree

I can still remember the day I learned to ride a bicycle. I was rather old for the task, somewhere in my tenth year, but the bike was a large one, and the only one in our family at the time; plus I had five older siblings who were riding it before me. When I finally got my chance and a teacher, (my oldest brother consented to teach me), I climbed aboard the vehicle and began my adventure. 

Slowly at first, then peddling faster and faster, with my brother beside me holding me upright, I began to pick up speed and find my balance. Before I knew it, he had let go and I was riding on my own. “Just like that!” I thought. It seemed easier than I had expected. A block away, I deftly turned a corner, confident in my new-found skill, feeling the wind blow through my hair and the exhilaration of speed and success. 

The little one-horse town I grew up in, was so small that we had no paved roads. There were perhaps four full blocks in the town with somewhere between one and six houses in each block. We had a post office, a bar, a gas station with a mechanic, the elevators, a fire station, a church and a school. In other years there had also been a restaurant and grocery store but these had both been abandoned over the years as people had moved away. However, in my childhood there was one landmark in that little town which stood out above all the rest. It was the Money Tree. It was a Cottonwood tree as tall as a three story house, and nearly as broad, with leaves the size of a sheet of paper and when the wind blew, as it seemed to do all the time in North Dakota, the leaves made a wonderful, powerful sound that filled the air. 

As I turned the corner, heading down hill with my bike, proud of my new skill and ability, I was thinking of the money tree. It's sound was filling the air and suddenly I realized, it's trunk was also filling the road! Apparently, when the town was built, the tree had been right where the road needed to be, but rather than cut it down, which in those days would have been more trouble than a little town would want to deal with, they simply put the road around it—on both sides—and on a corner with only one way to turn. In other words, the tree ran down the middle of the road and I was heading right for it, down hill at ever-increasing speeds.

Even at that age, my mind was making all sorts of physics calculations about hitting tree trunks at high speeds, hitting gravel at high speeds, careening off the road at high speeds, etc. Panic filled my mind with these brief but harrowing thoughts and I instinctively cried out for help. I knew that somehow I needed to stop, but my brother had failed to instruct me in the finer points of this exercise and I was stranded on the bicycle, going down hill, headed straight for a very large tree on a gravelly corner with nowhere to go but into the tree, off the road and into the railroad tracks, or around the slippery gravel road on a sharp corner. My brief experience had taught me that I was simply not qualified to do any of these things without facing severe injury, at least! 

When I called for help to stop the fast-moving death machine I was riding, my brother had called out, “Step on the brakes!” I'm sure he thought this would be sufficient instruction in my predicament, however, he had failed to teach me where the brakes resided and how to 'step' on them. To save time, I simply yelled, “How?” To which he quickly responded, as he ran down the hill after me, “Pedal backwards!” This counter intuitive instruction was not questioned by my child-like mind. I simply did what he said which caused me to veer sharply to one side and I slid sideways to the ground. The disaster averted, (though I was somewhat bruised and scratched), I got up, smiling and grateful for another chance to live and perhaps ride the bike again. 

 

Often, in my life today, I find myself going down a hill, faster than I would like, headed for a tree that I cannot seem to avoid. Often I call out for help. Still more often, a response comes that seems counter intuitive, like for instance, “Love your enemy”. I do it anyway. And today, after being saved from one disaster after another, I'm again grateful for one more day to live and ride a bike.

The Art of Making Dinner

On any given day there is one thing I do which is at once the most challenging and the most rewarding. It is the thing that makes motherhood difficult for some and impossible for others. It taxes the inner strength of anyone who confronts this challenge and it gives back more than ample payment for the effort. It is so frightening to some people that they would rather suffer almost any inconvenience instead of confronting it. I'm talking about the monster (I mean the art) of making dinner.

On the surface, making dinner doesn't sound like much, but to anyone who has had to do it on anything like a regular basis, it can present an almost insurmountable obstacle to peace and happiness. In my experience, the routine goes something like this: Four o'clock rolls around and my stomach starts telling me it's time to get something going. I look around for ingredients and find that there is little or nothing of use to me. I have some basic things but nothing special. I start thinking of all the things we have had that week and what we might have, that won't sound like 'the same old thing'. Suddenly, five o'clock arrives and I still don't have a plan. No new ingredients have shown up, the clock seems to be ticking loudly now and panic sets in. “What are we going to have for dinner?” I shout to no one in particular (for some reason, saying this loudly makes me feel marginally better). Then I start to get serious. I know that at least six people are going to show up in my kitchen in the next half hour and wonder what I am making that might possibly satisfy the hunger that has been building in them over the entire afternoon of work or play. At this point, I frantically rack my brain for ideas, wondering how I'm going to pull a rabbit out of my hat this time. I try to sit calmly in a chair, cook book in hand, and meditate on the myriad possibilities. Some of us like one thing, some like another; some will eat certain greens, other won't touch them; some like it hot, some like it cold; but none of them like it in the pot nine days old. Panic turns to desperation when I start reciting nursery rhymes! My next impulse is to curl up into fetal position and cry like a baby. Then, in a moment of clarity and as if by magic, an idea drops out of the air. The room seems to light up as I realize that this idea will save the day since I happen to have all the ingredients I need. It will also satisfy even the picky eaters and it doesn't take all night to make! Then, I make dinner (whew!).

If this sounds familiar to you, you know what I mean when I say that cooking dinner is perhaps the hardest part of parenthood. After about ten years of this I began to wonder why this should be and have finally come to the conclusion that it is because making dinner is (or should be) an act of creativity. This sounds simple enough, but understand, we live in a world where creativity is dying all around us. I have lamented for a long time that in the movie industry (or any industry) it is extremely rare to see an original creative idea. This is the age of the re-make. For instance, how many Star Trek movies are they going to make, anyway? In a world of instant food, instant gratification, instant music, instant entertainment, instant technology and even instant relationships, is it any wonder that the act of creativity, which requires thought, effort, time and a degree of inspiration, is falling by the wayside?

Creativity rewards the diligent with the fruits of satisfaction with one's self and contentment with life; or you might say, self-esteem and happiness. Nothing is free. You get what you pay for. If you want internal, mental, emotional rewards you have to invest internal, mental and emotional energy. Today it has become all too easy to buy everything. So, instead of making dinner, we buy pre-packaged, processed, prepared foods: no thought, effort or creativity required. It sounds easy, but the catch is, if you put nothing in, you get nothing out. There are no emotional rewards for a quick fix. When I do dinner or art or life with thought, diligence and creativity I am amply rewarded for my effort. When I don't, there is no amount of aspirin that can make up for how bad I feel.

Where Is Love?

In that wonderful musical, Fiddler on the Roof by Joseph Stein, Tevye, in what proves to be a life-altering moment, asks of his wife, “Do you love me?” To which she replies with a list of the many things she has done for him and with him over the twenty-five years of their marriage. Finally, after listing all of those things she has done, she concludes that yes, she supposes that she does indeed love him, since she can think of nothing else it could be.

A few years ago, I would have said that people's use of the word love was becoming more widespread, and that people were using it over-much and making light of it; using it to describe anything and everything remotely connected with any kind of human relationship or attraction. Now, I think, I would have to say that there seems to be a relative decline in the use of that word. But whatever the popular usage, it is clear that as living creatures in a living world, we know less of love than we do of, say, gasoline prices or world events.

Having been both a child and a parent, I have seen human relationships from many angles and have used and seen the word 'love' used in numerous settings from the profane to the profound. I've seen it thrown at people in fits of anger, seen it gently fall from the lips of newlyweds, watched it caress the brow of a tiny child and been held by it in the heart of another. The word seems to mean so many different things in so many different situations that to capture it in one succinct definition becomes a nearly impossible task.

Most people, I believe, would define love as something you 'show' to someone. Like Tevye's wife who listed the cooking, cleaning and bearing children which she had performed in behalf of her husband. This, to her, was the meaning of love. In other words, she showed her love by the things she did. I have been in many church classrooms where we were asked how we could 'show' our love, and the answers always tended in the same direction as Tevye's wife: helping, kind words, thoughtful deeds, etc. This, I suppose, is the evidence we might present in order to prove that we love someone. Unfortunately, it is only circumstantial evidence and not always conclusive.

There are some who, in an attempt to 'prove' their love, offer such deeds as proof and then, demand acknowledgment and reciprocation. As if to say, “Look what I have done for you because I love you. Now, I deserve something in return.” Parents sometimes treat their children in this way, expecting the same kind of 'love' they have been giving.

In the well-known scriptural definition of Love, it describes more of what love is not, than of what it is, as in: not envious, not puffed up, not seeking her own, not easily provoked. Thus I have asked myself: Is love the good deeds we do, or the evil ones we do not do, or is it something else entirely? Love certainly has degrees of intensity and strength, but for my understanding, I wished to know the highest and best meaning, having already seen much of what I would consider the least and lowest forms of what has been or might be called love.

In the words of Oliver from the musical of the same name by Lionel Bart, based on the book, Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, “Where is love?” Many times I have asked myself this question and as many times, have come to the conclusions above.

Then, unexpectedly, love came, a gift, unannounced, and smiled upon me, embraced me from the inside out, healed my wounded soul and lifted me up. Without words, I learned instantly that Love is real, but not really the things we do. Love is alive, but we must allow it and believe it in order to feel it. Love sings, but not with the voice. Love heals, but more with the heart than with the hands. And, shining through the universe from the brightest, star to the tiniest particle of microscopic matter is Love: iridescent, fine, endless, true, astonishingly beautiful and magnificent.

Worth It

There is something about the living, growing things of this world and about participating in that growth that gives me a kind of unexpected pleasure and joy to my soul as to be akin to food for my body. When I have planted a seed, watered it, weeded it and waited for it to grow, it somehow fills me with wonder, satisfaction, and joy inexplicable to see it push its way miraculously above the ground and grow. Then, as I continue to nourish, tend and water the growing things, they respond by giving out foliage and fruit in abundance. And, although I did not create the DNA within the seed, still, without me, the plant would surely die.

Living in a desert, as we do, one quickly learns that if you want something more than sagebrush and cactus, you simply must provide water. The awesome power of the canal system which brings water to thousands of fields is truly life-giving and without it, half of the State of Idaho would be barren, both of plants and people. In realizing the importance of water to my garden or lawn, I couldn't help but see the similarity between plants and people.

Some people have called this world a lonely wilderness, where the things one truly needs are as scarce as water in a desert. People search for health, happiness and loving relationships their entire lives and often end up disappointed. Families can be a source of all of those things, or they can be a source of the opposite. Unfortunately, people seem to be less and less knowledgeable and capable of providing the kind of home where the cravings of the heart, mind and soul are satisfied.

Since before I was married I was gardening, but it was only recently that I began to do more than just the cursory tilling, planting, sporadic watering and occasional weeding. The fact that I was growing a family was my excuse for not being more diligent in my gardening. But, now that I no longer have small children to keep track of, my eyes and hands are freed somewhat to care for my garden. Thus, I began to discover things about gardening that surprised and amazed me. I have had numerous failures where gardening is concerned and they always made me feel as though I were just not quite good enough, or green enough or something. When I began to garden in earnest, I discovered that a good watering system could hide a multitude of sins, so to speak. I also learned that if I went out every day and looked at my garden, I didn't have to have a degree in gardening, to know pretty much what my plants needed. When I did those two things, I was amazed to find that my garden responded with such abundance and beauty, that I could hardly believe my eyes! The difference between my other gardens and the one I had been with day by day, was phenomenal. Joy and happiness were my first and most rewarding harvests. After that came the vegetables and fruit. They were strong, healthy and beautiful. They simply eclipsed anything I could purchase at the store and when I partook of their nourishment, I could feel the difference in every way. Wow, I thought. All that from just being there every day.

When I had started my new garden, I made a promise to the garden and to myself, that I would be there for the garden, every day when possible. I kept that promise and was abundantly blessed. Interestingly enough, when I started my family, I made the same commitment to them. Families are like gardens; they grow best when consistently watered and looked after. This world can be a real desert, where love, happiness and joy are rare and precious gifts. Parents can be like an aquifer in the desert, giving children the love and support they need in order to grow and flourish. You don't have to have a degree in child psychology. It only takes love and commitment. Having made that commitment and shared the love I felt, I have tasted of the fruits of my labor and can honestly say it is not only worth the effort, but its the best thing I have ever tasted.

I Love Spring

Spring, for some strange reason, always brings out the de-clutterer in me. Both inside and outside our home will find me ruthlessly de-junking in the spring. From dead wood to dead coats, there is something about the spring that makes me long for that clean fresh feeling of spring to find it's way into even the darkest closets, the furthest reaches of the yard and the deepest recesses of my mind.

Nine years ago, when we moved here from our home in Utah, I spent an entire year casting off ten years of accumulation and clutter. It was a great feeling to remove things that we were not using or that had outlived their usefulness and yet, when we finally moved it still felt like we had more stuff than we needed. This spring, as I look around, it seems that way again. Modern living is generally cluttered living. This is partly due, I believe, to the poor quality of goods made readily available in every store. It is easy to buy something cheap these days and difficult to get rid of things that don't work or you don't really need. 

Cluttered living is habit forming, I think. Once you have acquired something, it sort of takes hold of you and it can be extremely difficult to let go of it, no matter how inconvenient it might become. If the clutter happens to be a gift, then its hold is even more tenacious and getting rid of it can be almost impossible. I once read that clutter, (loosely defined as things in your life that have not been used in the last year or things that have outlived their usefulness), is not just a benign pile of stuff but in fact it can become a serious drain on your life's energy. Every time you look at a pile of 'stuff' that is not being used but is taking up space, your mind tries to work on that pile. Maybe you think about what should be done with it, why you haven't done it, reasons why you might want to keep it, where you might put it instead, etc. Negative energy was what it was called. The clutter sucks energy from your life by sitting there waiting for a solution. I have seen homes where the clutter has literally taken over the life of the house. Used and useful articles are relegated to tiny slices of space that have to be wrested away from the grasp of the clutter. Like a monster parasite taking over it's host, these homes are unlivable, to say nothing of the people who live with it. 

On the other hand, I have noticed with children as well as myself, that whenever a room has been cleaned, we invariably are drawn to that room and begin creating something, playing something or working on something in it. The room acts like a magnet for creativity and finds immediate use. Laughter, joy and creative energy fairly bubble out of the room, making it and everyone involved in it feel more alive. 

Clutter is not merely a question of things but also of people and feelings. For instance, people can carry mountains of emotional clutter around with them. Grudges, past hurts, failures, wrongs, grievances, illnesses and troubles can be carried into every conversation and every relationship. The more you carry with you, the more difficult it is for any useful or happy interaction to occur. The emotional clutter brings with it the addiction of self-pity and the loss of hope. Creativity becomes something to regret instead of something to reach for. Other people succeed, other people are happy, other people are healthy, but the cluttered person is held captive by his clutter.

Spring makes me feel like letting go. It makes me want to remove both physical and emotional clutter. As I stood in my yard this week and watched while a pile of dead branches burn, I felt strangely liberated. I watched the wood turn to ash and smoke and literally to disappear and it seemed like magic! My yard had been cluttered with these branches for many months. Now they were gone and it felt so much like freedom that I wanted to sing! At the same time, because it felt like the right thing to do, I mentally dropped some emotional clutter into that fire and watched it go up in smoke. It felt so good that I spent the rest of the day looking for more things to burn. I do love spring.