My husband and I raised five children. Our home was a cacaphony of noise--raised voices, video games, piano practice, video games, trumpet practice, video games, flute practice, video games. You get the picture.
I reveled in our family, in the activity and sheer energy of our three sons and two daughters. At the same time, I knew I needed moments of quiet. My family quickly learned that Mom needed her "alone time."
Like many writers, I am an introvert. Recently I learned a new definition of introverts: An introvert is one who gathers energy from solitude. (An extrovert, on the other hand, gathers energy from being around others.) While I enjoy attending church, parties, and other events, I need slices of quiet every day to recharge myself.
Over the years, I've learned that controlling my outside environment is often easier than controlling my own unruly thoughts. Negative, fearful, and sometimes downright snarky thoughts impinge upon my mind, making my quest for quiet impossible.
One of my favorite hymns is "Be Still, My Soul," by Katharina von Schlegel.
"Be still my soul:
The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear
Thy cross of grief or pain."
The beautiful words remind me that the Lord is always there and is, indeed, on my side. When I acknowledge that assurance, my thoughts quiet and my mind is at rest.
So, for today, I am grateful for quiet. In the outside world. And in my soul.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Day 5, January 5
I am not a fancy person. My clothes come from garage sales, as do the furnishings in my home. As previously mentioned, I drive an 18 year old car. It is no wonder that I am equally frugal (some would say cheap) in my skin care.
I live in Colorado where the dry climate is hard on aging skin like mine. Budget and principle prohibit me from spending $100 or more on fancy creams that come in fancy packages. What do I use instead?
Vaseline.
Yes, you heard me right. I use good, old-fashioned petroleum jelly on my face at night. It fills in the cracks and pores, much like spackling fills in the cracks in drywall.
Vaseline, in its humble plastic jar, serves a myriad of other purposes as well. It soothes chapped lips and hands. It protects a baby's bottom from diaper rash. It can loosen a stubborn ring that refuses to come off.
Why am I going on about Vaseline? I'm not a spokesperson for it. I'm certain the manufacturers would want someone far younger and prettier to represent it.
The reason is simple: Vaseline reminds me of some special people in my life, people who quietly serve without drawing attention to themselves. A friend who sees a need in another and sets about to fill it. A cousin who lovingly tends four grandchildren and calls her home "The Granny Farm." A lady in our church who sees to the needs of her seven small children with unfailing good humor and unflagging energy. My sister, who, despite problems of her own, is the first to volunteer to help when someone is in trouble. My husband, who sends flowers not only to me but to this same sister. The people in our church who serve wherever they are called to without fanfare and without recompense.
Contrast these "Vaseline people" to media stars and politicians whose every move is calculated to gain attention and notoriety. Grand gestures to charity are heralded with the "blowing of trumpets." Drunken sprees are heralded in the same manner. Nothing is done without an ulterior purpose.
So, for today, I am grateful for Vaseline ... and Vaseline people.
I live in Colorado where the dry climate is hard on aging skin like mine. Budget and principle prohibit me from spending $100 or more on fancy creams that come in fancy packages. What do I use instead?
Vaseline.
Yes, you heard me right. I use good, old-fashioned petroleum jelly on my face at night. It fills in the cracks and pores, much like spackling fills in the cracks in drywall.
Vaseline, in its humble plastic jar, serves a myriad of other purposes as well. It soothes chapped lips and hands. It protects a baby's bottom from diaper rash. It can loosen a stubborn ring that refuses to come off.
Why am I going on about Vaseline? I'm not a spokesperson for it. I'm certain the manufacturers would want someone far younger and prettier to represent it.
The reason is simple: Vaseline reminds me of some special people in my life, people who quietly serve without drawing attention to themselves. A friend who sees a need in another and sets about to fill it. A cousin who lovingly tends four grandchildren and calls her home "The Granny Farm." A lady in our church who sees to the needs of her seven small children with unfailing good humor and unflagging energy. My sister, who, despite problems of her own, is the first to volunteer to help when someone is in trouble. My husband, who sends flowers not only to me but to this same sister. The people in our church who serve wherever they are called to without fanfare and without recompense.
Contrast these "Vaseline people" to media stars and politicians whose every move is calculated to gain attention and notoriety. Grand gestures to charity are heralded with the "blowing of trumpets." Drunken sprees are heralded in the same manner. Nothing is done without an ulterior purpose.
So, for today, I am grateful for Vaseline ... and Vaseline people.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Day 4, January 4
It is now ten days past Christmas. During the previous month, I overindulged, as I always do, on honeyed ham and mashed potatoes, cheese platters and crackers, cookies and candies. In short, I ate too much.
The results are not pleasant: An out-of-shape body that refuses to get back into shape. No control top panty hose are going to help this particular problem. (And while we're on the subject of panty hose, how many of you have ever tried to fit in one-size-fits-all hose? Need I say more?)
So why am I grateful for my mis-shapen body?
Because, no matter how out of shape it is, I still have the strength to do what God intended it to do. I can still hold a grandchild, still comfort a grieving friend, still walk and enjoy the beautiful world our Father created.
This brings me, once more, to appearances vs. substance. In my case there is definitely too much substance, but let's move on from that unpleasant subject. Our culture continues to value the outward shell more than the inner spirit. Have you noticed the proliferation of makeover shows on television? Each one says, "You are not good enough as you are. You must be better. You must look better. You must conform to an artificial standard set by Hollywood stars, socialites, and other celebrities."
Do I really want to "Keep Up with the Kardashians?" In truth, I don't know who they are. Nor do I care.
I'm more interested in keeping up with my family. My friends. My God.
And so, for today, I am grateful for my body, out-of-shape though it is.
The results are not pleasant: An out-of-shape body that refuses to get back into shape. No control top panty hose are going to help this particular problem. (And while we're on the subject of panty hose, how many of you have ever tried to fit in one-size-fits-all hose? Need I say more?)
So why am I grateful for my mis-shapen body?
Because, no matter how out of shape it is, I still have the strength to do what God intended it to do. I can still hold a grandchild, still comfort a grieving friend, still walk and enjoy the beautiful world our Father created.
This brings me, once more, to appearances vs. substance. In my case there is definitely too much substance, but let's move on from that unpleasant subject. Our culture continues to value the outward shell more than the inner spirit. Have you noticed the proliferation of makeover shows on television? Each one says, "You are not good enough as you are. You must be better. You must look better. You must conform to an artificial standard set by Hollywood stars, socialites, and other celebrities."
Do I really want to "Keep Up with the Kardashians?" In truth, I don't know who they are. Nor do I care.
I'm more interested in keeping up with my family. My friends. My God.
And so, for today, I am grateful for my body, out-of-shape though it is.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Day 3, January 3
My husband, Larry, and I have two aging cars, 12 and 18 years old. Like me, they are showing their age. Dings, scratches, and hail dimples (not unlike cellulite) mar their once shiny surfaces. Creaks and groans occasionally occur when they are started. Both are well past the 100,000 mile mark.
Why, then, am I thankful for these cars? Several reasons, actually.
First, the cars are paid for. As the children of children of the Great Depression, Larry and I were taught to "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." We chose used cars, paid cash, and never made a car payment on them.
Secondly, the cars perform a function. They take us to church, to work, to visit family. They allow us to perform errands, to drive a friend to the grocery store or doctor, to attend garage sales! In short, they do what they are supposed to do.
Lastly, they represent substance. Though they have lost much of their comely appearance, they remind me that substance trumps appearance every time. In a world where appearances are all-important, I am grateful for the reminder that in things, and in people, the inner workings are far more important than the outward trappings.
In this regard, I think of my father's hands. They were gnarled, the veins raised, the fingers bent, but they were beautiful to me. They symbolized a lifetime of hard work and care.
So, for today, I am grateful for old cars.
Why, then, am I thankful for these cars? Several reasons, actually.
First, the cars are paid for. As the children of children of the Great Depression, Larry and I were taught to "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." We chose used cars, paid cash, and never made a car payment on them.
Secondly, the cars perform a function. They take us to church, to work, to visit family. They allow us to perform errands, to drive a friend to the grocery store or doctor, to attend garage sales! In short, they do what they are supposed to do.
Lastly, they represent substance. Though they have lost much of their comely appearance, they remind me that substance trumps appearance every time. In a world where appearances are all-important, I am grateful for the reminder that in things, and in people, the inner workings are far more important than the outward trappings.
In this regard, I think of my father's hands. They were gnarled, the veins raised, the fingers bent, but they were beautiful to me. They symbolized a lifetime of hard work and care.
So, for today, I am grateful for old cars.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Day 2, January 2
I'm currently away from my home in Loveland, Colorado and visiting my sister, who lives in Sandy, Utah. This is the land of the Mormon Taberncale Choir, Temple Square, and green Jello studded with pineapple chunks. (This is not a peculiarly Mormon dish, but we have raised it to an art form.) It is also the home of the inversion effect where a bowl of gray sits over the Salt Lake Valley during the winter months, defying any sunlight to pass through.
When errant rays of sun make their way through the gray, it is a cause of rejoicing. Yesterday, the sun dared to shine, gilding the recent snow until it glowed. I felt my spirits lift with every speck of gold radiating from above.
Doctors tell us that sunlight is an important and much-needed source of Vitamin D. My spirit tells me that it does much more than provide an essential vitamin. Sunlight is a blessing from God, a benediction upon the day. Without it, I feel anchorless.
I wondered why that should be so. Is it simply a case of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)? Like many others, I suffer from that. Or could it be more?
I love to play with words. Anagrams, word searches, crossword puzzles--they all fascinate me. Could the word "sunlight" hold a deeper meaning? Could it be that "sunlight" is synonymous with "Sonlight?" That by basking in the sun, I am also basking in the Son? That I am feeling His love when the sun touches my face?
It is a question to ponder. Certainly this comparision is not original with me. Many have put forth the same metaphor. Yet I had never before applied it so intensely to my own life. (I'm a late starter in many ways.)
Sunlight. Sonlight.
So, for today, I am grateful for the sun. It goes without saying that I am always grateful for the Son.
When errant rays of sun make their way through the gray, it is a cause of rejoicing. Yesterday, the sun dared to shine, gilding the recent snow until it glowed. I felt my spirits lift with every speck of gold radiating from above.
Doctors tell us that sunlight is an important and much-needed source of Vitamin D. My spirit tells me that it does much more than provide an essential vitamin. Sunlight is a blessing from God, a benediction upon the day. Without it, I feel anchorless.
I wondered why that should be so. Is it simply a case of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)? Like many others, I suffer from that. Or could it be more?
I love to play with words. Anagrams, word searches, crossword puzzles--they all fascinate me. Could the word "sunlight" hold a deeper meaning? Could it be that "sunlight" is synonymous with "Sonlight?" That by basking in the sun, I am also basking in the Son? That I am feeling His love when the sun touches my face?
It is a question to ponder. Certainly this comparision is not original with me. Many have put forth the same metaphor. Yet I had never before applied it so intensely to my own life. (I'm a late starter in many ways.)
Sunlight. Sonlight.
So, for today, I am grateful for the sun. It goes without saying that I am always grateful for the Son.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Day 1, January 1
The New Year is traditionally a time to look forward, to make resolutions to live one's best life. However, today, I am looking back, specifically, back to those who have gone before and the legacy they have given me.
My father's ancestors traveled across the plains in the mid-nineteenth century for religious freedom. They settled in Utah, built a comfortable home, and started a new life. At directions from then President and Prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Brigham Young, they uprooted their family to journey to the Gila Valley of Arizona.
Gila monsters, sand, and hardship greeted them. Still, they persevered and established a settlement, began a freighting company, and built churches. A town, Hubbard, was named for my grandmother's family. Hard work and worship were their watchwords.
My mother's people (in the south, you don't say family but "people") dug in to the fertile soil of eastern Tennessee. With stubborn pride and a love for the Lord, they taught their children to work, to revere God, to serve in whatever way they could. My mother frequently related stories of growing up during the Great Depression. She and her sisters each had two dresses: one for school and one for church. These few clothes were not popped into an automatic washer but sponged off every night, made ready to wear for the next day. Thrift and making-do were a way of life.
My parents left little in the way of material goods, but they gave my sister and me and our families a legacy rich in service, faithfulness, and integrity.
So, today, I am grateful for the legacy of family, for those who have gone before.
My father's ancestors traveled across the plains in the mid-nineteenth century for religious freedom. They settled in Utah, built a comfortable home, and started a new life. At directions from then President and Prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Brigham Young, they uprooted their family to journey to the Gila Valley of Arizona.
Gila monsters, sand, and hardship greeted them. Still, they persevered and established a settlement, began a freighting company, and built churches. A town, Hubbard, was named for my grandmother's family. Hard work and worship were their watchwords.
My mother's people (in the south, you don't say family but "people") dug in to the fertile soil of eastern Tennessee. With stubborn pride and a love for the Lord, they taught their children to work, to revere God, to serve in whatever way they could. My mother frequently related stories of growing up during the Great Depression. She and her sisters each had two dresses: one for school and one for church. These few clothes were not popped into an automatic washer but sponged off every night, made ready to wear for the next day. Thrift and making-do were a way of life.
My parents left little in the way of material goods, but they gave my sister and me and our families a legacy rich in service, faithfulness, and integrity.
So, today, I am grateful for the legacy of family, for those who have gone before.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Gratitude Project
Dear family, friends, frienmies, and anyone else unlucky enough to be on my address book,
This is an experiment for me, a journey of sorts to verify that I am still alive and kicking, and, moreover, to remind myself that though life throws a lot of bad stuff at all of us, that I, that each of us, has much for which to be grateful.
The last five years have tested me in ways in which I never wanted to be tested. I doubted my sanity, my health, my strength, and, most of all, myself. The one thing I never doubted, though, was my Father in Heaven's love for me.
I hope to post a blog every day for the new year. Whether I can do this, technically, emotionally, and in every other way, is still up for grabs. Please bear with me.
First, let me tell you what this is not going to be. It will not be the esoteric ramblings of a high-brow philosopher. It will not be the erudite teachings of an academic. It will not be filled with scripture, though a couple might slip through from time to time.
It will be the small slices of life that remind me that I need to look for that which is good, whether it is a penny found or a book acceptance.
I invite you to join me, to look for yourselves what is good in your life. You may choose to drop in once in a while, or perhaps you will follow me on this journey and re-discover the miracles and beauties that surround us.
Jane
This is an experiment for me, a journey of sorts to verify that I am still alive and kicking, and, moreover, to remind myself that though life throws a lot of bad stuff at all of us, that I, that each of us, has much for which to be grateful.
The last five years have tested me in ways in which I never wanted to be tested. I doubted my sanity, my health, my strength, and, most of all, myself. The one thing I never doubted, though, was my Father in Heaven's love for me.
I hope to post a blog every day for the new year. Whether I can do this, technically, emotionally, and in every other way, is still up for grabs. Please bear with me.
First, let me tell you what this is not going to be. It will not be the esoteric ramblings of a high-brow philosopher. It will not be the erudite teachings of an academic. It will not be filled with scripture, though a couple might slip through from time to time.
It will be the small slices of life that remind me that I need to look for that which is good, whether it is a penny found or a book acceptance.
I invite you to join me, to look for yourselves what is good in your life. You may choose to drop in once in a while, or perhaps you will follow me on this journey and re-discover the miracles and beauties that surround us.
Jane
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