Day 42, February 11

Two days ago I wrote about recurring themes in this blog, including that of quilts and friends. One wise reader pointed out that another theme that made repeated appearances was that of creativity.

With that in mind, I decided to describe some creative friends. One friend is an expert in organization, organizing everything from papers to her family's appointments. Nothing escapes her notice. Another friend homeschools her seven young children. What energy and imagination that must take, to teach children of all different ages, making reading, history, and social studies come alive.

A woman in our church knows how to stretch a dollar. Her myriad of skills include canning everything from turkey to green beans, baking delectable whole wheat bread, and finding bargains others have overlooked. Still another friend possesses a dry sense of humor that makes her a delight to everyone fortunate enough to be with her. Other friends have turned their homes into havens for their grandchildren, turning once empty nests into places of fun and learning.

Like friends, creativity comes in all shapes and sizes. Too frequently we tend to limit our definition of what it means to be creative. Creativity is more a matter of the spirit than of the mind.

So, for today, I am grateful for friends who color outside the box.

Day 41, February 10

Like Moses of Biblical times, I am "slow of speech." When the public speaking genes were passed out in heaven, I'm certain I was off reading a book or attending a garage sale. I have no eloquent words, no powerful way of expressing myself. My voice is on the soft side and tends to get shaky at the mere thought of speaking in public. Angry storks, not gentle butterflies, fill my stomach.

For the most part, I accept that, just as I've accepted other limitations. That is not complacency but, rather, awareness of what I can and what I can't do.

My husband Larry is a gifted public speaker. He possesses a command of the language and a flair for getting his thoughts across that continue to amaze me. We occasionally tease each other that he is the speaker and I am the listener in the family.

It hit me then: My gift is listening. Whether in a congregation or workshop or one-on-one with a friend, I am a good listener. Just as I am an appreciative audience of musical perforomances, I am also an appreciative listener.

My ruminations led to another idea. What if I brought my heart as well as my ears to the art of listening? Would the experience of listening to a speech or a cantata not be richer? Would I not be of more service if I listened to the meaning, the sorrow behind a friend's words?

So, for today, I am grateful for hearing ears and a listening heart.

Day 40, February 9

In re-reading earlier postings, I realized that several topics have made repeated appearances, among them quilts and friends. Why my fascination with these subjects, I wondered. As I examined them, I found that I was intrigued by the diversity in the quilts, and in friends.

The quilts my mother gave me are made of different fabrics, different patterns. The stitching varies from quilt to quilt, even square to square, as various people sat and quilted over cups of tea and gossip. There is a Nine-Square, a Sunbonnet Girl, a Woman with Parasol, and others. Each is beautiful in its own way.

In the same way, my friends are made of different fabrics, different patterns. One friend writes exquisite poetry, weaving beauty with every word. Another excells in all things musical, playing the piano, organ, flute, composing songs, and working as a music therapist for Hospice. Still another finds joy in creating one-of-a-kind scrapbook pages and greeting cards. One friend writes inspirational romance novels, touching the heart and soul of all those who read her words. A friend and cousin writes cookbooks, flavoring recipes with family stories and history.

My friends put me in mind of a flower garden, each bringing a different color, a different scent to the whole: pansies and roses, tulips and daffodils, lilies and violets.

So, for today, I am grateful for that which is unique ... in quilts and in friends.

Day 39, February 8

Two days ago, I wrote about the plumbing problems in our basement. After trying to deal with it ourselves, my husband and I finally called a plumber. Two men arrrived and, within forty-five minutes, had snaked the drain and cleared the blockage. Once again, we had sinks that worked, good water pressure, and a bathroom floor not covered with guck.

I marveled at the men's efficiency and the seeming ease with which they dispatched the problem. I still can't bring myself to be grateful for plumbing disasters, but I am grateful for people who possess the skills and know-how to take care of them.

Everyday, our lives are filled with men and women who serve us. Plumbers, mechanics, bankers, contractors, lawyers, doctors--each brings expertise to make my life easier and more managable. How many times have I said "Thank-you" to any of these people? Too infrequently, I'm afraid.

Certainly, we pay others for their services. That is only right and proper. "A laborer is worthy of his hire." Still, they deserve my thanks, my acknowlegment of their efforts and skill.

So, for today, I am grateful for plumbers.

Day 38, February 7

During the course of Larry's and my nearly 38 years of marriage (a miracle when you consider that I am only 29), I have backed various cars into Larry's car, our daughter's car, a fence, the garage door, and an apartment building wall--I was trying to avoid a bird in the parking lot.

Larry has always been very patient with my backing sins. Still, one day I felt the need to defend myself and pointed out that I had never hit a moving object. Without missing a beat, he replied, "That's because they can get out of your way."

My record almost changed yesterday as I drove home from church, with two of my grandchildren in the backseat. In preparing to change lanes, I did everything right: I switched on the turn signal, I checked both my rear view and side view mirrors. Yes, I did everything but the most important thing. I neglected to look over my shoulder to check my blindspot. Because of that mistake, I almost clipped another car. The driver gave me a justifiably sharp blast of his horn, and, at a very cautious speed, I continued on home.

I tend to think of blessings as things that did happen: an unexpected check in the mail, an acceptance on a short story, or, rarely a book, a raise in my husband's salary. How often, though, am I grateful for the things that didn't happen? The accident that I somehow avoided. The flu that swept through the community that our children didn't contract. These blessings are equally as sweet, equally as powerful as those of a more visible, tangible nature.

So, for today, I am grateful for the accident that didn't happen ... and for the Father's loving care in watching over me and my precious cargo

Day 37, February 6

Yesterday my husband and I awoke to plumbing problems in the downstairs bathroom. I won't go into the gory details. Suffice it to say that plumbing problems are always inconvenient, disgustingly messy, and frequently expensive. (Why couldn't I have married a plumber?) With some muttering, we dealt with it as best we could.

I can hear you wondering, Is she going to say that she's grateful for a backed-up drain? Absolutely not.

Recently, I've had to stand by and watch loved ones endure painful events--health problems, divorce, and other challenges. While trying to help when I could and crying with them, I could not take away their grief, their fear, their heartache. My sense of helplesssness was exceeded only by my prayers in their behalf.

My heart wept for my friends, my family. Inconvenience, mess, and expense do not compare to witnessing the pain of family and friends. My prayers turned to begging my Father in Heaven for solace for His children.

So, for today, I am grateful for a reminder of what is important ... and what is not.

Day 36, February 5

Recently, a bitter cold spell has swept over much of the nation, paralyzing traffic, closing schools, sending hoardes of people to the grocery store to stock up on supplies. By the third day of temperatures well below zero, I found myself wishing away the cold, wishing away the entire season of winter.

Then I stopped and realized that I really didn't want to do away with winter. In Colorado, we are fortunate enough to experience every season to its fullest. I love the colors, the smells, the sounds of each season. The rich scarlets, saffrons, and ochers of autumn, flavored by the smoke of wood-burning stoves. The sun glistening off the winter snow, casting it with a myriad of shades of blues and golds. The tender greens and bold reds and purples of spring flowers. The hard bright blue of a summer sky, the sun a bowl of yellow, the rhythmic purr of a lawnmower punctuating the early morning.

When I started this blog, I said that it wouldn't be filled with scriptures. However, this entry begs for one of my favorite passages: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven ..." (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

In reflecting upon the change of seasons, I thought of my own life. My season as a young mother has passed, my children grown, some with families of their own. That season has evolved into a different, more subtle kind of mothering, including grandchildren. My four grandchildren delight me with their curiosity, exhaust me with their energy, and fill me with wonder at the sheer joy they bring into my life.

Would I trade this season for another? No. Despite the problems that come with age, I love where I am right now and, sometimes, I even love who I am, who I am becoming. (I qualify that with the word "sometimes," because who can love a sagging body, arthritic hips, and bad feet?)

So, for today, I am grateful for the change of seasons ... in nature and in my life.