Day 301, November 7

"If we want to walk in the Pure Land all the time, it helps us to let go of the things that keep us from being in the present. It can be done when you drink your juice or your tea. Drink in such a way that the Holy Spirit is present in you. You have enough already to be happy now. Nourish yourself every day with the wonderful things that life has to offer you. Nourish yourself in the present moment." ~Thich Nhat Hanh No Death, No Fear

Over the last years, I've realized that I am frequently not present.  I'm physically there, but my mind, my heart  are elsewhere.   Too much of my time was spent in worry over the future.  I worried about my dear Carla.  I worried about my children.  (I still do.)  Would Carla get better?  (She didn't.)  Would my children make wise choices.  (Pretty much they do.)  My worry didn't do a thing except to prevent me from enjoying and embracing the RIGHT NOW.

I'm trying to do better.  I'm trying to do better in a lot of things.  Not a whole lot of success so far, but at least I haven't given up on myself.

Joy for today:  being there.

Day 300, November 6

Today is my mother's birthday.

Mom has been gone for 17 years, and I still miss her.  I want to show her that I love her.  I long to share my delight in my grandchildren with her.  I want to tell her that I finally sold a book to the publisher I had been submitting to (and being rejected by) for the last 30 years.  I have so much to show her, to share with her, to tell her.

My husband pointed out that Mom knows.  She knows everything and has been watching out for our family for all these years, just as she did when she was here with us.  Mom never had much in the way of material goods, but she had a quick sense of humor, a quest for learning, and a no-nonsense way of getting things done.

Mom would have been bewildered by and, quite frankly, impatient with the air of entitlement that is so prevalent in our society today.  She would have said to those who think the world owes them a living, "Get up.  Get moving.  Get doing."  Good advice whatever our circumstances.

I guess I inherited some of that, because I, too, can be impatient.  I don't let it bother me because I figure if I can have some of my mother in me, I'm doing okay.

Mom worked hard all of her life.  She gave generously, paid tithes and offerings, and remembered her grandchildren with cards and calls and silly gifts.  On one visit to the family, Mom snuck rocks inside her grandson's backpack.  He carried them all day before realizing what she'd done.  Go, Mom!

Joy for today:  remembering Mom.

Day 299, November 5

I found the following in IMPRIMIS, a publication of Hillsdale College:

According to the Oxford English Dictorinary, the Latinate word "compassion" means, literally, "suffering together with another--it's the feeling or emotion, when a person is moved by the suffering or distress of another and by the desire to relieve it."

The author, William Voegeli, goes on to differentiate between having intentions to be compassionate and actually being compassionate.  As I read and then re-read his essay, I was struck by this distinction.  How many times have you heard "If you need anything, just call?"  Perhaps you have even said those words.  I know I have.  Later, I cringe, because if I were truly compassionate, I would have made a specific offer.

I believe the difference between having good intentions to be compassionate and being compassionate is action.  When my sister died, many friends showed compassion for our family.  In Carla's ward, friends showed up with meals, with offers to drive her (Carla's) granddaughter to daycare, with unexpected hugs.  I received cards (all of which I kept, needing to read and read again the loving words).  One dear sister offered to come every day to take care of our cat while Larry and I were away from home.  (As it was, we had already made other arrangements, but I will never forget her generous offer.)  Prayers were said and heard.

My point?  These dear friends acted.  They are exemplars of compassion, of love, of the Savior.

Joy for today:  understanding what compassion is .. and what it isn't.

Day 298, November 4

We are approaching the time of gift-giving.  For some it is a stressful time.  For others, joyous.  No matter where you fall, you will probably be searching for at least a few gifts during this season.  Finding the right gift is sometimes difficult, even stressful.

When I ran across the quote below, it reminded me about choosing gifts thoughtfully.

"Flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, loved by all men for the beauty of the character, though few can decipher even fragments of their meaning." ~ Lydia Maria Child, Letters from New York

What speaks to you?  Is it flowers, as Ms. Child writes of above?  Is it beautiful music?  Is it a new book?  My sister loved flowers.  When she was alive, I frequently sent flowers to her.  For me, flowers are okay, but I prefer a long-anticipated book.

Showing the we love somone, that we value him or her, means zeroing in on what speaks to them. I remember one Christmas many years ago, I gave my husband a leather-bound journal.  I was very excited, believing that he would want to write in it as I did in my journal every night.  I even pictured the two of us writing together.  (What can I say?  I was young and naive.)

It was a perfect plan, save for one flaw:  Larry doesn't like to write.  I knew that, but somehow I brushed it aside when I chose the journal.  I wasn't getting him a gift; I was getting myself one.  Since then, I've tried to do better in the gift-giving department, but I still fail occasionally.

Joy for today:  giving from the heart.

Day 297, November 3

Today is our granddaughter Reynna's 15th birthday.  Reynna is in that in-between stage, neither child, nor woman, but a delightful combination of the two.

She loves her parents, karate, her little brother Christopher, all things to do with hair and makeup, Seminary, choir, Joe-Mama (cat) and Ginger (dog), her Young Women's class at church, and her grandparents.  I think Larry and I used to be higher on the list, but we've been demoted over the years. (My demotion happened early on when she went to school and found out that chocolate was not a vegetable.)

Reynna has a quick sense of humor, a sharp mind, and a loving spirit.

Joy for today:  loving Reynna.

   

Day 296, November 2

Two days ago, I wrote about a young man preparing to serve a mission.  What I didn't include was sharing what happened after he spoke.  His mother and two sisters sang a hymn "I Know That My Redeemer Lives."  One of my favorites, this hymn was made even more beautiful by this lovely threesome who honored their son and the congregation with their lovely voices.

This hymn has a special meaning to me as it was sung at my sister's funeral (at her request).  When I hear the words "Oh, sweet the joy this sentence gives; I know that my Redeemer lives," I puddle up.  In fact, it was all I could do to stay in Sacrament Meeting as tears were stinging my eyes.  I focused on the beauty of the voices and made it through.

Joy for today:  remembering that "my Redeemer lives."

Day 295, November 1

"I never knew I could suffer so much. And then, at the same time, you think; now I'm ready to open myself up to life in another way, to make it worth something and make it about the right things and not waste time." ~ Gwyneth Paltrow, Vanity Fair

Shortly after my sister died, my son Rob sent me a card with the counsel "You've served your sister well.  Now it's time to serve someone else."

I recognized the truth in the advice even as my heart rebelled against it.  How could I possibly open my heart to another, especially when there was a hole big enough to drive a semi-truck through?

But I resolved to try.

At the same time, I was assigned to be the visiting teacher to a sister in our ward who is not able to attend church.  This sweet lady is paralyzed on one side after suffering a stroke and lives in a care home.  I decided I wouldn't be a "once-a-month" visiting teacher.  I would visit as often as I could.  With each visit, I brought a treat--chocolate, of course--and took delight in my new friend's pleasure in the small gift.  Soon, my visits became more than a church calling and turned into a joy.

My son was right:  I need to serve someone else.

Joy for today:  learning from a son.