NO LUCK AT ALL

LASDI ©

Photo credit HERE

When I was about seven years old, I was lying in the grass and clover at my grandparents’ house on a beautiful sunny day, looking up at the blue sky and making out what the clouds looked like with my imagination.  I could smell the strong scent of fresh tomatoes on the vine near their shed behind me and felt the slightest breeze washing over me as I lay there.  I lived in the city in quite a rough place, so any time I had the chance to visit them, it was a real treat. 

Though I was young, I was able to give pause and reflection to my surroundings and really appreciated being present in that moment.  It was one of peace and quiet, which I was certainly not used to.  I remember it vividly even to this day. 

I turned slightly on my left side, and looked into the clover patch when by chance, a little lady bug caught my eye.  I was only a kid, but I knew that lady bugs were thought of as good luck.  This was back in the 70s, so I don’t quite remember what specific term I used in my head, but I know I thought spotting her was wonderful.  Or groovy?  Maybe cool.  Either way, in my head, good luck was upon me!

I was watching the lady bug move about when she stopped on one of the clovers.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I blinked a few times, and sat up on my knees, but never removed my eyes from what I was sure I had spied.  I started to move the clover patch apart with my fingers as the pretty little beetle stuck her wings out from under her shell and took to the air.  But my eyes never wavered from the spot from which she had ascended.  I got closer and kept slowly moving the shamrocks back until I was almost completely nose-down to the ground. 

And there it was: A FOUR-LEAF CLOVER!

I was polarized.  I didn’t know what to do!  This precious stem had three normal leaves as we are used to seeing, and right out of the center was a smaller, more delicate leaf.  I was excited, but cautious.  I didn’t want to run to my grandparents and leave this tiny gem, for fear I would lose it forever.  I didn’t want to just go for it and pick it from the soil willy-nilly, for fear I would crush it in my excitement.  My heart was pounding out of my chest.

But wait!  First, I saw a lady bug, and now this?!?  I was quite a lucky girl!  So I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, all the while staring at this four-leaf clover.  As I reached down, I remember thinking that this shamrock with four petals had unimaginable power.  It WAS a symbol of luck after all, right?

I gently reached down with index finger and thumb and moved to pluck the stem as close to the ground as possible.  Up it came, and I couldn’t believe it.  Still keeping my eyes upon it, even as I held it securely, I stood it up to the sky I had been staring into earlier.  I put it into the palm of my hand and covered it with my other hand, so as not to allow the breeze to carry my new good-luck charm away.

I slowly walked it into the house and to my Grandmother.  Suppressing the urge to shriek to her what I had found, I calmly expressed my delight at the treasure I was harboring betwixt my palms.  With cynicism, she required a look.  I slowly opened up the sanctuary of my hands, smiling widely, knowing she would be so proud that her Granddaughter was now the luckiest girl in the world. 

To my pleasure, she ooed and awed and confirmed not only was that truly a four-leaf clover, but that it meant that luck was indeed, bestowed upon me.  She opened a plastic sandwich baggie and told me to place my clover into it and be ever-so-careful.  She boasted to my Grandfather, my aunts and uncle, and even to her neighbors, encouraging me to show them all the plastic baggie of wonder.

As I rode back to the city, my thoughts were filled with show-and-tell the next day at school.  I placed the luck-filled baggie gently under my pillow that night and woke up elated at my upcoming presentation that day, which I had rehearsed even in my dreams. 

In the auditorium that morning as the classes collected, I told everyone I saw, students and teachers alike.  They all stared in wonder, some taking the bag to get a closer look.  We walked to our respective classrooms, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for all the other students, as I was clearly luckier than any other, and my pride swelled.  And so did my head.

As I stood up in front of all the poor souls that didn’t share in my luck, the teacher suggested we pass around the plastic bag that held the clover, allowing them to see such wonderment for themselves.  Of course I obliged, knowing luck was with me, and I would receive the accolades of my fellow pupils for carrying such good fortune. 

I received the bag back to my own protection while finishing my presentation, stuck it in my desk, passed it around at lunch, tucked it in my backpack to take home.  I walked home with my head held high, feeling on top of the world.

When I got home, I removed the baggie from my backpack.  My heart sank.  I blinked quite a few times to make certain what I was seeing was real.  And it was real.  Much more real than the meek possibility of luck being genuine.  There it was, that four-leaf clover, dissected from all the hands of astonishment, in five separate pieces.  I wondered how it could be!  If the Loch Ness Monster could live for centuries as a good luck symbol, why couldn’t this rarity do the same?

I learned a great lesson that day, even as a child.  I learned that life is intricate and delicate, from lady bugs to four-leaf clovers.  From warm, breezy days, to the smell of tomatoes on the vine.  I learned that we seek and long for tangible explanations to the things we believe bring about good fortune or even bad fortune with our own imaginations.  I learned that we make decisions with free will, and that those decisions can either lead to growth in our lives, or destruction.

I still kept the bag o’clover for days after its inherent demise, but never stopped thinking about how I had made the decision to pluck it, or even allow everyone to put their hands on it, never considering what the consequences could be.  I have continued to learn from that decision, knowing that the decisions we make are our own.  Whether it be to improve our minds, keep our bodies healthy, or make a spiritual decision that could change our eternal life, we get to make the decisions. 

I learned that it’s about living in the present moment while learning from our past and having hope for the future.  We are the clover in the baggie.  No matter what we are surrounded with in this world, the wonderment lies in what happens when we are plucked from here. 

I learned that more important and athentic than luck is faith, family, and the blessings that surround us, even in hard times. 

Most of all, I learned that if it weren’t for the desperate thought of luck, there’d be no luck at all.   

DON'T BE SCARED

LASDI©

Love is a many splendid thing, some say.  But love can also be a very scary thing.  Allow me to tell you a story about splendid love…and facing fear.

Once upon a time, there was a knight that came to a damsel in order for them to rescue one another.  He was tall, dark, and handsome, such as the fairy tales go. 

Let me start again.  A guy walks into a bar, and the girl ordering a drink says, “Why the cute face?”

No, no.  That’s not right. 

There once was a guy from Lake Jackson, who met a girl that gave his heart a reaction.

Uh, no.  This story is not a fairy tale, or a joke, or even a limerick.  This story is about crossing your fears to get to the other side.  Well, that part may sound like a play on the chicken-and-the-road thing but read on and you’ll understand.

As a small child, I didn’t have many examples of real love, but I faced fear in a sweet way.  “I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.”  Those lyrics from one of the songs from the movie The Sound of Music were a repeated refrain for me.  I lived in poor and meager conditions, so “raindrops on roses” or “whiskers on kittens’” was not the typical go-to for me.

The song, though, helped to remind me to think of things that I liked during scary times, like Frankenstein-foot ice cream pops with a grape gumball on his big toe; or like dancing in front of the television when it was turned off so that I could see my bouncing reflection and dream of becoming a big star someday. 

When I was a teenager, true love was something I read about in books, so I ditched the song for a more rapid and practical approach to face my fears:  I would simply tell myself to not  be afraid.  Whether I was verbose about it, making it my mantra, or it was an internalized dialogue that couldn’t be heard by others, that was my way of alleviating and facing my fears.

For the majority of my adulthood, I have had my faith to lean on when it comes to facing things that scare me. I know my God loves me, goes before me, behind me, and beside me, even though there are things in this crazy world that tend to build fear and anxiety in all of us.  But faith hasn’t always been the way as a ‘grown up’. There were the times I turned to the things of this world to distract me from my fear. But as I grew in my faith, “don’t be afraid” or “don’t be frightened” just took on a different and deeper meaning.

I was at an early point in that part of my journey when I met him.  We had a mutual friend who had set up after-work billiards and cocktails.  Well, not exactly.  For the sake of the heart, allow me to stay transparent.  We were at a pool hall / bar / grill, with the least of the three being a grill.  The group was supposed to be the mutual friend, a guy he had grown up with, and a friend of mine.  My friend ended up sick and in bed, so it wound up being three of us headed to Rowdy’s Pool Hall Bar & Grill.  As I sat in the hard, wooden chair near the pool tables, the front door of the grill (um, bar) door opened.

Picture this: “Let’s Get It On” or even “I’m Too Sexy” playing in the background, intense wind in the air briskly blowing through his hair, and him with a slow-motion walk that would stop a clock.  Of course in reality, there was clanking and clattering of pool balls, drinks being clinked, and Hank Williams, Jr. playing too loudly on the jukebox.  Also in real life, I had no idea he was there as part of the group because I had never met him before.  But I sure saw him.  Everyone saw him.  He was stunning.  He was gorgeous.  He was HAWT.   HE WAS HEADED MY WAY!

Very suddenly, there was a strange voice coming from inside my spirit.  “Meet your husband.”  NO THANK YOU, Voice.  As I heard it again, he strolled right up to the table.  The mutual friend introduced us and as Prince Charming’s hand was extended in a greeting, I found myself thinking, “Oh, no.  This guy gets all the girls.  Let’s not be foolish.”  And my wrist went limp in the air as I offered the sort of hand that a Queen does when she expects to be curtsied to; like in a kiss-my-ring kind of way.  There was a bevy of butterflies in my tummy as his hand touched mine.

As he sat down, I heard the voice again. “This is your husband.”    Memories started to smoke within me.  I had such a sordid history of toxic relationships within all categories of people in my life.  I had already decided no more.  I had also vowed that not one more person would be able to penetrate the guarded walls I had so solidly built.  Certainly not this guy, who probably had a multitude of paramours to pull from whenever he wanted!  And the apprehension began.

We played a few games of pool, to which I put the smack-down upon him - though to this day he smirks and insists he “let me win” - and I continued to hear that confounded voice telling me I had met the man I would marry.  The louder the voice became, the more the fear factor intensified.

It grew late and the mutual friend decided to leave.  “Stay here with your future husband” I heard from deep within.  I started the inner conciliation of olde, telling myself there was nothing to be afraid of, but it wasn’t working.  I even began singing the great song of yore internally to remember my favorite things!  But he was already my favorite thing.

As the night wore on, I grew fonder of this stunning cavalier.  His inward charms were working, and his outward beauty didn’t hurt, either.  We decided to leave the bar, grab a snack of tortillas chips, ranch, and salsa at my suggestion, and find a spot for a nighttime tailgate picnic. And as the night expanded, we spent hours talking, getting to know one another, into the wee hours of the early morn.

Now Folks, this next part may sound like I’m right back to the fairy tale makeover, but I promise it’s all true: the moon was full and round in a black, clear-of-clouds sky, the air was thick with the steamy humidity only a Texas night in June can bring, but still, there was a warm, mild breeze blowing, and there was some soft music playing from the radio inside the cab of his truck.  As we sat on the tailgate with all of those stars aligning, I found his angel face staring at me. 

I knew it.  I could feel what he was feeling.  He wanted to kiss me!  As we gazed into each other’s eyes, my heart began to pound.  I could hear it in my ears.  Did I look all right in the moonlight?  Was I giving too many encouraging vibes??  DID I HAVE SALSA IN MY TEETH???

And then I said it.  I said it all right.  Out loud.  I said the words that still ring loudly to me to this day.  I said it with a wry little smile on my face.  I SAID IT.  Those three…little…words.

“DON’T BE SCARED.”

Looking back, I think I may have been talking to myself, actually.  Knowing what I felt in my soul, knowing what lay ahead, especially after what I had put behind me.  And for whatever was happening in that moment that made me afraid, I would feel a little better if I just SAID IT. 

And he smiled.  And he leaned in.  And he put his husband-to-be lips on mine.  And I thought I would cry.  Effectively, he did not try to be the guy who thought this would lead to anything more than a gentle touch of our lips together.  He was reverent and considerate of my dignity.  And as swiftly as he had leaned in, he pulled away with such ease, stared directly into my eyes, and smiled a smile that he has beamed at me every day that we’ve been together since. 

I loved him.  Immediately.  And he loved me, too.  Though it would be months of friendship and a few months more of dating before either of us would say so.  But it wasn’t because we were “scared”, as it were.  It was because we wanted to be wise; for this to be right.  We had both been through the wringer and wanted to make certain we understood the mutual respect we deserved, had earned, and wanted to continue to forge together.  We wanted to make better decisions…without fear.

He repeats those words I spoke to him that night as he tells The Kiddos and The Grittles the story.  And he tells it all the time.  We raise our glasses any time we hear the phrase spoken out loud whether stranger, relative, or friend alike, and we always kind of giggle about it together.  The Kiddos tease me about it, often saying, “Mom, don’t be scared!” to remind me playfully of that precious-but-powerful statement.  I tend to turn a little red in the face and hot behind the ears in surprising embarrassment, but it still brings a grin to my face and joy to my heart.  Mostly because I’m NOT scared.  There is nothing to be afraid of.

Do you sometimes feel fear creeping up no matter the stage of life you’re in?  Do you hear thoughts of fearful possibilities that polarize you?  Have you been in situations that have the potential to bring love and joy, but your fears drown them like quicksand? 

You could sing a little song, or say a little mantra.  You can try to shield the fearful thoughts by reminding yourself of things you like.  You could turn to the things of this world that will only distract you.  Or you could know YOU ARE LOVED.  Whether it’s your partner, your children, your siblings, your friends, or God Himself.  YOU ARE LOVED. 

Make the decision to learn from the history your past has brought you.  Allow it to make you stronger, wiser; BETTER.  Know you deserve and have earned respect, so long as you give it mutually.  Forge on with a solemn vow to make healthy decisions without fear.  In fact, you must cross your fears to get to the other side.

The story of your life will never be a fairy tale, nor is it a joke or a limerick.  It’s the culmination of the joy you choose, decisions you make, and the legacy you create.  We have this one life we’ve been given.  Pursue things that will create a peaceful mind, body, and spirit for the sake of It.

Don’t be scared.

JUNE BUG

©Artwork by: Kiren Garcia of The Captivated Canvas© (copy or usage prohibited)

Have you ever seen a firefly? Or perhaps you know it as a lightning bug. They are spectacular. They are kind of a crazy creation, in my opinion. And perhaps that’s the opinion of others, as well. Their bodies light up from deep inside and they have their own season in life. They don’t sting, and they don’t bite. They don’t eat crops or bother anyone’s garden.

There is even a phenomenon in Southeast Asia, as well as in The Great Smokey Mountains in Tennessee in June when they actually synchronize their flashes!

To their credit, their beautiful light actually releases a dangerous toxin that makes them taste bitter to predators or those species brave enough to attack their brilliance and go for a taste. The defensive steroid they contain makes them unappealing once attacked, which is ironic because their magnificent shine is what makes them tempting in the first place.

There are some sad facts pertaining to these peculiar beetles. They are on the decline. Mostly because of us humans. Yep. Not only capturing them in jars until their lights dim and their short-lived lives are even shorter, but also because we are tearing down their habitats, building our own.

ALL THEY WANT TO DO IS SHINE THEIR LIGHT.

Let me be clear: THIS IS NOT A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT REGARDING LIGHTNING BUGS. Rather, this is a story about how these creatures compare to us - primal nature versus human nature.

Every June, I think of my childhood in New York where fireflies were rare, but they were there. And yes, not knowing any better and being a kid from the projects who rarely got to capture nature, I “captured nature.” Every June I think of my time here in Texas out in the dessert country where they abound and quite frankly light up the sky bigger and better than the stars. Every June, I wonder where they are as I sit in my darling little suburbia, keeping the memory of their wonder very wistfully in my heart.

I recently tried to explain lightning bugs to The Grittles. They are 6, 4, and 3 months, and none of them have ever really seen one, minus on the youtube, of course. I started wondering where the insects have gone and asked The Googla if they are even still around. “They are,” said Google Assistant, “but are quickly vanishing and will one day only be considered folklore.”

I felt a little forlorn for my winged-and-lighted friends. Or maybe it was a self-imposed sadness based entirely on my selfish desire to recapture my youth. As I sat pondering the idea in its entirety, I found myself comparing the life of the firefly to my very own.

I’m kind of a crazy creation, in my opinion. And perhaps the opinion of others, as well. I definitely find myself lighting up from deep inside with joy from my faith, even in some of the darkest times. I know all about seasons in life, believe me. I have seen good times, tough times, scary times, angry times, sad times, and happy times. Though I know those times all depend on circumstances, innate joy continues to be a light in my heart and in my soul.

I have seen the seasons of friends that come and go, regardless of the reasons why. I have seen the seasons of sickness and health, no matter the eventual outcome. I have seen seasons of life, and I have seen seasons of death. Whatever the case, I know that is my lot in time, and my season in life.

I don’t sting, and I don’t bite. You’re welcome. I have taken some beatings in life, albeit not just physical. I have been imprisoned in toxic relationships, held captive by unkindness, and trapped by the exploitation of those in the position of power or authority.

I have never bothered the crops of anyone else’s life intentionally, nor can I say I’ve ever eaten from someone else’s garden without invitation.

Though I certainly don’t fancy myself a phenomenon of any sort, I definitely try to stay in synch with those closest in my life, like The Fam. #WeStandUnited. Whatever flashes are going on in any of The Kiddos’ and Grittles’ lives, as well as The Hubster’s, I try to make certain we are all doing our best to be together, supportive, and encouraging.

I, too, have suffered at the hands of predators or those brave enough to attempt to put out this little light of mine, and to my credit - though I don’t sting or bite - I can definitely emit a defense that can be viewed as unappealing once the attack has begun. The poignancy of that never ceases to amaze me, since it is my magnificent shine that made me attractive in the first place.

I have felt the tearing down of the habitat of my very emotions, my heart, from those wishing to only build up themselves.

ALL I WANT TO DO IS SHINE MY LIGHT.

I exist. I exist now. I am presently here, but I know in a hundred years anything I have said or done has the possibility of only being folklore, if even that. While I’m here I can shine the light inside me to as many people as possible, no matter my lot in time, or how short my season here will be. At the very least, I can leave a legacy that will shine on through those who have received it, and in turn, they shine it onto others as well.

Even as I write this, I am considering going somewhere in June that I know those bugs will be doing what they were designed to do. I want to see them while they still exist. I won’t imprison them in a jar or try to clutch them in my hand. I will simply capture it in my memory and hold it in my heart.

NO MATTER THE SEASON, IF YOU CARRY LIGHT INSIDE YOUR HEART, LET IT SHINE.

GOING VIRAL

When I posted the blog The Big Behind, it was because the year we had prior to this one was filled with personal hardships and losses – one right after the other, over, and over……and over.  Many people in our life would attempt to encourage us by saying that this new year had nowhere to go but up.

Without trying to be cynical, I told them to beware of that thought.  There is no magic in a number, or the flip of one day being New Year’s Eve to the next being New Year’s day.  Life still happens.

And it is happening now in a way that I’ve never seen, and no longer are we experiencing just private trials.  This is worldwide.  And it’s not just this historical pandemic.  It’s racism.  And violence.  And inequality.  And politics.  And violent protests.  And debates.  And relationship strains.  And loss.  And death.  And numerous kinds of epidemics that span the world  in the most provocative way. 

It doesn’t matter which political party you support, or even what country you live in.  ‘Pandemic’, they call it.  Well, I suppose we all call it that now - this contagion that has affected each one of us - whether we have contracted it or not. 

Isolate yourselves.  Don’t be together in groups.  Wear a mask and cover your face.  Social distance.  Don’t go out.  Close your businesses.

New spikes.  Partisan.  Controversy.  Challenge.

It has created a Divide of Togetherness, an Isolation of Fellowship.

Have you heard of the prolific book, Around the World in 80 Days?

If you haven’t, let me fill you in on at least part of the plot:  Phileas Fogg is a rich British gentleman living in solitude. Despite his wealth, Fogg lives a modest life with habits carried out with mathematical precision. Very little can be said about his social life other than that he is a member of the Reform Club, where he spends much of every day.

Sound familiar?  We are IN a fog, and, for the most of us, NOT wealthy but definitely living in solitude.  In spite of and / or because of our situation, we live modest lives with habits carried out with a new-normal precision.  Very little can be said about our social lives other than that we are in a pandemic and ordered to stay home, where we spend much of every day. 

Side note: The Reform Club was, until 1981, a club for men only.  No coincidence that systemic inequality, yet another epidemic, rears its ugly head in my analogy.

Oh sure.  We’re opening back up now.  Because everything had to shut down.  But what are we opening back up TO?  We have since seen another spike in cases and even in deaths. 

Yet we have realized our dream of toilet paper on the shelves enough for everyone again.  We are now allowed to buy enough chicken to start our own coop if we wanted to.  We are back to having what we want when we want it and how often we want it, and never feeling satiated.  Which still leaves us feeling anxious, sad, angry, or even despair.

It all can feel hopeless to be in humanitarian crisis and universal disparity.  There is a strange vulnerability and sense of feeling fragile in that.  At least I hope so.

My thought process in that hope lies in something better going viral, spreading worldwide.  Not the propagation of disease, or the fear of abuse or discrimination.  Not intolerance or political fervor.  Not entitlement or privilege.

I want for us, as a people, to remember what this year has been like.  Where each new calamity had us, and the susceptibility that rose in us like a wildfire.  If we forget or try to put it behind us, we will not have grown through it, because without learning from our past, our future is daunting.

There is a path to hope during the chaos of it all.  You can find peace and purpose in this one life we’ve been given no matter what the situation.

Focus on what is good around you and don’t let the negative lodge itself within.  How to do that?  Profoundly count your blessings!  We tend to put what is positive on a shelf and let it collect dust when the hard times seem to be raging. 

I am not implying that we shouldn’t be awake and aware to what is plaguing us as a society.  Nor am I trying to translate finding joy through it all into ignoring it or blocking it all out. I am not saying that we don’t truly suffer through losses and personal trials.

I am, however, saying to seek out a deeper love and appreciation of humanity – go ahead and stand up for what you believe in.  I am also saying to feel empathy and compassion for what is happening to someone else by putting the shoe, worn out as it may be, on your own foot – especially if you expect the same grace from others as troubles arise in your own life.  I am saying that growth, development, and understanding can only come through forging through tough times.

It’s an easy path to follow when we allow negativity to embed itself, and it takes discipline to find the joy through each circumstance.  Stop what you're doing - even if it's just for a moment - close your eyes and breathe slowly.  Test yourself by naming at least three things you're grateful for.  Is it your health?  Your family?  Your faith? 

Not one thing is greater than the other when it comes to blessings.  They are sanctioned by how you view them.  Let that perspective be the plague that takes over your mind, your body, and your spirit.  Let that be the positive test result you live with.  Let that be what you pass along to others so they, too, can share in the boons of  that particular epidemic.   Let it be CONTAGIOUS.

And perhaps that’s the story that will go viral.

THE BIG BEHIND

LASDI© (photo by The DAUGHTS, Chelsea Erickson of The Untidy Tribe)

“Happy New Year!”  It’s what everyone says at midnight.  Or the entire next day.  They even say it for about a week afterwards without a second thought.  There is something about that 11:59 pm landmark and the 10-second countdown that arouses excitement and promise and  enthusiasm.  And hope.  Hope for something new and better; a better future because the past wasn’t good enough.

We contemplate the last 365 days with disdain and disgust.  We blame the year behind us for our weight gain, or not having lost the weight from the year prior.  We blame the year behind us for losing our jobs or not being financially stable.  We blame the year behind us for the losses we suffered or for the illnesses that we or loved ones experienced.  We blame the year behind us for any relationship problems we had or toxic situations we may have been in.  We blame the year behind us for all things terrible in our lives.

And we all think that this new number – this new magical date in time – will bring about the glory we’ve been searching for all our lives.  We somehow think that it will flip a switch in us or in our environment or even in the world that will make everything better.

That’s why we make resolutions and set goals.  We turn around and look behind us and don’t like what we see.  We do a mirror check and think of all the ways we can improve.  We consider all the things we want and draw up a plan on how to obtain them.  There are even some of us that think it’s cooler not to set the resolutions, or that say we don’t believe in them.  I don’t blame that group.  Why bother anyhow when television gives us the statistics about how our resolutions fail by February or how many of us in percentage terms simply throw them out the window the next day. 

Somehow our fate lies in the countdown.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am a flawed human and I fall into every category I just described in one way or another.  This New Year was a strange time of processing for me.  I kept telling The Hubster the entire week leading up to it that I wasn’t going to fall into this 2020: The Year of Perfection idea.  It was, after all, just another day with a new number attached to it.  None of us can predict the future.  Though we had quite a rough-and-tumble year in 2019, who is to say 2020 wouldn’t be the very same?  Who is say there won’t be loss or illness or hard times?  I, in fact, found myself annoyed at the thought of the New Year meaning new life.  We were outside watching the fireworks when the countdown began.  I joined in on the fun because, well, that’s what we’re ‘supposed to do’, right?  Midnight!  I turn to kiss Adrian.  (Somewhat for traditions’ sake, but mostly because I love to kiss My Husband.)  I felt hot tears streaming down my face out of nowhere.  I was still pressing my lips on his, but felt my body silently sobbing.  I heard the people around me joyously shouting the New Year salutations and hugging and kissing and whooping.  And I was eyes closed, weeping, being held in My Life Partner’s arms and being allowed to do so.  And then I finally realized why: though I wasn’t giving the New Year any magical life powers, I was relieved to feel the melt-away of the Old Year’s power of hardships to our life. 

But for us, it always comes down to faith.  That’s where our hope lies.  At the risk of sounding like one of Scrooge’s ghosts, faith is past, present, future.  Faith that the past was necessary to make you stronger, draw you closer to it; faith that whatever is happening presently is enough and to see exactly where the blessings are.  Faith that the future holds real life, and whatever that looks like, we can get through it, whether bad or good – but never perfect and we accept that.  It’s the only life we have.   The one life we’ve been given. 

Do we spend it pining after things we want as opposed to being content with that we have?  That isn’t to say goals aren’t good; there’s growth in improvement.  Remember that when we are also told to go easy on ourselves and give ourselves some grace when we don’t achieve the resolutions or goals.  Why do we need a New Year for that?

Each DAY is new.  Be careful when you say things like, “I can’t wait until …” or “I wish this day would be over” – good times or bad, happy or sad, let’s not wish our life away.  It is but a vapor and will be gone before you know it, whether we live to be 1 or 100.  None of us are promised tomorrow.  And thank goodness for yesterday.  And this present moment is HERE. Find joy in it. Let’s spend it in balance looking forward to the big future, but grateful for the big behind. 

NO THANKS NECESSARY

LASDI© (photo by The Hubster, Adrian Garcia)

Thanksgiving has become a sacred holiday for my family.  More and more every year, it grows into something that means more and more to us every year.

We are careful not to let it be the focus, though.  What I mean is, we don't make it our golden calf.  We don't worship the holiday itself.  But as we get older and become wiser through life experiences, we definitely don't take lightly a day set aside for family, peace, comfort, love, and giving thanks.  

It's been quite a year.  It's been filled with losses and heartaches, struggles and valleys with (seemingly) no visible end in sight.  So what in the world would we be giving thanks for?  Well I know this is going to sound strange, but we will be giving thanks for the losses, the heartaches, the struggles, and the valleys.  Because those are the things that make us value what we have right in front of us that we may often take for granted.

Thanksgiving is such a lovely day, filled with family, friends, decorations, lights, incredible smells, and of course, a cornucopia of delicious food.  But more than that to us, it means loved ones, community, vivid color, illumination, a delight to the dulled senses, and provision.  We are surrounded by reminders of what otherwise might be forgotten: that we have so much to be thankful for.

Some of the more sensible and practical people reading this may be a tad bit cynical, finding it hard to believe that we give thanks for hard times, or dark circumstances.  I don't blame you.  I question it myself sometimes, as I am only human, after all.  I mean, how could a weary soul on it's knees be brought to sturdy feet when there are so many things trying to hold it down?  How can a person not just survive, but even thrive through relentless battles?  How can a heart that aches from breaking continue to beat so strongly, even though more pieces of it fall away?  

With the faith that there is more to this one life we've been given, and the knowledge that the best is yet to come.  With the fortitude of growth through each event or occurrence.  With the magnitude of knowing there is joy to be found, even in the worst places. I've been proclaiming all year that happiness is fleeting; that it all depends on the circumstances.  If then, that is the case, I am NOT a happy camper.  But joy comes when you make peace with who you are and why you are; it is an attitude of the heart. 

In which case, I AM JOYFUL.

Does it make life harmonious and easy to get through?  Absolutely not.  It's not realistic to think so.  Should it give us great pause, though, to realize that even in the worst things we should give thanks?  You'd better believe it.  And I have hope you’ll receive it.

This Thanksgiving in particular, I will be taking mental notes of my surroundings. I will hug the people I love a little tighter, and I will breathe them in a little deeper.  I will chew a little slower and truly savor every delectable flavor. I will move with intention and show an abundance of love shamelessly.  And though I know what a hard year it's been, and that other hard times lie before me, I will seek and find the joy more than ever, and let it resonate with me the other 364 days of the year.  

I will do my very best to give thanks in all circumstances.  And I will pray for You Lovelies to be able to do the same.  No thanks necessary.

MOMMY MEMORIES

LASDI©

They’re everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. In a container under my bed. In a shoe box on a shelf in the closet. Hanging in various places all over the house. On the fridge. In the attic. In my jewelry box. In guestroom closets. In blanket boxes and hope chests all around the house. On my night stand. IN my night stand. In a basket NEXT to my night stand. And for the sake of this blog post and your sanity, I won’t name the many other places they are.

I know this makes me sound like a hoarder, no matter what it is I am talking about. But these particular things I have found are my pleasure to hoard – all the things The Kiddos have made for me, written for me, drawn for me, or given to me that have managed or stay intact.

Each one has efficacy in its own way; value and worth beyond all measure. They stem from the crayon kindergarten scribble to letters in their own adult penmanship. I have a wire cross that looks like lace that was purchased for me at Summer Church Camp. I have a red teddy bear with a heart on one foot and on the other foot is embroidered the year 2003, even though it was given to me in 2004. I have a heart-shaped ceramic box that was painted for me that I’ve dropped, broken, and super-glued back together four times. I have about a thousand construction paper cards and poems. Could be more.

I even have things I’ve saved from their childhood that weren’t given to me, but at some point belonged to them, like one baby shoe. Or their teeth. All their baby teeth. ALL OF THEM. They’re in a tooth-shaped box in the bottom drawer of my jewelry box. Don’t judge me.

I can’t say I was the best mom that ever was. I mean, at the end of each day – even in their adulthood – I ask myself before I pray for them if I’ve done the very best I could, even if I fell short. The answer has always emphatically been yes. Some days were a home run, and some days I should have stayed in the dugout. But I was always a team mom.

Somehow, I knew that part of my living legacy – and the one I leave behind – would have a more profound effect on both them and me by having these things to look upon. It could be the future: “I’m going to have these twenty years from now to look at and show them and we can smile and laugh about it together.” It could be the present: “Let’s take a selfie and post it to my social media scrapbook.” Or it could be the past: “I can’t believe you drew this for me when you were five!”

Oh I know they probably won’t keep all this stuff after I’m gone. But when they’re going through this landfill time capsule, they WILL smile. They WILL know how much they meant to me. They WILL know I was crazy kookamunga, but all in the name of love.

When they were small, I didn’t understand pursuing them. I just knew I loved them, and that their health and well-being depended on me. I knew I wanted them to be grounded, well-rounded, kind, successful humans. But looking back, I think keeping these things was a subconscious pursuit. As they are adulting so hard now, I know being a mom doesn’t ever stop, but it changes as they do. I mega-pursue them now and try to insert myself into their lives in such a way that isn’t obnoxious (I said I TRY) and that lets them know how much they mean to me, too.

I love waking up every morning and seeing the folded note on my night stand marked “mom” that The DAUGHTS gave me the day The GRAND Daughts was born. I love opening my jewelry box and seeing the tiny pink plastic ring Schmooly-Wooly found in the grass one day that he decided he would hand over to me to have as though he were little, even though he was grown and already a part of this family. I love walking by the lopsided hand-sewn pillow in my room that The Sonster made when he was small and away at camp. I love the delicate string tied around my master-bathroom closet door that The Daughts-In-Law tied a Christmas gift up with. I love the patch from The Kid’s Army uniform he gave to me one day at lunch. I love all of it – and I love all of THEM. And they are amazing humans that love me right back.

Yes, I know we can’t take “things” with us when we die. I know that items of value won’t go to the grave with us. But the things I’m talking about are daily PRICELESS reminders of how hard I work to find joy in the hard times life can bring us; pictures of the blessings that are directly in front of us; reminders of how hard I’ve worked to be the best mom I can be, even when I fall short.

I don’t get mad if I don’t get expensive gifts on Mother’s Day. I don’t get upset if every single thing doesn’t go just perfectly. I don’t even get sad if I have work I have to get done that day. I try to turn that day into a reminder to look for even better ways to show my gratefulness and adoration for the blessings that are The Kiddos; ways to ensure we stand united; ways to leave a legacy of faith, hope, and LOVE.

And I also look for more places to hoard all the Mommy Memories that will be coming my way……

SEASONS CHANGE

LASDI©

For the sake of this blog post, I did a quick (un-sanctioned, non-governmental) poll.  The poll consisted of fifty people.  Some I knew, some I did not.  Some lived in my region and some lived in other parts of the country.

I simply asked them what their favorite time of year (or season) was.  Out of fifty people, they all had the same answer: Autumn!  So, fifty-out-of-fifty people all prefer this time of year! That’s some reputation for a season!

I am among those people.  This is the time of year for The Fam when we have our Annual Fall Family Day (NOT Family Fall Day, which means something different entirely!), my birthday, and two of The Kiddo’s birthdays are celebrated, and of course, the holy grail of holidays for my family comes into the Autumnal category: THANKSGIVING!

Some people like it because the leaves turn jewel-tone colors; others simply love the cooler weather.  The pumpkin spice smells, and the chili cooking in everyone’s biggest pot in the kitchen doesn’t hurt, either!  Is it the overcast, melancholy days that make us want to curl up in the quiet with a good book?  There is something special about the energy in the air, regardless of the reason so many people choose it as their favorite.

So why did I want to know in the first place, you ask?  Well, it seems that the energy in people changes a bit as well.  Though it starts to be a very busy season for all, people somehow seem more nostalgic and even a bit more subdued to me.  I notice more grace; more ‘warm fuzzies’.  What is it about a season that can make this change in us?

When I think about that question, I think about seasons in our life.  Not the kind that comes with a solstice, but rather the seasons that come with growth.  I think I can explain it better by sharing an excerpt out of my eBook, ‘Extra Ingredients to A Life of Flavor’:

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The seasons of people that have affected me negatively have engrained in me to be positive.

The seasons of people that have affected me positively have instilled a sense of community and love within me.

We have all had the relationship or relationships that have placed fear or mistrust in us at least once. We have seen seasons of loss and of life. Such is this broken-but-beautiful world.

But the main point from all of it that I have learned and desire to pass on is that every single one of them are valuable and crucial to who we allow ourselves to become.

There are many different circumstances that cause season changes – some of them good and tasty; some of them not-so-good that leave a sour taste in our mouth. Either way, seasons come and go, and they consistently change us.

I have had so many seasonings sprinkled throughout my time here that have shaped me and helped create both my living legacy and the one I leave behind. I can tell you that not all of those seasonings have been ones that I care to recall, though it’s important to my heart and as part of my faith that I do, so that they don’t steal my joy.

Is there a friendship you used to count on daily that has fizzled out and you’re not sure why?

Or perhaps there is a family member you confided in that shared your vulnerability with someone else. Maybe it’s just as simple as someone you love and admire moving to a different place.

And then there’s the accountability factor: what if you are the person that doesn’t feel the same toward a friend, or who abandoned a trust somehow – whether knowingly or not – or had to move away from a loved-one? These seasonings of life happen to all of us – no one is immune.

What do we do with that? We cannot allow these times to make us bitter, but rather to make us better. Making our tiny life mighty depends on that.

Whenever I refer to certain people or times or memories from my own past, I almost always call those seasons ‘seasonings’ because they craft the life of flavor we choose to live. Whether it’s salty or sweet, they’re important to the recipe that creates you.

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So, whether you’re one of the fifty-out-of-fifty people that loves Autumn as your favorite season, or you happen to be a beach lover in the hottest months of the year, know that what you do with the seasons of life that come your way is the most important way to grow.  Make your tiny life mighty – with every single season.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill {defend}, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; ...” ~Ecclesiastes 3:1-22

“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” ~Genesis 8:22

“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cézanne