Today my mother turns 75. I wonder what it's like to look back over three-quarters of a century of life, love, joy, accomplishment and sorrow. Occasionally, I find myself thinking about what my mother's life was like when she was my age. I've only known her as my mother, but in those moments I try to see her as a woman without attaching a specific classification.
When my mother was my age, she had just sent her oldest to college, she butted heads with a strong-willed teenage daughter multiple times a day (if I'm honest, it was constantly) and her baby was 11 years old. She was (mostly) a stay-at-home mom and I remember wondering what she did all day long while we were at school, obviously having no clue at that point what it takes to run a household.
At my age, she hadn't yet gone back to college for her nursing degree, a pursuit she started when she was 48, the same time I went off to college. She attended college classes with students who graduated with me, students she taught when she served as a substitute teacher at our school. She had long-ago buried both of her parents and two of her sisters. She had children to finish raising and a marriage loosely held together.
There's a 30-year age difference between me and my mom, and I think about what she's experienced in the span between 45 and 75. She successfully navigated nursing school, a grueling endurance test for an 18-year old, much less someone looking at 50. She had yet to anticipate graduations (including her own), weddings, grandchildren and divorce. She lost her oldest sister and nieces and nephews. She pursued a career in public health nursing and a second career working in a crisis pregnancy center. She downsized not once, but twice, each time starting over in a new community. She's read an untold number of books and enjoyed countless concerts and theater productions. A few years ago, she rekindled her love of singing and joined two community choirs and the church choir. Except for a few minor hiccups, she has enjoyed good health. She's watched her children succeed and fail, make decisions she supported and others where she probably thought we'd lost our ever-loving minds.
In the retirement community where she lives, she is a youngster. It's not uncommon for her to be taking classes or volunteering beside 90-somethings or even those who have lived a century of life. She's still a mom with all the concerns that are inherent to that position in life because as I'm learning, you don't stop being a parent when the chicks fly the coop. She's still learning new things and remaining engaged in her community.
If I've done my math correctly, in those 30 years, she's lived 15.76 million moments of life. That's a lot of living.
I'm at a different place in life at 45 than my mother was. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. As I reflect on what I know about my mother's last 30 years, recognizing that I have just a glimpse of what her life has been like, it helps me to see her as a person, beyond a daughter's limited perspective. And I think that's important, to see the people in our lives with more of a bird's eye view. That view gives us a better chance to show love, empathy, patience, joy and understanding, instead of automatically reverting to the patterns developed due to the stations of life that put us into relationship.
I wonder what I'll see if I do this reflection exercise when I'm 75. Life holds twists and turns -- some you see coming, some surprise you around the next blind curve. As the story unfolds, I want to cherish each chapter, each page. I'd like to skip over the bumpy parts, but since that's impossible, I want to be open to learning and sharing the lessons I've learned because of the speed bumps. I want to experience joy more fully, be a little more daring, embrace each day and laugh often. I want to see people without the shades of life I may cast upon them. I want to live this life well.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Mercy
Well, today's Saturday, which means I'm an entire day late for Five Minute Friday, but it's a little challenging to type a blog entry on your smartphone and since that's the only Internet access I had on Friday, I'm showing up on Saturday and I'm writing. This week's word prompt is mercy.
Mercy is not something that comes naturally or easily to me. Criticism? Check. Judgment? Fight it every day. High expectations? Well, what others may call "high," I call "realistic," but let's not split hairs. The fact is that I don't think "merciful" is the first adjective people would use to describe me. I'm working on it, I'm working on it and I have many examples of merciful people in my life.
The one that comes to mind right now is Fred. Fred runs a sporting goods store in the rural county where we have a cabin. The shop used to have gas pumps where we'd fill up our boat before heading to the lake, but it became too expensive for Fred and his parents so they shut them down. We started buying wood from Fred probably a decade ago and that's been our only interaction with Fred every year or two.
Earlier this year we ordered wood from Fred and guaranteed him that we'd meet him at the cabin with payment. Our schedules changed and we completely forgot about the wood delivery until we saw a missed call from Fred on the phone. Ugh. We felt terrible. We couldn't get Fred on the phone, but the next time we were at the cabin, we found the wood delivered as promised and I hightailed it to the store to pay Fred. Full of apologies, I handed over what we owed him and Fred? Fred showed us mercy. Because that's how Fred rolls. "That's OK," he said. "I knew you'd be up soon and stop by to pay me. It's no problem."
And while the price of a load of wood may not make or break most people's budget, it's likely pretty important to Fred. Business is slow in the area and at his little store. He looked gaunt when I paid him and we later found out he's battled leukemia. This weekend, we learned that he buried his father three weeks ago.
But his word and a handshake and a little bit of mercy is how Fred does business. No contract for a deal, no angry phone call or penalty when you're late for payment. Just peace and mercy.
We bought more wood from Fred this weekend. We weren't sure if our trailer was roadworthy because it had been sitting for a number of years, but we told Fred if it was, we'd be back for the wood. My husband was on his way when Fred called and said, "You know, I was thinking maybe you'd need air in your trailer's tires." My husband affirmed he was headed to the gas station before meeting Fred. "No problem," Fred said. "I can take care of it here. Just come on down." When our trailer was filled with wood and there was still half a load left, Fred shut his store early (despite my husband's protests) and delivered the wood to our cabin.
Thanks, Fred, for showing me what mercy looks like and how much the small mercies can mean. You inspire me.
Mercy is not something that comes naturally or easily to me. Criticism? Check. Judgment? Fight it every day. High expectations? Well, what others may call "high," I call "realistic," but let's not split hairs. The fact is that I don't think "merciful" is the first adjective people would use to describe me. I'm working on it, I'm working on it and I have many examples of merciful people in my life.
The one that comes to mind right now is Fred. Fred runs a sporting goods store in the rural county where we have a cabin. The shop used to have gas pumps where we'd fill up our boat before heading to the lake, but it became too expensive for Fred and his parents so they shut them down. We started buying wood from Fred probably a decade ago and that's been our only interaction with Fred every year or two.
Earlier this year we ordered wood from Fred and guaranteed him that we'd meet him at the cabin with payment. Our schedules changed and we completely forgot about the wood delivery until we saw a missed call from Fred on the phone. Ugh. We felt terrible. We couldn't get Fred on the phone, but the next time we were at the cabin, we found the wood delivered as promised and I hightailed it to the store to pay Fred. Full of apologies, I handed over what we owed him and Fred? Fred showed us mercy. Because that's how Fred rolls. "That's OK," he said. "I knew you'd be up soon and stop by to pay me. It's no problem."
And while the price of a load of wood may not make or break most people's budget, it's likely pretty important to Fred. Business is slow in the area and at his little store. He looked gaunt when I paid him and we later found out he's battled leukemia. This weekend, we learned that he buried his father three weeks ago.
But his word and a handshake and a little bit of mercy is how Fred does business. No contract for a deal, no angry phone call or penalty when you're late for payment. Just peace and mercy.
We bought more wood from Fred this weekend. We weren't sure if our trailer was roadworthy because it had been sitting for a number of years, but we told Fred if it was, we'd be back for the wood. My husband was on his way when Fred called and said, "You know, I was thinking maybe you'd need air in your trailer's tires." My husband affirmed he was headed to the gas station before meeting Fred. "No problem," Fred said. "I can take care of it here. Just come on down." When our trailer was filled with wood and there was still half a load left, Fred shut his store early (despite my husband's protests) and delivered the wood to our cabin.
Thanks, Fred, for showing me what mercy looks like and how much the small mercies can mean. You inspire me.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Red
It's a beautiful Friday and time to take a few minutes to write for Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is red.
It caught my eye as I rounded the corner behind the dogs. She stepped out of her minivan and turned to let her daughter out of the back seat. Gray shirt, denim skirt and a cute red purse. As we passed, I told her how much I loved the pop of color her purse provided and she smiled.
Red is my favorite color. I love it in my kitchen, bouquets and wardrobe. I carried red roses in my wedding. I put it on my lips, tips and toes. It took about seven coats, but I finally got the red right for the accent wall in my office. My Kindle cover is red and I had a red laptop that I loved. I was even able to convince B -- whose favorite color is black -- that a red(dish) sofa would look great in the living room.
While I'm a summer girl, I love the red leaves that autumn brings. I see more sunsets than sunrises, but red is part of what makes both beautiful. My first car was red and my current one would be, too, except the vehicle we purchased didn't come in the "right" red.
I'm not obnoxious about red ... I like bright colors in general. But red makes me happy. It can brighten up a dreary landscape, make me smile on a tough day, add just enough pop to pull a room or outfit together.
What's your red?
It caught my eye as I rounded the corner behind the dogs. She stepped out of her minivan and turned to let her daughter out of the back seat. Gray shirt, denim skirt and a cute red purse. As we passed, I told her how much I loved the pop of color her purse provided and she smiled.
Red is my favorite color. I love it in my kitchen, bouquets and wardrobe. I carried red roses in my wedding. I put it on my lips, tips and toes. It took about seven coats, but I finally got the red right for the accent wall in my office. My Kindle cover is red and I had a red laptop that I loved. I was even able to convince B -- whose favorite color is black -- that a red(dish) sofa would look great in the living room.
While I'm a summer girl, I love the red leaves that autumn brings. I see more sunsets than sunrises, but red is part of what makes both beautiful. My first car was red and my current one would be, too, except the vehicle we purchased didn't come in the "right" red.
I'm not obnoxious about red ... I like bright colors in general. But red makes me happy. It can brighten up a dreary landscape, make me smile on a tough day, add just enough pop to pull a room or outfit together.
What's your red?
Friday, August 30, 2013
Worship
It's Friday and time for Five Minute Friday. I didn't get any other blog writing done this week, so I'm grateful for the commitment I've made to FMF each week. Today's word prompt is worship.
What does worship look/sound/feel like for you? The worship style of a church can draw people in, cause the old-timers to sit with crossed arms and a frown, or send someone running out of the building as if the roof is on fire. I feel compassion for worship leaders -- how do you keep the hymn lovers satisfied and the millenials engaged without losing all those who find them somewhere in between?
I think we too often, me included, distract ourselves from worship by focusing on the medium by which worship is encouraged in a church service. The music is too loud, too fast, too slow, too repetitive, too old, too new, too whatever. In our church, our worship style is well-balanced with the right (in my mind) mix of fast and slow, loud and contemplative, old and new. That could change and then what?
But worship isn't about the music or the style or the tempo or the volume. Worship isn't about sitting in the pew or folding chair or on the ground on Sunday morning. Worship is about focusing my heart on God. The rest is just wrapping paper. For me, worship is quieting my self and my non-stop mind. That can happen within the walls of a church building, in the early morning quiet on the beach with my toes in the sand, watching the sun set behind the mountains, sitting around the campfire, in the company of others or all alone.
I don't want to put worship in a box. I want it to be the underlying current of my being.
What does worship look/sound/feel like for you? The worship style of a church can draw people in, cause the old-timers to sit with crossed arms and a frown, or send someone running out of the building as if the roof is on fire. I feel compassion for worship leaders -- how do you keep the hymn lovers satisfied and the millenials engaged without losing all those who find them somewhere in between?
I think we too often, me included, distract ourselves from worship by focusing on the medium by which worship is encouraged in a church service. The music is too loud, too fast, too slow, too repetitive, too old, too new, too whatever. In our church, our worship style is well-balanced with the right (in my mind) mix of fast and slow, loud and contemplative, old and new. That could change and then what?
But worship isn't about the music or the style or the tempo or the volume. Worship isn't about sitting in the pew or folding chair or on the ground on Sunday morning. Worship is about focusing my heart on God. The rest is just wrapping paper. For me, worship is quieting my self and my non-stop mind. That can happen within the walls of a church building, in the early morning quiet on the beach with my toes in the sand, watching the sun set behind the mountains, sitting around the campfire, in the company of others or all alone.
I don't want to put worship in a box. I want it to be the underlying current of my being.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Last
It's Friday and it's a great day despite the fact that my e-mail isn't working. But Comcast says the issue should be resolved by 11:54 (so precise!), so we'll see if they achieve their goal. In the meantime, I'll keep on with my own 2013 resolution to write Five Minute Friday each week. Today's word prompt is last.
Today is the last day of summer vacation for our school district. It's been several years since we've done the back-to-school routine and usually I pay little attention to the start of school, aside from timing my morning walk to avoid the schedule of the school buses. But this year, I'm more attuned to it, most likely because this start of the school year means big changes in the lives of friends.
First there are the Four Next Door. How can K be ready to start high school? The first time I met her, she was nine and appeared on our doorstep bearing brownies mere days after we had moved in. She's grown into a beautiful young lady with a lovely heart and is a fabulous big sister. And now she's entering the crazy ride that is high school. With her that day, was J, who is now a seventh-grader who's growing into quite a young man, and E and Z, who were just babies in the stroller. Those babies start kindergarten on Monday. How can that can be? I fear that in a blink of an eye, they'll be starting high school! I will always remember the gift of those brownies and how special it made us feel.
Today, a friend takes her youngest to school in the Big City. She worries about daughter moving into the city but knows she needs to let her birdie spread her wings and pursue her dream. This mama will need lots of coffee dates and moral support in the coming weeks.
Another friend has a high schooler for the first time this year and will be spending every.Friday.night at high school football games watching her son in the marching band. Oh, I remember those days of Friday night football, living a little bit of Friday Night Lights in a small town.
The last day of summer vacation brings the anticipation of something new, a fresh start, new beginnings. My hope is that as the last chapter of summer vacation 2013 closes, the chapter of a new school year will be full of adventure and promise.
Today is the last day of summer vacation for our school district. It's been several years since we've done the back-to-school routine and usually I pay little attention to the start of school, aside from timing my morning walk to avoid the schedule of the school buses. But this year, I'm more attuned to it, most likely because this start of the school year means big changes in the lives of friends.
First there are the Four Next Door. How can K be ready to start high school? The first time I met her, she was nine and appeared on our doorstep bearing brownies mere days after we had moved in. She's grown into a beautiful young lady with a lovely heart and is a fabulous big sister. And now she's entering the crazy ride that is high school. With her that day, was J, who is now a seventh-grader who's growing into quite a young man, and E and Z, who were just babies in the stroller. Those babies start kindergarten on Monday. How can that can be? I fear that in a blink of an eye, they'll be starting high school! I will always remember the gift of those brownies and how special it made us feel.
Today, a friend takes her youngest to school in the Big City. She worries about daughter moving into the city but knows she needs to let her birdie spread her wings and pursue her dream. This mama will need lots of coffee dates and moral support in the coming weeks.
Another friend has a high schooler for the first time this year and will be spending every.Friday.night at high school football games watching her son in the marching band. Oh, I remember those days of Friday night football, living a little bit of Friday Night Lights in a small town.
The last day of summer vacation brings the anticipation of something new, a fresh start, new beginnings. My hope is that as the last chapter of summer vacation 2013 closes, the chapter of a new school year will be full of adventure and promise.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Small
It's Friday and time to keep my New Year's resolution to write Five Minute Friday each week in 2013. So far, so good. Here we go. Today's word prompt is small.
Sometimes it's the small things that matter the most, isn't it?
Our days are made of up millions of small things that either make us celebrate or cause us to sigh in frustration. The small things can cause the biggest fights or the most exuberant joys. Embracing the joy that comes from the small, sometimes overlooked moments is how I want to live my days. Letting go of the minor irritants that can ruin my day is something I continue to strive for while living this amazing life I've been given.
What is a small thing that has made your day lately?
Sometimes it's the small things that matter the most, isn't it?
The words thank you.
The mosquito bite's irritating, continuous itch.
A baby's smile.
The flower among the weeds.
A paper cut.
A pill containing powerful medicine.
The pennies' difference that won't let the account balance.
Enough ... or too much ... salt.
A touch.
One degree on the thermostat.
A breath.
Our days are made of up millions of small things that either make us celebrate or cause us to sigh in frustration. The small things can cause the biggest fights or the most exuberant joys. Embracing the joy that comes from the small, sometimes overlooked moments is how I want to live my days. Letting go of the minor irritants that can ruin my day is something I continue to strive for while living this amazing life I've been given.
What is a small thing that has made your day lately?
Friday, August 9, 2013
Lonely
Linking up today with Five Minute Friday, where we write for a (supposed) five minutes on a given word prompt. Today's word prompt is lonely.
She stared out the polished window of the penthouse, watching the crowds below scurry like ants in a colony, going about their days, rushing from one place to another. On the coffee table, her smiling face stared up at her from the latest magazine spread. Haunting eyes betrayed the beauty of perfectly styled hair and a carefully chosen outfit. She'd come so far from her small-town roots, at least that's what the media would have you believe. She sighed and took another sip from her wineglass.
...
She pushed up the hill, struggling under the weight of the water jug, toward the steady beat of life in the village. It was his village, really. She'd moved here as a young bride, just months ago. Since he'd died, it was different. Every day required immense effort to put one foot in front of the other just to survive. Her place in the village was hard to define. The looks the others cast her way told the real story.
...
She slumped in the pew, idly reading through this week's bulletin as she waited for the service to begin. In a church this size, you'd think it would be easy to find a way to connect. Around her, families and groups of friends chatted about lunch plans, outreach activities, life in general. She longed to be part of one of the groups, but no one seemed to notice her and she didn't have the courage to interrupt. She had no husband, no kids, no easy way to transition into one of the many predefined groups in this community. She sighed.
She stared out the polished window of the penthouse, watching the crowds below scurry like ants in a colony, going about their days, rushing from one place to another. On the coffee table, her smiling face stared up at her from the latest magazine spread. Haunting eyes betrayed the beauty of perfectly styled hair and a carefully chosen outfit. She'd come so far from her small-town roots, at least that's what the media would have you believe. She sighed and took another sip from her wineglass.
...
She pushed up the hill, struggling under the weight of the water jug, toward the steady beat of life in the village. It was his village, really. She'd moved here as a young bride, just months ago. Since he'd died, it was different. Every day required immense effort to put one foot in front of the other just to survive. Her place in the village was hard to define. The looks the others cast her way told the real story.
...
She slumped in the pew, idly reading through this week's bulletin as she waited for the service to begin. In a church this size, you'd think it would be easy to find a way to connect. Around her, families and groups of friends chatted about lunch plans, outreach activities, life in general. She longed to be part of one of the groups, but no one seemed to notice her and she didn't have the courage to interrupt. She had no husband, no kids, no easy way to transition into one of the many predefined groups in this community. She sighed.
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