Things I would tell my 8-year-old Self

This post is a compilation of a bunch of things I've written in my journal over the past few months. There's nothing so special about my eight-year-old self, but since I also once wrote a list of things I imagined my 80-year-old self would say, I thought it was fitting to also look backwards and share some wisdom with myself at age 8.  

Some of these are things I learned over the past three years working with a truly amazing counseling professional. Others are just things I've picked up or heard along the way. Feel free to choose any that you like and share with your younger self too! 

• Feelings aren't good or bad. They just are.*

*I'm making this one bigger than the rest, because I think it's so important. I didn't realize just how much I had previously believed that only certain feelings were acceptable to have and others were not....which made dealing with feelings pretty challenging. It was while working with my counselor that I started to challenge this belief and have finally started embracing the idea that there are no good or bad feelings...feelings just are. 

• How you feel matters. 
• You're not the only one who feels this way. 
• It's okay if you don't understand your feelings all the time. Just let them come and see what happens when you don't try to stuff them down or shove them aside. 
• When you are feeling sad or angry or frustrated, take a minute to dig deeper into the feeling. It might be coming from a place of loneliness or anxiety or fear. 
• You probably won't be an expert at something you haven't practiced. 
• Not knowing how to put words to your feelings sometimes is normal. Sometimes our brain and our mouth need time to catch up. 
• It's okay not to want to talk until you've had some time to collect your thoughts. 
• It's okay to set boundaries about certain subjects or topics. 
• Nobody has to understand how you feel about your faith, Heaven & Hell, God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, church, etc. 
• It's okay to cry. 
• Not everybody is watching and criticizing you, waiting for you to screw up. 
• It's okay to be wrong and say so. 
• It's okay to change your mind. Even if it used to feel like things could only be one way, you can decide right now in this very moment to do it differently.  
• Every breath is a chance to start anew.
• Where you are is okay. You're always growing and changing, even when you feel stagnant. 
• It's okay to move slowly sometimes. 
• It's okay to not know the answer. Not all questions get answered.  
• It's okay if you aren't sure what questions to ask.
• It's okay to do things you enjoy without any possibility of turning them into a career or a money making venture.
• You can set the standard for yourself. There is no outside standard you have to "live up to." Success is what you believe it is. 
• Being family doesn't mean everybody has to share the same opinion.
• Everyone is different and every point of view is different too. 
• It's our differences that make the world a more vibrant, interesting place. 
• Just because something has always been a certain way doesn't mean that way is working.
• We all bring hurts and struggles to our experiences because they are part of us. If someone seems to have a perfect life free from hurts or challenges, they are just hiding it better. 
• It's okay to create the life you never had, but always wanted. 
• You are okay. 

As you move forward, keep in mind that the only way out is through. 

Making Space

Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when the kids won't let him sit beside them on the bus? Seat's taken. Can't sit here. Taken. Remember how it made you feel the first time yous saw that movie? Of course it's about more than just a seat. It's about making a statement to someone that they don't belong. I had a sort of experience like that last night at Harry Potter trivia.

My friend and I were meeting up to play trivia together for the first time at a local bar. She's basically an encyclopedia of Harry Potter knowledge, so I felt a bit guilty that even though I love HP, I might not be able to contribute much on obscure facts, etc. So we had discussed that if I got to the bar early, I might scout out other already formed teams we could join.

I should have gone with my instincts and sidled up to the foursome wearing crimson and gold ties and homemade S.P.E.W. lapel pins. Lesson learned.

Instead I grabbed a couple seats for us at a long table that was already occupied on the other end by a youngish couple. I asked them if they were there to do the trivia and they said yes. Then, I decided to just go for it and ask if they would be open to having someone (me and my friend) join their team. 

The girl said, "Ummm, I don't know. I'm feeling sort of competitive tonight." I'm still not even sure what that meant exactly, but the gist was, "No, you can't join us."

Okay.

I mean, people, I get it. We're talking Harry Potter trivia here. Nothing of life altering importance. But then again, maybe it is.

If it wasn't important, why did it make me feel such a gross feeling? Like total ick. I looked down at my vintage Boston sweatshirt. Not cool enough for them? My big old granny purse? The fact that I was alone? Random reject hanging out in a bar? Not cool enough to have a big group of friends of my own. Y'all, I went down these rabbit holes for several minutes.

In the end, my friend and I had a blast doing trivia just the two of us. She killed most every question and I added moral support and cheer (at least I hope).

But what's the deal with this? Why do we (and I'm including myself here) have such a hard time making space for others? I get it Harry Potter trivia girl. You have your own friends. With your own inside jokes. Your own history. You don't want some random nearly middle aged thrift store queen on your trivia team. That's totally your prerogative.

But if we can't make space for people in tiny, unimportant ways, what does it say about our ability to make space when it really matters?

I've been there. I've been the one unable or unwilling to make space. Some of the time, it was definitely on purpose, but honestly, I believe the other times I was just oblivious to the needs of others to belong....which is just as bad.

In my life, I get the privilege of moving in and out of a lot of circles. One day this week, I started out by doing a television appearance demonstrating holiday drink recipes, then was emailing back and forth with some media bigwigs and later, making holiday ornaments with a 3rd grader who told me her mom had just gotten out of a half-way house.

Sometimes it's hard to make space for all these things. Especially when, in the light of some difficult or challenging circumstances, the others seem trivial or silly. I'm trying to figure it out as I go. And I'm trying not to get discouraged when the tragedies and heartaches of people I care about seem to swallow up the rest.

Not being on a Harry Potter trivia team is not a tragedy. I get that. But it was a good reminder to me that I want to widen the circle. I want to open my heart to people who feel like there's no place for them. And I am grateful to those people who have widened their circles and hearts to me.

Tears in Heaven

My great grandmother on my mom's side was a devout Free Will Baptist preacher's wife. I can't speak to what all Free Will Baptists believe, but some of the things my great grandmother held tightly to were her belief that women should not cut their hair because it was their "Crowning Glory" nor should women wear pants or God forbid shorts! (only long dresses). She didn't believe in drinking alcohol, working on Sundays, or owning a television. She was far too complicated (and wonderful) a person to sum up in a few paragraphs, so I'm not even going to try.

What I want you to learn about her was that she got really emotional at church. Long after my great-grandpa had a church where he was the main pastor, he was invited to guest preach for area congregations. And my family would sometimes go to whatever church he happened to be guest preaching at. Side note: Sometimes he'd direct me to bring my portable tape player, complete with the required six D batteries it needed to work, and sing a song or two.

I don't remember ever going to church with my great-grandparents, whether my grandfather was preaching or not, that my grandmother didn't have a wadded up tattered Kleenex in her balled fist. She'd get emotional and start to cry, or shout, or repeat loudly, "Well, praise the lord." If I close my eyes, I can see this scene as clear as anything. I can imagine the way she'd kind of hop back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, all the while crying and shaking her Kleenex around.

As a little kid, it scared me somewhat. I wasn't really scared that anything bad was going to happen, but maybe anxious from the uncertainty of what she might do. However, it didn't bother me because I knew that even though some of my grandmother's ways were different than our norm, it was all genuine. I'll never believe for one minute that it was put on or contrived, or anything other than authentic. She cried during church because it meant so much to her.

While I was growing up, my parents took my brother and me to a big, traditional First Baptist church. Where ladies that spoke in a southern drawl wore beige suits and matching hats. We sat straight up in the pews and weren't even allowed to draw or play tic-tac-toe on the back of the offering envelopes. I don't remember anybody crying, EVER. Except maybe a random child whose parents opted not to send them to the children's nursery.

The contrast between the church we regularly attended and the churches we attended with my great grandparents was stark. And even though I have always believed in God, I can't say that big emotional outpourings have ever been something I did at church.

My husband and I have been visiting a Lutheran church for about a year. I had no prior experience with Lutherans nor had I ever been to that type of church before this one. We go to the early service, which probably averages about 35-40 attendees. We're two of the youngest people by about 20 years. It's pretty low-key and we sit in the back, but I feel something different than I've ever felt at church. I love the quiet, simplicity of the services. I love the ebb and flow of the liturgy. Many Sundays, I am moved to tears by one small thing or another in the service and find myself trying to control my weeping, because it means so much to me.

Tonight I attended a mid-week Advent service, that started out with soup in the fellowship hall. Sometimes Emmanuel God With Us looks like split pea soup with big hunks of ham in it. I went back for seconds and just pushed the ham to one side, not wanting anyone to feel weird because I'm a vegetarian.

When we got to the sanctuary, the service started with recognizing and singing Happy Birthday to a member in the congregation who just turned 99. The rattle of her oxygen machine was a bit distracting at first, but after a few minutes, it became part of the experience.

At the end, the pastor asked everyone to gather around in a circle at the front for Communion. I stood by the 99 year-old who is deaf and partially blind, waiting to receive our elements. I thought of my great grandmother, who would be 105 years old were she still alive today.

I can't say for sure, but I bet she never attended a Lutheran church service. I don't know how she'd feel about them using real wine or having a lady preacher.

But when the ministers came around with the wafers and the cup, and looked into each person's eyes, saying "This is the body and blood, broken and shed for you," I did the big ole ugly cry, complete with snot dripping from my nose. I think my grandma would have understood that. Now I need to remember my Kleenex the next time.

Just some of the things I need forgiveness for

Forgive me for the snails whose fragile shells I've crushed under my feet when taking my dogs out for a pre-dawn bathroom opportunity. Each time I think I'll remember not to let it happen again, but you know how dark those early mornings can be and how hard it is to think ahead when your brain is still asleep.

And there was a slug the other day. Forgive me for him too.

Forgive me for not paying attention to all the things that deserved my attention.

Forgive me for the times I've seen an old person dining alone at a restaurant and not invited them to join my table. Give courage to the part of my heart that wants to extend the invitation in the first place. Help it be stronger than the part holding me back.

Forgive me for the eyerolls when my husband takes out the trash and fails to replace a fresh bag in the can.

Forgive me for forgetting people's birthdays or not trying hard enough to make them feel special.

Forgive me for not being able to go in the veterinary office to hold my dog as she was being put to sleep. And thank you for the person I married, who said he would do it and not to worry because wherever he goes, it's like I am there too.

Forgive me for being un-neighborly to my neighbors. For being unfriendly to my friends. For being unkind to my kin. And unloving to my loves.

Forgive me for the anger I've carried around for too, too long. Anger towards those who can't be what I feel they should be or won't do what I believe they should do.

Forgive me for all the things I've left unsaid. For the minutes or hours or even days (alright, years) I've let go by without trying to mend a broken relationship or at least slap a band-aid on it in some way.

Forgive me for every hateful thing I've ever thought. And for every terrible thing I've said, including but not limited to that thing I said to Kristin S. in the first grade and that other terrible, horrible thing I said to that boy on the playground in fourth grade, whose name I can't even remember. And forgive me for forgetting his name too.

Forgive me for the times I tried to make myself look better or stand out from the rest. Or make the rest look bad by comparison.

Forgive me for thinking what I can do = who I am. And forgive me for believing my value was directly proportional to my achievements, what I could do for people, and not needing to ask for help.

Forgive me for the stars I've neglected to gaze at. For the sunsets I've not bothered to watch. For the moments of wonder I've missed. Please let there be more wonder ahead. I'll be looking for it. Watching for it. I'll be paying attention. Promise.

To Thine Own Needs Be True

I was reading Cleo Wade's book "Heart Talk" when a particular passage jumped off the page and struck me right between the eyes.

"Knowing our needs is a limitless superpower, one that can help us make all the big decisions in life." 

Obviously she's not talking about our basic needs like food, water, or shelter. This is more complex. But needs are a funny thing. Or at least they are for me. 

I grew up thinking other people's needs were more important than mine. I grew up thinking that if I could make sure people and things around me were okay, then I'd be okay too. Typing that brings a bad taste to my mouth and makes it seem like I was trying to be some sort of a martyr for a cause but it wasn't that. I don't know what it was. Sometimes I still don't.

Cleo goes on to say that we should be unapologetic when it comes to our needs. And I think I agree with her. Although there's part of me that thinks that seems selfish. Do you see where the struggle lies folks?

Since we like to blame our dysfunction on things like religion, how bout trying this on for size? When I was growing up, there was a banner in my Sunday School class at church that said the word JOY down the left hand side. And the "J" stood for Jesus, and the "O" stood for Others, and the "Y" stood for Yourself. The idea was this is the order of importance.....so Jesus first (I ain't arguing this one), others next [as in put others needs above your own....see my issue above], and finally yourself.

I get this in theory. And I'm not saying it's bad to avoid being a selfish person. But come on! Was this really the best message to give an insecure, people pleasing, self-worth doubting child such as myself? I don't think so.

I can't say for sure, but I want to believe this (and other messages like this) had a great impact on my beliefs that my needs just didn't matter as much. And that if I somehow was looking out for number one (aka myself), I was being a selfish, horrible, terrible spoiled brat. 

In my head, things are black and white. This has also served to be a GIANT stumbling block for me.

It causes me to believe that

1) Either your needs matter more (which is what I always thought was true)

OR

2) My needs matter more (which is what I never thought).

I never even considered a reality in which BOTH OF OUR NEEDS could matter. BOTH, PEOPLE!!! BOTH!! [for the record, I'm yelling this at myself for emphasis]. 

You can't address your own needs until you know what they are. And you can't get to know them until you acknowledge that you have them, and that they are worth acknowledging.

But you can't push past them every single time and not expect disastrous outcomes. Outcomes like being angry all the time. And sometimes saying snarky things to people. And hating everyone and yourself.

There's a place that exists where we feel tired, and heavy, and resentful, and angry, and out of touch with ourselves, and completely separated from our own hearts. And in that place, we are miserable and eventually, we are liable to break. 

When you've reached your limit, stop. 

When you get tired, take a rest. 

When you just can't even anymore, just don't even anymore. It's OKAY. Seriously.

Nobody has to understand. Nobody has to approve. Nobody has to give you permission.

You know your own self better than anybody else and you know your own needs better too (if you first acknowledge them). 

Getting Our Hands Dirty

On the rare occasion that my husband and I take a lunch break at the same time, we will sometimes go for a walk. This happened today and we were excited to take a few minutes to get outside and do something good for ourselves. 

The path we usually walk is a one-mile figure eight loop at a nearby park. We were a quarter of the way around when I started seeing large amounts of litter scattered around the path. The more we walked, the more litter we saw.

Litter really bugs me. I don't understand the thinking behind tossing something aside for someone else to clean up. Especially when there are trash cans around. The more I thought about it, the madder I was getting. 

As we rounded the trail loop, something white and billowy caught my eye. It was an empty grocery bag. 

"Oh boy," my hubs said. "I know what happens next." He laughed as I grabbed the bag off the ground...knowing it would be the perfect thing in which to collect all the litter we were seeing! I asked him how he knew I was going to do that, and he said he just knew because he knows me. 

He was chivalrous enough to carry the bag for me as we continued our walk, now having a receptacle to collect the litter. Then I randomly remembered that it's Earth Day, and felt like our small act was for a good cause. 

As we passed a runner who saw what we were doing, he shouted "Y'all are awesome!" which felt pretty good. 

I promise I'm not sharing this to make you think we are some kinda civic heroes because we're not. But there is a point to my story. 

We filled and emptied the grocery bag three times with litter and then for a substantial pile, we dragged a rolling trash can over and picked that up as well. Afterward, I looked around at the (mostly) litter-free area and enjoyed the sight of grass, flowers and sky. 

I'm not gonna lie....it felt good to do something good. Sometimes this is reward enough. 

But just beyond the good feeling was a tinge of something else....let's call it self-righteousness. 

A tinge that prompted me to think thoughts that began with: 

I cannot imagine....throwing my trash down on the ground

What kind of person just....leaves their garbage for someone else to clean up?

I would never be the kind of person who....throws down litter in a beautiful park 

Most of us would probably agree that tossing trash out the window or throwing it down on the ground is wrong. We might also agree that picking it up is right. 

But if doing the right thing leads us to feel self-righteous, we've completely missed the point. I feel certain this can apply in so many areas. 

Let me say it again: 

If we only do what's right because it makes us feel self-righteous, we've completely missed the point. 

If doing the so-called right thing makes us think we can sit in judgment of others who are so-called wrong, then we are so-called mistaken. 

It's impossible to get inside anyone else's head. We don't know why people do the things they do. We don't know what they are struggling with, what kind of gut-wrenching challenges they are up against, and what lies they've been told or led to believe that have shaped their every pattern, behavior and thought process. 

We give ourselves the benefit of every doubt, but how often are we so quick to judge the actions of others because they are doing something that we'd supposedly never do? 

Some might say I have every right to judge them....since I was the one touching all their dirty trash and dragging around a giant garbage can on what was supposed to be a leisurely lunch walk. But it doesn't work this way. Judging others was never our right. 

What we can do is try to help. To show love. To make people feel less alone. To pitch in and get our hands dirty when it will make someone else's struggle a little easier or help them experience a bit more beauty. 

Popcorn Ceilings

When I was little, I had a purple bedroom at the top of a big set of wooden stairs, on the second story of our house. I used to lay awake in my twin bed, under my Cabbage Patch Kids comforter, and count the ceiling tiles as I tried to fall asleep.

I'd count the columns across the top and then count the rows from top to bottom. Then I'd count the number of tiles in each and multiply them together to get a total number of tiles. Then I'd count each and every tile to check myself and make sure they were all still there.

It was an old house, with lots of little eccentricities, like a closet that connected two rooms through what I believed to be a secret passage.

However that was not the house I consider to be my childhood home.

My childhood home was a house where I lived for the longest with my family, five-ish years, before graduating and heading off to my so-called grown-up life. There were no ceiling tiles to count because that house has popcorn ceilings.

Every time I hear the term it make me think of something delicious. Apparently these are also sometimes called cottage cheese ceilings, and even though I like cottage cheese, this makes my stomach turn.

I'd lay in my bed and try to find some sort of pattern to make sense of the splats and spatters. When there was none, I counted other things instead. The number of days until my next birthday. How many pounds I thought I needed to lose in order to fit into a certain size of pants. How much time had passed since I'd last seen or heard from my biological dad.

Even now that I live in a home with smooth ceilings, I still count these things (16, 27, and 5429...in case you were wondering).

We've had a lot of rain lately. I was sitting in my living room and happened to glance upward and saw a brown line on the ceiling that hadn't been there before. Water, as it always does, found a way in.

This is both disturbing (anybody got a good roofer?) and comforting at the same time. Comforting because it reminds me that things will find a way.

I've been a mess this week. I've been someone who in the past I would have judged...harshly. I just couldn't seem to hold it all together. And I'm terrible at asking for help. I want to do it all, on my own. And I want to reserve the right to feel self-righteous if I'm able to and mad as hell if I can't.

I can't be the only one like this. Surely there's more of us who struggle with this distinct flavor of malfunction. I know, I know....blame our childhoods, blah blah. And maybe I do feel an urge to blame on occasion.

But that doesn't really accomplish anything.

I don't have any wisdom here. Yet. I just know I woke up alive today and that's more than some can say.

Author Matt Haig says, "Be a mess. It's fine. The universe is a mess. Galaxies are drifting all over the place. To be tidy is to be out of tune with the cosmos."

And along those same lines, my own dear husband who mainly posts screenshots from 80s horror movies, shared this on Facebook:

“Consider again that dot [Earth]. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there - on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” -- Carl Sagan

I'm clinging to my mote, praying for a sunbeam. I hope you can do the same. And if you happen to be staring up at the chaos of a popcorn ceiling, maybe you can find some beauty there too.

The Unbroken Heart

I was in high school when my mom introduced me to the soundtrack to the Broadway show The Fantasticks. I listened to it (on a cassette tape, I think) from start to finish, but having never seen the show, it was a little bit hard to know exactly what was happening in the story.

The first time I heard "Try to Remember" I knew it would be a song I'd love forever. Especially when I heard the following line:

"Without a hurt, the heart is hollow." 

You might be wondering what I, a sheltered teen from a small southern town knew about hurt. Looking back at that sweet, but silly girl, I would say definitely not much. But then, I thought I was such an expert. I thought the struggle was real all the way back when. Definitely before there were memes to poke fun at the concept. 

So that line in the song really resonated with me. Maybe it was because it somehow took the idea of pain and made it a good thing. As if our hearts are just hollow chocolate Easter rabbits until we get some broken experiences to clink and clatter around in there. Could be.  

.

.

.

I have a friend. Let's call her Rosie. We've known each other for a couple of years, but only in the past six months or so have we gotten to be really close. She has some challenges in her life and a few times, I have tried to pitch in and lend a hand where I thought she needed one. 

I was lamenting to another friend about how it can be tough to know when to help and when to mind one's own beeswax. My friend said, "I know you love Rosie and you want to help, but I'm just afraid of seeing you get your heart broken." 

And I know my friend meant this with all love and compassion for me. But what I didn't realize when she said it was that it's too late. My heart has already been broken. Maybe yours has been, too. 

Broken by a situation you didn't ask to be brought into. And even though you were/are loved, there's tough stuff too. 

Broken by feeling just a bit (or a whole lot) different from the rest, and like nothing you do will really make you fit. 

Broken by the disappointment that washes over you each and every time you let yourself believe things will be different and then they aren't. 

Broken by having to straddle the fence between two worlds....wanting so badly to exist completely in one or the other, but feeling like you really don't belong in either one. 

Broken by the consequences of the decisions of others, decisions that impact you wholly and yet those you have no control over. 

Broken by expectations you'll never live up to or maybe broken by the ways you hold yourself back to protect others who can't bear to see you soar. 

Broken by feelings that lurk around the corner and creep in when you are most vulnerable and least able to defend against them. 

Broken by the lies you've been told, even possibly by your very own self, and especially if you believed them. And are still believing them. 

There are so many things that break our hearts. And sometimes we don't even realize it while it's happening. Just like the stock market and how nobody really knows if it's a bear or bull until it's over. 

I can't actually remember what it was like when my heart was pristine. Hollow. These days, there are enough broken pieces clinking and clattering around in there for a lifetime. And same for my friend Rosie. 

Our hearts were broken ages ago. Before we even knew it. I'm not sure if she knows it still.

The funny (or maybe not funny) thing is my broken heart is the reason I love my friend Rosie so much. Maybe I see a little of myself in her. Or maybe I see her in me. My heart may be broken, but nevertheless, it loves so good.

We Regret to Inform You

Dear Madam,

We regret to inform you that a committee has met and determined once and for all you simply aren't good enough. We took a vote and unanimously agreed upon the following:

• You will never achieve the things you are secretly dreaming in your heart. 
• Plus, your dreams are so silly....just let those go, mmkay? 
• Everyone is watching and waiting for you to fail. Failure is not permitted. 
• Stepping out and drawing any sort of attention to yourself is foolish. 
• Quirky fashion and eclectic style is something reserved for a cool, other sort of person so please wear only plain clothing and never high heels (in case you didn't know already, you are just so tall). 
• Asking for help is a sign of weakness and people are annoyed by people who ask for help. 
• The broken pieces that you haul around will never be put back together again, no matter how hard the king's horses and men may try. 
• Your Instagram following is paltry at best, pathetic at worst and this determines a great deal of your life's worth and value. 
• All that time you spend reading or listening to audio books could be better spent creating viral content like snazzy graphics and shareable memes. 
• There is no audience who will relate to the weird stuff you think about, so it's best to keep all that to yourself. 
• Daydreaming is a thing of childhood. You must get serious and spend your time thinking about things like tax shelters, HMOs, and continuously variable transmissions. 
• The world is just terrible so there's no point trying to do any good to the contrary. 
• You cannot speak unless what you say sounds perfect. You may not act unless every detail has been planned out to the nth degree. 

If you agree to these terms, please sign and return in a nondescript envelope without glittery stickers or any "i"s dotted with hearts. 

If you do not agree, THEN KINDLY STOP LIVING LIKE YOU DO. THIS IS YOUR OPPORTUNITY. SEIZE IT. THAT IS ALL. 

Spoiler Alert - We Have No Way of Knowing

I do not like surprises. I guess I'm just too much of a control freak to 'let go and let God' enough to enjoy them. I don't mind small surprises, like an unexpected visit or call from a friend. It's the big surprises that are more of an issue. Things that make you feel like the rug has been completely pulled from under you on a random Tuesday and you're left scratching your head and trying to make sense of the fragments scattered about the floor.

Of course this makes life rather challenging for me, since it tends to dish up a fair share of the unexpected.

Maybe this is why I prefer more predictable forms of entertainment....i.e. genre books and films that stick to a certain formula. I especially love re-reading or re-watching favorites that I've seen umpteen times, since I know exactly what will happen in each subsequent viewing/reading. 

George Bailey will find redemption. Boo will save Jem and Scout will understand more about her father. Alice will wake up and realize all was but a dream. 

There's something about the predictable that's oh so comforting. 

I am guilty of trying to figure out what the ending of a book or movie will be before I opt to experience it. This is why I usually read spoilers before watching a film that I know will be a tear-jerker. It allows me to mentally prepare myself for what's to come. 

Books are a bit trickier because even thorough reviews don't always give away the major (heart wrenching) plot points. So I often end up choosing books that seem like a sweet story but end up turning me into a big old weeping mess.

Feelings aren't always so cut and dried. You can flip to the last page of a book to relieve anxiety about what's coming, but this doesn't work for feelings. As much as you might try, you can't actually predict them. I never know how a certain situation is going to make me feel until I'm in it.

And of course all these things are very personal. What speaks to or tugs at the heartstrings of one person is going to be completely opposite from what affects another. What bothers me may not give you a second thought. Things I miss completely may keep you up at night.

I can't always explain why certain things make me cry or laugh or feel angry or frustrated. But those things are part of who I am. As much as the fact that I'm tall or have curly hair or bad vision. Maybe those things are even more a part of ourselves than the outside stuff. And I don't think we should have to stifle or suppress it just because it makes others uncomfortable, even if the uncomfortable others are ourselves.

One of the biggest takeaways I've gotten from my past year or so seeing a counselor is that feelings are neither good nor bad. They just are. I can't tell you how many times I have said "I hate the way I feel about this or that" or "I wish I didn't feel this way." 

But we have feelings for a reason. They serve a very important purpose in our lives. Like a glass window pane created to let light pass through, our feelings and emotions are functional. And yet somehow some of us have decided that our feelings are wrong. So we get the expensive plantation shutters (or in my case the cheap mini blinds) and the blackout curtains to ensure no light peeks in. 

We do things to hold our feelings and emotions at a distance. I've definitely been guilty of this. We take away their ability to serve us as they were intended. And then we find ourselves in a dark room without any idea how we got there or what is a possible solution to fix it. 

There's a saying in the psychology lexicon, "to sit with your feelings." Mostly it has to do with feelings we consider to be negative.

It's easy to sit at the popular table. Feeling cool, excited, or accepted doesn't present the same challenges. It's the other, more difficult feelings I don't want to sit with. The ones that make me feel misunderstood, unwanted or unloved. Like the weird smelly kid at the cafeteria lunch table. 

I don't have a resolution yet. The story isn't over. Right now I'm just trying to give myself a bit of grace so when the uncomfortable feelings present themselves, I can let them be. I will sit with them even when it's uncomfortable and awkward. I will sit with them when I can't make eye contact and there's no easy conversation to be made. I will sit with them when everybody else is shifting sideways glances and judging me as a loser. I will sit with them when nobody else understands what I'm doing or why. I will sit with them until I get to know them and understand them even if nobody else ever does.

I will sit with my feelings until they stop being my enemy and become my friend. 

Loss is a River

Loss is a river that flows inside you, making its way as only water can, with unrelenting pressure that keeps it always moving on its journey. When a barrier presents itself, the river creates new paths and channels that weren't there before.

To live with loss is to learn how to navigate these waters.

Sometimes you sit quietly by the river's banks and lose yourself in thoughts of something altogether lovely, even while the pain it carries keeps rushing past. You hear the sound of the water and maybe even feel a splash or two on your arms and face, but remain at a distance.

Then there are times when the water calls to you. So you kick off your shoes and peel off your socks, leaving them in a heap in the grass while you step carefully into the shallows. The cold sensation feels invigorating for a moment, but the sharp rocks hiding in the murky riverbed bruise your tender feet.

Other times, the sheer force of the loss you feel causes the river to burst from its banks and spread over the adjacent land or floodplain.

No stranger to this occurrence, the floodplain is low lying ground which exists solely for this purpose...waiting to catch the flood and the debris it carries with it.

Floodplains are not made of just one material, but instead all kinds of different things that have been carried from where they began, which is often an indeterminable source, and deposited after having traveled a long journey.

The loss we feel doesn't play by any rules, especially not social constructs of time and space. The river can be millions upon millions of years old and travel hundreds of miles. And it can carve out a gorge right through your very being that rivals the Grand Canyon.

But life finds a way to go on. And the river flows. Sometimes it's a mighty rushing force. Other times just a trickle across a dry and dusty riverbed.

Simple Ways to Be Happy

Are you happy? Like truly happy? There's a big difference between feeling happy on a particular day and having a general feeling of happiness all the time. 

The good news is that even if you find yourself feeling less than happy, there are always things you can do to increase this feeling. 

I recently read a book called "The Little Book of Lykke: Secrets of the World's Happiest People," written by Meik Wiking. Wiking also wrote a book about hygge the Danish phenomenon of coziness. The book was a great little read, with lots of simple and practical tips that I felt like I could do. 

Here are my suggestions for a few simple ways to be happy: 

Make Something

Creativity is closely tied to happiness for me because I just feel happier when I am creating. It doesn't have to be a masterpiece of art or writing. Just a little simple Pinterest-inspired craft can really go a long way towards making me feel happier. 

There's something about exercising this creativity muscle that gives me a lot of joy. 

Some of the projects I've done recently include custom canvas tote bags decorated with iron on glitter letters and Sharpie pens, as well as some little art canvases that feature a few of my favorite quotes. 

You don't have to do anything with the things you make. You don't even have to show them to anyone. Give it a try! 

Do Something for Someone Else 

When I'm feeling blue, a surefire way to feel happier is by doing something for someone else. This past year, I've been trying to get more involved in my community and looking for ways to do something for my neighbors. 

This search for a place to give back led me to Girls Inc., a mentoring organization that I volunteered with during the 2017/2018 school year. Just one hour a week allowed me to spend time with some amazing 3rd, 4th and 5th grade young ladies. 

We did arts & crafts, chatted about life and got to know each other. This was truly one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a place to get involved. 

Another local organization I have gotten to know is Sunshine Industries & The Arc Knoxville. The Arc Knox County is a non-profit organization that offers programs and services for people with intellectual disabilities in Knox County. 

They were gracious to invite me to do a craft project with them and I had so much fun, I have already made plans to go back! 

Eat Something Delicious

Did you know there are foods that claim to make you feel happier? I'm not sure if I fully believe it, but I never said no to something delicious so I'm willing to give it a try. 

This article lists several foods to eat for increased happiness, and includes dark chocolate, coconut and Greek yogurt. 

I decided to combine these to create a little happiness parfait....even if there's no scientific proof, it tastes great! 

Using ingredients from Trader Joe's, I made a greek yogurt parfait with dark chocolate pudding and included a bit of coconut granola, shredded coconut and raspberries. 

Tasty and easy to make! 

Happiness is relative, meaning that it looks different for each of us. Sometimes happiness is being surrounded by the ones we love and other times it is a peaceful quiet with tea and good book. I hope whatever makes you happy is plentiful in your life right now! 

Free to Be You & Me

"Freedom lies in being bold." -- Robert Frost

What does freedom mean to you? There are so many freedoms we take for granted, but for me the biggest area of struggle when it comes to freedom is being myself.

Do you feel free to be yourself all the time? If the is answer is yes, I'm jealous. Oh I have moments where I can be myself. Times spent with certain people who give me permission to let my little weird flag fly. But like Cookie Monster says about his favorite treat, for me freedom is a "sometimes food." I only let myself indulge in it when the conditions are just right.

And then I wonder if I even know who 'myself' is anyway. While there are things we all share as humans, I've always felt like I was just a bit different than the rest. And definitely not in a "I'm so much better than the rest" kind of way, just in an "I feel like the rest doesn't always get me" sort of way.

For example, did you know my favorite show to watch as a kid was one where a lady taught cursive writing on a big chalkboard? I can still hear her voice as she instructed viewers to "close the loop" on certain letters.

Something else you might not know about me is that I have gone through many periods of obsession about different topics, reading as many books as I could to learn as much as I could. Some of these topics include but are not limited to: Elvis, the Holocaust, and being in the mafia.

It wasn't hard for me to make friends as a kid, but often I found myself going along with the crowd or doing things to try and fit in. The dearest friends I've made over the years, who were like little beacons of light dropped out of the darkness, are the ones I didn't have to compromise myself with.

Even if they didn't always understand my little oddities, they just let me be. But life happens and we've found ourselves flung to opposite sides of the country, or at least 100 miles away. And my friends who live close by are also dear to me but we don't always get to see each other as often as I'd like.

And now it feels oh so much harder to make friends as an adult.

I have some wonderful friends in my world, but you can always use a couple more, right? I shared this on Instagram, which felt really scary and vulnerable, but apparently others feel this way because it sparked a conversation.

I definitely feel free to be myself with my husband, thank goodness. I can't imagine trying to keep up that sort of a charade 24/7. And I think he feels free to be himself with me. But I'm sure there are people who think they know us, or some version of us. And they'd probably be surprised by what they don't know.

Like how after our most beautiful, magical wedding that we'd waited more than a decade for, we had the hardest year of our relationship on record. Our second year was only somewhat better because we were committed to seeing it through, with the help of an amazing counselor who is part of the reason we're still in it to win it today -- for real.

I've heard friends make snide or belittling comments about someone they know who is "in therapy." Like you're some sort of failure if you need to seek help. Total BS.

Our couples' therapy helped us start learning about who we are and maybe more importantly, how to start communicating in healthier ways....which we DID NOT learn from our parents (sorry mom & dad). They didn't learn it from their parents either so it's totally not their fault. We don't always get it right, but who cares? It's a work in progress.

I also see an individual counselor who has helped me look at all sorts of things to try and figure out who I am and who I want to be. A big theme that keeps coming up is this desire I have to be in a community, whatever that looks like. And this is what got me thinking about friends, and connection, and authenticity in the first place. So I'm trying to be more connected. To make more of an effort to get together with the friends I already have as well as seeking a few new ones.

As part of that effort, last night I invited a dear friend to join me for a swim at our neighborhood pool. I've really tried to get more involved in my community this past year or so and that includes in my neighborhood. Joining the pool last summer helped us meet some neighbors so we decided to join again this summer.

My pal and I were swimming and chatting with a neighbor lady who shared with us that a couple weeks prior she had lost her son to suicide. I think she just needed someone to talk to so we tried to be good listeners while I sobbed silently under my sunglasses.

She said he always felt like he didn't belong. That he could never quite find his place to fit. But that at his memorial service, nearly 200 people attended and shared how much he meant to them. "If only he had known how much he was loved," she said.

She said she felt like telling his story was a way to honor his life and also a way to possibly help someone else who might be in pain. And I think she's right about this. So I'm telling you. He was only 36. An age that used to sound ancient but now that I am here, feels like practically still a kid.

There's so much I don't know. So many things I haven't even begun to fathom. But this is something I do know for sure. We were each created with something beautiful to add to the world. And even though I believe there's life after this one, when that beauty is gone from this world, it's such a loss. To all of us. I've already been thinking about this a lot after Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain. I wanted to write something about it but really didn't know what I wanted to say.

I hope you feel free today. Free from pain and self-hate. Free from loneliness and isolation. And free to be your most beautiful self. The one you were created to be.

This Will Not Break Us.

I'll never forget when my then fiancé and I were completing our wedding registry at Belk and looking at china patterns, the sales lady took a delicate plate and banged it against the display shelf to show us just how durable bone china really is.

I was horrified at first, but saw that she was right....it didn't crack or break. While I'm not saying this is necessarily a good way to test the strength of your fancy dishes, it was a good reminder that not all is what it seems.

If you had asked me prior to this demonstration, I would have sworn bone china was the most fragile and delicate option available. I would have been incorrect. In fact, bone china, though thinner and lighter than porcelain, has the greatest strength and highest chip-resistance of all ceramics. Stick that one in your save for later trivia file.

Isn't it funny how something that you perceive to be very delicate or fragile can surprise you with an inner strength you didn't know it had?

I found myself in this very situation recently while having a conversation with my paternal grandmother. While our relationship has been somewhat complicated over the past decade, she remains one of the most influential people in my life.

Some of my earliest, most vivid memories are of time spent with her, playing Barbies or cooking or making arts and crafts. And it wasn't just the things we did together that felt special. It was the way she related to me. The way she made me feel valued, without expecting me to do anything to earn her acceptance or approval.

In many ways, she was my first best friend. Actually, I think I always saw her as more of a friend than a grandma. Maybe that's why I have never called her Grandma, opting to instead call her by her first name, Patsye. In my childhood mind, it was more than a name....sort of a term of endearment more special than the generic 'grandma' used by most kids.

I always saw her as one of the most creative people I knew. She could make anything. As long as I could dream it up, she could figure out a way to make it. A talented seamstress and quilter, she brought to life the beautiful dresses and outfits I would sketch. When I asked her to make me a quilt with a ballerina on it, she rose to the challenge, turning scraps of satin and vintage lace into a tutu and toe shoes.

But while I always saw my Patsye as talented, creative and kind, I knew she had another side. A very fragile, sensitive side that could surface in any given situation and leave me feeling very confused.

Once, while looking at old photographs of her as a teenager, I saw one where I thought her hair looked funny. It was the 80s, and I'm sure it was the fact that hair styles of the 1950s were very different from hair styles that I knew to be 'normal.' I said, "Patsye, why does your hair look so funny?" not meaning any disrespect, but truly wanting to know.

This upset her very much, hurting her feelings and somehow she didn't understand that I didn't really mean it as an insult, just an innocent question. She went to her room and as I recall, didn't come out for the rest of the evening.

There would be other situations like this. When things would upset her or cause her to withdraw into herself. I learned early on that I had to tiptoe around her in some ways. But my grandpa was always there as a buffer, swooping in to make a joke, or change the subject, to protect her from one thing or another.

While I love my grandmother dearly, I would never have used the word strong to describe her.

But thinking back to her life, I can imagine that it was challenging. Her parents had an actual shotgun wedding and she always believed they were never in love. She told me on more than one occasion she never saw them be affectionate or say that they loved each other. She also felt very rejected by her mom, which I'm sure impacted her in many ways. These early life experiences shape us so much and while as a kid I only saw her as my grandmother, as an adult I can look back and see that things weren't always so great for her.

There have been plenty of not so great things that have happened since then as well. Family dramas, fractured relationships, addiction and illnesses that threw a major wrench in all the plans. This is not where I thought we'd be.

The other day I was visiting with my grandmother and found myself getting emotional about a situation I have been facing. It sounds cliche and I guess it is, but after I poured out my heart to her, I said, "It's just not fair." 

"No, it's not fair," she said. "Nothing ever is. But we are strong. This will not break us." 

I remember looking up at her through my tears and thinking, who is this person? Where did she come from? 

Perhaps she has had this inner strength all along. No, not perhaps. I'm sure of it. I don't know where it was or why she kept it hidden from me for the most part. But when I needed a reminder, she was right there. Speaking wisdom.

And she's right. This will not break us. I won't let it. And even though I have no idea what you're facing....hear this: it will not break you. Even if you feel like you are already broken. The part of you that matters most is fully intact. Unbreakable.

This is why I eat peanut butter crackers on my Wedgwood wedding china. Or whatever else I happen to be eating on any given day. I want to always be reminded of the importance of putting my valuables to good use. And also I want to remember that whatever I'm dealing with, it will not break me.

If Life is a Contest, I'm Changing the Rules

I've been doing Girls Inc mentoring since the fall. Each week for one hour, I spend time with a group of  9- and 10-year old girls at an elementary school in my neighborhood.

Mostly we do art projects or some other type of crafts. We meet in one of the school classrooms and we're limited on space and time, so our activities aren't anything too extensive or messy. A lot of paper crafts and drawing and coloring.

Last week we were drawing and making posters with magic markers and puffy dog & cat stickers, as 9 and 10 year old girls do.

I try to comment about everyone's projects and tell them what a great job they're doing. I think back to how much it meant to me when one of my teachers made a big fuss over something I made or did in class. I try to find some kind of unique element in each of their artworks to draw attention to and make them feel good about.

Last week somebody in the group said that somebody else's drawing was better than hers. I said, "It's not a contest. Plus yours is really great." Another of the girls, who strikes me as something of a cynic (just for the record) said, "Oh, it's ALWAYS a contest." And she was definitely referring to more than just an art project.

Something about the way she said it made me feel like she had known this for a long time. And she pitied me for not being in on the secret.

This got me thinking. First off, it made me sad that a 9- or 10-year old girl would have this philosophy about life. That there are always winners and losers.

As a 35 year old girl, I definitely feel like it's a contest but I don't think I felt that way at their age. Maybe I'm just remembering it wrong. For some reason, I thought it was the world and all its screwed up messages that had somehow led me to believe this at this point in my life.

Maybe I've always adhered to this belief system. I didn't try to argue with her or tell her it's not a contest. I just started thinking about it a little bit.

So what if life is a contest. What are we competing for? And in what categories are we competing against each other?

Prettiest? Skinniest? Most successful? Nicest house? Fanciest car? Biggest bank account? I'm sure there are plenty more, but these come to mind first.

Maybe if we rethink the contest itself we can have a healthier, better perspective on how we relate to each other and how we view ourselves.

What if the categories include things like "How kind was I?" "Did I take advantage of every opportunity that came my way?" "Was I willing to go the extra mile for people who needed a little bit of help?"

What if we're actually not competing with each other at all but really we're competing with ourselves? Those other versions of ourselves that try to creep in and sabotage our progress. The ones who want to lie to us and tell us that we're not good enough...that we'll never be good enough...that we really can't do it and we might as well just give up now.

It would be easy to blame the world for this and all these crappy messages but on some level, we still get to decide what comes in and out of our own minds. We can build a wall like a strong fortress that keeps those lies out. And we don't have to do it alone. With a support system of faith, friends, family, and personal cheerleaders it is possible to build a foundation of Truth and positive hooplah in our hearts.

Have you been watching the Olympics? I have to admit I haven't, but I know that each athlete competing didn't get there overnight. Just like anything else we want to be good at, it takes practice.

Keeping our negative thinking in check takes practice. Celebrating our accomplishments instead of ripping ourselves apart takes practice.

Whether you believe life is a contest or not, at some point we will all end up at the end. I have to believe we won't care so much about winning and losing when we're taking our last breaths. But hopefully if we have won the race in the ways that it matters we will experience a feeling of accomplishment, and much more important than that, a peace unlike any we could have known otherwise.

The Things We Lose

I've been thinking lately about loss. Not so much in a emotional, melancholy, can't get out from under the covers way, but more about loss from a straightforward logic perspective.

After changing my college major at the end of my sophomore year, I learned I would now be required to take a sequence of science classes my previous major had not required. I didn't want to fall behind and had to find an option I could complete in the time frame as well as one that would fit into my already set schedule.

Somehow I landed on Botany. Nobody I knew had taken it so there would be no sharing of notes or hitting up friends for old tests and study guides. But, plants, yeah that could be cool,  I thought. Might learn something practical I could use later on.  The class included a twice weekly 1-hour lecture plus a three hour weekly lab.

It was in the lab that some of the info I was learning really seemed to click, and while I have sadly never become a botanist or put my plantly knowledge to any sort of real use, there was something very important I learned.

The apical meristem.

Never heard of it? Yeah, I hadn't either until I randomly took a college botany class. Prepare to be enlightened.

You see, plants have this thing called an apical meristem. Located at the very tip of a plant's shoots, it sends little messages for the plant to keep growing. One definition says it encourages growth. So it's like the plant's tiny cheerleader. Come on, keep going, you've got this! 

But what happens if the apical meristem gets broken or cut off? Oh never fear my friends, because SCIENCE! (and God). If a plant loses its apical meristem, aka its cheerleader, then the lower regions on the remaining branches (which also have meristems of their own that are just waiting to be needed), start to grow to make up for what was lost.

This is why you will see trees or shrubs that have been topped or cut down to just the sticks grow back even fuller and bushier than before.

And it isn't just the parts of the plants we can see above ground that have this. There are root meristems too. If a plant loses parts of its root, the same little workers down below send messages to grow in other areas to make up for what isn't there anymore.

And this brings me back to my starting point about loss. We have all lost something in our lives. Some of us may feel like we have lost everything at one point or another. Maybe you're at that point right now.

My husband likes to joke about makin' gains in relation to his time spent at the gym. Gotta eat right so I can go to Gainsville. Need to lift so I can get those gains. And it does feel awesome when we gain something in this life. Our gains and accomplishments definitely have a way of trying to define us.

But I wonder if it's really our losses that can sometimes have more power over us.

Like you're just chugging along, trying to live your best life, and all of a sudden something swoops in and removes one of those all important apical meristems....someone or something that made you feel good, encouraged, like things were working right for you. What happens then?

For me, it's very much like what happens in plants. I tend to go into freak out mode, and I start scrambling to make up for what was lost. Digging deeper into the reserves to keep those all important growth encouragers activated. Sometimes this is good because it means I'm not giving up. But sometimes it means I'm trying to replace things that can't be replaced.

Have you ever lost something (or someone) and tried desperately to replace it with something (or someone) else? How did this work out for you? For me, it's never good. The replacement always ends up feeling like a cheap imitation.

But even in loss, there is room for growth. And sometimes it's the things we lose that leave us feeling more like ourselves. More free. More beautiful.

I have a wonderful, joyous, abundant life, with so much to be thankful for. But I still have huge gaping holes of loss. Loss of relationships that I thought would last forever. Loss of identities that I clung to because they felt so safe and comforting. Loss of opportunities that may never come around again. When put that way, it doesn't seem like a very pretty picture.

But I think of the apical meristem. And how even after it has been hacked down to very nub at ground level, a beautiful plant may very well grow back from it, fuller and stronger and more vibrant than ever before. To me, that is encouraging.

Beautifully Broken Things

This time last year, I was feeling light-headed. It wasn't the joy of the coming Christmas or the cheer I felt in my heart from celebrating our favorite traditions. It was from paint fumes. My husband had sequestered himself in our basement where he was working on a top secret Christmas gift project for me. 

All I knew was that it involved spray paint. And lots of it. The more he painted, the more the fumes wafted up through our home's 1950s vent system and filled the air. As touched as I was that he had thought to make me something, I was also more than a little frustrated. Spray paint was not the smell I wanted to be filling my Christmas home. 

I tried opening the windows but it created sort of a vacuum, sucking even more of the pungent paint smell into our house. I tried to keep my heart in the right place, but my dizziness combined with my frustration didn't make for a good mix. 

Then, when it was time to pack up our car and travel to my folks' house where we planned to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I realized this thing he had made, which had been wrapped carefully in black garbage bags, wasn't totally dried or cured. So we brought the paint fume smell with us and enjoyed it for 100 miles. 

Still without a clue as to what this created masterpiece might be, I thought about possible options. My husband is not very good at keeping secrets, but he didn't give me any hints even though I asked for them. At one point he showed whatever it was to my mom and she burst into tears....so I figured it had to be something meaningful. 

Meaningful doesn't even begin to cover it. 

On Christmas morning, my husband presented me with a heavy, rectangular wooden board. Carefully covered in layers of pale blue spray paint, this was the source of our dizzying fumes. 

In the center of the board was a heart. The heart had been created in a mosaic out of small ceramic tiles, carefully fitted together like a puzzle to fill in the shape. 

If you knew nothing of the backstory, this piece would stand on its own as a beautiful work of wall art or home decor. But that's not the entire story. 

When my great grandmother passed away, the item I wanted most from her home was a vase. This was not just any vase. It was large and bright orange and stood out against the otherwise muted tones of her un-fancy preacher's wife decorating aesthetic. 

Always being drawn to bright colors and bold decor, I loved it and it was the only thing I really wanted of hers (besides some of her cake decorating books and an old recipe box). I was thrilled to have the vase in my home. It reminded me of my great grandmother, a really special lady. 

In many ways the vase was a source of inspiration for me in decorating my first home with my husband. Built in the late 1950s, it has a certain mid-century modern flair. So with the vase as a starting point, I pulled together other elements featuring the same bold orange, plus other complementary hues. 

For the first year or so after moving in, the vase sat on a shelf in our living room. As I am wont to do, I was moving some furniture around and changing up some of the nick knacks on our mantel. I had the bright idea to put the vase on the mantel because it tied in nicely with a bright, colorful painting featuring the same shade of orange. 

As I was holding the vase and admiring the painting in its new location, the painting began to fall forward. It's like everything happened in slow motion. Without processing what I was doing, I let go of the vase to catch the painting. It crashed to the tile hearth below, shattering into many, many pieces. 

I couldn't believe this had happened. I felt so dumb for making such a clumsy mistake. Even though it was just a vase, an inanimate object, what it symbolized for me was so special and seeing it broken into shards was just too much. When my husband rushed into the room, he found me sobbing, more for the loss of my grandmother than the vase, but still so sad by the loss of this symbol. 

He told me to go to the kitchen and get a drink of water while he cleaned up the mess. I heard him picking up pieces of ceramic and putting them in a black garbage bag, but I couldn't watch and I certainly couldn't watch him dispose of it in our trashcan outside. 

What I didn't know was that he didn't dispose of it. He hid the bag of broken vase downstairs where I wouldn't find it. And then those pieces of orange ceramic became the tiles in the mosaic heart he worked so hard to create for me last Christmas. 

As soon as I saw it, I knew what he had done. I couldn't believe that he had come up with such a special idea and brought it to life in this very meaningful way. We were joking today that he'd have a hard time topping that gift this year. And of course I don't really want him to try. But thinking about the heart and how much it means to me, I realized I hadn't shared this story before and so I wanted to. 

Things break. Sometimes valuable things. Sometimes a thing we love so much....and maybe there is only one of it and it can't be replaced. And sometimes there's no fixing it. No putting it back together. 

But broken things can find a new purpose. A new meaning. They can get a new life. 

If given the choice to have the vase back in exchange for the mosaic heart my husband made, I would say no thanks. That he wanted to take something broken and turn it into something beautiful for me is a priceless part of our story. I wouldn't trade that for all the vases in all the world. 

How to Accept a Gift

They say 'tis better to give than receive, but in many ways I think the adage is wrong. In my opinion, 'tis often easier to give, instead of better. There's something about receiving gifts that is hard for many people, myself included.

I wrote in the past about how to receive a compliment, but this goes a little deeper than that.

While recently traveling to New Jersey for a work training, I invited my mom to come along so we could extend my trip by a day or so and do some holiday sightseeing in NYC.

My first inclination for lodging was to go with what I knew, so I investigated the option of staying at the Paul, a hotel I had stayed at previously in the year with my dear friend on our trip to the Big Apple. In May when we'd visted, that hotel was available at a decent price and even though our room wasn't huge, it was hip and close to lots of things. And the beds were super comfy. But during November for my trip with my mom, that hotel's rates were more than double what they had been earlier in the year.

After extensive Internet searches, including checking prices, various locations, and tons of online reviews, I found a hotel that seemed like a good option. It was decently priced, not too far from our point of arrival & departure (Penn Station) and had gorgeous photos online. Plus the other folks who had stayed there had positive things to say.

I selected a small, modest room knowing we wouldn't be spending a ton of time there anyway.

When we arrived at the check-in desk, the hotel staffer told us in what seemed to me an apologetic tone, that she'd had to upgrade us to a different room, a loft. Even though the word upgrade would seemingly mean a better room, at the word loft I imagined my college dorm, with wooden bunked beds crammed in above tiny compact desks below. Oh well, I thought. Our trip is short and we don't want to spend a bunch of time in the hotel room anyway.

When we got off the elevator on the eighth floor and walked around the corner to room 808, I thought to myself....don't be disappointed if this isn't anything special. We're just lucky to be here.

Then we entered our loft. In the foyer, the walls were covered with a gorgeous black and gold art deco wallpaper, and there was a cool lithograph as well as a giant round gold mirror. That opened into a spacious living room and kitchen with sleek stainless appliances and a wide island with three stools.

In the living room was a white leather sofa, a big round marble coffee table and on the wall was mounted a television four times the size of mine at home.

Big windows and a set of French doors opened onto a balcony with chairs overlooking the skyline. Down the hall was a roomy bedroom with a king bed and across from it, a bathroom much larger than either of the ones at our own houses. It was covered in beautiful gray and white subway tile and had a big soaking tub on the left and a glass encased shower on the right.

My mom and I figured there must have been some mistake. This couldn't be our room.

"She did say she had to upgrade us," my mom said.

"Yeah, but this is more than just a simple upgrade," I replied.

This is unreal.

"Oh well, you should always look for little gifts and unexpected blessings at every turn," said my mom. She's pretty wise that mother of mine.

On the last morning of our trip, after my training had ended and we were free to have our big day in the city, I sat on the comfy leather sofa in that giant hotel living room, sipping espresso from our self serve machine and trying to prepare to soak up every moment of the day ahead.

I found myself thinking about the gift of the experience, including the incredible hotel room we'd never have otherwise chosen for ourselves had it not been for a happy accident and our fortuitous upgrade.

Here's what it got me thinking about gifts:

1) Gifts can come without warning when we least expect them.

2) Thinking we don't deserve them or they are too good to be true will only rob us of the joy of receiving and enjoying something we weren't expecting.

3) Acting like or believing we did something to earn them or deserve them removes God from the equation. They cease to be a blessing and become a barter system. This can set us on a dangerous path of working harder to receive things that we would have gotten anyway.

4) There is no shortage of gifts to be had. If we miss one, there's infinitely more to come.

5) Gifts never come in exactly the same packages or the same way. One day a gift might be the opportunity to stay in a fancy hotel room that costs more than twice what you paid for it. Another day it might be a WWII veteran at a convenience store who thinks he knows you and greets you with a warm handshake and "It sure is good to see you. It's been too long." This will bless your heart in so many ways.

6) If we focus on what we perceive to be the negative, we will lose our ability to see all the gifts around us that are right in front of our noses. Kind of like the Timothy Busfield's character in Field of Dreams who couldn't see the baseball players while they were practicing on the field only a few feet away.

7) If we thinks gifts come with strings attached, it is often because we are guilty of giving gifts with strings attached. Cut the strings and just enjoy the gift.

8) Life will always be an adventure if you believe another gift is just around the corner. You won't know what to expect but it will be wonderful never-the-less.

9) Giving a gift brings joy to the giver. Accept any and all gifts with grace and gratitude.

You will likely receive at least one gift this holiday season. You'll probably give a gift too. Maybe just keep these things in mind.