"On The Things I've Learned From My Daughters"

She was an older woman about my age, choosing food from the bulk food bins at the grocery store.  Dashing in to purchase my own selection of goodies to fortify me through my work day, I noticed her as I passed by.  My one and only thought, a random one coming out of nowhere was, She must not have daughters.  

My reasoning for this conclusion was that she was wearing a denim jacket with denim jeans.  I am no fashionista, and I personally do not have a problem with that combination.  However, I have been trained and trained well.  If I was to even consider such a combination there is a resounding admonition in my head, a collective chorus of voices--"Mom, you can't wear denim with denim!"   Who knew?  I thought it was enough that they matched.

I have been gifted with daughters, three of them.  Actually four, when I include the one who was given to me when my son married, but I'm talking about those who entered my life at birth and who grew up under my roof.  These girls are not three "peas in a pod."  If you were to see them in a lineup you'd be hard pressed choosing them as siblings.  In addition, their personalities and interests differ as much as do their physical appearances.  They are unique, one-of-a-kind individuals, albeit all raised by the same mother.

That early morning encounter set my mind in gear, and I found myself thinking about my daughters and all I have learned from them.  I know it is the role of the parent to do the teaching, but oh, the things my girls have taught me.

My daughters have taught me that, when decorating a home or planting a garden, one must display pictures or plants in odd numbers, never even; I've learned that accessories, including shoes, and fit make all the difference in creating an outfit of clothing.  I've also learned it is not polite to stare at people and was recently reminded of that once again. 

With three daughters in the house, I learned one hot water heater really isn't enough on a school morning. The priorities in life are hair and clothing, but music--loud music, friends, and laughter are of an equal importance.  Oh, yes, then there are "the boys."  Another lesson learned was almost any situation (and the possibilities are far too many to list) has the potential of escalating from minor to major in a heartbeat, and every effort must be taken to avoid that at all cost.  Reasoning with a girl who is in a calamitous frame of thinking and mind is nigh unto impossible.  Plus she will either make a lot of noise or go silent.   Neither of those two are beneficial nor productive.

Each of my daughters taught me there is no pain or heartbreak to match that of breaking up with a boyfriend.  And a mother's love cannot help or heal.  Recovery is a solitary, individual process which takes time and a personal inner strength and resolve. They each made it through and became stronger young women, and I learned they had to do it on their own.

I am a grandmother now, and I watch as those daughters of mine mother their own daughters.  I'm quite certain they are being schooled and taught by them as well.  All of my girls have an open, honest level of communication with their children.  It is one I wish I had had with them as they were growing up, but I didn't.  My grandgirls are encouraged to discuss any and all topics, and they do.  What a gift they are being given.

As my daughters have become women I have learned they never cease being daughters, and I will always be Mother.  And yet I have learned a bonus at this time of life, one I never expected in those early days, and it is that of being friends. I have always maintained that children are a gift, and my daughters are that.  I have been gifted with a son as well, but that will be written about another day.  Besides, he never taught me that wearing denim with denim was inappropriate.   

"On Change That Matters"

Boise, Idaho is not on the other side of the world as I originally feared.  The reason I know this is that I was able to hop on a plane--well, actually two--before breakfast and arrive in time for breakfast.  One does not get to the other side of the world that quickly.

My apprehensions have dissipated.  My daughter and her family, who moved there at the beginning of summer, still recognized me.  A room in their home has been designated "Grandma's room", and, even though it had no bed in it, I have claimed it as my own.  I even have access to a bathroom, willingly shared by a grandgirl.

My view is that change is important in one's life.  It is the opposite of stagnation, and an outer change can be an impetus and opportunity for personal growth and development.  We all know what happens with stagnancy.  One need only look at standing water to draw a pretty graphic picture.  It is the same in our personal lives.

The thing about change, though, is that there can be a change in our environment, our outer surroundings, and no change within.  That was expressed clearly the other day in a conversation I had with someone:  "I have moved; everything is different; nothing is the same.  And yet nothing has changed.  I am still the same."  There was a recognition, an acknowledgement of the true need, the need to be transformed from within.

On the other hand, the opposite is true as well.  Everything can remain the same in the physical outer and yet I can become a different person, a better person.  I can change.

As I am writing this, I realize this is a theme I have already expressed, and the question is whether or not I am going to post this.  I probably will, because I feel the basic premise is important and reminders are always good.  

Circumstances in my life have changed and are constantly changing.  The sparkly grandgirl and the fearless one aren't quite so handy to visit; summer is already shifting towards fall, and daylight is lessening; the grandgirl who made me "Nana" has her permit and will soon be conquering the highway on her own; an epic, milestone birthday awaits me around the corner, the big 7-0.  And yet, I revel most in those changes which take place within. 

My goal, my desire--to become and to be the person I was created to be.  That cannot happen on my own but only at the hand of the One who made me.  For me, that is the change that truly matters.






 

"On Judging a Book By Its Cover"

It was the first leg of my flight, and I can't say I was really even awake yet.  My eyes were open, but I don't think I had slept much, and I had arrived at the airport in time for a 5:10 A. M. flight.  You know how it is--hurry up and wait.  The plane was small, one used to shuttle passengers for a 30-minute flight to Portland.  

Window seats are my preference while flying.  From the first time I flew, looking out on the majestic mountain ranges, the small farms tucked away out in the middle of nowhere, the lights of cities, the rivers and the seas, the clouds that carry the illusion of being able to step out and take a walk, I never tire of the view and try to book a window seat.

I was one of the first ones on and, as the passengers loaded and the plane began to fill, I realized that, due to the physical size of the one sitting next to me, I would be crowded.  We exchanged names and shared the reason for the flight at such a God-awful time of the morning.  She and two friends were taking their kids to Disneyland.  I was headed to Boise, Idaho to visit my daughter, grandgirls, and friends.

The next leg of the journey was a bit longer and, once again, I was crowded, squeezed next to the window.  Having had a weight problem myself, I have always thought of myself as having a sense of understanding and compassion for those struggling with the same, and I do.  It's just that I saw and experienced a facet of myself that I do not like and one I am not proud of.

On my return flight when the same thing happened again on both legs, I realized that my Father was not only making a point but reinforcing it.  My initial observations, my reaction and response were based solely on what I saw with my physical eyes.  I closed myself in, shut myself down, and shut out those sitting next to me because of my own labeling.  I don't like being treated that way and yet, here I am!  Except for the first young woman, I have no idea what kind of people I was sharing my flights with.  I can only give you a physical description, and it is not a stellar, complimentary one at that.  It makes me wonder how many times in how many other circumstances I've done a similar thing--judged a book by its cover.

I am still processing my experience.  I know I haven't fully grasped the point of my Eugene to Boise round-trip flight yet.  But this I know:  I did not practice what I preach.  There is so much to learn, so much personal growth to be had.  There is a saying which is applicable.  "God is not finished with me yet."

"Man looks on the outer, but God looks on the heart."

"On Privilege"

It was either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on the perspective one chooses.  Upon awakening, I found myself thinking about recent happenings and a word that ties them all together.  As so often occurs in my life I have an idea, a sense of the word and what it means, but I am unable to define it succinctly.  How does one clearly express privilege? 

Yesterday afternoon my son communicated via a text, along with a picture, a geocache he had discovered; daughters shared their lives; a friend in another state showed me a picture of a wildfire being observed from her front porch.  To top it off two of the grandgirls who have moved far, far away (Idaho fills that description for me) called telling me of their current accomplishments.  The fearless one had just mastered an entire list of gymnastic feats, and I was able to hear about it first-hand.  The sparkly one had her own gymnastic skills to share, and I was told of all the plans for an upcoming Grandma visit.  The common denominator was the communication of our time, the cell phone. 

Privilege:  a peculiar benefit, advantage, or favor; a right not enjoyed by others or by all; special enjoyment of a good; preferential treatment.

The thing about privileges is that they become so easily taken for granted, right along with gifts, blessings, and all the other positive things in our lives.  I daresay most of the younger generation (now I'm really sounding old, aren't I?) would not feel the plethora of electronics available is so much a privilege as it is a need.  It quite matches my view of electricity growing up compared to that of my parents'. 

There was a news report last night about 40,000 people stranded on the side of a mountain in Iraq.  They have the choice of either staying there, starving and dying or coming down off that mountain and being killed by a group of terrorists.  Their one fault:  They have a different religious faith from those who would and will massacre them, given the opportunity. 

Privileged?  Yes, in so many ways.  There is a tendency to think of money when one thinks of privilege.  While money can and does provide a lot of unnecessary luxuries and perks to those who have it, there are plenty of things that cannot be purchased.  One of those is that of being a citizen of this country and this nation.  It is one of the greater privileges given to any man. 

Upon returning home after spending time in Scotland as an exchange student I was struck by the fact that I had been created an American, a privilege given me by my Creator.  That, as a 16-year-old.

There is a world of people who would give anything to just be able to live their lives.  I am privileged that, thus far, I am able to do that, as are you.  In spite of all the rules, the laws, and the regulations in place by the powers that be, I do live my life.

Gratitude and thankfulness to my Creator are in order. 

"On the Doldrums"

Doldrums:  part of the ocean near the equator, abounding in calms, which sometimes prevent all sailing progress for weeks; a state of listlessness, ennui, or tedium.

The doldrums have set in.  You know, where life feels stagnant; it's all same ol', same ol', a merry-go-round, a hamster wheel.  In gardening seasons past the description has been that I have "hit a wall."  A daughter very gently reminds me that it happens this time every year.  And she is right.  Our temperatures have been in the near 90's or above for at least 3 weeks now, and everything has a tired look and feel about it, including me.  Parched, dry grasses are everywhere.  The lush look of spring in Oregon is long gone.  The trees are the only thing which can tout the advertisement that Oregon is green. 

For those who irrigate, those with vegetable gardens and beautiful flower gardens, the look and feel of despair isn't so prevalent.  After having lived with wells for most of my life I refuse to pay what the city charges to keep my world green.  That expense is a factor for many others as well and so brown and dry is the theme at this time of the year.

This, however, has a different feel to it. Something else is happening within me, something besides 90 degree temperatures in Oregon's Willamette Valley in August.  I feel like I am stalled, not making the growth and progress I love.  When this happens, I don't look to my physical world but rather, to my inner world and to my Creator, searching and questioning. 

Introspection is good.  Sitting quietly and looking deep within results in answers, truths being revealed which don't begin and end in the human mind or one's outer environment. The One who made me knows me better than I know myself.  My experience is that the source, the cause of my state is most often far removed from what I would ever speculate or think.  And so it is once again today.  I could not deny the truth of that revelation upon seeing it and being made aware.  Progress begins.

There is no moving forward, no escaping the doldrums until issues within are faced and dealt with.  The joy of it lies in its simplicity.  All that is necessary is asking for truth and facing it.  In that single stroke the beginning of change and change itself takes place.  Not a bad deal, I say.  

"Seek and you shall find."

"On Thumpers and Gliders and Other Differences"

 

There are thumpers in this world, and there are gliders—at least that has been my experience. And they are as opposite from one another as the South Pole is from the North. Gliders are often upset and bothered by the sounds of a thumper; thumpers, generally, are not at all ruffled by gliders.

A glider enters a room quietly, barely making any sound at all, unless wearing high heels. On the other hand, a thumper can be heard approaching from quite a distance, with or without high heels, the noise of his or her footsteps reverberating through the air. On occasion, the force is so solid, glassware can be heard rattling. Such is the case with me. I openly admit and confess to being a thumper. I walk hard, and that is an understatement. In fact “thud” would probably be a more accurate description than “thump.”

It had been a while since I had given it much thought. I don’t make much of a sound walking behind a lawn mower and, living alone, am oblivious with no one to remind me. While cleaning a house today, I was barefooted. Because I solidly land on my heels first, the bare feet amplify the impact. I heard and observed the thump, the glassware and remembered the chastising from days gone by. “Why DO you walk so hard? Can’t you walk more softly? You’re shaking the whole house. Try walking like a lady.” The comments from gliders were gone but not forgotten. I began processing the memories.

What wasn’t spoken yet perceived was that there was something wrong with me. I needed to change. And I tried. It was a long time ago, but I did try. The success rate is right at 0%, along with efforts to transform my curly hair to bone-straight, rid myself of a down-right stubborn streak, eliminate the procrastination factor, and change countless other traits and characteristics that make up the person I am.

It took a while to understand it isn’t a right or wrong thing. It is a difference. I’m not the same as others. However, when one is struggling with self-acceptance it’s a monkey wrench thrown in that takes some time and sorting to figure out.

Another person’s difference is not cause for a rush to judgment. It is so easy to react, to respond critically without even thinking. We all handle situations differently, and when that is viewed as being right or wrong, negativity enters in. For example, I drive in a manner that is different from any other driver on the road; I eat foods that are preferential to my taste; my television habits and choices are unlike any other. We are individuals; therefore, we are different. And I haven’t even begun to discuss the way we think and view ethics, philosophy, politics, the environment, nature, and religion…just to name a few.

Much of the focus in our country is placed on biases and prejudices based on race. There is, however, a bias, a prejudice and an intolerance developing in our society and our nation toward any who disagrees with those in a place of power and control. An attitude is developing that “I am right; therefore, you are wrong.” Not so. We think, believe, and act differently, but they are differences, not a base for division, rejection, or judgment. I am friends with many people with whom I differ in opinion and belief. That does not make me right and them wrong or vice versa. It means we are individuals, with a right to our respective points of view.

My uniqueness, including that of being a thumper, is God-given. So too, is yours. God help us as a nation if we get to the point where difference is not respected, expected, and allowed. We are not—and must not--be clones. And, for myself as well, I need to be very careful I am not coming from a place of judgment when viewing another’s difference, be it inner or outer.

I told Sally, whose house I was cleaning, my “thumper” story, telling of the criticisms and harsh comments I’ve received over the years. “Did you know that is a good thing?” she asked. She went on to say her doctor had informed her that walking with impact increases bone density. In fact, the impact is what is important. Who knew? Certainly not the gliders in my life.  Nor I. It’s all in how you look at it, isn’t it? This one goes in the category of “interesting” and bears out my position that difference is a positive not a negative. High five, Sally!

 

"Do not judge, so you may not be judged. For with the

judgment you make you will be judged."

Matthew 7: 1, 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

"On a Treasure of the Heart"

The almost-10-year-old, the one I call the "old soul," the one who is quiet but mighty, called me the other day.  After chatting for a bit, I asked her what she was doing.  "Nothing," she said, "I just wanted to hear your voice." 

That one comment, pure and sincere, sunk to the very core of my being and shall remain there for the rest of my life.  No embellishments, no analogies or analysis.  It sunk deep, has taken root, and feeds my soul. 

It isn't the amount of words; it isn't even the words themselves.  It is the heart from which those words come from.  Lesson lived and taught by a now-10-year-old.