The Progression of a Smile

I realize that October is over and with it National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.  But I have something else I'd like to say - actually 2 more things.

                

 It's about Mary's smile.  Unlike when she was little, smiles are not as common with Mary now.  We don't know why.  It could have everything to do with Autism.  The smiles began disappearing about the time she was diagnosed with Autism in her early 20's.  It could be a result of all her beloved siblings moving out and on at about that same age.   But, the smiles DO still occur.  It's just less often.  Like living where it's always cloudy or foggy (aka London), yet when those sunny beams gently push through the darkness, you appreciate them all the more.
  
So, nowadays, what makes Mary smile?  A visit with siblings are guaranteed to bring a BIG ONE!  A ride in the Jeep always makes her giggle.   A good ol' fashioned musical on a DVD (like Mary Poppins, Cinderella, Pitch Perfect, Mama Mia - oh, the list could go on forever!) can not only elicit smiles but also some singing from a very quiet girl.  Whipped cream piled high on her pancakes is sure to bring a twinkle in her eyes.  AND..., a friend who says a kind word, who stops to smile or talk to her - even is she's looking 'out of sorts', is valued more than you could ever guess.

Which brings me to the 2nd thing.  I'd like to express deep appreciation from myself, my husband Dan, and from Mary to all those who offer a kind word, who take time to notice, who come to visit, who try to engage her in conversation, who offer to have her sit by them, who find a paper and pencil for her to draw on in church, who SMILE at her - even though she has a grumpy face on.  THANK YOU.  Thank you for SEEING her, for ACKNOWLEDGING her, for MAKING TIME in your busy day for her, for showing her unreserved LOVE and KINDNESS. 

Whipped cream may bring a smile to her face, but your kindnesses bring a smile to her heart.  And ours.   

 Thank you!

The Art of Graciousness

A Truly Gracious Woman


Her name was Nelda and I am her daughter.  I want to paint a picture of her and in order to do that, a little bit of history/background is essential.

Nelda - little girl far right

She was born in a small Arizona town in the early 1920’s, 4th child and 2nd daughter of 5 children.   By age 13 her father had died.  Her mother remarried after some years, but it was not ideal and did not last.  It was the era of the Great Depression. As a result of  these circumstances, she did not have luxuries.  Her favorite treat at Christmas was a fresh orange.  She had “hand-me-downs” or dresses home made by her mother. She grew up fierce and determined. When a “rich” girl at school called her “white trash”, she hauled her behind the bleachers and “whooped her good” to the cheers of many students.  And yet, with her angelic face and smile, her lovely blonde hair and blue eyes, she was also graceful and charming.  She was kind and loving.  She was smart and brave and intelligent.  She was caring and thoughtful of others.


I’m not sure where she learned it;  how to be GRACIOUS.  I’m sure it started with her mother.  Faced with extremely difficult circumstances after losing her husband to pneumonia, her own mother had a hard task raising 5 teenagers.  It was there, I believe, that my mom began to learn how to be a thoughtful, considerate, and gracious woman.  I think it started at home, but more was to come.

She met Loren in her first year of college.  She was 18 and he was a year older.  Not many months later, on a moonlit night while the radio played soft music in the car, he asked her to marry him.  The date was December 7, 1941 and minutes after she said “yes”, the announcement came that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. 

He signed up for flight training to become a bomber pilot.  They married and they moved  to be closer to his training site.  Loren was not only training to be a pilot, but also an officer in the Air Force.  Nelda made friends with other Army Air corps wives to pass the many long and lonely hours.  Hours learning how to be a wife to a military officer and how to fit in and identify with virtual strangers; these other military wives who would become life long friends.

How did a scrappy young girl, who could knock the socks off a bully, become a model of graciousness and decorum?  I have been a military officers’ daughter, then later a wife to a Naval Officer.  I believe I may have, as a result, had a glimpse into my mothers’ psyche; just a bit. 

She learned to put others first.  Did she let herself “go” as a result?  No, she took care of her own needs, but she was never consumed with it.  She noticed others.  She cared about people.  She SAW them.  When talking to someone, she focused ON THEM.  When your husbands career is dependent on being pleasing and accommodating to senior officers, my mother learned to do the same.  She knew her time to shine would come and never felt the need to put herself above others.  When you show interest in other people, they will often end up finding you interesting as well.  At the very least they will appreciate your kindness.

She learned how to converse.   Conversation is “two-way”.  It is not a monologue; it is a sharing of thoughts, ideas, experiences and dreams.  It is SHARING.  She never tried to “one-up” or top a story.  If it even smacked of “topping”, she would hold her tongue and allow the limelight to stay on the other person in the conversation.  Because, as she taught me, “topping” or “one-upping” makes the other person feel small and unheard.

She also was a master at asking questions to draw someone into the conversation further.  She showed genuine interest.  She looked the speaker in the eye, nodded and gave indication she was listening, and smiled her wonderful smile when the topic called for it.  

And, she NEVER interrupted someone in the middle of a sentence.  “Never, ever, interupt!” was drilled into me.  It’s just rude.  It’s like wearing a sign that says, “what you have to say is not as important as what I want to say!”.

She learned that how you make others feel is very important.  My mom worked with the youth in our church while I, myself, was a youth.  She was our camp director for girls camp.  Now, 50 years later, there are still girls-turned-women who will contact me to express gratitude for they way my mom treated them, made them feel like they mattered, and for being a soft place to turn to.  She did it through her interest, kindness, and genuine caring for them. 

Now, my mom, Nelda, was no saint.  She could get angry.  She even cussed now and then.  She would get hurt and offended.  But she was human and she tried always to be her best.  This is where her art of being gracious always kicked in.  She reminded me of a story I read (can’t remember the title) of how she’d put on her best dress, her best smile, and go greet the world with open arms, no matter the calamities or misfortunes in her private life. 

This, I believe, is the art of being gracious.  According to Miriam-Webster: "gracious, cordial, affable, genial, sociable mean markedly pleasant and easy in social intercourse. gracious implies courtesy and kindly consideration".   I would venture to say it is an art that is bordering on extinction.   And you aren't born with it.  You learn it.  Something we could all do well to learn and practice.

I’m a Tightrope Walker

Each step is practiced and calculated.  I know that the slightest misstep could be disaster.  Disaster for my loved ones and for myself.  I have done this a thousand times in practice.  One waver, one errant breeze, one distraction could result in a fall.  Everyone is watching, holding their breath;  can she do it?  I cannot lose focus or let up in my concentration.  Because, if any of these things happen, I will fall and fall and keep falling.  But wait.  Isn’t there a safety net?

In my journey through life, my battle with recurring depression and chronic pain, and even just the day-to-day, life often feels like a tightrope walk.  I plan my day.  It includes things that MUST be done and some things that would be good to do.  It rarely seems to include something I just want to do for fun.  It may include interactions with family members, appointments, store clerks, acquaintances and friends.  Yet, any one of these can throw off my balancing act if it doesn’t go smoothly.  If an unkind word is spoken, if an appointment is missed, if a friend has no time for me, if a family member lets me down; all these and more can lead to a downhill spiral.  If I’m feeling well and strong, these things are no biggie.  But if I’m worn down by illness, fatigue, physical or mental pain, worry or anxiety, or just my old nemesis, “depression”, any little crosswind will knock me off my tightrope.  So, what about MY safety net?

For a tightrope walker, the safety net is a strong, physical net, suspended above the floor below the tightrope.  These nets are checked daily for holes or weak spots.  It’s crucial that the safety net is in good repair. Falling into the safety net will save the tightrope walker from serious injury or even death. 

We all have safety nets in our lives.  It can be our faith in a higher being.  It can be our inner resolve and courage.  It can be the love of family or dear friends.  It can be our health.  It can be goals, talents and passions you have that move you forward.  It can be duties or responsibilities to others.  It CAN  be all these and more.  Each will give a safety net maximum strength.   I cannot emphasize enough, though, that all these things need to be in good repair and working well. 

One weak spot could be a serious setback.  Many days are practice runs.  There’s no performance; just me and the rope.  But when someone is relying on me, counting on me to be there, THOSE DAYS do count.  When I need to be strong, just for myself, THOSE days count too.  And whether it’s a practice run or the big show, the safely net is critical at all times.

A few weeks ago I was blindsided by some of the darkest days I’ve ever experienced.  It hit me as forcefully as a gale wind, and I couldn’t even tell you where it originated.  Mentally, I was alone, afraid, and confused at where this came from.  When I reached out for help, it was like grabbing onto a mist.  There was very little substance there.

I’ve discovered that there are some weak spots or holes in my safety net.  I had fallen and I found myself sitting under the net, looking up at the holes with pain and tears in my eyes, not knowing what to do.  I know this may be an uncomfortable reality, but it is MY reality.  I KNEW that I needed to get up, dust myself off, tend to my wounds so they would heal, and then get back up on the rope.  But, for a time, I was paralyzed by the pain.  And, with that pain, I realized that I was responsible for the maintenance of my safety net.

So, where does this lead me?  How do I fix my safety net?  Even though I don’t have ALL the answers, I’ve figured a few things out.
#1 - I need to bandage the wounds then move on.  No more continual focus on the wound.
#2 - I need to ask for help from someone who truly cares.  Harder than it sounds as you have to swallow some pride here.
#3 - I need to purge my life of negative people and influences.  This would include social media and people who bring me down.
#4 - I need to continue to take care of myself physically.
#5 - I need to strengthen my faith in the healing power of the Savior atonement.
#6 - I need to serve others more.  This lifts me up every time.

I am hoping that these things will work.  I’m going to try, anyways.
We are all tightrope walkers, at one time or another.  And we are definitely and especially a vital part of the safety net, both our own and our loved ones.  And I think that’s more important than anything.