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. 

A Bottle of Hot Sauce and a Broken Heart

I am looking for spaghetti sauce.  How innocent is that?  The recipe calls for spaghetti sauce, and although I rarely serve spaghetti, there is usually a bottle in the back of the pantry.  The pantry is rather unorganized so I am moving bottles and cans around the shelves with my eye out for the sought-after spaghetti sauce.  My hand nearly knocks a slim bottle off the shelf.  As I steady it, I see that it is Tapatio hot sauce.  And my heart drops to my stomach.  Or at least it feels that way.

Since my boys grew up and moved away, we don’t keep this kind of hot sauce in the house.  Their younger sisters had no use for it.  After all, as I told my sons, “that stuff will put hair on your chests!”.   What girl wants that?  I was joking, of course, but it made them laugh.  And a mom will do a lot to get laughter out of their teenager.  But here sits a bottle of hot sauce.  And tears well up in my eyes.

Oh my heck, this is so silly.  Who cries over a bottle of hot sauce?  I thought I was over this.  I thought WE were over this.  I have to remind myself that it’s WE.  Not just me.  In fact, it’s more HER than me.  My amazingly talented and beautiful daughter.  And if I’m honest, I know she’s not over it.  Yet.  And because she is not over it, neither am I.  What loving and dedicated Mom would be over something that her child is still hurting over?  We hurt when they hurt, right?


So, what does a bottle of hot sauce have to do with a broken heart?  I’ll tell you, but first, let me tell you about this daughter.  She is beautiful, inside as well as outside.  She is tallish, slender, with long honey-colored hair, clear blue eyes and a sprinkle of freckles.  She is so accomplished it makes my head spin.  She sings, plays the piano, the ukulele, and the saxophone.  Valedictorian in High School, she has also graduated from BYU with a degree in Exercise Science.  She is an amazing athlete, from soccer to track and ultimate frisbee.  She can keep up with the guys in this department.  She hikes, climbs, rappels, and is a fan of the outdoors.  She’s a talented amateur photographer, genealogist, and cartoonist.  She has served an 18 month mission in Russia as an ambassador for the Gospel she loves.
 She’s a great lover of animals and small children, and they love her back.  She knows how to save and manage money.  She has fearlessly traveled around Europe, on her own and with only a backpack.  Add to all that, she is tender and kind-hearted and doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.  Well, maybe a small splinter of mischievousness  when it comes to playing a trick on her mean big brother when she was young.

She has also been un-lucky in love.   What the heck is wrong with guys nowadays?   I could really go off on this one, but I’ll save that for another post.  The list will be long.

Hot sauce?  Oh yeah, I got carried away.   Actually, I really can’t go into the details.  My daughter would feel betrayed.  REALLY mad at me.  But I bought that hot sauce for a guy she was seeing, because he liked it on his eggs.  And he was over A LOT.  That’s it.  And then he broke her heart.  Before I even opened the bottle.  I know she will get over it, but it takes time and she still hurts.  Feels betrayed.  Feels discarded.  Feels unwanted.  And this stupid bottle of Tapatio hot sauce just reminded me of all of this.  Again.  

Hot sauce.  It burns.  And sometimes, so does love.

I SEE YOU

I remember as a six-time mom playing peek-a-boo with my young children.  I would hide their little face behind a light blanket and then quickly pull it away, act surprised, and proclaim, “Peek-a-boo!  I see you!”!!   Baby would squeal with laughter and delight and the whole game would be repeated over and over, with baby rarely tiring of the game.

   

I’ve had reason to reflect on this game and the profoundness of this concept in my own life, and I suspect, in the lives of us all.   I recently shared some tender things with a family member who is dear to me.  Her kind spirit invites confidences and a letting down of pretense.   She is beautiful and smart and accomplished, but, she is also

completely loving and accepting of others.  You just know she will sift through the muck to see what really matters. 

And so, I confided in her about a moving and life-changing experience I’d had.  It involved admitting some of my own weaknesses and faults in order to get to what I really wanted to share.  She let me know that she understood  and felt what I was trying to say, then we were joined by several other people.  Nothing more was said about it for a day or so.

I received a note from her a few days after that.  As I read it, I felt deeply of her sincerity in her loving words to me.  And then I saw it.  My throat closed up and my eyes welled with tears as I read it over again, “I see you and I love you”.  The profoundness of those words struck deep into my heart and I was filled with extreme gratitude for the gift of her insight into ME.  I was humbled and thankful.

Have you ever had this experience with another human?  We all crave love and acceptance from others.  That’s why we go to such great lengths to impress others, even to the point of hiding who we really are.  But to be loved and valued for who and what we are at our core?  I can count the times on one hand that I have felt this;  that they saw me, all of me, and still loved and found the real me worthwhile. 

I have a friend, currently, whom I can let see my faults and idiosyncrasies  and feel comfortable that she accepts the whole package.  She sees ME, and still loves me.  She is a blessing in my life. There have been a few others as well.   Each person who can SEE YOU, all of YOU, and still love you is a huge blessing.    It has been immensely comforting to me and has helped me to love myself better.  I have especially felt this from my Savior and my Heavenly Father.  Another massive blessing.

A different story:  I met up with a someone that I hadn’t seen in a month or so.  We talked about what had transpired since then, sharing news of family and events.  She asked me about something important that had happened in our family and so I shared with her a few details of a very special event.  As I concluded my 3 minute narrative, without waiting for me to take a breath, she launched into, “Well, MY kids did…. " (you get the idea.  She was needing to top me.)   There was no acknowledgment of what I'd said.  With a huge feeling of let-down, I listened to her story.  And I remembered those 3 words that had been written to me.

3 simple words:  I  SEE  YOU. 

What do these 3 words mean?   I believe it is not simply to ability to see someone with your physical eyes.  It is the ability to see someone as they are; the whole messy package.  It’s being able to see a person’s strengths, talents, gifts, abilities, intelligence, and all that great stuff while still seeing their weakness, frailties, insecurities, hang-ups, and all that stuff that we beat ourselves up for.  All of these things make us human.  Not super human, just human.  And the words, “I  SEE  YOU” say that they see all of that, the whole shebang, but, they see that you are still lovable and worthwhile.  They accept who you are and love who you are.  They acknowledge the rough edges, but know that the imperfections don’t define you.  And, unsaid, the meaning comes through, “I choose to see the best in you”. 

Opposite of this is to be unheard or invisible to others.  To not see someone sends a message that they are not important.  We don’t SEE someone when we misjudge them, when we don’t really listen to them, when we dismiss them or discount them. 

“I  SEE  YOU”  is the most amazing affirmation of who you are in an essential way.  I have begun to say it to myself, in the mirror, each day.  I’ve been able to look at myself in the eye and think, “I see you and I love you; strengths and weaknesses combined, I still see you and love you.”

What a gift this has been.   Maybe we should all try this more often, with each other, and especially, with ourselves. 

Say it to someone.  Say it to yourself.  Mean it.  "I SEE YOU".

The Parable of the Tools

The Parable of the Tools
(disclaimer: I'm not an expert on ancient civilization or on the writing of parables.  This is just my feeble attempt to share a few thoughts that appeared in my head this morning. 😆) 

There was once a primitive village by the seashore near a great forest of tall straight trees.  Their homes were made of mud and small rocks gathered by the seashore.  They made their living by fishing in the sea with nets made from reeds and growing what crops they could.  But, their homes were cold and dirty; when it rained much, their mud huts melted away.  They could not use the peat that they dug up and dried for heating as the little bit they were able to harvest had to be conserved for cooking.

The village people gathered in council regularly to discuss problems, concerns and solutions and ideas.   After a particularly cold and wet winter that resulted in the loss of several homes and much illness, they met together to discuss how to build better, dryer homes and where to get more fuel for heating their homes.  The meeting grew long with complaints and a lack of solutions.  Tempers flared and frustrations mounted higher and higher.  But no one could unlock the answer to their dilemma.

Now, because of a forest fire that had occurred many years ago, they were perfectly aware that the wood of the trees did, in fact, burn well and warmly.  However, they did not possess a way to cut the trees down or harvest them.  They had happened upon a dead fallen tree now and then, which had proved useful, but they lacked any sort of cutting tool to make those wood pieces smaller. 
There was a man in this village, by the name of Raul (which means “wise as a wolf”), who was considered by his peers to be strong and clever.  During this meeting, Raul spoke up and offered, “I will go and travel to other lands.  I will visit other villages and discover what they do to keep warm and dry when the rains come.  I will look for materials that might help us to cut the wood.”  The council agreed enthusiastically when Raul offered to do this great feat, as no one had left the village and returned safely for many, many years.
As soon as things could be made ready for the trip, Raul packed his supplies and belongings and, with a determined gait, hiked off on foot, leaving the village people wondering if they would ever lay eyes on him again.  

Now, to make this parable shorter, we will fast forward a bit.

Raul traveled many miles.  He visited communities that were friendly and welcoming.  He avoided the villages that were hostile, as well.  At one of those villages that were warlike, he was captured and held prisoner.  He did this on purpose as he had noticed that they had weapons and tools made from stone and also a curious shiny, hard material.  He also wanted to observe them.

Because of an ongoing war with a neighboring settlement, there was a shortage of men in this village.  So, the village leader decided that, rather than kill Raul, they would make him a slave.  This was ideal for Raul because it meant he might be able to get closer to their tools and implements. 

At first, for a short time, he was put to work in the village gathering wood for fires and hoeing in their gardens.  Many of the tools he used were made from stone, but he noticed that other tools were hardened and shaped and made a funny clank when hit against the stone.  He soon learned that these tools were made from iron.

Better fortune smiled, however, when Raul was put to labor in a mine.  He had never seen a mine before and he marveled as he worked to uncover great rocks of ore buried in the earth.  Soon, he was also able to work in the smelter where the rocks, after being broken and crushed, were heated at great temperatures until they melted.  And then, in wonder, he observed how this molten rock was fashioned into blades, axes, spades, and other weapons and tools.  Raul watched carefully in order to learn how they shaped the weapons and tools and soon was ordered to work with a blacksmith when his apprentice was hurt in an accident.  And so, Raul found the solution for his village while working as a slave for these people.

A few years passed in this fashion and because of his hard work and kind behavior he gained the trust of the villagers.  The village chief also took note of Raul’s labors and his uncomplaining attitude.  He appreciated and trusted Raul and so, he offered Raul his freedom and to grant one request. 

Gratefully, Raul bowed to the chief and thanking him added, “I have one request.  I come from a very poor village where our homes are made from mud.  We have no tools to cut trees to build better homes.  We have to burn peat grass to cook our food.  May I take some ore back with me that we may make our own tools to better our lives?”

The village chief was surprised at such a lowly request.  His heart warmed toward Raul further and he said, “Raul, you have asked so little.  I will send one of each of all our weapons and tools.  I will also send you with a cartload of ore and a donkey to pull it for you!”

Raul rejoiced at these offerings and within a few days he was on his return journey to his own village once again.  He wondered if his friends and loved ones even remembered him or, perhaps, thought that he had perished on his quest.  But, after a few weeks of traveling, he began to recognize the familiar sites of home and soon trudged into the village center.

Everyone was aghast at his return, especially at the tools and the cartload of ore that Raul had brought with him.  They were so very excited to see the tools and weapons and marveled greatly at them.  Before Raul could explain, they began setting up the tools in a circle in the village center.  They were all placed in a position on dirt mounds, or pedestals, so they could be admired from every angle.  The people’s eyes glistened when they looked at the tools and they whispered in awed tones.  

Raul made every effort to explain to the villagers what the tools could do, how they could be made useful, how the tools would help them to accomplish more and simplify their lives.  But the people barely listened to Raul as they ‘near-worshipped’ the metal and stone tools he had brought them.  They knocked him down and beat him when he grabbed one of the tools so as to show them that is was just a tool without any ‘super powers’.  They even ignored the cartload of “ugly black rock” as Raul tried to explain to them how to make more tools. 

In the end, they revered and paid homage to the metal tools set up in the village center. The villagers would even bring their problems and concerns to the tools and wait for answers, or just hang around the tools so they would look important.  Sadly, the quality of their lives never improved.  Eventually, Raul was shut out and asked to leave the village because of his “rantings and ravings”.
 
The End



**Every parable has a meaning.  So, here’s my meaning for this parable and for this day.  

We often forget the author and provider of all we have and see.  We set Him “at naught” and cast him from us.  We fail to recognize all that God does for us and provides for us.  We ignore God when he asks us to do something or we think we know better than Him.  His guidance and teachings are tossed aside.

Instead, we worship men (who are God’s “tools” to accomplish his work) and revere and throw our accolades to them.  Even in God’s church we are prone to do this.  “Ye shall not esteem one flesh above another, or man man shall not think himself above another;…” (Mosiah 23:7)  We flock after “important” humans, we imitate them, we concede to them, and we think that they are nearly “super-human”.  We also fail to pay homage to God for all he has provided us with, setting Him aside or neglecting Him, while at the same time we endlessly chase after all the material things that we love and honor with our attention.

I have witnessed this many times in my life and, sadly, even in the culture of Mormonism.  It makes certain people the “go to” people, and others less.  We give people titles even after the calling is over(exceptions noted).  It places people on pedestals.  It often makes the clothing (or titles) worn more important than the wearer.  It excludes people and isolates others.  We even do it to ourselves, thinking we are more important than others.  It’s an easy trap to fall into and a difficult one to get out of.  I know by experience.  Worst of all, it causes us to forget, in a sense, our Maker and all he has done for us.  We forget that we are His creation and that all that we have, all that we are, and all that we see, is from HIM.  HE is our “go-to” person.

Where does that leave us?  Respect for one another, gratitude for what they do is what we owe to our fellow human beings.  But devotion, worship, obedience, and reverence belongs to God.  Only Him.

"JOY- Where are you?" or "I am Perfectly Flawed"

It has been such a long while since I’ve blogged.  Nevertheless, that doesn’t matter.  Suffice it to say I am my own worst critic and enemy at times; a topic I want to get into here.  Warning:  long post ahead.

I’ve had many thoughts over the past months and wanted to express them, but I fear it may come out all jumbled.  But I will make a start;  As I was doing my daily study and meditation, I was struck by this thought;  I have been looking for joy in the wrong places. 

Before I jump fully into that thought, I’m going to share what led me here.   For weeks, I have been pondering the whole concept of how we, as humans, try to present ourselves to others and to the world.  We knock ourselves out trying to appear as perfect, without flaw, above any criticism from others.  It tears us up when WE see the real us in the mirror, proverbial and otherwise.  Too few of us are truly comfortable in our own skin.  I fall smack-dab into the thick of this category.  Which is a big cause for dissatisfaction and self-loathing in my life. 

Yep, self-loathing is a strong word, but it’s the only word that suffices here.  And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.  How many of us hates parts of us?  I hate my eyebrows, I hate my flabby arms, I hate the rolls around my middle, I hate my thinning hair, I hate my nose, I hate my short thick legs, I hate that I am critical, I hate that I am not more talented, I hate, I hate, I hate.  Why?  Because I am not perfect.  Because the world keeps trying to show me what IS perfect and I always fall short.  And who IS perfect?  Well, actually, no one. 

Consider this;  do you love anyone who is imperfect?  Your best friend; are they perfect?  Do you love them anyway?  Your spouse; are they without flaw?  Do you still love them?  Can we fully love the whole person while hating the parts of that whole person?  I think not.  And I don’t think that we can FULLY love ourselves while hating parts of ourselves.  A wise and revered woman has said, “We must have the courage to be IMPERFECT while striving for perfection”. Patricia Holland - courage to be imperfect

COURAGE to be imperfect??  Yes!  It takes courage to accept that about yourself.  It takes courage to present your wonderfully imperfect self to the world.  It takes a ton of courage to allow others to see your flaws, your faults, and your trials.  We’ve all got them.  We are in good company.  And, in a way, it’s a merciful comfort to know that we are not alone in our imperfect-ness.

Back to JOY and looking in the wrong places.  I took on a quest a few years back to live more joyfully.  Next year it was to “seek Joy”.  I would seek joy in nature, in friendships, in family, in the little things around me.   At the end of those years I had made progress in the habit of looking for the good things, but inside, I felt no different.  I was still looking for JOY and rarely finding what my heart yearned for.  I would catch glimpses of it, but it would dash away as quickly as I spied it. 

And then, today, while studying and pondering, I had a “knock-me-flat epiphany.  And here it is:  We need to find JOY in ourselves.  We are God’s greatest creation!  Was that a cause of  JOY for Him?  Oh, I do think so!  I feel certain that He looks at us and feels joy when we try to be kind and loving to others.  I believe He feels joy when we excel and try our best.  I can imagine His joy when we strive to be the best we can be.  And, I am sure He grieves along with us when we don’t allow ourselves to be joyful because we are swamped in a mire of self-loathing because we are not perfect.

I have come to believe joy is intricately tied to our ability to accept and love ourselves with our bags full of flaws and faults.  I am also convinced that Joy is found within us, not without.  Not even our skin or our weight or our sculpted lips and eyebrows (pet peeve there).  It is chiefly found in our hearts, in our minds, and in our ability to love, among other things. 

So here is my new mantra, to be repeated each morning and night:
*I will find JOY in my ability to rise each day and greet the morning with gratitude.
*I will find JOY in a body that functions well, that can walk on a forest path, can smell the fragrance of a rose, can see the smile of a loved one, and that can take me places I want to go.
*I will find JOY in each ability and talent that I have been blessed to have.
*I will find JOY in the ability to think new thoughts and the ability to change for the better.
*I will find JOY each time I look in the mirror at the miracle that stands before me that is perfectly flawed.
*I will find JOY in serving others and loving them.
*I will find JOY in my God and in Jesus Christ, because they are the source of true JOY.

*and thanks for reading!!