Stay in Your Own Seat

I tend to have a “fix-it” personality.  I want to say the right thing, do the right thing to help someone (or maybe help me) feel better about the situation, circumstances, themselves, and so on.  I admit, it’s gotten me into some trouble.

But I’m learning.

I am a visual person, and I believe God uses visual images to help me understand things.  I trust Him in this.   A while back, I was struggling with someone, frustrated that the choices they were making were causing them (and maybe even me) to suffer in ways that I could not control or fix.  It’s not a feeling I like.  

As I was thinking of all of this, I saw an image of a puzzle.  I was sitting at a table, Jesus is sitting next to me and there is a puzzle on the table.  It’s got a lot of pieces to the side, waiting to see where they fit. I realize it is of this person’s life.  I’m trying to put the puzzle pieces together.  Jesus slowly reaches over, and takes my hands and places them in my lap.  He’s telling me lovingly, gently, that this is not my puzzle to put together.  Big sigh.  Okay Lord, I hear you.

Later I see Jesus sitting with this person at the table, working together on the puzzle.  I walk over and watch, and then try to sit down with them.  Jesus gets my attention, shakes his head no and looks over at a different table. I see another puzzle and an empty chair.  He’s directing me to go sit there with Him, that is the puzzle of my life to work on. 

I then looked around and could see other people at tables. Jesus was at each one, sitting and working together with the person whose puzzle (life) it was.  How often do I want to get up and go look at the other puzzles? Maybe even weigh in on it, to say, let’s try putting that piece there?  I don’t think I would want someone else coming and telling me how to do my puzzle.   It’s like in kindergarten when the teacher tells the children to stay in their seats and do their own work. I think of, perhaps even worse, to compare their puzzle to mine.  Does their’s look better or have more pieces in place?  Comparison is the thief of joy.  

I ask Jesus “Wait, these are my family and friends. Aren’t I in some of these puzzles?” Jesus assures me that I am definitely in there, but it is not my place to put their puzzle together. That is between them.  

Another big sigh.  I know I have work to do, to learn to stay in my own seat.   

Joy Bursts

Have you ever experienced a moment of pure joy?  I have.  They tend to be short, unexpected and somewhat intense, and I almost feel a sensation of warmth envelop my heart.  They are fleeting and don’t last long, but when I experience it, I recognize it as joy.

Joy is different than happiness.  Joy is something felt deep inside.  Happiness usually has to do with our circumstances.  And when the circumstances change and happiness wanes, we often start the search for the next thing to make us happy.

Some of the joy bursts I’ve heard about and experienced myself are holding a newborn baby for the first time, seeing a rainbow after a summer storm, receiving an unexpected letter, text or message from a friend, or the first shoots of a flower or plant appearing in the spring.  It often has to do with a feeling of connection to something, someone, or nature.  

When I have those joy bursts, I feel a connection to God and myself that sometimes takes my breath away. They are random and always unpredictable.  Which is good.  If I could manufacture them on my own, I probably would not get anything done because I would always be trying to produce them.

But what I have discovered is that the more I practice gratitude (there’s that word practice again-see my post from last week) the more opportunities I have to feel joy. 

I’ve often read that joy and gratitude have a direct link.  I tend to agree with that based upon my own experience.  Ever since I started the practice of writing five things each day that I’m grateful for, the more joy bursts I have had.  

I also think, at least for me, another component that has increased how often I experience a burst of joy is practicing letting go.  The more I’m able to let go of expectations, outcomes, and control, the more space it creates inside for a burst of joy to breeze through.

So today, my hope for each of you is that you experience and recognize a burst of joy in your life.  When you do, I hope you share it with someone. 

Because we all need more joy in our lives.    

Practice Makes Perfect

This is a well-known phrase, and I’m sure many of you have heard it.  Practice makes perfect.  But does it?  Does practice really make perfect?  And what is the focus on those three words.  Most often I believe it’s the last word: perfect.  

Perfectionism is a trait that trips many of us up.  I know it’ something I still struggle with.  I grew up having perfectionistic tendencies. Looking back, I thought if I looked and acted perfectly, pretended everything in my life was perfect, I would be safe.  Safe from teasing or bullying from other kids in school, safe from getting in trouble with my parents, but maybe more importantly, safe from myself.  Safe from my own self-criticism, self-doubt, and not liking myself.  Did it work? Not all the time.

A pivot point for me was about five or six years ago when I read The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene’ Brown. My daughter had bought the book and what caught my eye were the words underneath the title: let go of who you think you’re supposed to be and embrace who you are.  I was looking to feel more grounded, centered, and whole.  Without realizing it, what I was really striving for was to feel at home in my own skin. I asked her if I could read it, and ended up buying my own copy so I could highlight the heck out of it.   

Reading the book, I felt like I had opened up this hidden space inside of myself that I didn’t even know was there.  I discovered I could be imperfect and still feel worthy of love and belonging.  Not only to feel that from others, but more importantly, to feel it from myself.  That was a game changer.  I’ve read the book twice now, using different colored highlighters each time.  I’ll probably read it again.  I still struggle at times, and I’ve even joked that I want to do imperfection perfectly.  Ugh!  Will I ever learn?  

All joking aside, it has been the beginning of a transformation for me.   

I think it’s because my focus has changed.  It has changed from the word perfect to the actual practice.  My goal is no longer perfection.  I now pay attention to the practice…the things I do, the words I speak, how I treat others and how I also treat myself.  I try to be much kinder and gentler to myself. I list daily things I am grateful for. I’m learning to be more aware of the things that trigger me into making decisions that aren’t good for me.  I’m getting better at observing my thoughts and where they take me.  I’m more deliberate in what I read and listen to, and I’m learning to not run from things that are different and make me uncomfortable.  The other thing I’m practicing is to not freak out when dealing with uncertainty and all the things I can’t control.  The opportunities to practice that are there – every single day. 

Why am I doing all of this?  The more I can practice being uncomfortable and not trying to control everything, the better prepared I am to handle life’s curves.  I used to avoid the feelings that were hard for me to experience, like anger, sadness and frustration.  I’m getting better at recognizing them and allowing myself to feel them for a time, and then I try to shoo them on their way.  But let’s face it, I’m only human and sometimes all I want to do (and at times end up doing) is sitting in my recliner and numbing myself with Netflix.  

I’m not giving up though. I continue to practice, no longer focusing on the end-goal but more on movement. I’m less concerned about perfection.

Instead of practice makes perfect, I like to think practice makes…possible.  And what is possible?  Anything.  Maybe even everything.

One Size Fits All

I was reading this morning about belonging, and how it is an undeniable need for each person to know they belong.  Where they belong can be different for each person.   

For some reason, the phrase “one size fits all” popped into my head as I was reading.  It most often is referring to a piece of clothing, but also could describe an item, situation, or policy designed to accommodate a large group of people. 

I started thinking about how “belonging” and “one size fits all” work together.  Do they?  How does that work in groups: at school, at work, in churches, in homes and families, in social groups?  One size certainly does not fit all.  If it did, there would not be choices of public, private and home schooling, or so many different church denominations who worship the same God, and social groups that have certain requirements to attend or join.  For example, if I showed up at a grief group for those who lost someone to suicide, and my loved one died of cancer, I imagine I would not necessarily be welcome with open arms.  I could easily be seen as not belonging in that group, even though I too was experiencing grief.

I wonder if two areas of belonging that could potentially have a more profound affect are belonging to your family and belonging to yourself.

Belonging to your family was a common theme among a group of eighth graders Brene’ Brown refers to in her book Atlas of the Heart.  She asked these students what it feels like to them to not belong.  Many of them shared their feelings of not belonging in relation to their parents’ expectations.  They describe the parent not liking who they are or what they do, of not being cool enough for their parents, and even when the parents don’t pay attention to their children’s lives.  

That made me reflective of my own life, as a child and then as a parent.  I don’t have memories of my parents having strong expectations of me being a high achiever in any specific area.  I do know they wanted me to share their faith, and did encourage me to do my best in whatever I was doing, and also to treat others with fairness and kindness. And they were always there when I needed them. I have tried to do the same with my own children. I hope I’ve gotten better as I’ve gotten older.  

I think one thing that has helped me grow into being a better person, a better spouse, parent, and ultimately, a better human being, is learning to belong to myself.  I came across a quote a few years back by Sue Monk Kidd.  She said “All my life I had tried to complete myself with other people and now I just want to belong to myself.”  That sentence landed directly into my heart.  

After years of looking for people and things outside of myself to feel complete, of being a people pleaser and a fixer, her quote rang true. I may have different roles of wife, mother, sister, friend, and co-worker, but what ultimately will fulfill me, to make me feel whole, and has become the focus of so much in my life, is learning to belong to me.  I am in recovery.  There is no end destination, I believe it is a life-long pursuit, and it takes dedication and courage. 

This is something I now try to share with my husband and children.  Encouraging them to look to themselves for love and belonging.  To not look for someone else to complete them.  To be compassionate and kind to themselves as well as others.  To pay attention to what makes them happy and brings them joy.  I try really hard to refrain from trying to fix their situations, circumstances, or to change their minds about something.  I am not doing this perfectly. I know I fail.  I hope they know when I stumble, they can call me on it, and I will hear them.  I want to be a safe place for them. 

I think this is an area that one size fits all just might work.  Learning to really love and belong to yourself.   This is ultimately the journey for every human being.   

My Parent’s Love

Last week I shared about how I experienced my parent’s deaths differently.  Today I’d like to share about the ways I experienced their love.

A few months ago, I had accepted an offer for a different job and I was waiting for my book to be published.  Two separate opportunities that left me feeling scared, excited, uncertain and vulnerable.  These were two really big things for me.  I was leaving my workplace after 36 years where I was rather comfortable (maybe a little too comfortable) and embarking on a journey that would take me into situations where I would have to relate to people in a very real, compassionate, empathetic way.  It was both exciting and scary. I enjoy relating to others and yet I knew I would be listening to people who are often scared, angry, frustrated, etc.  You know, those emotions that most everyone likes to run from. 

I was also putting my book, which displays my imagination and contains my thoughts and words, out into the world with the realization that some might judge it harshly or criticize my work.  That is scary.  But I had also reached the point that I knew if I didn’t do it, I would always live with the regret.

That is where I found myself that day.  I really wanted to get some comfort, encouragement and support from my parents.  I knew they would support me one hundred percent in my pursuit of both of those things.

That day I texted my daughter, telling her how I was feeling and she suggested I do a prayer exercise where I allowed myself to observe my thoughts and feelings, and then to bring Jesus and both my parents into it.  As soon as I read her text, my eyes filled with tears and I got emotional.  Uh oh. I know what that means.  It was my body telling me this was something I needed to do. 

It was a beautiful, reflective experience.  Have you ever looked at an old photo album and it brought back experiences and feelings from the past?  This exercise took me to a place where I focused on how I related to my parents and experienced their love differently.  

My mom’s love was pretty much “tell it like it is.”  It was practical, full of wisdom and straightforward. Don’t get me wrong, it did not lack caring and warmth, and she loved to give and get hugs from her children and grandchildren.  I felt her love like a guidebook, something I could carry around with me so it was there whenever I needed it. 

Dad’s love felt less about words but more about a sensation, a feeling of comfort.  It felt like a warm, cozy blanket to wrap around myself, just like the hugs he gave.  Ask anyone who knew him, he gave the BEST hugs!

After that day, when I need to feel their love for me, I like to visualize myself with my mom’s “love” guidebook, holding it close to my heart.  Around and surrounding me is the warm, comfy blanket of my dad’s love, like a cocoon.  They feel close to me and I feel safe and secure.

Their love complimented each other, and they loved well.

Grief

I heard something recently that really spoke to me.  It was by Susan David and she said “Grief is love looking for its home.”  That made sense to me. When our loved one dies, that person is no longer physically here for us to give our love to.  It can be very unsettling, especially if we allow ourselves to feel it.

I personally have a love/hate relationship with grief.  Mine is actually more of a hate/love.  I hate the feeling when I’m in the middle of it, or when I feel it coming on.  Sometimes, I self-medicate (can you say AVOID) by binge-watching something on TV.  But when I do allow myself to feel it, the icy grip of grief usually melts into a puddle of love.

This week I was purposefully watching less television to give myself more time to read and do some crafting.  But grief has a mind of its own sometimes.  And because I allowed myself that extra time and space, grief snuck in.

One evening, I just wanted my parents.  I felt their loss to a degree I haven’t felt in quite a while.  I’m not sure what exactly brought it on. It might have been due to a health scare of a loved one.  All I know is I felt the ache of my love not finding its home.  I could feel the pressure behind my eyes.  The tears were right there, pushing, straining to get out.  

I started thinking about my mom and dad, and how different my grief experience was for each of them.  My dad’s death felt so much more “raw” and I admit feeling some guilt in the past, that I did not experience it the same way for my mother. I cried buckets of tears at my dad’s service, but with my mom, I cried very little.  Then I remind myself because of her dementia, the essence of my mom’s personality, who she was and how she related to us, slipped away little by little over a period of years.  

I just have this visual of holding a photograph of my dad.  It gets ripped up rather quickly into a few large pieces.  The pain is intense and quick.  Which is so odd, because we knew his death was coming.  He had a few bouts of cancer and it had spread to his bones. I had seen him one afternoon and he was fine.  His eyes were clear and he was talking and acting like his normal self.  About a week later, I got a phone call. When I arrived to their house, he was like a shell of himself, his eyes were more vacant, he barely spoke.  Several of us took turns moving in with my parents to provide around the clock care for my dad.  Three weeks later, surrounded by most of his family, he was gone. 

And then I’m holding a picture of my mom, and it’s like a little scrap gets torn away, one small piece at a time.  Bit by tiny bit.  We watch her slip away from us.  Thankfully, she still knew us, but the connection of parent and child, the interaction and ability to really communicate was so frayed, barely hanging on.  We anticipate enduring this hell for years.  And then suddenly she is gone.  They called it sudden cardiac arrest.  So very sudden.  How can the impact of her loss not feel as extreme?  

Never before had I examined it this way.

So, I sit and hold all of these thoughts…and the dam breaks.  The tears come.  I let them.  I feel them roll down my face.  

The tears are healing.  My parents are with me always.  I see a daisy or a Mounds bar and think of my mom.  I see a Rueben sandwich or smell Old Spice and think of my dad.  I see anything Notre Dame and think of them both.  I see them in my siblings, in my nieces and nephews and in my own children.  

And this is what I know.  Their love lives on.  And anywhere there is love, there is home.

The Unanswered Why

At this point in my life, my favorite Bible verse is Psalm 46:40 “Be Still and Know That I am God.”  I think one of the reasons is because I have been practicing that more in the last few years.  

What I have found is that for me to feel calm and have more inner strength, my “be still time” as I like to call it, is vital.  If I go too long without it, I experience more anxiety and more of not feeling like myself.  It sits just inside of me, like I’ve got hundreds of Mexican jumping beans bouncing around underneath my skin.  

It is during my “be still time” that I am better able to hear the messages God wants for me to hear.  It doesn’t happen every time, but when it does, it is usually profound for me and I journal it.  

It was a while ago when I quieted myself and told God I hated all the “why’s” in life.  There are so many!!  

I visualized a huge glacier in the ocean with the majority of the ice underneath.  On top of the water, the small peak, was my Trust.  Underneath the water was the enormity of the glacier, representing all my unanswered “why’s.”  So many more “why’s” than trust!  I also pictured all the “why’s” as burrs that are sticking to me.  They are prickly and uncomfortable and I want them off. 

I said a few prayers and then envisioned me standing with Jesus and both of us together looking at all of these burrs.  I told Jesus I hated all of the “why’s” and then I even asked, why do I hate them?  


What I could sense Jesus telling me is that it is all related to control.  I want and like to have everything in a neat little box, all tidy and nice.  All of the unanswered “why’s” are like chaos inside of my mind.  He then brought to my awareness – what if I did have all the answers to the “why’s?”  What would my life be like?  And, what if others knew I had all the answers to life’s “why’s?”  I would never be left alone – people would be after me all the time wanting to know the answers to their own “why’s.”  I would then be like God and I realized I did not want that.  I want and need my peace.

After this Jesus and I stood next to each other, again looking at all the “why” burrs sticking to me.  They were still there.  But I was just standing there, calm and comfortable, not trying to frantically remove them.

It’s been several months since I journaled this.  Looking back, I think that it has really helped me.  I realize that when I am struggling with something, knowing the answer to the why of it won’t change the fact that I need to deal with it.  A personal example is having surgery on my thumb seven months ago.  The healing process has taken so much longer than I anticipated and apparently, I am one of those people who may experience residual discomfort.  For how long? I have no idea.  But even if the doctor could give me an exact reason why, it would not change the fact that I need to learn to deal with this issue and make accommodations for it.  

I’m thankful for the lesson that “be still time” gave me.  It is serving me well.

Valentine’s Day

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.  The day of “love.”

This can either be a really fun, romantic day, or for some, it’s just another day which leads to unmet expectations that leave people feeling empty, lonely and sad.  How can a day which is supposed to be all about love make us feel this way?

What is love?  The dictionary defines it both as a noun and a verb.  As a noun it is described as 1) A strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties // maternal love for a child and 2) a great interest and pleasure in something // his love for football.  As a verb it states 1) to feel deep affection for someone // she loved her father dearly and 2) to like or enjoy very much // I just love dancing. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m guilty of transferring the word love in place of “enjoy.”  I’ve said how much I love reading and dark chocolate.  But what would be more accurate is how much I enjoy both of those.  

In the past I have come across a few definitions of love that seem much more accurate than those above.  The first one I heard was “the intensely human desire that others should flourish.” I admit, I’m not sure who said that.  The second one I read was by C.S. Lewis: “Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.”  I like those, I think they are a better depiction of love. We’ve all witnessed, or been the recipient of, someone professing their love, however their behaviors and actions don’t reflect that.

The last statement about the word love I just recently read in Atlas of the Heart by Brene’ Brown.  She writes “Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can be cultivated between two people only when it exists within each one of them – we can love others only as much as we love ourselves.”

This is something I’ve been hearing and beginning to understand for a while now.  You can’t truly love someone else until you love yourself.  The question is, how do we do that?

If the descriptions above that speak about love are focusing on the desire for the person to flourish and the steady wish that the person’s ultimate good can be obtained, what does loving ourself look like?  

I think for each person it may appear a little different.  Maybe a good way to start is by using the languages described by Gary Chapman in his book The Five Love Languages.  These describe love in action.  They are 1) words of affirmation, 2) physical touch, 3) receiving gifts, 4) quality time and 5) acts of service.   Let’s dive into those. 

How am I speaking to myself?  When I make a mistake, or don’t get everything done on my to-do list that day (which happens frequently for me), what am I saying to myself?  Is my internal dialogue “I’m a failure, I can’t get anything right” or is it loving “That was not the best choice, I’ll do better next time” and more kind “I may not have gotten it all done, but I did my best.”  I also read and listen to things that make me think and learn and grow in healthy ways: like learning to forgive myself and others, and learning to focus on what I have control over and, more often and importantly, what I don’t.  I also enter things I’m grateful for in my gratitude journal each day.

What am I doing for my body?  Are the majority of my food choices healthy?  Am I moving my body each day?  Am I drinking enough water?  None of us is going to do this perfectly, but how can I better show love to my physical body?

Do I treat myself with a little gift every so often?  I eat a piece of dark chocolate every day.  Another gift is a massage or pedicure.  Those are little pleasures I give to myself.

How about quality time?  I have favorite television programs and I struggle some days to not fall into the trap of binge-watching.  Ways I show love to myself are by losing myself in a good book, or getting into my craft area and being creative.  I also strive for connection by making time to have a nice long chat with a friend.  

Acts of service is my highest love language.  But what does providing an act of service for myself even look like?  I actually think it is a combination of all of the above. For myself.  It means reading my daily devotional and making sure I list what I’m thankful for each day.  It means listening to a podcast or music that feeds my soul.  It means making my lunch the night before so I’m not rushed in the morning.  It’s making sure I have some dark chocolate at home so when my sweet tooth starts screaming for attention, I have a healthier option.  And it means reading some each day, and perhaps doing a short meditation to quiet my mind.  

Trust me when I say I’m not doing any of these things perfectly.  These are things I strive for each and every day and when I fall short, I try my best to behave kindly, to show love to myself. 

So, my hope for you is that you choose YOU as your Valentine, and show yourself some love.    

Bittersweet

In early January I started reading Brene’ Brown’s newest book, Atlas of the Heart.  I haven’t finished it yet but it is one I highly recommend.  She wrote the book because of how difficult and challenging it can be at times to find the right language for the emotions we are experiencing.  

Fifteen years ago, Brene’ and her team asked participants in a training workshop to list all of the emotions they could recognize as they were experiencing them.  Long story short, the average number of emotions identified were three: happy, sad and angry.

She says “When we don’t have the language to talk about what we’re experiencing, our ability to make sense of what’s happening and share it with others is severely limited.”  I get that.  There have been many times I’m feeling an emotion in my body and I just can’t name it.  It’s like a sort of “buzz” right under my skin…I feel it, I know it’s there, but I can’t describe that feeling adequately or accurately.  When I feel like that, I want to crawl out of my skin or run away from myself but I can’t!  I’m usually not even able to have a coherent conversation, in my own mind or with someone else as to what’s going on inside.  Have you ever experienced that?  Talking to yourself in your own mind and falling short of coming to a sensible conclusion?  However, once I am able to better pinpoint what the feeling or emotion is, the buzzing calms down.  I have more understanding and clarity and am more able to convey what I’m really feeling, even to myself.   

In her book, she dissects, discusses, and shares some personal stories of eighty-seven, yes EIGHTY-SEVEN emotions.  

Today, I’m going to share one: bittersweet.  Brene’ defines it as “a mixed feeling of happiness and sadness.”  Ah yes, I know that one well.  It’s a feeling I’m becoming more and more acquainted with.  

Two months ago, I left the group I had worked with for the past 36 years.  I always thought I would retire there, but the physical demands of the job became too much.  I knew I needed to do something different.  I found a position that I feel God has been preparing me for.  A job I really enjoy, even though it has its own challenges.  Changing jobs really was bittersweet.  I was leaving a career I had built, my comfort zone and traveling into unknown territory.  I was sad leaving my co-workers and friends, some I had worked with for 20-30+ years, but happy to have found a position that I believed would be a good fit for me, and new co-workers who I admire and enjoy working with.  

Another bittersweet moment is fast approaching.  Our son is moving out of our house, moving to a new town, new state and will be a little over 2 hours away.  While I am happy for him to be spreading his wings and moving out of our “nest,” I’m going to miss him being here.  I’m often more light-hearted when he’s around, probably because of his ability to make me laugh.  

Thankfully, I know I will survive this because I have experience with it.  Our daughter has moved away, twice.  It wasn’t easy watching her go, especially because I can’t just hop in the car and drive to see her.  She’s 1600 miles away and a car ride to her would mean a lot of planning plus three days of cross-country travel.  She and I text and talk often, and thank goodness for Facetime!  But even Facetime is bittersweet.  It makes feeling connected with her much more of a possibility.  It allows me to see her facial expressions during our talks, but at the same time, there are days I’d like to crawl right through that camera app and hug my baby girl! 

Becoming “empty-nesters” will be bittersweet as well, I imagine.  I know nothing will ever be the same.  Our children may come and visit, but we will no longer be a family of four under one roof.  That does make me sad.  There are, however, parts of it I am looking forward to. I’m curious to see how my husband and I navigate this phase of our lives.  I also enjoy my quiet times at home.  And I’m not a big fan of cooking, so this is one less person to feed.  

I will leave you with a quote from Brene’s book, and hope this post has you pondering your own experiences with this emotion. Feel free to share your thoughts, and this blog post with others.

“The bittersweet side of appreciating life’s most precious moments is the unbearable awareness that those moments are passing.”        Marc Parent

Savor

I love words.  When I come across one I’m not familiar with, I like to look up the meaning and then see how it is used in a sentence.  Our children find it odd that both Mark and I have a dictionary app on our cell phones.  I don’t think there is a week that goes by that I don’t use it. 

I find it interesting how I can come across a word I’ve seen or heard many times and it strikes me differently.  Why is that, I wonder?  What about the word on that particular day caught my attention?  A word that I came across recently that caused me to pause and reflect is the word “savor.”

It seems “savor” is mostly associated with food.  When I looked up the word, it most often referred to flavor and smells.  But the last entry was the one that I was especially drawn to and caused me to be reflective, and that was “to delight in: enjoy.”

I started keeping a gratitude journal in July 2017.  At the time, I was reading a book titled One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.  It is about her life and starting her own gratitude journal.  What I really appreciated was how simple her entries were.  They were not paragraph-long entries, but short descriptions of what she found to be thankful for each day.  

I pulled out a small, spiral bound notebook I had and started my own gratitude journal.  I kept it to one-line entries.  Some days I might only have one entry, and other days I could have four or five.  I numbered them with the same goal of reaching one thousand.  These days, I try to find at least five things each day that I have to be thankful for.  I like that at the end of the day, I reflect back and search for those things that meant the most to me.  And keeping each one to just a single line has helped keep me consistent in the practice.   As of today, I have over 7,000 entries.  That is a lot of gratitude!

You may be asking, “what does this have to do with the word savor?”  I’m getting there.  

I recently sat down with my two completed gratitude journals to review and remember.  It does bring back certain moments and experiences I have had.  There were entries like: open windows on a summer day; watching seven birds, wings fluttering in the bird bath; laughing until I cry; time with my family; and running errands with my daughter along.  

I can often remember what was going on that day which prompted a specific entry.  I have an entry of the last time I saw my mom before she passed.  A simple line – “our boy comes home!” was the day Adam came back from his summer exchange student program.  Another entry was just one word: Audrey!  I know from the date it was just a few days after my mom died and Audrey was there for me, helping me to handle whatever I needed to do.  

What I realized, however, was how often my entries involved people and nature.  Time spent with others, conversations via text or FaceTime, or even a brief encounter with a stranger.  Also noticed was seeing low lying fog over a field, a rainbow after a summer thunder storm, driving by a group of deer at sunset, or the simplicity of our little dog sitting on my lap.  

I realize that is what I savor most: connection.  Connection to people and nature.  When I have a positive, uplifting interaction with another person, it can take a normal, routine day and bring an unexpected burst of joy to it.  And nature often does the same thing.  Even now, in the midst of winter, when I see fresh snow on the bushes and trees, I recognize the beauty of that.  This morning, I saw a blue jay on a bare tree branch and it allowed me to slow down and appreciate the moment.  

I want my life to be full of more moments like these, connections that I savor, that bring me joy. 

What is it that you savor most?