Reframing

On a rare day off together, Todd and I ended up in the post office line to mail some packages.  Our honey, to be specific.  A little over two pound jars.  You already know my reaction when the cheapest package came to $8.85.  To Idaho, one state over.  I whispered to Todd that we could just forget the whole thing.  Crazy to pay that much for postage.  But of course he told me, in essence, to behave.  Settle.  And then it clicked.  He was seeing this as a $10 gift rather than looking at it as a $10 stamp. I got it.  And then I totally agreed with him.  When I thought about it like that, I couldn’t help but feel we’d come out ahead, what a fun $10 present to send!  It should’ve come sooner because this has always been the idea behind sending out our Christmas letters.  I know I could bake treats, but I’d rather write a letter instead.  So I’ve never felt guilty about spending way over $100 to mail them every Christmas.  I’ve just considered that our little gift.  Just as you spend a little on making chocolate covered pretzels for us, I spend a few hours and the cost of some stamps to share our home with yours.

You do this all the time.  We all do.  It’s like the old children’s game I used to play with my kids called Never Ending Stories.  We chose a card with a detailed picture from our piles and placed it next to someone else’s on the board, continuing the oral story with our card and additional details.  We told the story that we interpreted from the picture.  If someone else had held the card, an entirely different scenario would’ve ensued.  Same with real life.  A variety of situations, an array of stories depending on who’s deciphering the cards.  Just depends on what you see in the picture and what you make of it.  Even if I’d selected the same cards during different games, I’m sure the story I’d tell would change depending on my mood.  Or what cards were placed beside mine.   Or what had happened before.  Some examples I’m sure you can relate to:

I hear Jillian Michaels’ voice as a retort to what we’re thinking as she’s pushing us, “That woman’s crazy….” “I’m not crazy; I’m effective.”  Just that tiny tweak in thinking encourages me to keep up with her because I view my discomfort in a new light.

This was Todd’s frame of reference when he brought home a boat several years ago.  Definitely not a status symbol (if anything, it’s bringing us down), he looked at it as a vehicle to provide more family time, a way to create lasting memories with friends and family.  I softened to the idea when he put it that way.

My sister came home from getting us some treats at Christmastime and mentioned that the peppermint ice cream was $6.50 for a half gallon.   I buy ice cream every week for our Sunday sundaes, but usually for around $3, so that seemed kind of steep for a little half gallon.  But then I quickly thought of the alternative—a $40 DQ trip—and immediately felt totally fine about it.  Even at twice the regular price, it was definitely a bargain. 

My friend played the same game when he mentioned the protein shake he’s been having everyday.  Striving to be healthier, even though it’s about $1/drink, he sees it as a wash since he’s not drinking his gas station soda every day.

I think of this when I’m making dinner for my family.  Sometimes it bugs me that meat is so expensive, but when I think about going out to eat for $5 hamburgers verses using a $3 pound of hamburger to feed six people at home, it turns it all around for me.

Yet sometimes the best thing for our family is to forget being so practical and frugal and just go out.  Even though it will end up being at least ten times what it would cost to make it.  I reframe it!  I remind myself we are paying to spontaneously have someone make us anything we want.  To clear the table and do the dishes.  To provide a constant supply of lemonades.  To get the ketchup for us so we don’t have to get up.  We’re “renting” a space in a restaurant for an hour or so.  Todd could make better food at home, but that’s hardly the point.  In this reframing case, it’s all about the experience of being out as a family.

And other days when I’m making lasagna at home, just a regular everyday weekday meal, I remind myself that I’m not just making dinner so we’ll have something to eat later that night.  I’m providing a reason to gather and linger at the table, a way to make memories and solidify our family, I’m bringing our family together, in a small way I’m making our family stronger by investing a little time in the kitchen.  It’s really not about what we’re eating, that we’re just re-fueling our bodies, it’s actually more about gathering and making connections.  When I put effort into our meals, I’m encouraging the family to come together, I’m playing a small part in strengthening relationships.  When this is my mindset, it switches the whole dinner-prep hour around for me.

I remember back in vet school another couple with five young kids would budget $80 a month for dates.  They went out to eat every single Friday night.  Doesn’t sound like much.  But that was 1) fifteen years ago and 2) a huge chunk of a student paycheck for something so frivolous as eating in a restaurant.  A luxury they could’ve gone without.  Certainly a better way to allocate funds.  But she taught me a lesson I think of every single Thursday when Todd and I go out for lunch.  It’s not about finding some lunch—we could easily pack a sandwich and some carrots.  You already know that.  It’s all about our marriage, which makes $20 for a lunch date and two hours of talking look like a bargain.  You remember that same sentiment as you paid babysitters, but everyone said it was cheaper than marriage counseling.  Same idea.

It’s not making excuses; it’s turning things around so you can see a situation from a different angle.  I know I drive at least a couple of close friends crazy doing this, but I was out to dinner with a friend awhile back and she validated me when she confided that she can hardly help herself from doing the exact same thing!  She’s constantly pointing out another person’s perspective, what his motivation could be, what might be happening to make her act like that.  I love how she owned it, she admits she simply tries to conjure up a story for why people do what they do, always giving them the benefit of the doubt.

And I think this is where this technique becomes valuable. If we can provide some allowances for the way we spend our money and time, surely we can apply to this principle to the people around us.  Certainly they have their reasons for everything they do.  Just as we do.  Our task is to assume they are doing the best they can (even when we are nearly positive they aren’t—we rarely, if ever, have all the details). 

Like you, we’ve had several friends over the years who have separated.  We don’t know the whole story, we usually just hear the side of the person we talk to most.  Just a few weeks ago two friends had seen me talking to the spouse of a friend after a meeting. Later, each of them asked me about it and him, I assume wondering if I knew and was ok with what he’d done to his family.  Yes, I know the story.  I think that surprised them.  It’s not so much that I’m condoning or disregarding any of it; I’m simply choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt, recognizing we’re all a mess in different ways.  I’m not oblivious to the pain he’s inflicted, I’m just loving the person I see despite what’s going on in his personal life.  So even in situations as hard as these where my dear friends have been hurt, reframing works.  It helps to shift my thinking from resentment and disappointment to feeling love for them; albeit, along with a bit of sorrow and sadness, knowing their lives have changed so drastically over the years.  Instead of looking at them as my peers, reframing helps me see them as my brothers.

“Now it is better that a man should be judged of God than of man, for the judgments of God are always just, but the judgments of man are not always just.”*  In my mind, I’d rather assume the best (or at least try to look at it all from a kinder perspective) and leave the rest for God to figure out.

I guess what I’m saying, if we can tweak the facts just enough to say that eating out is good for a marriage, we can definitely use this technique with the people around us.  It’s a little like the game I mentioned at first, we pick up random snapshots from the day, from the lives around us, from what we think we’re seeing, and we place them on the board, logging the story in our minds—the one we decide to tell ourselves.  We don’t have to get it right, but I believe we’re always better off when we’re generous with our stories.  It’s not that we ignore the obvious, we just tell ourselves there may be details we just aren’t privy to, that we simply might not have all the information.  I’d rather be loving than right.

“Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other.”  (Marvin J. Ashton)

And so, whether we’re talking ice cream or protein drinks, eating at home or eating out, mailing an $8 package of honey or bringing home a boat, we reduce anxiety and relax and invite peace into our lives when we allow ourselves a new framework, when we choose to see the bigger picture.  No place is this technique more effective than when it comes to the relationships we’re a part of, which is why I love that quote.  It reminds me to downplay the obvious and look a little deeper behind the scenes, to assume there’s more to the picture than what my little frame is allowing.

* Mosiah 29:12

Quality

We’ve been looking at carpet.  Going on nine years with three dogs (mostly potty trained, but you know how that goes), five kids who live with us, a few hundred more that have stormed the post.  Plenty of mishaps over the years.  Countless kids have wielded foam swords for their duels in the family room.  Couches have morphed into vaults in their make-shift Olympic training ground too many times to remember.  I use it as my personal gym 5-6 mornings a week, pounding the fluff out of the carpet and squishing it flat.  We’re the snacky type of family that allows (and encourages) all sorts of yummy treats downstairs.  Point being, it’s not smelling quite right.  There comes a time.  The man at the store gave us the low-down, directing us to the sale rack.  We found our own carpet on the other rack over.  $8.59 a square foot.  See?  We do have good taste.  We just rarely go with it.  Which led us to our conversation just the other night when Todd asked if there was anything in our lives or house that is top-of-the-line, the most expensive choice.  The only item that came to mind was my mixer, a 6-quart Kitchen Aid.  But now that I think about it, I have no idea if it’s the best, (I doubt it) we just got a good deal and it was the biggest we could find.  Curiosity got to us and we took a quick mental inventory of our shopping history.  

We have laminate counter tops, not granite.  Laminate floors, not hardwood.  Our beds are old orange oak from the 80s that we’ve painted black.  The other is a hand-me-down.  Our “antiques” are simply junk store finds usually $5 or less.  Our second-hand piano is nothing to look at (it’s actually more of an eyesore) and still needs to be tuned.  We finally got rid of our front loader washing machines and all the accompanying repair bills and have been using an old-fashioned top-loader for years, making me the happiest laundress in town.  Todd’s tools are likewise middle-of-the road, mostly hand-me-downs.  I’m not into jewels or cars or clothes or shoes… this was all making me a bit uncomfortable.  Surely we haven’t settled in every possible category? 

No, we found some exceptions.  One being my beautiful set of crystal goblets from our wedding nearly 22 years ago.  One broke several years into our marriage, but I packed the others carefully and carted them back and forth across the country.  They’ve been sitting on the top shelf with our Mason jars ever since, way in the back.  Just the other day Todd had to stabilize the shelf and removed all the glassware.  Out came the dusty goblets.  It’s not that we don’t like nice tableware; we use goblets at least 1-2 times a week for luncheons or breakfasts and of course Sunday dinner.  It’s just that we use the ones from IKEA—six for $5.  They are nearly indestructible.  My favorite set is actually a clearance find from TJ Maxx, hotel quality, thick, perfect.  $3 for six.  But since the crystal ones were out, I decided to try again and add them to our table scape for Valentine’s Day.  I remembered these couldn’t handle the dishwasher, that I’d have to be extra careful and wash them by hand.  What a bother, it was all coming back to me why I’d relegated them to the back of the top shelf.  I was holding one in both hands over the dishwater and the stem simply snapped.  Good grief.  I simply and unabashedly tossed the other one in the trash right on top of the broken one.  I can’t be bothered with anything that serves no other useful purpose than to look good.  I’m sure they were expensive, but I have no idea why anyone would buy them or use them.  Or give them to us.

I’m almost to the same point with my iPhone.  I’ve only had it a couple of years, it was a free upgrade.  I was almost mad at Todd when he brought it home.  Because I knew it was more phone than I would use and it would require me to be more conscientious than I’d had to be with my slider. (Which by the way, our daughter is using it now and it's as durable as they come, works great.)  I just had a feeling it might be more trouble than it would be worth.  Court’s still out.  We started out paying $11 a month insurance on it.  What a joke and a waste of money.  But I had to replace the entire phone shortly after I got it because it broke when one of the kids fell and dropped it face-down on the concrete.  $130 replacement fee (a bargain, apparently, since I had insurance on it). So then I bought the screen protector for $25 to ensure something like that would never happen again.  But then the screen cracked anyway simply from being in my purse (no keys even close), so I replaced the screen protector but also paid $100 to get the entire screen replaced.  Just recently it fell again and now the camera’s broken.  We hardly use the “smart phone” perks.  My husband and I share 1 GB of data a month and have never gone over.  I use it at church to look up scriptures, but I also usually bring my leather ones.  I’ve listened to books and talks on it but never outside of the house, so I could always just use my computer.  I’m the kind who has always kept a yellow pages under the seat in my van, so I don’t need a map app or whatever people use these days.  I just don’t know that my lifestyle warrants such a pricey piece of (delicate) equipment.

I guess now that I think about it, this is the category my wedding ring sits in.  I stopped wearing it years and years ago.  A smallish diamond (we were in college without a rich parentage or hefty savings) with channel diamonds flanking it.  Like the phone, we kept insurance on it the first couple of years.  We had no idea if we were supposed to or not, being such young and new adults.  $60 a year.  Which was such a pain because we’d have to have it appraised each year to renew the insurance.  I finally realized I am a risk taker.  Even though we didn’t have renter’s insurance, I was done with the ring insurance, we would simply take our chances.  But I would still get it professionally cleaned (for free) every now and then until they told me the diamonds were starting to come loose, that the prongs were coming apart.  Good grief.  That was the last straw.  Who has $200 to spend for upkeep on a ring?!  I was done.  Not just that, but the pokey diamond was constantly in my way, scratching my babies, getting bread dough wrapped all in it, so not worth the hassle.  I’ve been wearing plain silver bands ever since and couldn’t be happier.  My current ones are from Andrew’s jewelry class back in high school.  Love them!

Which bothers Todd a bit.

I can see where he’s sitting.  I can tell it sort of bugs him that I don’t wear my ring (but to be honest, it doesn’t even fit anymore anyway).  He likes nice things, and he wishes I would appreciate nice things.  You would never know it because we don’t really own any nice things, but he does have good taste.  And I have to agree with him, that there’s nothing like owning good quality items.  It’s just that I’ve read too many books like The Tipping Point which has led to my philosophy that yes, to a degree, quality matters.  You certainly want reliability, a straight cutting edge, shoes that won’t pinch your feet or fall apart after a few wearings, durability, well-constructed coats and sleeping bags, a tool that will serve you well and not make more work for you or cost you more down the road.  I get that.  But just because something is the the most expensive, or paraded as the highest quality, I’m not convinced it’s the best investment. 

Say we’re looking at a new truck, which is a legit example; we just bought one a few months back.  But let’s talk about that.  Do we (any of us) need one with all the available amenities?  I understand safety features, I can see why people might want the upgrades.  But all the conveniences designers can come up with simply because they’re options?  We just needed a truck that wouldn’t consistently break down, that could haul firewood and manure and scouts, and that could fit our whole family so we can get Christmas trees in the mountains.  Air conditioning would be nice.  So would low gas mileage (but we’re pretty realistic).  Other than that, what do you really need?  It’s simply to get us around and to haul some stuff.  Definitely not a status symbol.  We always buy used vehicles, but there’s a tipping point where it’s worth paying a bit more for a newer model with fewer potential issues.

Same with shoes.  I’m good with paying around $100 for a pair for either Todd or myself.  He wears the same pair every single day, and I’m pretty close behind.  We want leather, comfort, durability.  We don’t need $250 shoes, no matter what country they were made in or what magazine is advertising them.  It’s simply not necessary in our line of work.  And yet we know what cheap shoes feel like and how long they’re going to be around, so we go middle of the road.

What about clothes?  We’ve become a fast fashion society, which in my mind is a shame.  I am completely guilty of buying cheap clothes simply because I’ve liked the color and it was on sale.  But I know they will never hold up and barely last a year or two.  Compare that with a couple of black skirts I’ve owned.  One I bought at Nordstrom’s back in the 80s.  My mom bought the exact same one, long and straight and classic.  We wore them for years.  She worked in a bank and it was completely versatile, she wore it every week and it remained timeless.  I’ve had a similar short black pencil skirt for as long as I can remember.  It’s lined and has held up amazingly well.  I wear it all the time (we have a lot of church functions), all four seasons of the year.  With boots, sandals, heels, sweaters, blouses, short sleeved tops, cardigans, etc.  It goes with nearly everything and is my go-to when I need to get ready in a hurry.  I have no idea how much it cost, (I know it’s not top of the line), I’m sure it was a thrift store find.  But it has been so worth it.

Compare that with a dark red Banana Republic cardigan I found at a second-hand store maybe eight years ago.  I love the color!!  And the luxurious feel.  Yet it’s such good quality that I’m afraid to wear it.  Because I know I’ll have to dry clean it.  I don’t want it to get ruined.  It’s so thin and delicate.  So month after month, it sits on my shelf like the goblets that were so pretty but too fragile for everyday use.

I have a couple of other cardigan hoodies I love and use all the time.  One I bought at an outlet store in Arizona maybe ten years ago; another is from a local second-hand store; it doesn’t matter where I got them, what I love is that they’re durable, wearable, and timeless.  Definitely not top of the line, but they continue to serve me well and are my go-to’s when I need just a little extra layer.  Same with my jean jacket and other basics like my metal earrings I wear all the time.  Not the best, but perfect for my needs.

Which is exactly the conclusion I’ve come to.  I guess I’ve just had this question about the necessity of buying top quality in the back of my mind ever since I read a little opinion piece in the paper a month or so ago about a guy who was explaining the merits of buying the best you can afford.  He spent $5,000 on a bike.  But he’s had it for years and rides it nearly every day.  He even loves it more than when he first got it.  I loved his perspective, but it still made me wonder if he was making a blanket statement or if it was specific to this one item.*

Just today I read his latest column that explained by buying better quality, we end up buying fewer items of inferior quality, thus saving us money in the long-run.**  Totally get it, absolutely agree.

My question then became, is it always worth it or necessary to get the best?  Have I been missing the mark?  I pondered on this for a few days and came to the conclusion that no, satisfaction isn’t a direct correlation to buying the very best in a line-up.  What really seems to matter in my mind is that we buy the best we can afford that will meet our needs.

When I’m out shopping for a bike (sometime in the future perhaps, I’ve never owned a bike in my life), there’s no way I’ll need a $5,000 bike.  It would totally be wasted on me.  Likewise, I just need a computer that gets me around the internet, helps me with my photos and definitely has a word processing program, that’s it.  I don’t need fancy cookware, I’m a mediocre cook, I don’t especially enjoy it and I certainly don’t have any interest in taking it to the next level.  We just bought sleeping bags on Black Friday, but they’re rated to maybe 20 degrees, why would I ever need -20 degree bags? I’m not hard-core, I’m just a fair-weather camper, there's no way I want to camp in the snow.

Here’s the exception.

When it comes to friends, I suggest we seek out the best quality we can find.  Not that everyone needs to be golden or our bestie, it’s just that you know the frustration of a trowel with the handle that always wiggles itself loose no matter how often you re-screw it, the snow shovel with divots in the front scraping part, catching on any unevenness of the driveway, the pan that always burns even on low heat—useless, irritating, more than frustrating.  Likely you also know the kind of person who seems to come up with excuses more often than she follows through, the one who never really asks how you’re doing, the type who just isn’t as invested.  She's just as annoying as the spatula that keeps separating from its wooden handle.  So why does it keep making its way back to the drawer?  And why do we keep this kind of person in our lives?  No doubt, quality matters.

But I guess I just wanted to be thorough and look at all the possibilities if I was going to reach a conclusion about my initial question.  Does quality matter in every single instance?  As far as relationships—same with hardware or cookware—we have those that meet our needs:  we’d like a carpool team whose members will take their turns, we’re more productive as a PTO team if we have parents and teachers we can count on, it’s important we find a mechanic we can trust and a doctor we feel comfortable with.  These are the people who are satisfactory, they meet our needs, all’s well.

But when it comes to relationships like marriage and friendship, this is where I say splurge.  You want all the bells and whistles: commitment, fun, trust, safety, peace, common ground, comfort, the truth, someone who’s got your back, someone who won’t leave when it’s hard.

So I guess that’s my conclusion.  With the hierachy of all that’s available to us, from couches, art, and paint to lawn mowers, shovels, and potting soil, it behooves us to really consider our needs and to ignore the price tag and the sales guy.  It may be that our industrial-feeling family life warrants purchasing the highest grade dishwasher they sell, or it may be that we can get along without seeking out the best chocolate in town to make cookies for the second grade Valentine’s Day party.

With all the choices coming at us every day, I’m just not convinced that I need the best in every category.  As long as it meets my needs, I’m good with middle of the road.  But when it comes to relationships, I say get the Cadillac.  

* Sketch Guy (Carl Richards) in New York Times 21 December 2015

** Sketch Guy 21 Feb 2016

That was from you?

Totally not the kind of mom to do such a thing, but with last year’s resolution To be more generous still fresh on my mind and with his second-to-last high school finals nearly underway, I was feeling a bit sentimental and like being that kind of mom.  I signed the paper from school, procuring a snack box for my son to be delivered during his final exams.  Also completely out of character, I bought both my high schoolers a couple of tiny treats and propped them on their desks with little good luck notes.  A first time for everything.

My daughter immediately came up to thank me, joyous over a new fluffy pair of socks and some of her favorite candy.  Never heard a word from my son.  I let it go. The weekend after finals I remembered the snack pack I’d ordered for him and was curious if he ever got it, what it was about.  A stretch to reach back in time, “Oh yeah.”  I told him that I’d ordered it for him and, with a wink, reminded him it would be nice for him to say thank you.  “That was from you?” was all he said.

I asked him where he thought it had come from.  Hadn’t even considered it.  Which is why I’m glad we still have a good seven months to do a little fine-tuning before he heads for college.    I’m like you.  I want my kids to appreciate what they have and what other people do for them.  I want them to realize it’s more than simply good manners to acknowledge what others give them, but to comprehend how powerful gratitude is.  Kind of like forgiving, it is more about what it does to you than it does for the one you’ve forgiven.

Which is why I’m constantly reminding them, for example, to say thank you at the conclusion of a meal—regardless of whose house we’re at.  Even—maybe even especially—at our own.  When I ask the kids, What do you say? as they clear their dinner dishes or when we’ve gone out to eat, it’s not as if Todd and I need their thank you’s.  We’re happy to provide food and warm experiences for them.  Glad to.  It has nothing to do with needing validation and everything to do with teaching them to notice who provided it so they will learn to develop a grateful (humble) heart, which will yield true happiness in life.

I’m learning this from God.  The last thing He—the epitome of humility—needs is our thanks.  He simply derives great joy in blessing us.  But He teaches us to express gratitude because He knows it will make all the difference to us.  He knows that when we acknowledge someone’s hand in our successes and comforts, we are chipping away little by little at the pride we’re all encased in that leads us to believe we’ve done it all on our own.  He wisely knows that when we acknowledge His hand in our lives we are becoming more like Him, humble, tender, and loving.

A million examples of people around us who enrich our lives come to mind, and I’m hopeful that our kids are starting to pay attention.  A friend’s mom who makes cinnamon rolls every Wednesday morning and lets the kids hang out before school.  A friend who encouraged our son to apply for a job and provided a reference.  Teachers who—at the last minute—came to our son’s aid and wrote very personal and thoughtful letters of recommendation.  A friend who gives our daughter a ride to school every day.  Parents who take our kids out to eat when they’re over playing and take them to the movies with their family.  Friends who invite us to plays and dinner and otherwise entertain us for entire evenings.  I want our kids to open their eyes, to acknowledge these kind acts, and to learn to say thank you without any prompting from us.

We do what most families do, we teach them to write thank you notes.  We turn them around to go tell the hostess thank you.  We list what we’re thankful for in our journals near Thanksgiving.  We look back on the year again in January and remember all the good times we had, all that we have to be grateful for.  Few exercises are more humbling than itemizing our blessings.  Yet it’s especially powerful when we’re in the midst of a struggle.  I remember a woman telling how she and her husband made a list several pages long on their way to Mayo Clinic to deal with her husband’s brain tumor.  What better way to invoke the blessings of God than to acknowledge all He had already done for them.  An impactful example that encouraged me to look around a bit more, to notice His hand in my life, and to become a more grateful person.  I wish we could say we’ve got this one mastered.  We have not.  Not as a family or individuals.  But we’re working on it.

Todd and I have talked a lot about this over the years, especially as our life has become increasingly comfortable.  As we look back on choices and small sacrifices we’ve made, so much of our lives has just fallen into place.  And yet, I just can’t give in to the notion that it’s anything we’ve done ourselves.  We were blessed to live in homes where education was valued and emphasized.  We were born to parents who were around, who cared, who took care of us, who were engaged.  We were born in this period of time on the earth where we are given fantastic opportunities to develop ourselves and our talents.  We were blessed with zero health problems which allowed us to focus on other things.  We were born in a free country which encouraged and actually required education.  We were blessed to qualify for financial assistance and scholarships in college and to reap the generosity of so many others.  We are blessed to have the joy of marriage and children; for whatever reason, we haven’t had to struggle with infertility.  Or birth defects or autism or even allergies.  We were blessed to grow up in homes of faith, we’ve found support wherever we’ve lived, extended family, committed friends.  I honestly don’t feel like we can take credit for any of this.  Any good we’ve experienced  or contributed has to be because God gave us the means first, whether it was a strong start in life, clear minds, our talents, or our faith-filled homes.  It’s just that we don’t always remember to tell Him.

President Eyring pointed this out years ago in a talk I’ve clung to, “…The challenge to remember has always been the hardest for those who are blessed abundantly. Those who are faithful to God are protected and prospered. That comes as the result of serving God and keeping His commandments. But with those blessings comes the temptation to forget their source. It is easy to begin to feel the blessings were granted not by a loving God on whom we depend but by our own powers.”

I think we’d be surprised by how often God is working out the details of our lives, how much is at play on our behalf, how blessed we really are. Granted, I recognize our successes are also often a direct result of our efforts, and yet I’m simply mindful of the fact that God is hard at work providing experiences that will enhance our lives.  I’m in awe of the number of times, for instance, that I’ve met a new girlfriend, it's as if we’d known each other for eons before this introduction.  We feel like sisters almost instantly and I'm amazed at the timing of her entering my life at just the right junction.  I’m dumbfounded when I watch how messy situations, like a tangled heap of necklace chains in my jewelry box, somehow work themselves out.  I’m impressed with the people He places in the lives of our children to teach and support, as a second witness, what we’d been trying to instill in them.  I’m astonished how He works through the seemingly impossible situations we get ourselves into, even when we go to Him with one, almost as a challenge, “Go ahead and see what you can do about this.”  He calmly lets us know He already knew this was coming, He’s made preparations that go way back, anticipating this day.  He’s got this.

What we sometimes forget is that most of the time He uses other people as His hands.  I don’t know what form we're expecting His resolutions to show up in, but I love these thoughts from our wise friends,

“I testify of angels, both the heavenly and the mortal kind. In doing so I am testifying that God never leaves us alone, never leaves us unaided in the challenges that we face. '[N]or will he, so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man [or woman or child] upon the face thereof to be saved.' On occasions, global or personal, we may feel we are distanced from God, shut out from heaven, lost, alone in dark and dreary places. Often enough that distress can be of our own making, but even then the Father of us all is watching and assisting. And always there are those angels who come and go all around us, seen and unseen, known and unknown, mortal and immortal” (Elder Holland).

“God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other…” (President Kimball).

He’s there—not in the background—but in the forefront, yet He sometimes uses regular people to work out the details of our lives.  I’ve known two instances involving trucks where one had a need and the other was able to provide it.  With health issues, funny how you end up meeting exactly the right contact person who can steer you in the right direction or someone who has been through just the same thing. It is a humbling experience to be the answer to someone else’s prayers, and it’s just as humbling to know He orchestrated others to be there especially for us. 

But far too often in my life, I’ve not only failed to acknowledge God’s hand in my life and what others have done on my behalf; but worse, I’ve taken credit for the good in my life.  And maybe that’s just the natural human tendency, the mindset and formula we’ve been taught our whole lives: work hard, be self-sufficient, don’t depend on anyone else.  You’ve earned this.  You did it.  Good job.

Which is exactly what we’re up against as we strive to raise humble, appreciative kids who eschew entitlement and the idea that everything good in their lives is strictly a result of their own labors.  Like you, we want them to realize they don’t live in a bubble of their own making.  Rather, we want them to realize they are the beneficiaries of many people pulling for them, helping them out, sacrificing for them.  We want them to open their eyes, to notice their interdependence, to realize they didn’t make all of this happen completely on their own, to thank those who have helped them, to acknowledge the efforts of so many on their behalf: teachers, extended family, a loving God, good friends, adults at church.  To realize that there are even people behind the scenes who have contributed to their well-being. 

I think we all long for the times when our kids will come to us and wrap their arms around our necks and with a huge hug tell us thank you.  I love it when they thank me when I’ve folded their laundry for them or made cookies I know they love or helped them study their vocab words.  I love it when they say thank you for a family dinner out before we have to remind them.  I love it when they come upstairs with their thank you notes already written.  I love it when they leave me little treats and notes on my bed thanking me for listening or some other small act.  I imagine God feels the same way.  My greatest gifts from my children have been their tokens of gratitude.  I think because it shows me they’re beginning to open their eyes, that their hearts are changing, that they’re looking outside themselves.  I know this is how they will find happiness and it warms my heart to its core.  I want my kids to learn.  Because I want them to be happy.

And yet, I know He must feel just as joyful as I do even when it takes some time.  I think we’re all guilty of not recognizing how much our parents did for us until we moved away or became parents ourselves.  We may have ignorantly thought that our life was good simply because we made it that way.  Or, more likely, we never gave it a second thought.  But as we grow and mature, most of us start to realize how much our parents (and so many others) sacrificed for us, how many ways people have showed their love for us, and how indebted we are to them all.  Even when it’s years after the fact, I think God, parents, teachers, and anyone who has touched another’s life, rejoice when their children come back to thank them.  “I get it now.  That was from you.”