The blessings of missing out

I feel sort of antsy, maybe a little melancholy, that our house is torn up again.  It’s not bad, just the living room floor.  So the couches are all pushed to the edges, our huge hutch is in our kitchen.  We have towels on the floor.  Nail gun and air compressor are center-stage.  No railings for the stairs. Like I said, it’s honestly not that bad.  It’s just that I was thinking about Valentine’s Day and remembered that I do have a few decorations I could’ve put out.  But didn’t really see the point since it’s hard to tell what’s supposed to be out and what’s just sort of here temporarily.  I also figure I may as well put away my winter snow decorations, less to get wood dust on, and fewer things to accidentally break (we’ve had one casualty already).  I keep wanting to invite people over, but it’s a little disheveled for the time being. Maybe it’s just a season I’ll have to let go of and catch again next year.

I remember feeling this way when I had my cancer surgery almost five years ago during a most beautiful November.  I was so sad to be tethered to my house and a lot of times to my couch when I longed to be taking walks and spending time outside in the leaves.  And even being able to cook and mop. Yet I knew I had to give my body its time to heal, and so I bowed out of my favorite time of the year—knowing surely another would come around and I could embrace it then.

It was sort of the same thing when I had my fifth baby emergency c-section nearly 14 Mays ago.  Another friend had her baby at the same time and she and another friend came to visit me.  I felt fat and frumpy and so sore.  She was out and perky and totally normal-looking.  But I knew I had to be a little selfish, I needed this time to heal.  As much as I longed to go to the park and play with all our little friends, I just didn’t feel well.  And so I consoled myself, knowing next year would surely be different.  This healing process surely couldn’t last forever.

And now that I think about it, I remember feeling this for the first time when I had Andrew almost 23 years ago.  I’d been working full time up until I had him, and all of a sudden I was stuck in my little apartment all day in my new role. My family came, but I remember feeling sad that I couldn’t go shopping with them, I didn’t feel that well.  I had very little contact with the outside world and I felt sort of forgotten and discouraged that this was my new normal.  But we all know that’s not the case.  I got back into life soon enough, just with a baby in tow.

I was so disappointed when we decided to move a couple of falls back, that our closing date would be the middle of December.  I was sad to have to move in the first place.  And that it meant fall and Christmas would be very different and disrupted.  We couldn’t decorate the house we were moving from for Christmas, I patched and painted walls all those weeks instead.  We packed up as our house—normally cozy and festive—became more and more messy.  And less homey.  As we moved into our new home—as the previous owners were moving out—during one of the coldest, snowiest weekends I can remember, I knew we had just over a week till Christmas and then it would be over.  My holiday that I can stretch for weeks… I would only have a few short days with.  I know there are many harder things in life, but I was sad to not be able to make it as special and festive as I wanted to.  But I told myself next year would be different, better.

I’m reminded that Callum was sick last Christmas.  On the couch feeling miserable on arguably the best day of year.  I felt so bad for him.  I remember throwing up one myself one Christmas a couple years back.  I knew exactly how he felt to be missing out on all the fun.  But knowing it likely wouldn’t be this way the next year pulled us through.

I’ve known kids who have broken a limb at the beginning of summer—could there possibly be a more inconvenient time to be in a cast?  A summer without swimming?  Our little friend just tore up her ankle.  She’s an amazing high school soccer player and is out for the rest of the season.  At least.  Soccer has been her life for as long we can remember, and it’s devastating to be on crutches and to have to use a scooter at her age.  It reminds me of when Andrew wrecked in a bike accident as a senior just weeks before state track, his last chance to compete in high school.  Pretty devastating.

On and on.  We can all think of seasons of our lives where we’ve been relegated to the side lines as the days and people go on around us.  For whatever varied reasons, sometimes we’re to sit this one out.  Hold tight. Just wait.

It’s helpful to remember that usually our setbacks are temporary.  Most flu episodes clear up, broken bones mend, the house gets put back together, we adjust to having a new baby, we reapply for the program the following year, we rebuild after a flood or a fire.  But yes, some are life-altering in a major way.  Divorce, death, a serious accident, a stroke, financial ruin.  These are serious and there’s no way to assure ourselves that next season or even next year will be different.  Or that things will ever get better.

Or is there? 

Does time really have that much power over us?  Do a few weeks or months or years really ease the pain of even a traumatic loss?  I honestly can’t say for sure because I’ve never weathered a severe enough storm.  But if we sit out a few months or years, can our hearts start to piece themselves back together?  Can we ever expect to be whole again?

Like I said, I don’t know for sure.  I think whole is a big word when we’re talking about our hearts.  I’m thinking we will always have a noticeable space when we’ve suffered a loss.  When we’re talking death, I think that’s because they still live in our hearts and we need to keep a spot for them.  But I’ve known many friends—including my own mom—who have remarried, who have created new careers for themselves, who have moved and built different lives for themselves, people who have come out the other side of heartache still intact.  And even ok.  Not overnight, but eventually.

Yes, we’re still missing out.  On a lifetime with a spouse or child.  On being independent the way we had been. On playing for the college we always dreamed of—or even getting in. On getting married or staying married. On a comfortable retirement.  Yes, all sorts of upsets, both big and small.  But maybe things can still work out.  And maybe time really can ease the sting.

Obviously, we acknowledge how painful set-backs can be, to have times in our lives when we’re not able to do what we planned, to have to remain in a holding pattern while others seem to carry on, oblivious to our discomfort and pain.  And yet, all of it is still temporary—regardless of how long the temporary is.  We will be reunited with loved ones, we will walk and run again, we will be healed and whole.  In time, all that we missed out on will be compensated us.

“It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don’t worry. I say that to myself every morning, Gordon B. Hinckley taught. “If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us.”  It also helps me to remember this adage, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways…. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

“Find the compensatory blessings in your life when, in the wisdom of the Lord, He deprives you of something you very much want. … You will discover compensatory blessings when you willingly accept the will of the Lord and exercise faith in Him” (Richard G. Scott).

I do feel that time is not quite the same to God as it is for us.  I trust “that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”  Because there are always, always lessons to learn and people to serve and love, regardless of what we’re missing out on at the moment.

I think when we’re reeling from a loss of any kind, when we feel like something has unfairly taken from us, all is not as tragic and black as we initially think.  And I love that idea of compensatory blessings, the reality that he is blessing us, even as we’re not able to live as we’d prefer.

For instance, during a crisis or misfortune, I’m freshly aware of the people who are still here.  So when I had my babies and had to bow out of my regular activities for a period, I obviously gave all my attention to them.  What an amazing period of life.  What most of us wouldn’t do for a day with our newborns again.  More than ever, I looked forward to Todd coming home, I don’t know that I appreciated his companionship as much as when I had to be all alone during the days.  When I’ve been home with a sick kid, it’s been so nice to just have time one on one, to focus on her needs and to just watch Netflix together cuddled on the couch.  When do we do that in regular life?  When my dad died, there was nothing more comforting than having my sisters and mom with me.  Obviously we were close before his death, but it hit us that this was our new family arrangement for awhile and we relied on each other.  When we’re recovering from a surgery or a fall, when we’re dealing with a loss or any kind of devastation, it’s eye-opening to see our friends and family members with new eyes, those we normally take for granted.  All of a sudden we appreciate them more intensely, we recognize that they genuinely care.  That they’re here.  It’s overwhelming at a funeral, as we know, to see how many people have lined the pews to simply support us—and I think that’s partly where some of our tears spring from.  I don’t know if we have any idea until something as life-altering as a death happens, how widely and deeply we are known and loved and cared about.  As wrenching as it is, there is something incredible about noting this palpable love we were simply not aware of on our other days.

I’ve also noticed that in my weakened state, these are the times when I’m forced to slow down.  And in our frenzied world, that is a true blessing. Sometimes it takes a hardship—debilitating or simply inconvenient—to make us become more present.  We’re not up to our usual speed.  We simply don’t have it in us, maybe physically, maybe emotionally.  But there is beauty in slowing down.  In noticing the artwork on the walls that you never really pay attention to except for when you’re lying on the couch and rest.  In face to face conversation as visitors come to spend an afternoon or a few moments.  In having to read.  Or listen to music.  In watching the leaves flutter on the tree outside the window. In hearing the airplane or wind or dogs or lawnmower, the background of our life we take for granted. 

Additionally, these unusual days and years allow us to see what we’re made of.  What can we still do?  What new skills are we developing? What’s changed? What’s better even? What am I capable of? How am I stronger? Wow, look at what I’ve done and learned and become.

These periods of disruption can also be times to be grateful in ways we never really acknowledged before.  We can be thankful for having had so many amazing years together, that we know what love feels like, that we still have an arm, that the burns weren’t more devastating, that we can still walk or talk or breathe.  That we’re still here.

And the most significant compensatory blessing when we’ve been let down, hurt, or broken is that we always, always have God’s love with us.  If we allow it, these can become sacred days of our lives.  It’s in these quiet desperate moments when we have no where else to turn, that God is there, so close.  Christ—more than anyone in the universe—gets it.  No one knows better what we’re feeling when our dreams have been crushed, when our hearts have been shattered, when life’s derailed, when we’re feeling dark and desperate.  And it’s precisely in these moments that it can be the easiest to feel His love.  Partly because we’re forced to slow down.  Partly because we’re vulnerable and desperate for our people to love us and tend to us.  And partly because we’re taking time to notice our blessings and to be grateful.  All of these lead us to feel God’s love in our lives more intimately than we sometimes notice in the times of our lives when all is tranquil.

And so I acknowledge of course it’s ok, appropriate, and expected to be mad, to cry, to feel overcome with grief when we’re missing out, when the rug’s been pulled out from under us.  Obviously.  But I still think there are significant blessings associated with these losses, and I wonder if we can ease our pain by considering them.

Ask the expert

I can’t help but think of all the collective wisdom that’s out there. It seems like we’re missing out on some of that if we don’t take the time to talk with the people we encounter throughout our days.  I've noticed that everyone is an expert at something.  Test it in your next conversation.  Whether it’s quilting, the classics, cars, board games, gardening, home improvement, bread making, or painting, everyone’s into something.  So it behooves us to not only take advantage of their accumulated knowledge so we can apply it to our own lives, but it enriches our lives just by getting to know them a little better--whether it's a serviceman, a clerk, or a new acquaintance.  

So when I’ve had washer repairmen out, I ask what sort of washing machine they’d recommend, if this is a good model.  When we had our front loader I asked how much soap to use and how best to clean it.  What kind do they have in their homes?

When our kitchen pipes and dishwasher have had issues in our old house, I learned how much food is ok to leave on plates and to put down the disposal (not much at all).

When we’ve had Roto-Rooter out, we’ve pumped the guys for answers.  What caused this? What can we do to prevent this from happening again?  What’s the condition of our septic tank? What would you recommend?  How much time do we have left with these?

When we were shopping for running shoes, I asked the saleslady what the real differences between the various price ranges.  What, for our daughters’ level of activity, would really be necessary.  Same with hiking boots for Todd. Were the $500 ones really worth it?  And we paid attention to whether they were just trying to sell us or if they were honest. I ask them straight up which ones they buy.  If they’re wearing the ones they’re trying to sell us, I take note.

When I get my hair cut—everywhere I’ve been—I ask about shampoos, color, current trends, tips to help my daughter’s hair be healthier and longer, just all sorts of things.  I figure we have at least 45 minutes together, may as well pick her brain and get her opinion on some things.

Same with my massage friend.  I ask her about muscles and exercises and why and what’s going on.  We have the whole hour to talk.  She knows so much!  I absolutely love hearing her thoughts about bodies.

When I’ve gone to donate blood and my iron’s been low, I’m anxious to hear what to change so next time I’ll be successful.  I know now to drink plenty and to keep my hands warm and to massage my finger so the little test will go better.  I have a list of iron-rich foods.  And others to avoid.  I’ve asked how often is too often to donate for a woman.

When we’ve stayed in a new city, we try to ask our Bed and Breakfast hosts where the locals like to eat, what they recommend to see and do.  We figure they live in that town, plus they hear from all their guests what’s been tasty and entertaining.  They’re a wealth of information.

I’m super bad at reading the booklets that come with electronics.  I’m underutilizing every device and tool I have.  But every now and then I’ll get smart and ask someone.  My sister and kids are awesome at knowing this kind of stuff.  A friend taught me how to use the timer on my phone camera just this week.  I’ve never used Siri or the map ap that talks you through the directions to get somewhere.  I’m honestly just too lazy.  But it’s been good to ask people and take advantage of their collective wisdom.  I think it’s fun for them to use their gadgets, so I swallow my pride and ask for help.

I’ve asked my dentist what he recommends when he mentions an issue with me or one of the kids.  I’ve gone in to an oral surgeon for a recent wisdom tooth development.  I appreciate the honesty when he’s told me to just leave it and try to keep it clean.  My dentist told me for years to hold off on gum grafting until finally it was time—because I trusted him, I went with his advice.

I enlisted my interior decorator friend to just come help us with some ideas when we first bought our house.  She was so gracious and generous as she listened and shared her ideas.

I’ve asked my photographer friends for advice on family pictures, especially clothing.  I know now to keep it relatively simple.  Not matchy-matchy, but coordinated.  Start with you (the mom) and build around what you feel good in.  Don’t use small patterns.  In fact, stay away from patterns completely if you can help it.  Just great tips I don’t know we would’ve thought of.

I’ve talked to temple presidencies ever since I started going, just asking questions about all sorts of things.  I figure they’re there all the time, maybe they have some thoughts that will trigger my own thinking.  And I’ve found that to be the case. Obviously they’ve never given me direct answers.  But they’ve guided me and encouraged me as I’ve sought out my own.

I do this especially with women just a season ahead of me in life.  Ever since I was a very new and young mom I’ve asked those just a little older for advice.  What would you do differently if you were in my stage?  What worked? What have you learned?  What advice do you have for me? I’m still asking friends these same questions, but now it’s in relation to how to parent grown up kids or how they’ve dealt with technology.  Mothers who have been there are a goldmine of information and solid advice.

We’ve also gone the other way and asked our kids some questions because they’re certainly the experts on what it’s like to be them and to be growing up these days.  I like to talk to young adults especially, maybe my favorite age group of all.  Maybe because they’re past the teen years but not too far removed from what was important then.  They have a more mature perspective and yet they still get it, they understand what teenagers are thinking.  So they’re super helpful and very expert-like.

Honestly, everywhere we go we’re running into experts.  We can ask the teller at the bank what account option would be best for us given our circumstances.  What do my nurse and doctor friends think about this medication or vaccine?  Which sleeping bag or backpack would suit our circumstances? What’s your opinion?

And so it goes.  I admit I don’t feel like much of an expert on anything, but when there’s an English paper or grammar worksheet, I might be helpful.  When it comes to using time well, I might have some thoughts.  And when the kids have questions about how something works or how to go about doing a woodworking project, Todd has some experience he can share.  If people want to pick his brain about gardening or raising bees, he’s learned a few things. When it comes to history or science or the classics, Mitchell’s our go-to.  Avery’s got her fingers in all sorts of social and political issues.  Callum and Andrew have spent quite a bit of time learning about snowboarding and bikes, so they’re awesome resources.  And B is quite the expert on living simply and organized, without drama, without a fuss, just straightforward and contentedly.

So even in our simple family we have some things we’ve learned over the years.  And I choose to assume every single person we meet or befriend or chat with has some of that too.  So whether we’ve asked someone to repair or build something for us, if we’re at the hardware store befuddled by the paint choices, or if we’re just not sure what’s the best menu option, it's never a bad idea to at least ask.  

I just think life is too short to have to figure out everything the hard way.  I know we can research cars, but why not ask a friend who owns a dealership what he thinks?  Or a friend who owns the one we’re contemplating buying?  Obviously we can look into coolers, but why not ask the guy who already has the cooler we’re thinking of buying if he’d buy it again?  If we’re thinking about going gray, why not ask our hairdresser the best way to go about that?  If we have friends who took a cruise, went to that mission, made that recipe, gave a great lesson, wrote an intriguing piece, why not ask them about it? How’d it go, how did you learn to cook or write or talk like that? Doing this is much more personal than interacting with a computer screen at home alone.  Or pretending that we’re not all people with similar families and lives—there’s nothing wrong with admitting that and enjoying a few minutes’ conversation with those we happen to meet.  It takes some humility to admit what we don’t know, but I’ve learned that most people are so happy to talk about their thing that they quickly forget our ignorance.  I figure I don’t have the time, patience, or even interest in being an expert in everything.  I’d rather defer to those who are and to glean what I can from their enthusiasm about whatever topic they’re wiling to tell me about and go from there, maybe deciding I'd like to become an expert in it myself someday.  But in the meantime I'm just happy to be learning from each other.

When it's frosty

Another in a seemingly eternal string of ice-cold wintry days.  The kind that require me to start my van a good ten minutes before I need to leave.  But on a harried and forgetful morning, I inadvertently forgot about that task and realized I had an opaque windshield to contend with as I rushed to leave.

As I plopped my bags in the passenger seat and started the engine, I willed the glass to clear quickly.  A defroster won’t work until there’s heat, and warmth was nowhere to be found on this arctic morning.  Time was my only hope. And I had precious little if I was going to be on time.  So typical. 

But as I started down our rocky potholed dirt road, I noticed the picture it created on my windshield was actually quite pretty.  Although it was slightly tricky to see the road as a million tiny frost particles peppered the glass.  But I continued to drive on, assured that I could see enough.

I didn’t consciously watch it happen, but of course I did.  Before long, the defroster had done its job and the windshield was nearly clear.  The frost designs had dissipated and I could easily out to the road that only minutes before had been obstructed and foggy to me.

I couldn’t help but think how often this has happened in my life.  So often it feels like the road ahead is all but hidden from view.  Most days I'm ok. I have a general idea of how to proceed, I’m familiar with the area, I mostly just keep moving forward the best I can.  In the meantime, as I’m waiting for the warmth from my defroster to clear things up, I trust my instinct and my vehicle and I try to focus on the small eyehole of the windshield I can see through.  Not the best of driving conditions, especially when the road is icy and the lanes are indistinguishable from the shoulder, I’ll admit it’s a little disconcerting.  But this is a two-lane 60 mph road; I can’t pull over and wait for better weather and I can’t even turn around and start over later.  I have to just trust myself and carry on.

I’ve thought how similar this is to the many uncertain journeys I’ve been forced to make in life. Regardless of how obscured my sight-line has been or how uncomfortable I’ve felt about proceeding, there’s not really another viable option. But over time, right before my eyes, without my noticing how or when it happened, eventually I’m able to make sense of some of the roads I’ve been on: small country lanes, major highways, vats of spaghetti-freeways and exchanges.

We’ve all had to drive in less-than ideal conditions, but scarier than a snowy, icy commute is having to make decisions or make sense of a situation without much to go on.  Choosing a spouse, a city to live in, a career, even a fall schedule.  Where to volunteer and put your extra time, whether to buy the house that doesn’t make a lick of sense, to have children when you feel like you’re still one yourself.

I think about the family I was born into.  Early in my life I couldn’t understand our dynamics and the purpose for our being in the same boat; but the older I get, the more I see how perfectly we fit together, how much we learn from and teach one another, how this alignment has provided us so many opportunities for growth and empathy and compassion. 

I think of the major decisions Todd’s had to make with his work.  Early on we had to decide whether to buy into the business, to take the risk of becoming part-owner, when we still had so much debt from school loans; it seemed crazy to take on more.  But he felt peaceful about it despite being a little unsure how it would all work out.  This past year he was faced with selling part of his portion.  So many questions and uncertainties all over again. Yet in both cases he trusted and proceeded.

I think back to getting married at 22.  About what I chose as a major.  About having kids so close together.  About not having more.  About moving to Illinois and to Montana.  In nearly all these cases I’m still waiting for the defrost.  I’m still not clear on why a mission wasn’t right for me.  I have no idea what possessed me to choose the major I did.  I’m not sure if we made the right decision about not having more kids.  I’m in the dark as to why we’re here in Montana and what my specific purpose is even now.  Although I’m beginning to feel a little warmth wafting over the dash.

I just think we sometimes we expect a completely clear windshield—a confirmation that the path we’re on will work out for us—before we move on.  And yet most starts are a little less than straightforward, the view is usually a bit hazy.  We may have a vague idea of where we want to go or be or do, but evidence that we’re making the right choice doesn’t usually come until we’ve committed to our choice and lived with it—driven—for awhile.

A leader sought counsel from a trusted friend who wisely responded with this counsel, “The trouble with you is you want to see the end from the beginning. I replied that I would like to see at least a step or two ahead. Then came the lesson of a lifetime: You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you. Then he quoted these 18 words from [scripture]:  Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6).*

I think this is even more difficult to accept when we’ve prayed over a decision, a course we’re grappling with, a fork in the road.  We expect—and absolutely want—God to confirm for us that we’ve chosen correctly.  But so often He allows us—and yes, expects us—to carry on, assuring us He will help us know one way or the other.  Eventually.

“What do you do when you have prepared carefully, have prayed fervently, waited a reasonable time for a response, and still do not feel an answer? You may want to express thanks when that occurs, for it is an evidence of [Heavenly Father’s] trust. When you are living worthily and your choice is consistent with the Savior’s teachings and you need to act, proceed with trust. As you are sensitive to the promptings of the Spirit, one of two things will certainly occur at the appropriate time: either the stupor of thought will come, indicating an improper choice, or the peace or the burning in the bosom will be felt, confirming that your choice was correct. When you are living righteously and are acting with trust, God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision” (Richard G. Scott).*

Sometimes the windshield clears almost immediately, like you have some kind of turbo defroster working for you.  As soon as you accept a marriage proposal you feel a wash of warmth sweep over you, you just know this is right.  In other cases that confirmation may not come till years and even decades later.  Maybe moving to a new town you immediately meet someone you feel you’ve known forever, a major tragedy strikes and you know you were meant to be in her life just for this.  In other cases, after twenty years, you’re still not sure why you felt to move here.  I remember wondering that for 15 years since we'd been here. But one day just sitting in a church class, all of a sudden I felt the words, “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”  What an unsolicited confirmation, one I’d given up seeking.  I still don’t know why, frost is still clouding my view, but I trust one day I may know why; for now it's enough to keep me going, like my little peep-hole in my windshield.

I have various friends who thought they were done having kids who ended up with a feeling to have another, others who simply got pregnant unexpectedly, some who couldn’t have more kids for quite awhile who ended up pregnant again. I have two friends who each told me they’ve come to understand that their sons were born to them to help them through trying times in their later lives, one who lost a husband to death and another through divorce.  Their older sons were in a position to comfort and aid their mothers during those times. These women didn’t understand the circumstances of their sons’ births, the timing of it all, until these events unfolded many, many years later.  Interesting.

I’m like you and in so many instances I see the beautiful crystalized glass particles as a hinderance, an obstacle, on my way there.  I’m anxious and impatient for them to melt and dissipate allowing me to turn on the windshield wipers and clear my view once and for all so I can proceed with my plans.  But what if we humbled ourselves, used patience and trusted that we’ll be able to see soon enough?  What if, in the meantime, we appreciated the kaleidoscope of tiny pieces of art in front of us?  What if we just enjoyed our friendships and family ties and children without having to understand the why of it all?  What if we just choose a major we’re drawn to, that we feel passionate about, and while praying to know if it’s right for us, just dive in and appreciate learning new things?  What if we create for the pleasure’s sake without worrying about why we feel to write poetry or music or make quilts or houses?  What if we just accepted the discomfort of the present?  And trusted that somehow--little by little--the way will be shown us, that we will gradually begin to see the road ahead of us a little better, that we will have a bigger perspective than we do with our current skewed vision?  In time.

The defroster takes time.  Understanding why takes time.  Seeing the path in its entirety takes time.  Seeing God’s hand in our lives takes time.  But in the meantime, we can choose to enjoy the beautiful patterns in front of us instead of impatiently willing the clouds to part so we can see what’s happening.  It's just slow, we don't even really notice.  But one by one, the bits of obscurity fade away and eventually we notice how clearly we can see.  But for now, what’s really going on is nothing we need to worry about.  We can proceed (with care) and with faith.  God’s got it.  He knows.  He sees the road.  And I can trust both Him and myself, that He will be with me until the view clears and I can see on my own.

*Move Forward in Faith, Ensign, August 2013

Life tiles

A friend, when I’d texted her about her day, mentioned she’d just had her first mammogram.  To which I responded that she’d just earned a Life Tile.  Of course she didn’t know what I was talking about, who would?  What I meant—and explained—is that she’d done something a little different from everyday life, a bonus experience, the kind that would earn us a tiny cardboard piece in the board game of Life that we’d collect until the end of the game.

I’ve thought of this idea so many times when I or those around me are going through a difficult or growing experience, maybe just a transition, maybe big, many times small.  Just a variety of experiences that enrich or teach, expose us to a different perspective, enlarge our view on the world, expand our knowledge or understanding, provide a little more depth to everyday life.  Triumphs, disappointments, heartaches, accomplishments. All contributing to the person we become.  I guess instead of seeing so many as stumbling blocks or road blocks on the way home, I look at them as little Tiles I can tuck away in my memory to learn from, to derive joy from when life is a little gray, to share with others as they go through similar experiences.  In my mind, none of these experiences is a waste if we use them to heighten our awareness, if we use them for good, if we appreciate that they’re just all part of the mortal experience.  I marvel at the wisdom in this statement, “…all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.” Maybe not at the moment, but maybe down the road, maybe to help someone else going through something you’ve already dealt with.

So maybe it’s a mammogram; maybe it’s cancer.  Maybe it’s you, maybe someone else.  Maybe the someone is someone you love more than life.  And you wish it was you instead.

Watching a loved one die.  Attending a funeral.  Visiting someone in the hospital.  Taking flowers to a grave on Memorial Day.  Remembering your dad only in pictures but feeling peace about your relationship.

Saving up.  Taking a long-awaited trip.  Study abroad.  A humanitarian mission.  First plane ride.  First one alone.

Securing a rental car.  Driving in a new city.

Your first apartment. Paying rent. Buying your first house. Signing mortgage documents.  Makes you feel like going out to breakfast and celebrating afterward.  Moving to a new state.

Being new.  At school.  At church.  At everything.

A big kid bed.

Divorce. Maybe your parents’ or maybe yours. Moving out. Dating again after such a long time.  Figuring it all out.  Never figuring it out.

Getting your drivers license.  Losing it.  Giving up driving for good.  Selling your car for the last time.

Being interviewed for the newspaper or a spot on the news.  Starting a podcast.  Or a blog.  Getting published.  Seeing your name in print.

Leaving home and recognizing how much your parents sacrificed for you.  And tried to teach you.  Realizing you’re an adult.  And you should’ve paid better attention.

First day of school.  Every year.  No matter how old you are.  Going back to school as a grown up.

Opening a checking account.  Using your debit card for the first time.

Losing a tooth.  A root canal.  Braces. Dentures.  Oral surgery.

Finishing a quilt.  Refinishing a chair.

Being in charge.  Of an event.  An organization.  Making a tough call.  Loving the people you serve.  Learning from it all.

Installing your new dishwasher.  Replacing a fuse, a windshield wiper, the oil, an engine.

Singing in a choir.  Learning to play an instrument.  Dancing.  Having a solo.

Giving a speech.  Teaching a lesson. 

Graduating from high school. Attending college.  Declaring your major. Even if you don’t leave with a degree.  Getting your GED when you’re older.  Never finished high school.

Learning to ride a bike. Skiing.  Snowboarding.  Surfing.

Writing a letter to the Editor.

Making it through your teen years.  Making it through your kids’ teen years.

Trying out for the team.  Getting cut.  Making it.  Wishing you hadn’t.  Sticking it out.

A first job.  A real paycheck. Starting your own business.  Getting fired.  Filling out tax forms.  Getting a tax refund.

Caring for a spouse or child long-term with no guarantee of full recovery.

Becoming a grandparent.  Listening to others becoming grandparents when you know you’ll never be one.

Letting someone live with you for an extended period of time.

Being able to stand your ground with class and tact when the issue is important to you.

Having a boyfriend or girlfriend; making it official.

Getting married.  Your first real fight.  Sleeping apart.  Making up.

Shaving for the first time.

Writing your life story.

Breaking a bone. Major injury.  Surgery.  A hosptial stay. Flu that keeps you down for a week.  C-section.  Kidney stones.

Learning a different language.  Visiting a foreign country.  Eating new foods.

Signing the papers for a car.  Changing a tire.  Jumping a car for the first time.  Learning to drive a stick.  Driving a really old, ugly, character-building vehicle.

Getting in an accident.  Getting a ticket.  Or a warning.

Road trip.  With roommates.  As a family.  With senior citizen strangers.  With girlfriends.

Painting a room.  Remodeling.  Building a fence.

Planting a garden.  Making jam.  Canning.

Getting a dog.  Losing a dog.  Having an aquarium.  Picking out the fish.

Dropping your kid off at college.  Waving goodbye as you wonder how it came full circle in such a short time.  Remembering your own first week in the dorms.

Camping.  Seeing the national parks up close.

Cooking for yourself.  Cooking for a date.  A spouse.  Making dinner every night.

A first kiss.  A last.

A career switch mid-life.

Fourth of July parade.  Getting it.  Feeling the lump in your throat for the first time.  And every time thereafter.

Positive pregnancy test.  A negative one. A miscarriage.  Your first baby.  Maybe others. Knowing this one’s your last.  Never having kids.

Lifting weights after a mastectomy.  Doing burpies for the first time again.

A snow day

Running a 5K.  Half marathon.  Marathon.  Around the block.  Walking to the mailbox.  Standing up again after being confined to a bed or chair.

Riding a horse

Winning the race.  Losing it.  Coming in dead last.  Trying hurdles or pole vault for the first time. Sticking with the whole track season.

Seeing art in person.

Signing up to be a coach.  Meeting the kids on the first day.

Throwing a surprise party

Living through a fire, an earthquake, a shooting

Been a victim.  Been deceived or taken advantage of.  Rising above it.

Writing a poem or a song.  Painting a picture.  A sketch.  A model.

Prom.  Or not.

Living with roommates.  Meeting them for the very first time.  Knowing you’ll be friends forever.  When you realize how different you are and wondering if you’ll stay friends. Seeing them again when you’re all grown up.  When your kids are all grown up.

Reading a classic.

Learning to swim.  Snorkeling in Hawaii.  Becoming scuba certified.  Going off the high dive.

Losing weight.  Losing your scale.  Letting go of a number.  Accepting yourself.  Being yourself.

Taking care of a parent.  Noticing that you’ve switched roles.  Becoming the parent to your parent.  Moving your parent into a care facility.  And then into the memory unit.

Learning to make bread.

A life-changing accident.  Yours or your spouse’s or your kid’s.  A serious transformation from the life you always knew.  Accepting your new normal.

Watching it all come full circle.  Watching it all through your kids.  And grandkids.  Trick or treating.  Sugar cookies.  Reading the same books you read them when they were small.  Doing it all over again.  Raising your grandkids.

On and on and on.  You can all make your own lists.  These Tiles are what make everyone’s Life experience unique.  At the end of the game, not everyone’s pile looks the same.  None are equal or the same size. Some tiles we’re just given.  We didn’t ask for them, Heaven knows we didn’t want them.  But they’re part of our stack anyway. And they all warrant a tiny acknowledgment, maybe even a celebration.  Not for any other reason than you’re dealing with it all.  You’re learning. You’re stronger than you thought. Or wanted to be. You’re still here, you haven’t given up, you’re willing to stick through whatever comes. In my mind, you’re still in the game.  And if we use what we’ve learned, what we’ve been through, and what we’ve experienced through all the vicissitudes of life, through all the ups and downs, through all the changes and challenges, through all the heartaches and triumphs for good, then we’ve won.

Favorite things

Now that the din of the holidays has quieted, it’s time to reflect on how it all went.  And this is just one little observation.  In fact, I don’t have a ton of experience with this kind of thing, but a conversation with a friend last month made me run back to some of my memories surrounding these Favorite Things parties. When I’ve been invited to something like this in years past, my initial reaction has been to run, or at least avoid it somehow, to check—really scour—my calendar to see if there were any possible conflicts.  I know that’s weird.  It’s just that this kind of thing honestly is pretty much completely out of my comfort zone.  At least back when it first started to show up in my life. My only associations were my mom’s grown up friend hosting her annual get-together.  But she is fancy and knows all about what’s current and popular. It all reminded me of Oprah.  It just seemed something other women did: jumpy women, excited women, fun women.  Not really plain, quiet, serious women like me. Would I be the most boring one there?  And besides, it gave me anxiety. Christmas already left me feeling effectively tapped out. I had no idea what to bring.  What were the expectations? What was a normal or acceptable offering?  What if we played the game where we had to take another gift we liked better? It would take me back to school years and choosing teams.  It all seemed a little over my head. I wasn’t sure if I was the right person for their guest lists.  But flattered and honored to be considered, I’m grateful I decided to attend these gatherings.  I’ve interacted with women I didn’t really know; for what it’s worth, I learned what’s currently trendy or what kinds of tools or products are tried and true; and, best of all, I caught a glimpse into my friends’ lives and hearts.

So it was fascinating when I received as one of my gifts something truly unique and worthy of cherishing.  My daughter and I love this unique present so much.  It’s a box of cards—not notecards—just huge cards like little kids would hold to play Go Fish or Old Maid with.  Beautiful painted depictions of Brave Women on one side with a description of their lives’ work on the back, pointing out their contributions and places in history.  Fascinating, enchanting, so interesting and unusual.  My daughter immediately wanted to collage her room in them; they are perfect on her wall!  So I reported back to the giver how much joy her gift has brought us, to which she replied in essence how grateful she was we liked them.  She was worried about bringing them.

And this is where I confessed I knew exactly how she felt.

This is the part of this kind of party that makes me uneasy.  Because I—like her—am forced to expose a corner of my personality I’m not sure will be entirely welcomed.  There, I admit it.  That’s the crux of it.

Which is actually the beauty of this kind of gathering: sharing ourselves with others, being vulnerable, allowing others into our hearts by sharing something dear to us, a little peek into what makes us each unique.  But this can be hard.

Because I’m almost positive no one actually hoped to get my favorite kind of kitchen towels and good-smelling Christmas soap.  Boring.  Practical.  Everyday.  Less than thrilling, exciting or intriguing.  And yet, these little tokens scream my name.  I’m in the kitchen a good chunk of every day.  I hate stale crusty kitchen towels.  I like to wash mine every couple of days.  I believe they should be replaced as they fray and thin and wear out. I prefer them to match each other.  I appreciate a good quality scented soap that invigorates and pampers me.  But that’s just me, two things I splurge on.  And I wanted my present to reflect the real me.

I was afraid to bring beauty products.  Goodness knows they’d call my bluff in a heartbeat.  What qualifies me to know anything about hair or makeup or nails? You all know me better than that.  I don’t like chocolate even though every other woman I know does.  I don’t own or wear fancy jewelry of any kind, and I certainly have no idea what’s fashionable as far as clothes.  And I don’t think anyone really cares for my style in decorating (at least for their own houses).  Basically I knew I couldn’t impress anyone, and so I just dug into my bag of just me.

My conversation with my friend reminded me of these original awkward feelings I’d had when I was first invited to a party of this sort.  And even deeper, it made me aware that maybe we all have these uncertainties when presenting not just our gifts, but ourselves.

But here’s where I have to just be ok with my bundle of my favorite things.  This is me. This is what I have to offer. I don’t know if it’s acceptable or desirable, but I am willing to share a piece of my heart with you. To be honest, I have no idea what happened to my gifts; for all I know they were regifted or put in someone’s Good Will pile. Just as I have no idea what people say once they leave a dinner or evening with us.  Maybe our relationship will be relegated to the discard pile as well.  But these gatherings have encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone, to ask myself what’s truly reflective of who I am, to engage with amazing women.  But above all, I’ve come to enjoy these occasions as a joyous way to celebrate the season.  And to celebrate the unique gifts each of us has to contribute.  Beyond those wrapped in brown paper packages tied up with string.