*What Can One Person Do?

Each morning around four A.M.,  my rituals involve revving the Keurig, grabbing an icepack, and settling into my recliner with Marley, my MacBook, and a blanket.  Every day I check in on my friends on Facebook and Happier, looking to see if anyone has a birthday, or seems in need of some positive feedback. I look for my close friends and family members' posts, trying to keep in touch with my loved ones up north, and back east.  Then I scan Pinterest for inspiration, read over my emails, and set about the task of writing for a couple of hours.  

During my usual Facebook routine, one comment jumped out at me on December 9.

Could use a miracle right now.... — feeling stressed.

After doing a little investigation, I discovered that my Facebook friend, also one of my former students I had taught in first and fifth grade, was struggling to make ends meet for her young family of six. I worried and fretted about it.  I'd never taken on something like this; always using the excuse of being too busy.  Donating money was more my style when I was working full-time. Someone else was always doing the front-man work. I had been glad to contribute behind the scenes.  

While perusing Pinterest, I had noticed a touching tribute to Nelson Mandela on the day of his death, December 5, 2013. What an extraordinary example he has been to the world of giving his life to the betterment of us all.  I think I felt a little overwhelmed when I read the words, "What can one person do?" 

When setting daily intentions of compassion or service, I would wonder what good I could do.  Could I make a difference?  My resources were limited, or so I thought. "What can one person do?" became a mantra to me, so when I noticed my friend's Facebook post, I was inspired to dig a little deeper, and figure out some way to make a difference.

No longer having the excuse of not having time, I knew this opportunity was mine because I had asked for it.  I tossed and turned that night, knowing that I did not have enough money to make much difference.  After a fitful night's sleep, I woke up knowing just what to do.  

Taking a deep breath, I sent the little mom a message.  

"Your post on Facebook recently has me thinking that maybe you need a little help this year.  You were hoping for a miracle, and I wish I knew how to make those happen, but if enough people try to make a difference, no matter how small, maybe it will feel like a miracle... I can't do everything, but I can do something.  If you'd rather not tell me specifically what's going on, I can respect your privacy.  Would you at least send me your address?  Thanks, Sweetie.  I hope you will feel calmer just knowing people care.  I love you."

Next, I sent a message to my friends at the elementary school and the middle school, enlisting their help. I submitted my student's family's name to Andy's Market for their Christmas Dinner Giveaway. When I told one of my friends in Marysvale about the situation, she fondly recalled teaching my friend and her husband when they were in high school.  Before I left her house, I had two gifts for the children, and my first donation.  I called my ex-husband, who is a butcher. Yes, he would gladly donate some meat. A friend at school had an extra Christmas tree. Several friends offered gently used clothing for the children. Others offered to help support our project financially. After assessing the family's needs, and finding out the children's desires for Christmas, I submitted the list in a message on Facebook, and my friends jumped at the opportunity to be of service.

Money wasn't my long suit here.  My friends and our community were my greatest resource.  I suppose I was limiting myself to think of MY money as the necessary resource. Other human beings, my friends, will always be the greatest resource. The owner of the little market called me back. He wanted to help. Santa will be delivering a Christmas dinner to a very grateful family next weekend. Every day I have been so touched by others who also have the intention of living their lives with compassion. They may not verbalize their goals as an intention, but that is exactly what they are doing, living their lives in the service of others.

What can one person do? When that person plants a seed of compassion, and it is watered by the love and generosity of a community, one person can do much more than ever imagined. Never underestimate your potential for making a difference.  One individual may simply have an idea, but when good people come together to implement a plan, great things can happen.  

*Because I Have Been Given Much

Holiday headquarters

Setting an intention for my day is a fairly new thing for me.  If that terminology sounds unfamiliar to you, think of it as setting a goal for your attitude.  Desiring to experience happiness and joy throughout my day, I find I'm more successful when I set an intention for myself.  

Some of my most favorite intentions are compassion, love, and service. Other common intentions are gratitude, peace, and joy.  Living with intention gives my life purpose and meaning.  My days seem fuller, and more rich, as I have strived to live my life with intention; much more so than on the days that I tuck and roll, and hit the floor running, without a thought about my attitude, or my spiritual development.

My focus these last few weeks has been service.  When Bridger and I bless our breakfast during the morning, I usually ask that we'll be aware of the needs of those around us. That prayer is answered nearly daily, and I try to respond to the promptings I feel.  Lately, I have been touched by the spirit, moved to tears even, as I come into contact with these people I have invited into my life through my intention.

No Mother Teresa, I have not dedicated my life to living among the untouchables, giving my life to those in need. I tend to be a fairly selfish person, and I have to push myself out of my comfort zone to respond to another's situation. The more I do this, though, the easier it is becoming.  

I started out with simple things, like sending a Facebook message to someone having a bad day, mailing a card to a faraway friend battling cancer, or sending a small gift to someone mourning the loss of a loved one. Each time I have followed through on the glimmer of inspiration to offer my hand in fellowship, I find I am the one receiving the blessings of peace, satisfaction, and a heart swelling with love.

As had become my habit, before Bridger left for school, I prayed that we would find ways to be of service to those in need. I hadn't slept well, excited by the opportunity to help someone during the holiday with my friends at school.  I finally fell asleep as the clock approached midnight, and I was wide awake by four. 

That afternoon, I was relaxing in my recliner, wishing I could just catch a little cat nap. When it was evident that wasn't going to happen, I decided to head to town early, and... do what?  I wasn't sure.  I could always go to the grocery store while I was there.  

It was well below freezing, but the car warmed up quickly, having spent the night in the garage. As I drove toward the church to make the turn down Bullion Canyon Road, I saw her, a woman bent from age on the side of the road. She was struggling to make her way through the snow, lifting her fur-lined boots high enough to place them carefully in the drifts. I could tell by her posture and frail frame that she was my elderly neighbor I had only seen from a distance.  

She's very independent, tending to the weeds that love to grow along the road in front of her house, and living alone in her tidy little home.  She was bundled up in a long coat, and had a hat pulled tightly over her ears, her arm clutching her purse tightly against her side. Carefully avoiding the ice on the street, she was slowly walking through the crunchy snow along the road's edge.  

"Hello!" I yelled to her, as the window rolled down.  "Can I take you somewhere?"  She stopped, and her eyes looked up from her woolen cap. Her wrinkled face broke into a smile.

"Why, yes. That would be nice."  It took her a few moments to make it across the ice to my car, and she plopped down in the seat. She had already walked close to a half a mile in the frigid weather. My car said it was 25 degrees (Fahrenheit).  As we drove down the steep hill, I introduced myself, and she told me her name.  Her old two-wheel drive truck wasn't much good in the snow, and the last time she drove it, she had gotten stuck, and a man from town saw she needed help. He got her car out of its predicament, and then drove her home in it.

That's the great thing about Marysvale. Anyone who sees someone in need of a ride will offer to help, but because we're a small town (population, 392, according to the last census), the chances of running into another person out on a freezing cold winter day aren't very good.  I whispered a silent "thank you" that I had left early enough that I could be at her disposal.

She told me I could just drop her off at the post office.  (And have her walk the mile back home up that steep hill in this weather, her arms full of mail and groceries?) No. I knew why I'd left early now. I just relaxed, and asked her what she needed to do today. We drove to the post office to collect several days' worth of mail, and then we drove to Tugs, our local market, to get her cat some food, and a few necessities. Her bright eyes were full of gratitude. "You're such an angel," she kept saying. I'm not angelic, as my friends can tell you, but if angels are God's hands, I suppose in that sense, I was her angel that day.

By the time we returned to our house, she had told me a little about herself.  Her eyes sparkled as she let me know she could take care of herself, but that she appreciated the ride more than I could know. I offered to pick her up for the community Christmas dinner held at one of the local churches that night. She said she used to go to those, but at 88, two things she just doesn't do much any more is drive in the snow, or go out at night. I could see there was no arguing there. I gave her a hug, and helped her get out of the car. She stood on her porch as I drove out of her driveway.  

The hymn "Because I Have Been Given Much" came to my mind as I drove to town that afternoon.  I am not a big fan of hymns; I will be honest, but the ones that touch me focus on gratitude, like "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow" and service.  My distaste for church music goes back to my childhood, when I was in fifth and sixth grade.  As a matter of fact, when my piano teacher informed me that although I wasn't doing that well in my lessons, and I would probably never understand the concept of rhythm, the next step in learning piano would be learning to play hymns.  I couldn't imagine anything worse. So I quit. I suppose you could say I lacked a certain passion for piano. Finding creative ways to get out of practicing my songs was more my passion when I was about 12.

Over the years, I have discovered inspiration in beautiful music, and yes, some of the songs I have grown to love are actually hymns.  I found one of my favorite songs on YouTube, "Because I Have Been Given Much" sung by the Reprise Quartet. In case you are unfamiliar with the song, or perhaps you just love music, I am including it here.  This just touches my heart.

Here is my favorite verse:  

Because I have been given much, I too must give.

Because of thy great bounty, Lord each day I live.

I shall divide my gifts from thee with every brother that I see,

who has the need of help from me.

Because I have been sheltered, fed by thy good care…

I cannot see another’s lack and I not share-

my glowing fire, my loaf of bread-my roof’s safe shelter over head,

that he too may be comforted.

So today, as I sit in my comfortable recliner, listening to the carols of Christmas in front of our glowing Christmas tree, I will set my intention.  Today I will focus my mind on gratitude.  For those of you who stop in to read my blog from time to time, I know it may seem that I complain too much, or act plain silly, or worry about inconsequential things, but I really do have a grateful heart.  I may grumble about tending our WOOD STOVE, but I am so grateful for a warm, cozy house.  I may worry about my WARDROBE, but I know what a blessing it is to have clothing that fits, and protects me from the elements.  I may have BAD DAYS of my own, but I know they are only temporary.  

My greatest blessing in my life is the connection I feel with my family and friends. My temporal blessings are many; my basic needs of food, shelter, and clothing are met well beyond the minimums required for comfort, and my own needs few.  BECAUSE I have been given so much, I am grateful, and will look for new opportunities during the coming new year to be of service to those around me.  Really, how can I "see another's lack, and I not share?" You may want to find an intention of your own, and see the difference in makes in your life, and the lives of those around you. I hope that you will have the joy of Christmas this holiday season, and find ways to make a difference, no matter how small.

Finding the Meaning of Life in Denver

Denver Botanic Gardens' Pond of Lily Pads

Happy Fall, Y'all!  This morning, the first day of autumn,  I am sitting in my daughter's apartment in downtown Lakewood, eating a fresh nectarine from the Farmers' Market, pondering on my great fortune of good friends and precious family.  This weekend was the First Annual Girly Getaway with my college roommates.  Thirty years ago, the three amigas were college roommates at Brigham Young University, single girls who loved words, books, and conversations.  Now we are married mothers of teens and young adults, and we still love reading and talking.  

For our little reunion, we chose Denver as our destination city.  It was perfect.  The flooding rains had subsided, the sun was shining, and the days were warm enough to enjoy being outdoors, but cool enough to wear a light sweater or jacket; simply perfect.

We had a little bucket list of places to go and things to do while we were together, and we merrily checked items off as our time together passed.  We rented the basement of a young couple in the Cheeseman Park and the Country Club.  We had two rooms and our own sitting area and bathroom.  It was just the place for our needs.  

As we ventured out into the great city of Denver, we toured the Molly Brown House and the Denver Art Museum.  We ate sumptuous meals at Little India and Snooze.  The breakfast at Snooze was worth the wait!  We went BEFORE the weekend to avoid the reported two hour wait.  Thirty minutes wasn't bad at all.  We indulged in Mexican food at Qdoba, and cupcakes from Gigi's.  

And for future reference, Le Bakery Sensual doesn't involve as many of the senses as one might think.  Perhaps if they had named their business the EROTIC Bakery, I could have saved myself a little embarrassment.  The boys who worked their seemed to enjoy our pink-cheeked presence.  I'm sure my mouth was agape as I peered into the refrigerated glass display case.  We thanked them for their time, and scurried off to rejoin Cindy.  She just shook her head.

"You seriously didn't know what you would find at the SENSUAL bakery?"  Some of us are still pretty naïve.  

Saturday morning, we celebrated the last day of summer at the Denver Farmers' Market.  We breakfasted on Pupusas (a South American dish), tamales, and samples of hummus, pretzels and dips, and fresh slices of peaches, melons, and apples. 

That afternoon found us at the Denver Botanic Gardens.  I was in a photographic paradise.  Our eyes feasted on all of the lush vegetation.  The vast variety of lily pads blew my mind.  The Japanese Tea Garden invoked reverence; the Bonsai trees represented elegance; the blooms and greenery delighted the senses.  There were seating areas throughout the park for us to rest our age-weary backs.  

One of us is an expert conversation starter.  She has the ability to get people to open up, explore their thoughts, and share them.  Whenever I am with her, I have to really focus on trying to find a way to get HER to share.  If I don't, she will cleverly steer the conversation so everyone else is talking while she does the listening.

In a classic moment for the three of us, we found ourselves sitting at a wrought-iron table in the shade of a mighty oak tree. We watched a chubby squirrel scamper along swaying branches and across the grounds.  There was a slight lull in the conversation when my dear friend began, "So...what would you say is the thing that gives...your life...meaning?"  

Even if this is something on which you ponder often, verbalizing an answer to a question like that is not easy.  Committing to an answer that will be heard by others is different than mulling optional responses inside your head.  

My mind began to race...not in an anxiety-fueled way, but in an earnest search for my answer.  Having been a teacher all of my adult life, first as a swimming instructor and then an elementary teacher, I know that for me, the greatest experiences in my life have come from sharing information with others...talking and listening, teaching and learning. As a wife and mother, understanding and being understood are essential to maintaining those precious relationships with my husband and children.  Having ties to the lives of those around me:  my students, my friends, and my family, has given my life purpose.  My response came rather quickly once I gathered my thoughts.

"Connections with others give my life meaning.  My husband calls me the Great Communicator.  If I am not speaking, I am writing.  Speaking, writing, texting, blogging, calling, Facebooking...I am continuously making connections with the people I love.  Connecting with others, and being of service are my two big things.  They are what give my life meaning."

While this conversation was taking place, and during our whole weekend together, I felt so relaxed and

comfortable.  These two have always accepted me whole-heartedly as I am, full of faults and folly.  They are my betters in intelligence, vocabulary, and eloquence, but they have always made me feel like my thoughts mattered, like I belonged.  You've probably heard the quote by Carl Buechner:  "They may forget what you said, but they will never forget the way you made them feel."  I actually had to revisit this conversation with them the next day, to recall particulars, but I will never forget the sweet, peaceful feeling that washed over me while we were sitting in the shade, sharing our thoughts and our feelings.  They love me without condition.  I can say what is in my heart, and know that they will help me sift through my words to find what it is I am trying to convey.

Cindy gazed out at the picturesque scenery and tipped her head slightly in thought.  She told us for her, first and foremost, her family, and her faith, had always given her life meaning, and throughout her life, her underlying purpose has been her love of learning.  She reads voraciously, as though her very life depends on it.  She reads everything, even titles she initially finds boring, if she thinks she can learn from the contents of the book.  One of her recent conquests was a book about physics.  Even though it wasn't easy to read, and it wasn't as enjoyable as her favorite fictional novels, she delighted in understanding the concepts that were presented.  No one appreciates learning as much as Cindy.

As our sweet friend was digesting our comments, she began to change topics, so I stopped her.  "Not so fast," I stopped her.  "Now you have to tell us what gives your life meaning."

She laughed as the filtered sunlight played across her upturned face.  "I knew it was going to be my turn, but I wasn't quite sure how to answer.  I just don't KNOW..."  Then her demeanor became serious.  She shared with us her concerns about her jobs as a mother and professor changing as she approaches retirement.  She has always seen her purpose as equating with her jobs:  mother and teacher.  "I can see [my husband] and I going to farmers' markets, and buying sticky buns.  We will be happy, but will that be enough?  I am confident I can PLEASE myself, but how do I become truly and deeply HAPPY in retirement without my regular work of mothering and teaching?"

After a lengthy discussion that made the time pass much too quickly, we concluded that as long as each life has PURPOSE, it has meaning.  It is important not to confuse our JOBS with our PURPOSE.  We have to have a mission statement for our lives that becomes our purpose.  We can't limit the meaning of our lives to our roles, because as relationships change, as physical limitations present themselves, our meaning would be reduced.  Having a purpose is a mindset; it doesn't change when our memory isn't as crisp, or the body becomes less able.  

Making connections, being of service, learning as much as we can...these things will give our lives purpose, and having a purpose will fill our lives with happiness.  I don't think these girls will have any problems of living "purpose-driven" lives; their natural responses to life and the people they meet along their paths are compassion and love.  I consider having their friendship as one of my choicest blessings.  

Although our children are growing and moving away from home, we will always be mothers.  Even though our jobs will one day become memories of the past, we will always be of service.  It is not the titles of our roles or our job descriptions that make us who we are. It is the intangible concepts of our spirits and our minds and our hearts that will inspire us to be more, learn more, love more.  When we are old(er) and grey(er), living our lives in bodies not as fit and healthy as we may wish, it will not be our titles that define us; it will be our sense of duty and charity that will drive us to be our best selves.