Five minute Friday-If I knew I could, I would

Every Friday The Gypsy Mama gives a prompt and you are supposed to write about it in 5 minutes.  Only 5 minutes!  Also, no edits!  Just write.  So here goes . . .

If I knew I could, I would...

I would reach out across the internet and across town, and share what I have learned with women of the world, and would be so excited to learn from them as well.

I would listen with great interest to what they know and where they’ve been, and offer thoughts, information and ideas to get up and out of situations from which they can’t see a way forward, I would connect them with each other so that we could see we have so much in common, and so much to offer one another.

I would send seeds of hope, love and laughter to these women, these wives and moms, and help them find the strengths, talents, and gifts in themselves, their friendships and their marriages. I would help them to see the wonder and joy of finding their faith when they find God.

And I would be so incredibly blessed to be part of this ever-growing, ever-enriching, vibrant group, where we all help each other to grow to be the women we were designed to be.

Dandelion Wish © Lifesupercharger on Flickr.com

On baking bread and God prods

Bread, © looseends at flickr.com

Who among us can resist a warm loaf of homemade bread or a pan of soft rolls, fresh out of the oven?



Very few, I think, and yet how many of us actually bake bread from scratch? 


Not me. Both my mom and my mother-in-law do, though, and they do it beautifully, making it look like the easiest thing in the world.

I got to thinking that the process of baking bread reminds me of how God works in our lives. He has carefully chosen the ingredients, and knows the steps that will turn us into a work of wonder.

Ahh, but here we come, deciding ourselves that we know better how to craft this recipe.

We decide that the water doesn’t have to be at a particular temperature for the yeast, and are perplexed when our bread is flat and heavy.

We work the dough endlessly, assuming that the extra kneading will result in an extra tender crumb, but are surprised when the bread is actually tough.

We decide that letting the bread rise much higher than usual must result in an even better loaf (more equals better, right?), and wonder why the finished product actually decreased in quality.



And then, I imagine as I did previously, that there comes a point when God takes his measure of us, again, and determines that it is time to take that ballooning mountain of pride dough and give it a quick light punch, to take it back down to size.



Ah, yes. It’s another God prod.

The whole situation reminds me of cooking with our girls when they were toddlers. They were so excited to be up on the shelf, cooking with me, that they just wanted to dump whatever they wanted into the mixing bowl and then turn the beaters on high and watch as the batter went flying. Fun stuff, but not very productive if we wanted treats we could actually eat.



So it is with us. Sometimes we get so caught up in being independent, being so sure we know best, that we lose sight of the recipe, of the path we were equipped to take, and are disappointed in the result, but are still brushing off and ignoring those little nudges and sometimes not so gentle jabs.

Have you become over-inflated of late, only to experience a helpful God prod?


Five minute Friday-The hard love

Every Friday The Gypsy Mama gives a prompt and you are supposed to write about it in 5 minutes.  Only 5 minutes!  Also, no edits!  Just write.  So here goes . . .

Start…

Nobody ever told me, wisely, how hard parenting would be. Especially when one of your daughters is so wonderfully different from you.

The difficult toddler years, when I would have to pull her away from the stairs and other dangerous places.

The challenging elementary years, when she would get so angry with me and her dad, that once she stood at the top of the stairs, while we had company, and yelled “Swears! Swears!” with an accompanying hand gesture.

The heartbreaking teen years, when I could hear sobbing from inside her bedroom, and myself stood crying outside her door, not knowing how to help her through the tremendously difficult times of adolescence, not being able to figure out how to get her to open up the door and herself to me, and of her not willing to let go of her steely independence.

Such a hard love.

End…

Arrrrggggghhhhh! I long to be able to write a post that I can leave as is at the five minute mark.

That being said…

My story has an important lesson and a happy ending that I must share, especially for all those moms who are struggling with understanding their daughters.

I was so challenged by our youngest. She was always much more like her dad, and she still does have much more in common character wise with him. He was always more easy going and more of a risk taker than I. Where he saw opportunity for growth, I saw danger. I would be quick to rise to her bait, while he would more often see it for what it was, and either ignore the challenge or call her on it.

Now that Leslie is a young adult (yes, we both survived!) I see our relationship as one that has grown and matured to a wonderful blend of love, laughter and respect. Is it perfect? Of course not. We both still manage to irritate each other, just nowhere near as often as we used to.

We have endured tremendous pressure, and with the benefit of hindsight, I see that we have been sharpened and shined into better individuals. I wouldn’t have it any other way, or have her be anyone else but who she is.

Moms, keep the faith, stay on the path, be the mom, do what is right, not what is easy, convenient or more comfortable, and later you will be able to be the friend, and have a delightful friend in your daughters.

 I beg your indulgence for one additional note:
If you would like a grown up sisterly perspective on a similar topic, Leslie’s sister Alexis recently blogged about their adult relationship here at her site, Alexis Hall Photo.

A conductor, the internet, and a choir-oh my!

I love music.

However, I don’t play any instruments, although I took a spin at the ivories and recorder in third grade (does anybody remember that instrument?), and learned the very basics of guitar from a friend in seventh. I did take voice lessons as a young adult, and enjoyed them immensely, but my voice took a hit (little pun here) when I passed out in a hospital emergency room, and my forehead/eyebrow and my voicebox made hard contact with the edge of a metal table on my way to the floor. No, I was not the patient, at least up until that point.

But I digress.

I stand in awe of music’s ability to speak to us, to touch us in a way that often the written word cannot. The sound of a choir, their notes seamlessly blending as one, lifts us on the waves of their crescendos and gently enfolds us in their pianissimos.

To sing in a choir is a true privilege indeed. To be invited to join a group that is over 2,000 members strong-well, that just defies expression. And then there’s the mechanics: How do you conduct a 2,000 member choir, especially if the invitation is worldwide, and the members are performing from home?

Conductor and composer Eric Whitacre tackled that question.

He started small, and posted the idea of a virtual choir on his blog along with the music and a video of himself conducting “Lux Aurumque”. He invited people to record themselves singing their parts, and then upload their videos to Youtube. He then combined the videos and published the results below.



Following the success of “Lux”, Whitacre put out another invitation, this time to perform his commissioned work “Sleep”. I love the juxtaposition of the humble individual videos-over 2,000-shot at homes around the globe-in 58 countries-where you can see glimpses of personal lives in the background, against the grand landscape of the planets created as part of the final production.

So, what do you get when you combine a conductor, the internet and choirs of one? Oh, my!
 Sweet, sweet harmonic goodness to soothe your spirits. Enjoy!

Losing our way and finding our audience of One

Audience of one © K. Hall

The love of the Lord, my Lord, washes over me as I sit here in the congregation with the light of the early morning softly illuminating the sanctuary while I listen to the worship team practice their songs for the service. I am, in a very small way, their audience of one. And yet, they play as though to a full house, their rhythms, chords and voices rising in lovely harmony, punctuated by the occasional stops to direct, fine tune and to laugh about where they just lost their way.

My dear hubbie and I facilitate Financial Peace University through our church. Our goal is to help others learn that they can manage their money and-yes!-have peace of mind regarding finances in their lives. This time around, the number of new couples in class is very small-just one, in fact. We give these participants the same attention and energy we gave to our larger class. We are leading a fresh audience of one, another couple like us who had lost their way.

Every day, every move we each make is for our own audience of One.

It doesn’t matter how much we’ve messed up or how long we’ve been gone.

It doesn’t matter if we’ve walked with Christ for a very long time or if we’ve just begun to entertain the idea of inviting Him into our lives.

It doesn’t matter if we have reached for Him for the first time, in deep desperation from where we have fallen, from where we have completely lost our way.

He is our audience of One, always there, always ready to listen, patient, forgiving and full of grace for us.

No matter where you are on your walk, whether you are on the path or you’ve lost your way, play your song for Him today, your own audience of One.

Five minute Friday-On distance

Every Friday The Gypsy Mama gives a prompt and you are supposed to write about it in 5 minutes.  Only 5 minutes!  Also, no edits!  Just write.  So here goes . . .


Distance.

It always seemed so far to drive to visit my grandparents, as they lived about two hours north of us.

There was always something else pressing, another to-do on the calendar.

And then, a little over two years ago, just before Christmas, after having to move into a nursing home/rehab center with my grandfather, my grandmother passed away.

The distance is too great now to visit.

She would have been 99 years old today.

I am so very sorry I didn’t take more time to visit. She was so amazingly talented and delightfully interesting: she wrote, she crafted, she painted. As kids, we spent summers in Northern Vermont, taking turns a week at a time, just having a ball being just one or two siblings as opposed to the seven of us at home, being encouraged, treated and loved. So very loved.

I am so grateful for her inheritance of craftiness, of thrift, of sharing, of loving my family, and especially of writing.

I have no doubt that in Heaven she is still so very busy, sharing her talents with others.

Thank you Gram, love you lots, and a very happy birthday that transcends the distance from my heart to yours.

Five minutes are up.
Done.

Grampa and Gram on their 40th anniversary

But wait-I’m not really done. I know I say that to myself every week, and have to resist the mighty temptation to add and edit, but this week there is something different about that statement. I feel absolutely compelled to continue, and now that door has been opened, I humbly request your indulgence for just a few more minutes.

I did write about her here, but in honor of her birthday, I would like to share a little more about who she was and how she lived her life, and how it is all so woven into my mom, me and my two daughters.

Thrift? Gram lived through the Depression and had Scottish blood. Need I say more? I see this trait in all of us, and our youngest has recently delighted and surprised us with her ability to turn an older garment into a fresh work of wonder. Without having ever been taught how to sew. I can hear Gram chuckling over it now.

Faith? I never realized what a true servant of Christ Gram was until I attended her memorial service. She worked at walking the talk, and I just wish she could see how Keith and I are walking that same path, learning about the joy to be found in our faith.

Creativity? My mom inherited Gram's creative gene, even though she pooh-poohs her talents, and she encouraged creative pursuits in all seven of us kids. I often wonder how she kept her sanity through it all. She taught me to sew and to do so much else, for which I am eternally grateful. Thanks, Mom!

Craftiness? Gram could take most anything and make it bloom into something else. Mom once gave her a bolt of bright green wool, and Gram made ornaments (about 100 a year for her annual Christmas Cards) from it for several years in a row, crafting slippers, scarves, mittens, etc as an amusing series. Our oldest daughter took that gift of craftiness and applied it to her wedding bouquet, which she created from felt and Gram’s button collection. (Alexis' amazing pet photography and blog can be seen at her site, Alexis Hall Photo.)

Button monograms and felt flowers © Alexis Hall Photo

 Writing? Gram wrote three family histories, composed sermons when she served as a lay minister for her church, and kept family camp scrapbooks, recording memories going back about 40 years.  I have inherited her gift, and for that I am eternally grateful. After finishing a post this week titled “On being sugared off”,  I emailed the link to my mom. I noted that I thought Gram would have gotten a real charge out of how I compared us to sap of the maple tree and the process of sugaring, since she was an avid fan of real Vermont maple syrup. I said that I could hear Gram laughing over the post, and would exclaim in her inimitable way, “Oh my land!”

My land, indeed. My home, my past, present and future tied so inextricably and woven so tightly to Gram and the amazing lady she was.

Sailing away from the Island of Settle

Sailing away © K. Hall

As captains of our crafts, we have questioned our purpose, and have been curious about our destination. We have wondered-or hoped-that someone or something else was in charge, and that they would provide the direction. All we had to do was sit. And wait.

Ultimately, though, whether or not we were prepared to admit it, we have been at the wheel, and somehow, we ended up on the Island of Settle.

We may have been drifting along, concentrating more on keeping the boat upright than on moving forward, when we scraped against a beach, and decided that it would probably be fine.

We may have been piloting ourselves to the security of a harbor-any harbor-knowing we may not get to live the life of purpose that God intended for us, but at least we would be safe.

We may have spotted a pier, and thrown our rope around a support post, hoping that THIS was the place where we would find that nameless thing for which we had been searching.

The problem as I see it is that too often we are willing to disembark at this little plot of land because it appears easier, more comfortable and convenient than doing the real exploring to discover the true fit for our lives.

When we take this path of least resistance, we can sense that the match isn’t there. Our boat may not fit into the slip. The natives may not appreciate our faith, optimism, and new ideas. The general climate and nourishment may not agree with us.

In spite of those signs, the temptation is to stay. The siren voices seduce us, reminding us that there probably isn’t really anything better out there, and why go to all that trouble and expose ourselves to danger, and that we’ll get used to it, and that hope is overrated, and that we just need to stay put and make the best of it.

Well, I believe it is time for each of us to ignore the lies, provision our boat, throw off the ropes, and navigate back into the open waters with a plan and a prayer, and we will leave the Island of Settle behind, with a fresh breeze at our backs, an attitude of humble expectation, and God leading the way.

On being sugared off

Maple Sugaring Time © deCadmus from Flickr

As we move from mid-March to mid-April here in New Hampshire, the wintry nights are mirrored by warm days, and maple syrup season begins.

I do feel sorry for you if you have never stood in a sugar shack and experienced the heat of the roaring wood stove while being enveloped in the warm steam that carries that trademark sweet maple-y scent.  In the short version of this event, the maple trees are tapped with spigots or tubing, and the sap-which runs only at this time of year-is gathered and poured into a large vat back at the shack. It is carefully tended and stirred over a hot fire until everything that is not syrup is boiled and filtered away.

This process is called sugaring off, and the result is an amazing transformation of something that looks pretty ordinary into sweet, translucent, golden shimmering spoonfuls of lip-smacking goodness.

I think there are times we have a lot in common with the sap. Somehow, as we go through life, who we are sometimes gets watered down, and picks up debris, such as fear, anger, resentment, greed, jealousy, and pride. All of this dilutes and negatively flavors not only our nature but also that of our relationships. There comes a point, I imagine, when God takes his measure of us, and determines that it is our time-again-to be sugared off.

He lights the fire, and we feel the heat.

More often than I would like to admit, I think most of us resent the high temperatures and pain of this process, and desire to just continue floundering along on our own not so merry way. However, despite how we may feel, once we are “done”, well, at least for this time, we realize we are better for it. We are sweeter, and more like the person He designed us to be.

We are well served to welcome our season, whenever and how often it occurs, and open our arms to the delicious results of being sugared off.

How does your garden grow?

Spring daffodil shoots © K. Hall

Have you looked longingly and perhaps with a bit of jealousy at someone else’s garden?

I’m not talking about the green shoots and brown dirt kind here.

 I’m referring to the life they are tending each day for themselves and their families Are you envious of the joy they cultivate at work? Dismissive of the loving relationship they’ve grown with their husband? Rensentful of their ability to shower themselves and others with their kind-hearted laughter?

While you probably do not have the same mix of abilities, skills and strengths of other women, you, too, have within you an incredible abundance, seeds of great and wonderful things.

It’s time to locate that forgotten packet of possibilities, pick it up, blow the dust off and follow the simple instructions on the back.

Prepare your ground with loving hands and an expectant heart.
Refresh the newly prepared beds with heaven’s dew.
Care for the tender shoots, giving them the nourishment they require.
Tend to your garden daily, for without your constant care, the new growth will wither on the vine.

The work can be taxing, and dirty, and every seed will not always bear fruit, but, in time, you will be rewarded with a bountiful harvest.

Share with me what you are doing with the seeds God has given you.

A well worn home

Tool chest coffee table © K. Hall

This morning my dear hubbie made an interesting observation. We had held our annual spring cleanup day at church, where we washed windows, scrubbed surfaces, took care of some maintenance issues, freshened some walls with paint, and did what we could to put the parking lot together after another winter’s worth of plowing. Keith noted how fortunate we are to belong to a church that needs this TLC, as that means the church is being used.

It made me think of all of us moms who worry so about our homes and how they look to our friends and family. Sometimes all we see are the little handprints on the walls, the lumpy cushions on the furniture and the bits of meals left under the table.

What if, instead, we viewed these through a fresh perspective, as I wrote about here, and thought about all of these things as visible signs of love?

Those handprints? They show a toddler learning to stand up and balance themselves.

The worn couch? It shows years of company and family getting together to enjoy some time together.

The crumbs on the floor? They show the family gathering for meals.

Perhaps when we view life through this lens, rather than feeling embarrassed because we aren’t more diligent about keeping our spaces pristine, we will remember what is really important. We can be more forgiving of ourselves and feel the gratitude of belonging to a family who lives and gathers together in joy, laughter and love.

Five minute Friday-If you met me....

The Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Friday challenge:

Every Friday The Gypsy Mama gives a prompt and you are supposed to write about it in 5 minutes.  Only 5 minutes!  Also, no edits!  Just write.  So here goes . . .

 If you met me....
I’d try to be on my best behavior, to listen well, and to learn all about you, as I know you have amazing stories to tell and words of wisdom to share.

I’d ask for your forgiveness if I talked too much, as sometimes I can be like a burbling brook that jut overflows its banks.

We’d find things in common, I am sure, and if I found that you loved M&M’s as I do, I would offer you some. If I hadn’t already exhausted the bag in my cabinet.

You’d find that I am part of a whole, large, loving, boisterous family, and that without them, I would not be what I am today. You would learn that I am so proud of the 53 (yes-53-not a typo!) of us that comprise both sides of our immediate family, and that I learn so much every day from each and every one of them.

You’d wonder at some of the things I say, as I do tend to mix up words in strange ways.

All that aside, though, I have no doubt that we would share more in common than we might realize, and we would share some laughs, some sorrows and some triumphs. And if at all possible, some yummy chocolate too.

Family portrait: Be yourself...    © K. Hall

The view from down here

Ahhh, the view from the top of a mountain on a crystal clear sunny day. The clarity of the landscape, the rich greens of the fields, the deep blues of the lakes. In regards to just taking your breath away, the view has no equal.

Or does it?

I would like to suggest that a view from the opposite perspective can be equally exhilarating, if you are willing to see.

I am talking about when we are brought to our knees, to the familiar floors of our home, when we can no longer bear the burdens of life by ourselves, because it all becomes too much too carry. We find ourselves huddled against the world with our broken spirits and broken hearts, crying out for help, as we crunch up against dropped Cheerios, stick to a lost Gummy bear, and sense the army of dust bunnies that settles around our aching form.

When we are brought to our knees, we are forced to make a closer examination of ourselves. Just as we can see all the little goodies we missed during our housekeeping chores, we are closer and more open to acknowledging the behaviors-often embarrassing to admit-that were part of what led us here. Pride. Independence. Anger. Fear. And so much more.

Where’s the exhilaration in that?

Well. Wait a moment. Here it comes, with a very loud CLICK. The light comes on, brilliant and bright, practically blinding us with its ability to clarify and define. We realize that we have been trying to live up to an unattainable standard, we’ve been pretending we’re Superwoman, or we’ve just been behaving badly. At that moment, while we are sitting there at rock bottom, we get it.

We realize that we need to truly let go. And let God.

And that my friends, is as exhilarating as it gets. You are keenly aware in that moment you are not alone. You may have thought He doesn’t even know you, or that He has walked away from you. He does know you, He’s not mad at you and He hasn’t walked away. He is there, patient and forgiving, and full of grace, reaching out His hand to you, to help you onward and upward.

Take His hand, and allow Him to lead. The view from there is magnificent.

Choosing to break out the joy

Photo © K. Hall

Here in the northeast, the cold, raw weather of March has continued its grip on April. I hear lots of grumbling and anger about the snow that still blankets the lawns and lines the roadsides, and about the storm just last week that dumped upwards of 6”-8” of more heavy, wet stuff in our area.

I admit that I, too, have been annoyed by seemingly late arrival of spring. However, as I remind myself, there isn’t anything I can do about the weather.

However, there is a lot I can do about my attitude.

If you have read much of anything here at my blog, you probably have noticed that I am a glass more than half full kind of person. If you are new here-Welcome!-and have only read the name of my blog-Too Darn Happy-well, that probably tells you how full my glass is the majority of the time.

I learned long ago that we all make a choice how optimistically-or not-we approach the struggles in our families, the difficulties at work, the vagaries of the weather, and everything else that fills our hours. The challenge is to get our heads above the crashing waves while we are fighting the flotsam and jetsam of the day as it grabs at our ankles, eager to drag us down to the depths.

How do we do that? With counter-intuitive behavior.

By acting as though we are happy and positive, even if we start with a bit of a begrudging heart. Our behavior acts as a trigger on our emotions. Don’t believe me? Sit down, slouch, slump your shoulders and lower your head in a hopeless fashion. How much delight are you feeling?

Studies show that smiling actually triggers and contributes to a better mood. Who knew?

So. Rather than walking around, angry and moping at how you are being tossed about by the ebb and flow of life, and saying you would be happy if conditions were different, try out this approach instead. Your prescription for a more satisfying, pleasurable day begins with smiles, and I encourage you to enjoy that refreshing flow of happiness that will begin to course through your veins.

Onward to joy!

Tell me about how you have moved forward to a more joyful place this week.

PS-About that photo...my dear hubbie and I were interminably tired of winter a few years back, so one sunny sort of "spring really is coming day", we pulled the kayaks down to the still frozen pond and had loads of laughs as we did lots of summery silly things on the ice. And, yes, we felt much happier and lighter of heart afterwards.

Of God winks and God prods

Photo by K. Hall

People talk about God winks, those events during which  they are sure that they are sensing the presence of God, often in the form of a positive coincidence in the midst of difficult circumstances their lives. Other people say they are seeing the hand of God at work when circumstances come together with a solution, oftentimes in response to prayers.

Well, I would like to add God prods to that group of expressions.

Have you ever experienced a God prod? I have. Too many times. It’s like being caught in elementary school passing a note, or at work goofing off at your desk. You knew you were doing something you shouldn’t, and yet you did. And then you felt that sensation, perhaps as a soft touch, or, if the situation merited it, as more of a real attention getting poke in the arm.

Ow.

Message received.

Whether that contact is mild or intense, it is a regular reminder I need to be more full of grace, kindness, faith and forgiveness, and to let go of annoyance, pride, and other numerous petty behaviors that keep me from being the person I was lovingly crafted to be.

Tell me how you have been prodded today.

Five minute Friday-A few of my favorite things

The Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Friday challenge:

Every Friday The Gypsy Mama gives a prompt and you are supposed to write about it in 5 minutes.  Only 5 minutes!  Also, no edits!  Just write.  So here goes . . .

 A few of my favorite things. So much comes to mind, but always, always at the top is my family. Sweet babies with their loving dad. Adventuresome toddlers with their teaching dad. Young ladies with their protective dad. And young adults with their very, very proud dad.

Ahh, the wonders and perils of parenting. The nurse that tells you in the midst of your seemingly endless labor pain that it will be worth it, that you will experience the most amazing emotions once you hold that precious new life in your arms, that you will feel truly unconditional love. I was skeptical, and she was so right. And I was so glad to be wrong.

Keith. Alexis. Leslie. My husband, partner, best friend. Our children, wonderful, different, delightful, clever, caring, thoughtful. Truly a few of my favorite things that bring more blessings than I can count into my life.

I just hope that they feel as blessed, and forgive me for posting one of my favorite family photos....

Photo © K. Hall