How less can cultivate gratitude

One sweltering afternoon my oldest son played a baseball game. His five family members cheered him in the stands and melted in the fresh hot of summer. One player even fainted from the heat.

After the game, my husband went to the concession stand and purchased cold ICEE drinks for all four children. Inwardly, I groaned.

I braced myself for the moans and laments that would surely come. I was ready for a snotty toned "Well, it's about time" since it was the first slushy of the season and the season was done.

I expected an immediate return to the attitude of last season. The one where they asked for an ICEE as soon as we drove into the ball park and continued pestering until it was obtained.

My husband and I would delay the purchase as long as possible. We wanted them to wait a few innings because the games were long. Yet, we did want them to have a treat because we felt sorry that they had to watch those long games.

It also seemed fair to buy the watchers a treat since the ball players received one after the game. Thus began our toleration for their pestering demands that in a different situation I don't think we would have tolerated. 

Besides, it was only a dollar. So we bought the cool drinks.

We didn't set out to buy those slushies all season long. But that's what happened.

They nagged. We bought. At Every. Single. Game. We had set up quite a system. We thought we were directing the buying of the ICEE treats.

After awhile, though, something bothered us. But it was just easier to keep walking up and buying the cold  ICEE drinks instead of evaluating the problem. 

We just wanted to watch our oldest son play baseball and keep the others happy. It didn't cross our minds  to evaluate what was annoying us.   Thankfully, during next year's ball season it would work itself out naturally.

But I didn't know that yet.

Instead, I was braced for complaints the day those purchases were made on that hot sweltering day.

The flavors were selected. The sips were taken. And the children came running to their dad, saying, "Oh, thank you Daddy!" They were thrilled and thankful for what they had.

I was surprised! Shocked!

What did they say?

Thank you?!?

For this one ICEE on the very last day that the concession stand was open? It was the only one that they got all season long. Could these be the same children who the season before had complained, whined, and even demanded ICEEs?

How could this be?

****


It didn't begin as a noble effort to reduce whining, complaining, or children driving demands. Instead, we simply stopped buying ICEES due to the budget. They were only a dollar. But we had four children and more than one was playing ball that season.

We saved money. Instead of us buying treats, they spent their own quarters and dimes on ring pops and nerds. It was a bargain. One season we bought an ICEE for every child at every game.

The next season we stopped. Just like that.

Yet, we had done something to cultivate gratitude without knowing it. We gave them less. They became more grateful.

It was eye-opening. It was shocking how much MORE grateful they were with LESS.

Less demand. Less expectation. More gratitude.

And so less really can cultivate an attitude of thankfulness.

When they expected to get a treat, they began to demand to get a treat. And when it became special, they were thankful.

The lesson of an Icee. When we are given less, we expect less. When we expect less, we are thankfully surprised when something is given to us. And we are grateful.

It was an amazing process. It shocked me at the time and taught me a wonderful principle about how
less can cultivate an attitude of gratefulness.

*   *   *

"I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, 

whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." 

Philippians 4: 12

* * *

How about you? When have you been surprised lately? Join us HERE to comment on the blog. 

You can also join the SDG sisterhood with Jen HERE.

A Blank White Wall

I scrubbed the blank white wall tonight.
I scrubbed. I cried. And the Spirit convicted.

I rubbed the wall. I wanted it to be clean. Almost desperate, my strokes were vigorous I didn't want it to be drab, so I scrubbed those stains. Mustering up all my elbow grease to make the wall better.

I really didn't want it to be like her house.

"Why Kathleen?" came nudge of the Spirit's in a thought.

Because I didn't want to be like her.

"Why is that Kathleen? I died for her just as much as I died for you."

And I cried.

Because I knew that the desire not to be like her energized my cleaning.
I didn't want such a run-down place.
I want my house to look like the magazines.

But...instead.. it seems my house is more like hers.
Which might mean that I am more like her than I dare admit.

And that is why I scrub so hard tonight.

I swallow the lump in my throat and continue to scrub.
But not quite as hard.

She does not turn anyone's head when she walks by. Neither do I.
She doe not have recruiters banging down her door to offer her a job. Neither do I.

Her appearance, her life is not together. It is not a life any of us strive for. My life? Well, perhaps it makes for a better appearance but is it truly better? Does it really hinge on a clean white wall?

I might be more like her than I dare to admit.

She is a mom.
Me, too.
She is married.
Yep, I share this too.
She cares about her kids. She's proud of them.
Uh-huh. Of course I share this, too. 

She is the one who invited me to her house and welcomed me in as if I was one of them. She smiles at me. She has brought me shoes when she heard me complaining about the lack of shoes that my children have. She has been kinder to me than I have been to her.

Then these words came to mind:

"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7b

I am guilty. I look at outward appearances. 

I scrub my walls wishing them to look like designer walls featured in Better Homes and Garden. When in truth, they are downcast and scrubby. More like hers. Perhaps I should admit that I am more like her and actually be more like her: welcoming, inviting, giving.

Forgive me Lord for judging by outward appearances. 
Change my heart, O God. 
Thank you for humbling me through the scrubbing of a white, blank wall.
Amen.

Linking with Jen and the SDG women.

Engaged: In the Middle of the House

Engaged is my word for 2013. I haven't done the One Word theme before. Prior to this year, I haven't been able to come up with One Word to focus upon but now every time I see a One Word blog post I think, "Engaged, that's my word for the year."

Engaged with These Faces in 2013

No matter the challenges that  2013 brings, I want to be intentionally Engaged with my children and my husband. I don't want them to only get the left-overs. I want them to get my Firsts. My intentions. My best.

They have not gotten the lion's share of me in 2012. Some of that is okay. Some of that is the circumstances that we were called to as a family: foster care and then Papa Care when he went into the hospital. But some of it wasn't okay.

For when I found myself with a breather or with down-time, I was off by myself with the door closed to my bedroom or staring at a computer screen. I didn't want one more person demanding something from me or asking me to give something. But when I go off by myself  in this house full of children, I have chosen not to build into the most precious of relationships: my children and my husband. When I give to them, I do not lose, I gain.

I only have four and a half years before the oldest graduates from high-school and the two girls are right behind him. Soon it will be a whirl-wind of activity as we send them off to their own lives and to make their own way in this world. In the meantime, I don't want to lose any opportunities to play a card game, to listen to a story, to give a hug, or to simply just be near them.

They are here. I want to be Engaged with my children and my husband, enjoying them no matter what. Engaged in the middle of the house. I tend towards my bedroom or my computer area when I have down-time. This year, I want to be known for being in the middle of the house. At the dining room table playing a game. In the big easy chair reading a book. In the kitchen cooking for them. I want to be where the life-blood of our family is, where I can be easily Engaged by my loved ones.

I know that I will not regret an ounce of time or energy given to these ones that I love the most. I don't want to miss any  moments with them. I want to be Engaged with them right here in the middle of our house.

With love,

Kathleen

See how they grow? Thought you might enjoy pictures of the kids in the same spot over several years.

In Christmas 2012: ages 7, 11, 13, &14

In May of 2010: ages 4, 8, 10 & 11

 

In July of 2011: ages 5, 9, 11, & 12

 

When coca-cola made me cry...

Fulfilled Longing

He had been silent for four weeks.
 And then he spoke.

He said, "Coca-cola"
Because that's what the speech therapist told him to say.

And I cried.
I wanted to weep.
Instead tears ran down my cheeks.

He spoke. Emotion erupted from my eyes. I didn't know how much I had been longing for him to speak again. Until those tears came streaming down.

Proverbs 13:12 says:
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."

Silent tears giving testimony to a longing fulfilled. May he -- my father-in-law -- who is still in the hospital battling to clear his lungs speak ever, clearer and clearer.

* * * 

Have you been startled by the intensity of a longing fulfilled?

Linking also with Jen at SDG sisters and Emily at Imperfect Prose

When red becomes your blue

Who knew that  a pot of flowers could be so persuasive?

Usually my favorite color is blue. Me, the one who hails from the land of 10,000 lakes, am in love with the many nuances of water. Therefore, my favorite color is blue. 

But not this summer.

This summer, my favorite color is red. 

It's not that I don't like red. I just love blue, yellow, and purple so much more. Usually.  But not right now. 

Red petunias chosen and planted by Grandma and the kids while I was away tending to the needs of other children are half the reason red is my favorite color this season.

I wouldn't have picked them. And, truth be told, I later went and picked purple and white petunias. To add to the red flowers. 

The Chosen By Others Flowers (or the red petunias) are growing abundantly on the front porch, back porch, and at the side of our house. They have continued to flourish in spite of 100 degree days. (We did water in healthy amounts!)

Not so the purple and white petunias I picked. We watered them the same, so perhaps it was the squirrels that destroyed them with their nut plantings. Either way, only the red survive.

 

Flowers I didn't choose have made me happy and thankful. I am also happy and thankful for the two new lawn chairs in the backyard. I did pick those. But not the color. Because, they are, you guessed it -- red.

Remember, I love blue, not red. You see, I was waiting for the blue chairs to go on sale. While I waited, all the black ones sold out except one. But I wanted two. The blue chairs were not yet on sale with only a few red ones left. I had to buy the red ones or perhaps forgo getting any this season. 

So I did. 

I bought two red lawn chairs. 

Yep. Red. A color I wouldn't normally pick. Yet, they look perfect on our back porch. See: 

 .

Not only did I have two new lawn chairs. I had a new favorite color of the season -- red

Who knew? Who knew that this season red would be my favorite color? I had no idea and this just falls in line with my year so far, except in a much more delightful way. 

This year has been filled with surprises that I did not expect, much less plan. First, a twisted knee that required crutches, help, and physical therapy for several months. Next, there were the children God sent to live with us for three weeks and nine weeks, even though we weren't registered foster parents or relatives.

 

Proverbs 16:9 says 

(as my friend Steph reminded me)

 "A man's heart plans his ways, But the Lord directs His steps."

I have made plans. God has directed my steps. This year I have been able to see it more clearly than usual.  

And sometimes, God even directs your steps and your favorite color choice. 

* * *

How about you? 

Have you been delighted by any twists and turns in your life lately?

 Linking with Jen and Rachel.

Joy and Sorrow Mingled Together * Updated

The week before he got a call to say come, it is your dad's last hours. He went. It wasn't his dad's last hours. He was at his growing-up home for a week. Then he came back to his daily-life-home to a baby shower for his first-born child that is waiting to be born, trying to be born early. Fathers were at the shower giving advice to the dad-to-be. Reflecting on our fathers -- his father he had just left, not doing well -- and he is becoming a father.

He is waiting. Waiting for new life to be born into this world. Waiting to become a dad for the first time as his dad struggles to cling to life -- heart issues, kidney issues, and now cancer, too.

And I think of Edith Schaeffer's words in her book What is a Family?:

 "There is never a series of little packages of time give to you in life labeled: time for an illness, time for a wedding, time for a death, ...time for a disappointment.' You can’t face the sickness, the operation, the broken arms and legs, the serious diseases, the disasters or even the headaches, unless you realize there is never a convenient time set aside for joy or sorrow, protected by neat little walls so that two things will not mingle and spoil each other." (emphasis mine).

There are no neat little boxes to separate the joy from the sorrow. They come mingling down together. I think of Jesus, who knew just moments later he would raise his friend from the dead, yet Jesus wept, too.

He is a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. He understands. We have a high priest who understands the sorrows of this world and the griefs we bear that seem to dim the joys that are awaiting around the bend. Or is it the joys mingled into the sorrows that help us bear the sorrows?

Will you pray with our dear friends as they are still waiting for the baby to be born and his dad was rushed back to the hospital this morning hundreds of miles away? Thank you dear friends.

* * *

I wanted to update this to say: his dad went home to be with the Lord on March 7. 

His firstborn entered this life on March 18. 

Please keep this precious family in your prayers. 

Thanks.

* * *

Linking with Jen at the SDG Sisterhood

And with Michelle at Hear It on Sunday, Use it On Monday

On Fathers Reading to Childern

I read recently that seventy percent of all incarcerated inmates enter prison illiterate.

A long time ago, I heard a scenario described on the radio. A card company donated Mother's Day cards to a prison. The inmates could chose a card and mail it off to their mom. This idea went over much better than anticipated. If I remember correctly, the card company made at least two more deliveries of cards because there was so much interest.

They were a bit stunned at the interest but they were also spurred on. Since the Mother's Day cards were such a hit, the company decided to provide cards for Father's Day as well.

But...not a single inmate sent a card to their father for free.

Not just a lot less interest. No one mailed a card on Father's Day. This speaks volumes.

How much of the world could be changed by a father taking the time to read to his children?

A simple, almost daily act could change a child's life. Reading to children inspires a desire to read, exposes to new ideas, provides a time for touch, connection, and a way to say that the child is important.

The father of my children (just for the record -- he is also my husband) reads to them most every day. Even the twelve-year-old boy who dreams of adventures and moving out on his own, and who can read 20 books in a few days, loves to be read to by his father (and his mother, too).

I knew it was a gift how much their father loves them.

But perhaps it is an even greater gift than I realized that the highlight of our day is daddy reading aloud to the children.

* * * *

What about you? Do you think it could change the world to have fathers read most every day to their children?

My Mother

My Mother

My mother and father with my four children. Jan 2011

My mother is a family woman.
My mother works hard.
My mother likes to laugh.
She knits, she bowls, she golfs.
She is organized, plans, and is always on time. She never procrastinates.
She keeps a neat, orderly home.
One of her favorite things is to have all her children -- including in-laws & grandchildren -- around her. Family is important to my mother. She spoke that to me. She modeled that for me.

Though my procrastination and struggle to be on-time was/is hard on her (I'm still trying...), I did catch the importance of family.

One of my favorite things is to be with family.

Happy Mother's Day to you and yours. For some this day is a struggle, click on this link, if you need encouragement for the day.

For what are you thankful in your mother?

The release program has begun

A few weeks ago, the oldest rode his bike to the store to buy 1/4 inch rope. The release program has begun. His cheeks were glowing. He was so excited to have ventured forth. Found his way -- back and forth.

As a mom the what-ifs creep in: what-if someone snatched him. What if he got injured? What if he got lost? What if a dog attacked him? Was it the right decision to let him go?

But yet, I, too am in danger every time I venture forth: what if someone snatched me, what if a dog bit me? What if I was in an accident? I, too, venture forth in a myriad of horrible possibilities every day. Usually they don't happen.

When I voice my fear or what I've done to other moms, we share the most, worst awful horrible story that has ever happened to us or our neighbor or that we have read about. And that feeds my fear.

But, truly, one day he needs to live on his own and be the protector of the weak. Oh, I know he is young. But I also know that when I was his age, I biked and biked and biked all over. I loved the exhilaration. It was good for my imagination, my exercise, my sense of direction, my independence.

And so it is good for his imagination, his exercise, his sense of direction, his independence.

We are beginning the release. After all, we are raising adults not children.

How about any of you? Do you have any release tips from your own parenting or your own growing up years? I am all ears!



Jen @ Finding Heaven for Soli Deo Sisterhood. Come and join the encouragement.

A Mark on the Door

I have tucked all my children into their beds. There are no cribs here anymore. I threw away the diaper bag more than a year ago. The step-stool by the bathroom sink has been set aside because they can all reach the faucet "flat-footed."

And, now, for the first time I can say, "My youngest is five."

I have had other five-year-olds in my house (three to be exact) but they were never the youngest. There was always a younger sibling. Up until now motherhood for me has been defined by nursing & naps, sippy cups & child's silverware, playgrounds & interrupted conversations.

It didn't really happen in one moment this change from babies to children. They grow gradually. And that is precisely why it is hard to see the growth. So, every once in awhile I back them against the door: heels on the floor, head straight & a pencil line. They step aside. We measure and date the mark and see how much they grew this year.

This turning of five for my last-born is like a mark on the door of my motherhood. One day he was four, and now he is five. Though it didn't happen suddenly, it seems that one minute ago I had babies and now I don't.

I'm not sure how I got here. But I do know that this is the first time in twelve years that I have ever said, "My youngest is five."

Things have changed. And I'm stopping to notice this mark on the door of my heart.

This must decrease , so that That can increase

Build relationships over the phone or in person. Use the computer to transmit information. Spend more time outside. These are some of the nuggets I've been pondering due to at least two women: Rachelle Gardner's post about her vacation and Elizabeth Foss' post that answered a question about Time Spent Online over here.

These posts resonated deeply within me and also the Carole Joy Seid conference that I attended two weeks ago. They have helped me to consider what I really want to be about. I've been thinking about how much time I really want to spend blogging. I've aspired to post 4-5 times per week. But that has never even remotely happened.

I thought creating a blog would help me write more often. Perhaps it has on occasion. But I'm not truly focusing on writing, which is a desire. At times, the computer seems to be a greater distraction to writing (there are so many cool things to read & look at here on this world wide web!) than a help.

And so as I consider how to spend more time with these guys:

...and manage time at the computer, I'll be posting less than I was.

I know, I know it is hard to imagine even less postings from me OR spending more time with the children that I home school... . Nevertheless, I want to officially declare to the blog world that is is my plan to decrease my amount of entries. It is intentional to do less and yet not eliminate it entirely.

If you know me, call me and let's do coffee. Or come & over and we'll linger & laugh over a meal. And then just maybe, I'll post your picture here (as long as that's okay with you). Less time on the computer, more time face to face.

Joyfully,
Kathleen

p. s. The flowers are all from our yard and are pictures taken by me.

On being there

Several years ago there was a rush of events around a Thanksgiving time that included my dad being in the hospital for gall bladder surgery. As I recall there had been a snow storm and someone needed to help shovel mom and dad's driveway. I was in Tennessee and everyone else is in Minnesota. (It's still that way.)

I remember talking with one of my siblings (I have four) and saying how much I wanted to be there. I think it was a sister who said, "It's okay. There's nothing you can really do." She was trying to comfort me. And what she said was true: there wasn't anything more that I could do.

In a way, she felt similar to me, we wished we could do something. Something to fix it. Something to help. Oh, someone went and shoveled the driveway and made sure my mom could get to the hospital. People waited at the hospital and visited dad. Those were things that could be done. And they were done. But sometimes it doesn't seem like enough.

But I lived 900 miles away. My heart ached to be there even though there was nothing I could do.

I want that strong sense of wanting to be there even though there isn't anything to do to infuse my every day life here. A sense of focus on being over doing.

I still live 900 miles away from my family of origin. But recently I was enabled to be there for a family crisis (you can read about that here) which is no small feat. In-laws and friends helped my husband take care of our four homeschooled children so that I could just be a sister.

And in the being, there was doing: laundry, phone calls, playing with my niece, driving places. But the primary focus was being with some doing sprinkled in (even on the "busy" days).

I would like to take this back to my life: a focus on being rather than doing. Things still need to get done. I am responsible for more things now that I am home, responsible for different things.

But, I want the peaceful focus of being there to infuse my life all of the time.

Not sure how to do it. But then again I didn't know how to do many things while I was away. I trusted God just one step at a time. So I guess I'll keep doing that same thing: trusting one step at a time and

just being there.

Isn't that just what I said I wanted: to be versus do?


By the way, my dad recovered just fine from the gall bladder surgery those many years ago.

Nineteen Days

Nineteen days I have been away. Nineteen days that have marked my life. Nineteen days of mostly walking quietly, listening, seeing what needs to be done and doing it. Asking a few questions and listening some more. When asked "will you do this?", saying yes whether I wanted to or not or whether I had done it before or not. My willingness made me qualified for the task. My willingness made me want to do the tasks. Just like the others around me.

I joined their willing example when I arrived to the loving vigil. I was allowed to step in and link arms and serve. There was waiting; there was giving pain meds; there were phone calls; there were photos; there was laughter; there were tears; there was tension; there was love. And there were lots of hugs.

There was really good food, wine and beer. There was labored breathing. There was ice cream. There were groans. There was chocolate. There were stories. There was laughter. There were tears. There was waiting and lots of hugs. There were family and friends who were really family, too. There was little sleep. There was a quiet last breath.

And I was there. Usually I live 900 miles away but I was allowed to be there, for nineteen days.