motivation

If February Doesn’t March, April May

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment

Springtime lessons from my favorite nonsense quote.

Black dog smelling yellow flower

I have a friend who is rapturously joyful at the first bug of spring. I about drove off the road once trying to ascertain her sudden gasp until she finally sputtered, “It’s a bug! It’s the first bug of spring!”

To me, this foretells mosquitos, biting flies, no-see-ums, and the unfurling of poison ivy. My response is therefore more of a groan. I’ll be itchy now until the first hard frost in October.

To her, the first bug of spring represents something else: Sunshine, gardening, the imminent onset of summer. Things she has been looking forward to all winter.

Flowers in rocks

I’ll take fall as my season of choice. Cool nights, sunny days, the earthy smell of falling leaves. And best of all, less bugs. There is one thing about the months of spring that can’t be matched by autumn though, and that is the litany of linguistic treasures.

Spring Quotes – Wisdom in Nonsense

Anyone raised in a northern climate is probably familiar with the “in like a lion, out like a lamb” references to March. And I’ve often heard “April showers bring May flowers.” The New England-born take this one step further with the quip – If April showers bring May flowers, what does the May flower bring?”

Answer: The Pilgrims!

September just doesn’t have this. Compared to the unfurling anticipation that has brought out generations of springtime poets, fall just drops peacefully into winter.

I’ll give the springtime months their due. As I swish the encroaching bugs away from my face, my footsteps keep time with one my favorite springtime rhythms chanting in my head: If February doesn’t march, April may.

Single red tulip in green grass

It’s a nonsensical play on words that also manages to capture the very essence of spring. Spring marches forward. Winter can try to hold it back, but ultimately spring will always win. Where we fit in the rhythm is up to us. Are we like February refusing to march forward? Are we like March roaring one minute and gentle as a lamb the next as we deal with the turmoil of transition? Are we like a soaking April rain, grey in the deluge but bursting forth in greenery in due time? Are we like May, the shoulder of summer, flowering in color and sunshine to welcome the new season?

Our Next Step

Of course, seasons come earlier or later depending on where in the world we reside. My springtime chants don’t work in the southern hemisphere when March is ushering in winter rather than sending it packing. But the message this little chant contains is true for all of us. In this season of transition, we are being pulled forward with the tide of time.

What’s holding you back this spring? Swish the bugs away and lace up your marching shoes. A whole new season is calling us forward!

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. Happy Spring!

Seven Minutes of Stillness

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment

A few weeks ago I entered a yoga class after a several year hiatus. This was not the death by planks class of my foolhardy younger years, but a softer, just-enough-to-feel-good variety.

As the instructor welcomed us onto our mats, welcomed us to notice our breath, welcomed us into a place of stillness and ease, I was flooded with a sudden realization.

There was no stillness inside my head.

For someone who prides herself on being self-aware, this realization was shocking. When I paused to listen, it sounded like a cross between an angry mob and a herd of elephants being charged by hyenas.  How did it get so loud in there?

Invitation to stillness

Yoga mat and weights. An invitation to stillness

A few days later I was listening to the Bible in a Year podcast where Father Mike was reading about the crossing of the Red Sea in Exodus 14. “The Lord will fight for you,” Moses told the people. “You need only to be still.”

Be still.

When God starts to repeat a theme in my life, it’s usually because I’m supposed to pay attention.

I began to think more about stillness. I reflected on a common theme from a chapter in Glennon Doyle’s book Untamed and the movie the War Room where both protagonists shut themselves in a closet to seek themselves and God. In other words, folks about as far apart as you can get on the Christian theological spectrum were both advocating for going into your closet, shutting the door, and being still. Jesus himself even said something along those lines (Matthew 6:6).

Taking action

Closet door ajar. Stillness

So, in a bit of dramatic irony, I decided to take some action in order to institute some stillness into my life. I told Siri to set an alarm for seven minutes – seven seemed like a solid spiritual number – and I went into my closet and shut the door.

I spent that first seven minutes wondering what I would do if the doorknob to my closet came off in my hand when I was ready to leave. (That happened to me once in a hotel bathroom – story for another time.) After that first round I decided to take my cell phone with me and leave the door cracked just in case.

There in the mostly dark, I practice being still. I visualize handing all my messy mess over to God. “I am sitting still so that you can fight for me,” I say. I find it strangely apropos to sit next to a pile of dirty laundry while crying out to God to fight for me.

Then my alarm goes off, and I burst out of the closet like an angry water buffalo. This is how I know a bit more practice may be needed.

A second stillness practice

I am someone who moves through the world deeply. (i.e., slowly.) I am at my best when I have enough – but not too much – mental open space to process. But lately, I have not given myself that space. I listen to podcasts while I’m driving, I watch training videos over lunch, I make phone calls while I’m walking the dog.

There is no stillness in my day. Hence, there is no stillness in my head.

computers - no stillness

Seven minutes is enough to help me notice this. It’s not enough to fully fix it.

So I decided to carry some stillness out of my closet and into the world.

Yesterday when I walked the dog, I put my phone in my pocket. I listened to the wind rattling last year’s dried leaves. I looked at the brown grass with the hint of green underneath. I felt the damp coolness on my face.

I gave myself the gift of stillness by being present. By giving my head some space to simply be in the environment we were in.

The Lenten season is a wonderful time to practice a spiritual discipline like stillness, or regular scripture reading, or a new style of prayer. A friend asked me a few days before Lent started if I was planning anything special. At the time, I didn’t have anything specific in mind, but I responded that I was open to see what might come. I was looking to see if God would answer this question for me.

Sometimes we hear the answer in the stillness. Sometimes we hear the answer is the stillness.

Selah.

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. Reposted here to bring a little extra stillness to your day. How do you find stillness?

Percussive Boom

/ mustardpatch / 4 Comments

Add this to the list of weird things that have happened to me.

Percussive Boom. Geyser.

I was running my dog outside before a work-from-home meeting (that part is not unusual), when my shoes crunched across something unexpected in the driveway.

Glass. Thick brown shards of it extending from my puppy’s poo pail across the width of my car’s back bumper.

My mind ran the gamut in about 15 seconds – had someone thrown beer bottles against my garage door? Had the outside light shattered? Had there been glass in my driveway yesterday and I drove over it?

I scanned every nearby surface until my gaze froze at the shattered edge of my car’s back window.

Whoa.

No Ordinary Shatter

This was no ordinary shatter, if a car window shattering is ever ordinary. This looked like there had been a percussive boom inside my car. The lip edge of my rear window was curled outward and flanked with broken glass. There was no single point of blast, no rock-through-the-hole center. Instead, there was a maze of spider veins and a series of chipped layers all across the window that were reminiscent of sharp flakes of shale. Add to this picture the fact that my car was backed – backed! – against the garage door. Another car closer to the road was untouched.

I was flummoxed.

There was no sign of anything heavy falling off the roof – where would it have gone?

Could something inside my car have exploded? There was nothing in there but a half-full bottle of frozen water and my dog’s towels.

I called the police because I needed a witness to my perplexity.

The Investigation

The attending officer agreed it didn’t look malicious.

“But what caused it?” I asked.

“Weird things happen,” he said with a shrug.

Shatter lines

I imagine an officer working the beat has witnessed weirder things than a car window shattering for no apparent reason. For me, however, this was right up there. Maybe not quite Unexplained Flying Objects weird, but close.

His best explanation was some kind of air pressure caused the window to shatter. When we shut the car doors, the quiet slam caused half the window to shower into my car.

“See?” he said. As though this were a perfectly predictable response.

I waved him on his way and called my insurance agent.

Answers

“What’s your best guess as to what caused the broken window?” she asked.

“Umm… air pressure,” I hedged, as I tried to explain the miraculous shattering.

“Has it been cold there and have you used your defroster lately?” she asked.

“25°F and yes, yesterday.”

“That happens,” she answered, keyboard clicking in the background.

That happens? I’ve been driving nearly 30 years in sub-freezing temperatures, sometimes in places where plugging in your car to keep the engine block from freezing is a thing. And I have never heard of your window spontaneously shattering while parked in your driveway.

But I wasn’t about to argue with the nice lady filing my claim.

The call ended with a referral to a local glass shop and a promise that the repairs would be covered in full. I may be vacuuming glass dust from my trunk for weeks, but one step at a time. Currently my car’s tail is shrouded in black garbage bags, and no one better run up the driveway barefooted. Which, given the weather, is probably unlikely.

Weird, right? Have you ever heard of a car window shattering at 25°F a day after using the defroster?

If you’re like me, now you have.

Lessons Learned

Here are the lessons I draw from this little tale.

  1. Weird things happen. Sometimes they make good stories.
  2. I tried googling percussive boom to see if it was a legitimate phrase. Google suggested I might actually be trying to search for Percussive Boomwhackers, which is a musical instrument in the plosive aerophone and idiophone family. I don’t know what most of those words mean, but I suspect the sound my car made when the glass shattered is very similar to a Boomwhacker so I kept the phrase.
  3. Things shatter: windows, relationships, us. Sometimes the breaking comes from an external blow. Sometimes it comes from our own internal pressure cooker. Sometimes we have no idea what happened; we just see the pieces. But all this mess – me, you, that dude down the street – the repair for all of it is paid in full. We may still have to have the repair work done. We may need some protection in the meantime because it can be vulnerable to be shattered. But if we are willing to take the necessary steps, the offering is on the table. When we take the first step – it doesn’t even have to be the step, it can just be a step – God reveals the second step. Repair work proceeds step-by-inch-by-step.

In a tiny twist of dramatic irony, I stopped by the mailbox on our evening walk. There, in an oversized white envelope, was my annual car insurance bill.

If ever there was a clarion call to action, this might be it.

I think I’ll pay it.

This post was first posted to inspireafire.com. Wishing you a shatterproof day today 🙂

Life is Weird. (Leadership Lessons from Ecclesiastes)

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment

Every once in a while, I need a good dose of Ecclesiastes.

I like to remind myself that the purported wisest man in the world, the one about whom the Queen of Sheba said, “you have far exceeded the report I heard,” and the one about whom God himself said “I will give you a wise and discerning heart, so that there will never have been anyone like you, nor will there ever be” (1Kings 3:12), this man, Solomon, is also the writer of Ecclesiastes.

I like to picture him walking on the royal grounds or pacing the parapets and wringing his hands, “Meaningless! Meaningless!”

It makes me feel like I’m in good company. Because although my grounds aren’t royal, I do sometimes pace them in wonderment at just how weird life can be.

So with that as my foundation, I set out to see what this wisest of the wise had to say. Rather than draw from the wisdom literature known for its pithy sayings and quotable insights, I bypassed Proverbs and dove straight for Ecclesiastes. I wanted to know what this wisest of leaders had to share, not in the enlightened moments known for their wisdom, but in the shadows that are not.

I invite you to come along. Whether you’re leading your family through dynamics, your company to the next level, or yourself out of a bad day, I bet you’ll find something here for you too.

My top 3 Ecclesiastes picks:

What has been will be again (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

You’ve got to read the verse in context to appreciate the sense of futility that Solomon captures so poetically. The sea that’s never full, the sun that rises and falls, the wind that blows round and round… But amidst this long lament, the thing that captured me about this verse was the click of a “snap out of it!” realization.

If what has been will be again, then that includes good things too. It’s so easy to dwell on the negative, to wring our hands at the meaningless futility, but for every revolution of the cycle, good things are coming back around. Things we want to see and experience and hold again. If the drudgery of the mundane are the spokes that drive the wheel forward, then so be it. We can embrace it knowing that good things are coming if we don’t give up.

Go near to listen (Ecclesiastes 5:1).

Solomon offers this advice when we go to church or to commune with God. I’d argue it’s good advice regardless of where we’re going. Too often I approach others – God, family, friends, coworkers – with what I have to say. We should actually draw near first to listen.

Whatever you hand finds to do, do it with all your might (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

I’ve always liked this verse. For those times in life where I feel lost and don’t know which way to turn, I remind myself to start with what I have, wherever I am. There is something to be done, right now. Do that. Then see about the next thing, and the next. Before you know it, that wheel has rolled another rotation and you are in another time and place.

Work is a gift from God. We often define work as something that we don’t want to do, but that isn’t God’s definition. Work was first given as part of the perfect creation in the garden, and it is still given to us today. How much would our perspective change if we looked at work not as something we have to do, but as something we receive?  

“What do you have that you have not received?” Paul wrote many centuries later to the Corinthians. That includes the work along with the play, the tears along with the joy, the spokes along with the turning wheel. It is all gift. We cannot add to it or subtract from it. We cannot of our own accord make something of it. We oftentimes cannot even understand it. The only thing we can do is receive it.

Life, my friends, is weird.

I’m grateful anyway.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. Enjoy this rerun, and have a meaningful day.

Time Wasted. (Learning Peace When Plans Derail.)

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment
Pond

I bet you’ve had a day like this too:

I woke up extra early with my list of errands in hand. My first stop was unexpectedly closed. Then the bridge was out, and the detour was backed up for miles. An hour and a half later, I finally made it to my main destination only to find they had closed for the season, yesterday. When I had called earlier in the week to check their hours, that detail had somehow been neglected.

As I put my car in reverse, all the ways I could’ve, would’ve, should’ve spent my morning ran through my head. All that time, wasted.

The incident reminded me of a time in college when I had walked the entire length of campus to an office that was closed.

Highway sign

“What a waste,” I grumbled to myself as I started the trek back to my dorm.

In the next moment, a cardinal flashed across the sidewalk in front of me, paused long enough on a branch tip to serenade me with his trilling crescendo, and then disappeared.

The scene was so surprisingly beautiful, I stopped dead in my tracks to the whispered thought: nothing is ever a waste.

It’s a lesson I need to learn repeatedly, because this was not the first time, nor the last, when I will have days like this. As I’ve contemplated why some days go according to plan and others spin like a hamster wheel going nowhere, I have a few ideas that I think are worth considering.

We may be going in the wrong direction.

Sometimes our days don’t go according to plan precisely because they are our plans. We need to pause long enough to hear whether God is prompting us in a different direction. I don’t think every Road Closed is a message from God – sometimes life is just messy – but if we’re repeatedly hitting the proverbial wall, we better at least ask God why. Did He put the wall there to send us in a different direction?

We may need time for personal development.

God may leave a wall in front of us not because it’s the wrong direction, but because it’s the wrong time. When it’s a big wall we’re hitting – relationships, careers, life directions – it could be that we’re not ready for what’s on the other side. We may need time to grow. Alternatively, when the wall we’re facing is built with life’s little frustrations, it may be less about what’s on the other side and more about us. It could simply be an opportunity to practice patience.

We may not be seeing the whole picture.

I’ve seen some remarkably tiny details in my life play out in ways that I know are touches from God. While every detail of our day is not orchestrated like a stage set for a stringed marionette, God can and does interject. Maybe what I considered wasted time was exactly how I was supposed to spend my day. Only God knows how the events that unfolded impact both my life and countless unseen intersections with others. God can turn even wasted time into a blessing.

There may not be a reason.

Sometimes there is no need to hyper-spiritualize every moment of every day. Sometimes life is messy, and that is the full extent of the story. What matters is not the why. What matters is how we respond.

What matters most…

Whether our “wasted time” was an orchestrated lesson from God or an impromptu opportunity gifted to us from the messiness of life, the key is our response to it. God wants us to seek his guidance, trust him, and maintain a good attitude.

Even if our day is not going according to plan, we can be polite to those we meet. We can choose to not get frustrated. We can look for opportunities to make the most of every situation. After all, the lessons learned along the way may be more important that whatever filled our to-do list.

Learning to be at peace in whatever comes our way is never time wasted.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed!

The Price and Cost of the Ultimate Freedom

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment
The cost of freedom and free will

Unless you’re an accountant, you’ve probably never thought about the difference between price and cost.

I didn’t until today.

But while we may use the words interchangeably, there is a notable difference. Cost is what it takes to produce something; price is what someone pays for it.

This is straight forward when we’re talking about gadgets and gizmos. It becomes more interesting when we start talking about less tangible things.

The 4th of July is a celebration of independence for the United States. It’s a time when we reflect on all the costs that have gone into the freedoms we enjoy. It is also a time to reflect on what price we are willing to pay to maintain it. Freedom, as the saying goes, is not free.

It has a cost. And a price.

This is true for the freedom of political sovereignty, and it is true for the most foundational freedom we possess.

The cost of a country’s freedom is high. So is the cost of divine freedom: free will.

Free will, it seems to me, has messed up a lot of things. It has unleashed war, poverty, cruelty, and confusion. It has allowed evil to run rampant in our world. It has allowed people to make terrible decisions that led to terrible consequences on personal and global scales.

It seems like we have unwillingly paid an awful price for our free will.

Yet, there must be something more. When God created us, He could have created automatons that would always do his good, perfect and pleasing will. But He didn’t. He gave us free will.

Even now the question remains: why does God allow so much evil to run rampant? Why doesn’t He step in and stop it?

The first answer is: He did.

“In this world you will have trouble,” Jesus said. “But take heart. I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

God paid the price of sin so that we can enter a peaceful eternity with Him. He did stop the evil. But we don’t get to see the full manifestation until we get to heaven.

Perhaps that should be enough of an answer, but if you wrestle with questions like this as much as I do, then you might also wonder why we have to wait. Why doesn’t He step in and just stop the evil here and now?

The second answer I see is: free will.

In order for evil to be removed, God would have to prevent humans from acting on the evil impulses we have. The loss of free will is the price that would have to be paid for God to erase the suffering from this world. We might say, “Fine! It’s worth it. Do it!”

God says, “Not like that.”

This makes me look differently at free will. What could possibly be more important than world peace? What could possibly be more important than the elimination of cruelty and suffering and insert your list of world horrors here __________________.

The answer I hear is: free will.

God values free will so much that he will not remove it for a quick fix of the world’s woes. He knew the costs before creation began. He knew the price that he himself would pay on our behalf.

God gave us free will anyway.

God continues to give us free will today.

If God values free will that much, then I’m beginning to think that I should too. And I probably ought to learn more about it. What exactly is free will? How do we glimpse its value amidst the darkness of its price? And most importantly, how do we use it for good and not for evil?

I hope this post stirs up your desire to wrestle with these questions, too.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed this reprint!

Thinking Sad. And How Not To.

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment

Sometimes there are sad thoughts I have to think. Life, it turns out, is not always happy.

But sometimes there are sad thoughts I don’t have to think… and I think them anyway. I bet this has happened to you, too: I could be going about my day seemingly fine and the next thing I know I have brought myself nearly to tears from a conversation that happened no place except in my head.

Why on earth would I do this to myself? And more importantly, how do I stop it?

Let me share what I learned recently.

Just the other day I caught myself ready to launch off the cliff of sad thoughts. The fact that I even recognized where my thoughts were headed is a miracle in and of itself. But I stopped just long enough for an SOS prayer: Dear God, I’m headed no place good. What should I think about instead? Tell me what to focus on.

Cliff of sad thoughts.

It has been said that the answer to every problem we face is in the Bible. I have not applied this theory enough to vouch for its complete validity, but I can say in this case the answer was surprisingly black and white. Because in response to my plea, the Bible records Paul’s letter to the Philippians where he explicitly states: think about these things.

It doesn’t get much clearer than that.

Unfortunately, I can never remember exactly how the verse goes, so I stood there for quite some time trying to remember it. It’s like I was handed the answer to my prayer in a package and I needed to unwrap it piece by piece. I know there are things that are true and lovely, something about noble and praiseworthy.

Perhaps it’s good that I can never completely remember this verse, because the longer I spent trying to recall the verse, the more my mind began thinking about the thinking that I should be thinking and less about the thinking that I shouldn’t be thinking.

(It’s okay, read it again.)

In other words, the process of recalling to mind what I should be thinking helped pull me from the wrong path my thoughts were headed down. There is likely a neuro-cognitive explanation for this. I’m no brain scientist, but I know our emotions can run rampant when certain parts of our brain get triggered. When this is starting to happen, the process of trying to recall a verse can help by firing up a different part of our brain – the part involved in language, reasoning, and metacognition. These are the things that let us step back and perceive what is happening to ourselves rather than being swept away in the emotional response. Once certain parts of our brain are activated, we have a greater ability to redirect our thoughts.

I find this fascinating. We know, when we are discussing it rationally over a cup of tea, that we should think about things that are lovely, noble, praiseworthy and all the rest. We may even be able to quote Philippians 4:8 verbatim. But when that verse has fled our consciousness and our thoughts are about to jump off the cliff-of-the-not-so-noble, there is still a path back.

“Think about these things,” Paul wrote. And if you can’t actually think about them, think about thinking about them. Try to call that verse to mind. Try to remember what it is you are supposed to be thinking about. Get new parts of your brain engaged. You might be surprised at the power you have to take your thoughts captive. You are, in fact, able to pull yourself back from the brink and start down a new path, but you do it bit by bit, one thought at a time.

God answered my plea with a verse that worked even when I couldn’t remember it. You might be surprised how the simple act of trying to remember can help you move in a new direction, too.

This post was first written for and shared at inspireafire.com.

For Want of a Spreadsheet

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment

It was a Friday evening and I was staring between two spreadsheets.

It was like one of those children’s picture challenges where you’re supposed to find what’s different, only in this case the spreadsheets were supposed to match. Trying to find the difference was anything but fun.

“Is this really all I have to show for a week of late nights and back-to-back meetings? Another week gone, all those moments I can never get back, and two mismatched spreadsheets is all I have to show for it!”

I took a break, donned my raincoat, and headed out the door. My dog sniffed happily among the weeds while I listened to the rain pounding out my question, God what am I doing here?

Perhaps you’ve asked that question, too. Maybe for you it wasn’t spreadsheets. Maybe it was dirty diapers. Or a double shift on your feet. Or five commitments you had to turn down because five other ones were clamoring for your attention.  You blinked and the time was gone and now you’re wondering: Am I really doing the right thing? Is this the best use of my time? God, am I supposed to be here?

Every fall when the geese fly over my feet get a little itchy. As though they want to migrate, too. It’s my time of year to pause and ask God if I have my priorities rights if I’m leaning in close enough to hear Him, if I’m in the right place or if, just maybe, he might be calling me to something new.

But migration isn’t the only flavor of fall. For every being winging south there is another staying put, digging in with careful preparations for the long winter ahead.

Sometimes fall is about fleeing. And sometimes it’s about painstakingly detailed preparations.

As I pounded out my questions with the rain and my dog and my God, the answer that came to me was not one I expected. What came to mind was this ancient ditty, which appears in various forms through several centuries. Perhaps you have heard it:

For want of a nail a shoe was lost.

For want of a shoe the horse was lost.

For want of a horse the rider was lost.

For want of a rider the message was lost.

For want of a message the battle was lost.

For want of a battle the war was lost.

All for want of a horseshoe nail.

Details do matter. The insignificant is, in fact, significant. We may not see the war, but the nail that we drive in just might be the linchpin that wins it.

The Bible urges us that whatever we do, we should work at it with our whole heart, as though we are working for the Lord (Colossians 3:23). It also says that whatever our hand finds to do, we are to do it with all our might (Ecclesiastes 9:10). I think that includes spreadsheets, and dirty diapers, and whatever you’re facing right now.

There are indeed times where we need to re-prioritize, where God may be telling us to migrate to a new place. But many times we are called to do our best right where we are.

The spreadsheets I work on today will lead to impacts down the road. In my case, this information is needed to help manage an event where many peoples could receive information that is helpful to them. I may see some of the results of these mundane details. But many results I hope and pray will be so far beyond my limited scope that I will never see them.

I don’t see the whole battle plan, but God does. And He put me right here and you right there for a reason.

God is looking for excellence in His followers. He is looking for us to do the best we can, where we are, with whatever we have.

If I have anything to say about it, we aren’t losing this war just for want of a spreadsheet.

I first wrote this post for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!

An Act in Due Season

/ mustardpatch / Leave a comment

Black lab puppy in leaves
Black lab puppy running

I’d like to introduce you to Izzie.

Yes, that fuzzy little black canine amongst all the leaves is Izzie. And so is this cute little blur. This is back in the day when your typical point and shoot camera had a hard time keeping up with something as rambunctious as a black lab puppy.

 But before you start thinking this is just another cute puppy story, let me stop you right there.

You see, Izzie was born in a special kennel outside New York City for a very special purpose. When I was a senior in high school he came to live with me. And then he left for something even greater.

I had always wanted a dog, but my parents did not. They let me run wild with smaller critters –  five breeds of rabbits and two breeds of ducks filled my expanding hobby yard – but they firmly declined my plea for a dog.

Until I hatched the perfect plan.

My answers were standard: He’s not actually my dog; I’m just caring for him right now. There is someone out there who needs him even more than me. Of course it will break my heart, but it’s for such a good cause.

I would raise a puppy for a year. When I left for college, the puppy would also leave for school. To become a guide dog for the blind. It was a service project with an outcome they couldn’t refuse.

Over my year of puppy raising, I heard variations of the same question: How could I possibly give up a puppy after loving it for a year?

Today, I know the answer is a little deeper. Today, I feel exactly how those people with the wide-eyed wonder looked. I couldn’t be a puppy raiser now. But then, I was given the grace to do the right thing at the right time.

This makes me even gladder that I did it when I could.

Izzie and trainer with his “in for training” class.

Proverbs 15:23 tells us that a word in due season is a good thing. I think the same is true for actions. There is a season for every activity under heaven. A time to raise puppies, and a time to do something else. (See Ecclesiastes 3)

During this valentine’s season when so much attention is placed on the emotion of love, let me suggest we place some attention on the practicality of love. There is something we can do right now, in this season, that we may not be in a position to do again.

Let’s do it.

Whatever our hand finds to do right now, we should do it with all our might. Chances are it won’t seem like a big thing. It will simply be something that we can do, wherever we are, with what we have. It may even be something we always wanted that ends up being a unique gift to someone else… and to us.

Izzie’s graduation photo.

That was certainly the case with Izzie. A year after we both left for separate schooling, Izzie went on to serve as a faithful guide alongside his partner in Tennessee. His graduation picture remains one of my most prized possessions.

It was an opportunity I could have missed. That realization encourages me to look around me now. In a different time and a different place, there is something here for me to do.

Take an action in due season.

Memories. And a Net of Thanksgiving.

/ mustardpatch / 1 Comment

This post first appeared at http://www.inspireafire.com/casting-a-net-of-thanksgiving/

Memories can turn bittersweet in a second.

I can be happily following the rabbit trail of my thoughts, hopping between afternoon plans and pleasant reminiscing when WHAM!

Thoughts in a rabbit candy dishIt’s like a hole suddenly opened up beneath my feet, or a rock slammed me back twenty yards. Use whatever analogy you want – perhaps you’ve experienced it too? – but a wave of sadness, or anger, or fear (or all three) has me pinned and wriggling beneath its weight. My happy little thought trail just turned deadly.

Maybe it’s the loss of a loved one, or a struggling relationship, or a transition you’re trying to navigate. There will be a time when memories bring you joy and comfort, but not right away. First, they hurt. They hurt like a red hot poker you can’t get near enough to touch. And so you stay away. But eventually those memories start to sneak in. A familiar location, a familiar scent, a familiar sound. Between the red hot poker phase and the happy memory phase there is this in-between time. A memory starts out so innocently that you glance its way. And then it pummels you.

I’m navigating that in-between time right now. Trying to learn when it’s okay to look, and when it’s not. When it’s safe to let my mind wander, and when my mind is about to turn against me. It is a journey by trial and error. But it’s a journey I have to take. If I never touch the thoughts, I never progress. I would simply harden my heart, withdraw, turn cold. But on the other hand, if I move too quickly, I will drown in the floodgates of emotion.

I am learning to walk my thought trails with a weapon at the ready, and the weapon I have found most effective may surprise you. There is a fraction of second, a space barely the size of the gap between two thoughts, when I feel my thoughts turning against me, swinging me over a pit of grief.

TrailAnd in that thought gap, that fraction between thought and emotion, I throw a net.

A net of thanksgiving.

“I am thankful for this memory,” I say. And then I transition immediately to the present. “I am thankful that God is continuing to take care of me and preparing new moments for me to enjoy. I am thankful God is restoring old relationships and bringing new relationships. Thank you…”

The secret to success with this weapon is three-fold. First, I have to throw the net the milli-second I feel myself being swung over that pit. I can’t test the thought to see if it’s really turning on me; I can’t think a little further to see if it’s really all that sad. I lose that battle every time, and once I’m on the way down, it’s much harder to grab a handhold.

Second, I have to move away from the memory that threw me over the pit to begin with. Too many times I’ve tried to weave a net of thanksgiving by stringing together everything I’m thankful for in that old memory. The problem is that while my brain is saying thank you, my heart is feeling the loss of every one of those old memories. Before I know it, I’ve used my net to climb down into the very pit I was trying to avoid.

View from hammock.Third, this is a safety net, not a hammock. This strategy disrupts the spiraling thoughts just enough for me to get back to safer ground. Whatever train of thought brought me to the edge, now is not the time to hop on board again. Too many times I’ve swung myself out of the pit just to ride my thoughts right back down into it. If I can’t lead my thoughts elsewhere on my own, I need to turn on music, a podcast, or call a friend. Anything to move to a new location in my mind. I can go visit that train of thought some other day.

Memories are finicky things. They don’t always announce whether they are friend or foe, whether they carry joy or sadness. Often they carry both. Memories allow us to learn, to grow, and to relive moments. But their power should propel us toward our future, not hold us mired in the past. There are times we need to thank them for their service, and walk away.