How long is a gift?

Not just one rose – a whole BUNCH of gorgeous yellow roses graces my kitchen table in a tall, slim glass vase today! They are sisters, it seems, with this unexpectedly hot and glorious spring sun shining in through the windows. Their beauty and perfection restore my soul, and their colours bring joy: Golden petals atop lively green stems, green through glass, glass on black slate, slate upon unvarnished wood. And as a gift from my love, and adorning a kitchen made sparkling for me by the joint cleaning efforts of my two beloved ones together, they shine extra brightly. They are simple beauty and vibrant colour, and they are love and togetherness expressed in action.

It’s amazing to me that, when my heart is open, such simple things can fill me up so deeply and wholly. Any empty days, any bottomless pits, recede into the distant past, and I know my cup to be overflowing.

But for how long? Till the kitchen loses its sparkle? Till the flowers wilt? Or perhaps sooner – simply till my heart hits a low point, a bare place, and demands to be lifted and filled again?

I remember those Harvard students who arrived so grateful and excited for the privilege of studying in the hallowed halls, but whose gratitude was quickly lost in the stress and strain, the deadlines, dramas and dilemmas. The question struck me then, on hearing Shawn Achor’s story, and hits me again on seeing my roses:

How long is a gift a gift? How long does it last? How long can any significant privilege or simple pleasure bring joy and open the heart to love?

As long as it is remembered and treasured as a gift? As long as the gratitude lasts?

If that is true, imagine the possibility of a soul staying full forever on one gift, forever held with gratitude!

True, for those with eyes to see, each day brings new gifts, and we can notice and count each new one and be filled afresh each time. But when does the search for NEW gifts become dissatisfaction with the OLD ones? And if I am always NEEDING the new and fresh to be filled, won’t I always remain a leaky bucket?

For this I certainly am: full one moment and drained empty the next.

But I want to CONTAIN it – the joy and love and mercy – and treasure it and pour it out like precious perfume; rather than leaking it and losing it and throwing it away. And surely it is this attitude of treasuring that is the key – not the nature or age of the gift received or given, savoured or recalled.

In fact, it’s not even really about the gifts themselves at all, but the heart open to the Grace that flows through the gifts and that is their source. It’s the state of the eyes of my heart that make the difference. “If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light,” said Jesus (Matthew 6).

I long for these eyes – eyes healed by Grace, eyes open to the true Treasure. For where my treasure is (and, yes, amazingly, it’s right there in the same passage – the same message!) there will my heart be also... There will my heart be full to overflowing, whether the roses flourish or fade.

Keep Calm and Count On!

Good news! I think I'm overcoming my ambivalence towards gratitude!

This amazing video talk (also embedded at the very end of this post) about the nature of happiness, and the way that we have the equation all the wrong way round, helped a lot. Sometimes I need the message in poetry, as Ann Voskamp does so brilliantly; and then sometimes - as my friend Abigail said - "Give it to me straight forward and to the point." Shawn Achor does THIS brilliantly, and with the same practical outcome as Ann: writing down 3 things you're grateful for every day actually changes you (Shawn: your brain; Ann: your heart; both: your outlook; both true!). It's worth 12 minutes of your time for sure. I mean, it got Jeremy into gratitude-listing (with the One Thousand Gifts app on his iphone!) when poetry would never have cut it! :-)

I'm also seeing that it is often just cleverly disguised pride that makes me think writing down what I'm thankful for is too simplistic to be important for me to focus on, and too simple to make any difference in my life. In fact, I see more and more that such a simple act is the most worthy and appropriate of all for a life aiming to become more Christ-like and therefore, as he called us to be, more childlike. As I wrote last week:
"And so I present my own blank page to God, finally deigning to handwrite my simple, childlike gratitude and bathe in God’s mercy-rain right here and now (I am the just and the unjust) rather than waiting for another day, the perfect day, the perfect way, the perfect words. I am counting the ways he loves."

To simply write down my three (or more) gifts each day supports my desire to see God right where I am, in the here and now, in the ordinary and mundane.

And the Joy Dare for March turns out not to be the contrived or romanticised way of looking for God's gifts that I have at times feared it would become, but actually a way to help me 'scan' (a Shawn Achor term!) for gifts I wouldn't instantly, naturally see. To look out for '3 gifts round', for example, makes me more attentive, and opens my eyes to things I really am grateful for - both big and small - but might not have noticed without prompting. Why don't you try it too?!

So, below, I will continue cataloguing my 'One Thousand Gifts'. Feel free to read on if you want to, but really I'm writing them down for me, and for God. But whatever you do, and whatever's going on for you right now, here's some sane advice:

Finding the keys that unlock mercy

So what does it PRACTICALLY look like for me to “take the plunge and dive deep into the bottomless, audacious, un-earnable, freely given, life-transforming mercy of God” that I wrote about yesterday? I asked you all if you had any secrets to 'diving deeper' to share, and then decided I really should try to notice and catalogue my own! So here are some of the rusty keys, personal to me, that have unlocked mercy for me in these last precious 24 hours:

Key One: Noticing that part of me would be quite content to write nice words about mercy and feed off them rather than actually doing the hard work of putting them into practice: to feed off the pleasure of ideas and pictures and poetry, the acknowledgment of others, the appearance of maturity and wisdom and insight that such words suggest. But this is baby food and I am hungry for more.

Key Two: Noticing both the moments of grace that I had enjoyed yesterday – especially when I suddenly had eyes to SEE the incredible beauty and aliveness and gift of my daughter, and gained a heart to wonder at this, at her – and also the moments of unmercy I have shown as I snapped at her, demanded too much, criticized; or as I responded with irritation or simply indifference to others. Noticing both of these helps me see that there IS “a river that makes glad the city of God”, there IS a flow and ‘wondrous loop’ that I can choose to remain in, or choose to step outside of.

Key Three: Asking for forgiveness quickly yesterday when I noticed that I had spoken a harsh word, and marvelling at the way this softens me, softens her, softens the atmosphere we live and breathe. So often hurt pride and resentment and shame stop me from doing this, but when I resist this I resist mercy - the mercy I need so desperately.

Key Four: Letting my heart break that so many of the moments of grace pass me by as I choose unmercy instead, and allowing myself to (uncharacteristically) weep by my sweet girl’s sleeping body last night, begging God to help me love her more truly, deeply, consistently, mercifully. And this is a prayer I know he hears and runs towards me to answer, for he is its author and perfecter.

Key Five: Taking time this morning to ACTUALLY write down the gifts of God to me over the last days, not just read about other people’s gratefulness or tell myself I am on a gratitude journey because I’ve thought about it and written about it and listed a few of my ‘one thousand gifts’ a few days ago. And – what do you know?! – heartfelt gratitude and joy welled up fresh inside me just from this simple act. When I stop to NOTICE the gifts, I find out I am full to overflowing, cup running over, rather than the empty I often feel.

Key Six: Choosing to act out of the fullness God promises me – and Jesus seems to assume is mine when he makes all his unreasonable demands! – by not allowing the ‘emptiness’ of others around me to empty me, but instead to choose to see fullness and live fullness regardless of what others are experiencing; then to reach out to give to them from within this fullness.

Key Seven: Doing the little things I could, as I took joy to create a chicken pot pie for our supper, to ‘go the extra mile’ and create a table of meeting that was beautiful and love-filled for us to eat at as a family, with grandparents added to our small three for this week. Good food, good drink, pretty napkins, candles, nature’s treasures scattered around... these simple things felt like sacraments to me as I prepared them and laid them out, and I knew mercy was soaking my heart and grace was soaking the atmosphere.

And, as this meal began, I asked Amelie to choose and read a grace from the little book that I began to compile many moons ago for our family meals, and that has largely gathered dust. She asked me if I would PLEASE, finally, handwrite the sung grace “Johnny Appleseed” in there next to her yellowing illustration, instead of waiting to print it out as I have been meaning to do for over three years! So I sat down and did it; it took me one minute. And the page that had been blank and years-long waiting – waiting for perfection, for the perfect moment – was swiftly filled with simple words of childlike gratitude that are bathed in the mercy that God rains on 'the just and the unjust alike':

"The Lord is good to me, and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple seed, the Lord is good to me. Johnny Appleseed... Amen!"

And so – with all these simple, rusty, but powerful keys – I present my own blank page to God, finally deigning to handwrite my simple, childlike gratitude and bathe in God’s mercy-rain right here and now (I am the just and the unjust) rather than waiting for another day, the perfect day, the perfect way, the perfect words. I am counting the ways he loves. The Lord is good to me.

Amen.

No need for you to read on unless you want to read the next of those 'one thousand gifts' I am cataloguing! :-)

Joy Dare: 3 gifts worn:

7 - A piece of handmade jewelery on a new acquaintance that speaks of skill and gift

8 - A beautiful, brightly coloured shirt on a sad friend

9- My snuggly red robe!

3 gifts hard to give thanks for:

10 - The gospel singing from downstairs in the retreat centre when I longed for silence

11 - So busy with so many wonderful people that I didn't manage to get outside all weekend!

12 - The people who made and served our meals - my judgment about what I perceived as their fussiness could have buried gratitude for their presence and service

3 gifts found:

13 - 'Treasures' in the SSU pantry that I didn't need to go and buy

14 - A game for Amelie to play with Granny and Grandpa

15 - Organic fair-trade coffee on a 50% off special to refuel the students of Park Hall! ;-)

A gift bent, a gift broken, a gift beautiful:

16 - Bent me, asking for forgiveness from Amelie; a bent gift is the joy of making it right and receiving mercy

17 - Amelie's purple beret minus bobble and growing a fraying hole gave her Granny the chance to darn and show her love

18 - Every time I actually stop long enough to SEE her, my daughter is Beauty itself for me - her wild, dark hair, her new sunlight-yellow top, her peach-soft skin, her lit-up eyes

3 gifts in the kitchen

19 - A hug with Amelie that lasted until she was OK again

20 - Ian and Jacqui faithfully doing the dishes so that the sink and countertop are always clear

21 - Evening light catching me by surprise as I cooked supper, and reminding me to pour love and grace into my preparations

How do you get out of a bottomless pit?

One recent night I found myself in a dark place where the world and my life looked bleak - as if all I ever did was the same thing over and over again, as if I was giving to life but life simply wasn't giving enough back. Like constantly exhaling and never being able to fill the lungs with fresh air again. I suddenly couldn't see the point of getting up the next day (and, yes, before you ask, these moods DO come over me more often when I've stayed up too late, and they have often passed in the morning!). I dragged myself around all evening and got into bed dark and sad.

In the darkness I whispered my own darkness to Jeremy and lay on his chest and cried a bit as he simply held me. Sometimes that's enough, but that night the hole inside me was bottomless and I wanted more, demanded more; wanted human him to be all the breath and love I would ever need. We both know this pit too well and when I drag him in with me and ask him to fill it, this story never ends well.

A few dark words later, and Jeremy says: "I don't think you're seeing things right. I don't know... maybe you need to work on gratitude or something."

Double-edged swords, these words. It's true but it's not what I want to hear right now. Can't you see? My pit is bottomless! I'm flailing in the cold dark here; I need rescue! I tell him so: grudgingly admit that I know I need to work on gratitude, that I've ordered and am waiting for the book that will help me find it ;-) but that that's not what 'now' is about - and he quietly holds me still.

But in the dark, and again when the light dawns, these words play around the edges of my consciousness, forming alliances and garnering support: from Will's talk last Sunday and from the desires that caused me to order the book in the first place, from my deeper longing for true joy rather than either denial or wallowing. And slowly I feel sadness withdrawing (Please, don't leave me!) and this one rose begin to find some breathing space among the thorns.

Only day two of the 'Joy Dare' for me and already I have felt both unexpected bursts of joy, soft tears falling as I read an amazing post this morning (new eyes to see) AND a resistance to "this naive, Polyanna denial mechanism". Yes, I see I have a push-pull feeling about gratitude. Call it a love-hate thing too perhaps. But I'm hoping that this spring-from-winter, joy-from-sadness season I'm in - and this book and the dare to live fully RIGHT HERE AND NOW before anything changes or 'gets better' - will make the pull and the love stronger, and the hating push fade into the background. Because it's not that the darkness isn't there, not that I want to pretend it doesn't exist; just that I have a suspiscion that the way out of the pit is to look up at the light and - hand over hand, remembered gift over remembered gift - climb up... and out.

Joy Dare: 3 gifts green:
1 - A poem brings green to my imagination and heart even while fresh, sparkly-diamond-snow covers the world this morning. 2 - The spinach and kale I put in our smoothies for breakfast, that nourish our bodies without us even tasting it! :-) 3 - The tulip plant I bought to welcome my parents-in-law to their room as they arrive today (praying for safe driving for Jeremy going to pick them up from Bangor).

This one rose

And so gratitude grows up like a rose among the thorns.

This is all there is.

This one rose.

This one sunlit window seat.

This one painted mug filled with steaming coffee.

This one warm moment to savour.

Look around and all is barbed and spiny.

The light does not reach, the heat does not penetrate.

The coffee grows cold.

The pottery is brittle and will one day break.

This one rose, this one moment, is not enough.

But turn back, and this is all there is.

This one precious moment is all

there

is.

This one fragrant rose still grows up,

Beautiful among thorns.

Starting the Joy Dare today - choosing to notice and catalogue the "one thousand gifts" that surround me every day.

1 -My bubbly daughter preparing for her school talent show today.

2 - This ruby red couch and warm wood that make a spot that is home.

3 - Preparing delicious and nourishing food to feed my mitochondria today! :-)

Please, sadness, don't leave me.

Please, sadness, don’t leave me.

You have softened my hard heart and opened my eyes to see secret sorrow bravely borne in familiar faces all around me.

You have unearthed my dormant soul, giving tender shoots of desire room to breathe again and slowly climb towards the light. You have revealed with sorrow what has been my delight, and with grief what remains my unfathomable love. You have given me hope that delight and love can grow to guide and sustain me, that holy desire can give birth in me – through me – to life in the world.

Your gentle tears make me feel alive and present, tender and open, woman and human.

So, sadness, why do you stand up now to take your leave? Why so soon?

Is my loss, my need, too small for you to stay any longer? Am I so shallow, my life so easy, that you cannot feel at home here with me?

Why does your gentle hand pry away my clinging fingers? And why – do you know – DO they cling?

Tell me, sadness, is it GOOD that you leave me?

Is your work complete here, your time done? What is it that you came to do, and what do you see in me now that turns you towards my door?

Sweet sadness, I cannot hide from you what I have tried to hide from myself:

That your tears have not only opened my eyes but, lately, have also threatened to close them to the gifts that crowd so thickly around me; that they have opened my heart towards others, but have sometimes also turned it away, and in, and down.

Perhaps you feel that I toy with you now, USE you – to feel alive and exceptional and entitled – and you know that the hard work of sorrow must give way to the hard work of practised gratitude in the everyday, and of life and love re-gifted to the least of these.

So, sadness, if you must go away, then take with you ingratitude and self-importance, but please leave behind soft-heartedness and thankfulness and compassionate presence.

I will leave the door unlocked for you; your tentative knock will no longer be ignored. If it is your time to come and eat with me again then you will be welcomed here, as will your sister joy whose light step I hear approaching as you bid me farewell with a final glance and a fond smile.

These are a few of my favourite (Christmas) things..

Since I keep on humming the classic Sound of Music song to myself, I was already thinking of writing a post about some of my favourite things this Christmas, and then my daily Enneathought suggested that “On Boxing Day, which can be a day of recovery from celebrations, quietly reflect on your blessings. As a Nine, consider the ways you are blessed with being optimistic, good-natured, and creative.” So today I am celebrating the blessings of my life, and the blessings of being me! :-)

Enjoying our newly renovated den with friends who really appreciate it, and who experienced Den #1 enough to know how significant the changes are! My very creative friend Abigail just made us two gorgeous cushions to grace our ruby red sectional sofa, making the lovely room even prettier. And I’ve been lighting candles often in the evenings for a wonderful inviting ambiance. Today’s happy scene: four of us spaced out the sofa with either book (thanks for mine, Joanna!) or ipad or laptop, perhaps snoozing, maybe with blanket and cat on lap... just being. Old friends (length of acquaintance rather than age!) are great for this: we can laugh, remember, get serious, get heated, be silent; everyone naturally mucks in to clear up, cook breakfast, wash up, initiate something to watch or a good conversation, carve the turkey, peel and chop vegetables, make (lots of) coffee... Comfortable.

The pleasure and satisfaction I get from cooking a lovely meal, making the table and house look pretty, and choosing presents for loved ones that I know they will enjoy... coupled with Jeremy’s very real gratitude with how I “make Christmas happen, and do it so well”. :-) After so much thought and planning (and shopping!) these last weeks, I was especially happy that I still have a good sense of what Amélie will love. It's so gratifying to witness her joy and delight. These celebrations definitely are a LOT of work, but they are worth it... Satisfaction.

Starting to read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to Amélie on Christmas Day 2011, with snow gently falling outside and the lights of the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner or the room. I absolutely loved reading it to her, and am so looking forward to working our way through the whole series (which my Mum and Dad are sending to her a book at a time) and rediscovering it as an adult; Amélie, too, was evidently already captured by the story and characters. Joy!

My new snugly red robe from Long Tall Sally (a gift from Jeremy), which almost reaches my feet and is incredibly warm, and almost matches my favourite sofa! I‘ve never had a robe this long or beautiful or warm and it makes me happy! I keep on wanting to repeat the brilliant line from Despicable Me (there spoken by the littlest girl about the soft unicorn she really wants): “It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die!” :-) Fluffiness!

Just enough snow to make things pretty and white and Christmassy, but not so much that travel plans are scuppered or the footpaths by the river hard to negotiate for a late morning stroll. It was beautiful out there today, especially the black of the river against the snowy banks, and all the feathery reflections. By the end of the walk, my legs were like ice blocks, but I felt rejuvenated from my turkey stupor... and entitled to some more overindulgence! Enjoy!