I was asked this week, “Wanna do something special for Valentine’s Day?”
Here’s the thing.
My Valentine’s Day is just about every day anymore. When your existence is filled with umpteen hugs and sweet pecks and kisses every day, and your ears are filled with sweet nothings and sweet everythings, when your home does not harbor an ounce of bitter or anger or silent treatment or spite or silent revenge, when tension is present and quickly diffused with sincere apologies and insistence on communication, when prayer is daily and every prayer is hand-held, when simple kindness is freely given, when counting blessings and intentional giving are priorities, when concern and love is shared for family members, when flowers are the norm and not the rare occasion…
It’s Valentine’s Day.
For the better part every weekend for the last several months, Sam has been working to remodel part of the basement into a new home for my Dad. This weekend will be no exception. His entire being leaks selfless love and devotion. He has given up free evenings and Saturdays to design, to demo, to dig, to build, to unload material, to paint, to tile, to sort and reorganize…
I am so very grateful for this man who is a wonderful example of what it means to love, a wonderful example of what it means to give. How interesting that Sam is doing for Dad what Dad has done for others all of his life.
Dad spent his life helping and serving others with no expectations for receiving little if anything in return. He fixed tires and repaired cars and added Freon and provided pickup and delivery to those in need, and he never charged the needy. He cares for his friend Bill. He provides his church with donuts every Sunday. He takes flowers to his sister. He hands out “Love Does” books to anyone who will promise to read it. He is generous with a tip for a well-deserving waiter.
Sam suggested that the three of us spend part of our Valentine’s Day serving at the church, and so that is what we are going to do. I am pretty much showered with extra blessings because of these two men in my life, and I am grateful that my Valentine’s Day will be spent with both of them.
That Sam shows such love and respect by opening the door for me
That my sister is so patient with Natia
For this: HOPE = Hold. On. Pain. Ends.
For my granddaughters in Oregon who posed so sweetly for this picture that makes me want to stare all the day long
For carpet underfoot
For Orion that declares the glory of God above me on an evening dark canvas
For calm under pressure
For people who care about having pleasant breath, because when it’s bad, it’s vewy vewy bad.
For this…”Unless you know the whole situation, keep your mouth shut.” Keep my mouth shut even if I DO know the whole situation.
For five mile aches
For an absence of dread and then disappointment when Valentine’s Day comes around
For cotton candy that made my Bingo friends happy last night and grateful that I had just enough for everyone – some of them had never eaten it before
For floss
That I do not have to eat mushrooms if I don’t want to, and I don’t want to. You can’t make me.
For the hymn, “Be Still My Soul,” especially when my soul is not so still
That I am not in charge of the world
For cream cheese frosting
That I can now slather my bread in butter and load my potato in butter and eat my egg every morning without guilt, because studies now indicate it is okay with my body
For this little game that Sam pulled out of one of his boxes last night that brought back fun memories
I am grateful for the peace and quiet of a home without a TV on, without any sound except the cardinal that is singing for the world to hear outside the kitchen window.
I am grateful for sunbeams in the early morning.
I am grateful for strings of melted cheese.
I am grateful for moments to watch the clouds travel.
I am grateful for the clicking of the keyboard as I type and grateful that my limited hearing can still hear this pleasant sound.
I am grateful for piano tuners.
I am grateful for gravel crunch as we walk.
I am grateful for old family pictures.
A friend is one who joyfully sings with you
when you are on the mountaintop,
and silently walks beside you
through the valley.
– William A. Ward
I am grateful for men who wear cologne and make me want to follow in their breezy wake while breathing deep.
I am grateful for a tiny Muslim lady whose name is Sally. She is joy and shares joy every day, and I was the recipient today. And no, I didn’t have to describe her as Muslim, but I think too many people think all Muslims are angry and demonic, and Sally is my answer to them. It is not true.
I am grateful for tulips poking through.
I am grateful for banker boxes and organization.
I am grateful for this:
So, what do you think? With God on our side like this, how can we lose? If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us? And who would dare tangle with God by messing with one of God’s chosen? Who would dare even to point a finger? The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture:
They kill us in cold blood because they hate you. We’re sitting ducks; they pick us off one by one.
None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. – Romans 8:35-39 The Message
And I’ve shared this before, but I wanted to share it again, because it’s on my heart and mental jukebox today. I am grateful:
It has been a full weekend. And I am grateful. Grateful that it was somewhat productive. Grateful that it included part fun, part enrichment, part service, part productivity. So many times, I wanted to stop and get to a computer to write down a grateful or seven. And I didn’t. So, for myself, I am going to re-cap the weekend and try to remember as many as possible. If ever someone were to grant me a wish from my list, I would appreciate a four day work week, thank you, so that I could have one day to write, and read, and clean, and ride my bike, and put a puzzle together, and play the piano as long as I wanted, and…okay, a three day work week.
I am grateful for my car that is now back on the roads and looking all gorgeous and new. Rocky and Rosie Raccoon are not our friends. But I am grateful for body shop guys.
I am grateful for early morning walks again.
I am grateful for Roxanne and Linda, because if not for them, I would not have signed up for the women’s conference at church, because women in groups really give me cause for panic and inferior pits in my stomach.
I fretted over what to wear, because I didn’t want to stand out. I fretted that I only have one purse, and it’s furry and as large as a small suitcase and I was wearing black but my purse is brown fur and looks like it belongs in the mud room of a log cabin. I left it in the car which means I left everything but my wallet and my phone in the car which means I had to carry those two things with me all night because my dress pants had no pockets and if they DID have pockets, those two items wouldn’t have fit anyway. But I had no gum in case I had bad breath or cotton mouth and I didn’t have my lipstick for after dinner so I fretted over looking horrendous. I fretted over drinking all this water throughout the day and what if I had to go to the bathroom all evening long? I fretted over my out-of-style hair style. I fretted over my bad habit of nervous talking and unloading every last detail of my life, you know, kinda like this outlet. I fretted over beautiful successful women sitting at my table and not giving me the time of day but why would I WANT them to give me the time of day since I’d rather melt into the tablecloth and not be noticed anyway? I fretted over not having money to buy the pretties at the boutique. I fretted over being made to do silly things in the conference like they ALWAYS make you do. And they did. I was right. So, I fretted out loud and barely participated.
But I am grateful for Inspired for Life, the women’s conference at church that took place on Friday evening and Saturday. Another stepping out of my comfort zone. Another opportunity to hear three BRILLIANT speakers who sparked different emotions and each encouraged me in completely different ways.
Susan Isaacs, a comedian/actress/author/speaker, reinforced my desire to tell my story and to ask the hard questions and be real with God, and ended with starting at hopeless with a simple “thank you” and build from there until I cannot go a day without being grateful for every. last. thing.
Sarah Thebarge, speaker and author of “The Invisible Girls,” continued to reinforce my desire to tell my story and gave me a renewed sense to discover others’ stories and make connections with strangers. Every person we make eye contact with, speak to however briefly through the day, whether we know them or not, will be left with an impression of us. How can I make a positive difference in their lives by the words I speak, the smile I give, the life I share?
And Ann Marie Miller, author/speaker/really smart woman, taught me this simple truth about opening up and sharing the hard and personal. “Give the gift of going second.” Share your hard and personal with another, and in turn, they just might possibly open up and share their hard and personal with you, releasing deep, dark secrets of hurt and shame and guilt in order that healing might begin and a bond might be formed that will be live-giving for both of you.
I loved her visual illustration when she threw a pot to the ground and it shattered into broken pieces, as my life has been a shattered ugly, broken mess, and then how she showed the healing that God can and will do in our lives as she took the second pot and turned it around to show how it had been glued back together and was now more beautiful because of its unique cracked pattern.
I am grateful for Roxanne and Sue who never left me alone during the conference but were my security blanket. I am grateful to have made a new friend in Sue and grateful that we had something in common in order to open up and share during brunch.
I am grateful that this hymn was mentioned on Saturday morning, and it has been playing on my internal jukebox ever since:
But, let me be clear on this point. Women still scare me.
I am grateful for five miles of walking on Saturday, Sam and I. Oh, it felt good to be out in the sunshine and warmth, and the ache in the legs at the end was a good ache.
I am grateful for a florist who gave me a great deal on flowers for my Bingo ladies, and I am grateful that I had a car so that I could go and visit them all and deliver the flowers.
I am grateful for my husband who puts up with me when my bitter comes out.
I am grateful for memories of Mom’s pins she kept in her jewelry box. And I am grateful for women who wear pins and corsages, because they remind me of Mom. Corsages are in that category with rotary phones and rabbit ears on top of the TV…
I am grateful for the opportunity to help with choir at church yesterday, for being mobbed by several girls and Albert, for the joy of hearing the guys sing so well, and for the surprise of working with them on a song one of my choirs took to State several years ago.
I am grateful for a 16-year-old named Maya who is a new employee at the bagel shop and gets it. She will go far with her friendliness and calling customers by name when she didn’t have to remember their name, and staying busy, and greeting every customer, and being so pleasant we just wanted to have her sit down at the table and visit.
I am grateful for a sister who brings her son over on a Sunday night to join us for dinner for no particular reason, and grateful that she challenges me to do something scary every day. I fail mostly, but I didn’t fail this weekend.
I am grateful for hotdogs.
I am grateful for my Dad who makes me laugh when he answers the phone, “Obamacare.”
I am grateful for Fred Flintstone, but I’m so glad I’m not Wilma.
And I am grateful for memories of Avon trinkets and toys that I always received from Mom and Dad for Christmas or Easter. The little pins that opened up and had the palette of perfumy vaseline stuff, or the cute little animals with the powder puff bottoms filled with perfumy powder…I had this one once.
Clobber. I heard this word on the radio this morning and laughed out loud. This is a word that should be used more often, just because it’s so funny sounding. I love words. I am grateful for the expanse of our English language and the genius minds and their Creator who made English happen.
Another word/phrase that just baffles me is “wax poetic” – to use flowery or expressive language to describe a relatively mundane topic, or using heightened, formal language to communicate a simple thought.
I shall attempt to wax poetic in my gratefuls today, just because I really need something else to think about in the hectic atmosphere I find myself in this week here at work.
I am grateful for the invention of the spoon. Think about it – what would we do without spoons? The curved shape that fits nicely into the mouthal opening is attached to a handle that is formed to comfortably rest between the fingers and the thumb…how am I doing? This is too hard to wax poetic. I’m grateful for a spoon today because they were all dirty and I had to retrieve one from the dishwasher here at work in order to slurp my leftover chicken broth and enjoy my little cup of strawberry yogurt, and if there had been no spoons in that dishwasher, I would have had to use a fork, and I would still be slurping chicken broth right now, one little drop at a time, or else I would have drank it drunk it from the side of the bowl and it probably would have leaked down my front and then I would be a hot mess of brothal, not brothel, frontage while I used my finger to eat the yogurt. There. So grateful for the invention of the spoon.
I am grateful for people who step out of the normal dress code. I was sitting here working hard and looked up at the computer geeks who continually walk down the hall to go out for one of too many smoke breaks throughout the day, and I thought about how they all dress exactly the same way every day. Baggy jeans. T-shirts or sweatshirts. Casual jackets. Tennis shoes.
Every. Single. Day.
And then I thought about my boss who wants to lose 20 pounds, so for some strange reason in his mind, he thinks that he will be motivated if he wears a suit to work every day until he loses the weight. And when he walks in the door in the mornings, it surprises me over and over again to see him in a suit. He sits in his office all day long and never sees anyone but me. And four other women who work here. But he wears a suit all dressy-like.
Which made me think of June Cleaver and Samantha Stevens and Aunt Bea and Mary Kay, who dressed up every single day – to do housework. They were in dresses and stockings and pretty jewelry and heels in order to fix meals and do the dishes with an apron covering their frontages, and you just don’t see women dress up any longer when they stay home each day. I wonder why.
And then I thought of the big deal people make over ministers/pastors/preachers/reverends who wear jeans when they give the message or don’t tuck their shirts in or go without a tie or Heaven forbid, go without at least a sport jacket, or how Mom used to make a HU-OO-OO-OOGE deal about girls not wearing pants to church – only dresses or skirts – and now I might wear a dress once a year, if that.
What a boring world it would be if we all dressed alike. Besides, what does it matter in the end what we wear? I must qualify that thought. When it comes to students in elementary school, junior high, and high school, it DOES MOST CERTAINLY MATTER. As a former teacher, I can attest that it DOES MOST CERTAINLY MATTER. Uniforms and uniformity for all, I say. NO-ticeable difference when kids were allowed a free day to wear whatever. Wow. It’s all in the attitude, and talk about behavior change. It’s a FACT.
So, even though I sometimes do not like what others are wearing, I am grateful for the diversity of styles and the freedom to choose what I wear each day. I am grateful that everyone else has decided that they don’t want to dress like me. And I am grateful that I have June Cleaver and Samantha Stevens’ example to live by, at least in my head.
On that note, I am grateful for hoodie weather, because I do love hoodies. Okay. that is another funny word.
And on that note, I’m sure you are grateful that I am done.
This was in my devotions from Dad this morning. I love that phrase. It spoke of living for today, doing good today, plan the next moment instead of the next year. Because if you spend your time focused on the plan for the future, you miss the todays…
At Bingo last night, I was informed that Hospice has been called in for Katherine. She is nearing her last today, and she will no longer sit at the Bingo table and choose the next game as B’s and O’s. She will no longer sit at the Bingo table and help Barb when confusion sets in. She will no longer sit at the Bingo table and gush about the Bingo prizes I brought or rip open the bag of snacks to munch on while she plays. Katherine has touched my life each Tuesday for a year and a half, and I cannot move her from my mind as I work at my desk. I cannot wait to go and see her again before she leaves. I mustn’t miss the today.
I am grateful for snow falling slow and beautiful.
I am grateful for sweaters.
I am grateful that my daughter texts me with updates.
I am grateful for a soft slice of bread, a warm roll with honey butter, garlic breadsticks dripping with butter. Mmmmm, Fazoli’s.
I am grateful for the K-State Extension Office and their solution for neutralizing skunk perfume. Gotta love the purple.
I am grateful for the artwork in the sky on a crisp night with a full moon and brilliant stars. It’s a gift often overlooked.
I am grateful for new notepads and new notebooks and the feeling of fresh they give.
I am grateful for pigs-in-a-blanket days.
I am grateful for eye glasses clean, for purse de-cluttered, for magazines purged, for trash cans empty.
I am grateful for a maintenance supervisor and his plunger who is so patient and kind when he has to come and fix the slow drain in the kitchen here at work because professionals don’t know how to scrape food into a trash can and put nastiness down the drain without a disposal.
I am grateful for a disposal at home.
I am grateful for kosher salt that crunches.
I am grateful for Vacation Bible School slick and shiny workbooks that smelled so good.
I was grateful for my guarded tongue when Mr. McJerkface said something unkind to me. Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer…
I am grateful for Eudora, my phone friend from New Jersey.
I am grateful for green olives irresistible.
I am grateful for the revelation from my pastor about how to say this phrase in the Lord’s prayer: And lead us, (pause), NOT into temptation, but deliver us from evil…
I am grateful that the evening is not scheduled except for a basketball game on TV.
I am grateful for memories of my students singing “Step by step You lead me, and I will follow You all of my days.”
So, I am grateful for this today, to be added to my collection.
I remember the time in my life when I was severely judged for my actions, for my sin, for my choices. The phrase, “Love the sinner, hate the sin” was shared several times in reference to me, myself, and I. And in the middle of the mud, I made the choice to remain quiet and not share details and reasons. It cost me dearly.
It also made clear who loved me without exception, who walked beside me in the darkness, who chose to share God’s grace with me.
This week, the message was about judging others. So this week, the devotions are along the same topic. I loved this today, from the scripture in Romans 14:
One problem with believing that I should “hate” someone else’s sin is that it requires me to believe I’m qualified to judge that what that person is doing IS a sin. But the apostle Paul said only God (not us) can accurately assess people’s motivations, and see what is in their hearts. He strongly admonished the Christians in Rome: “Stop judging each other.”
In verse 13, Paul said part of Christian community is to “never put a stumbling block or obstacle in the way of your brother or sister.” Scholar Leslie Allen summed up Paul’s point: “Christian fellowship does not imply a right to run other people’s lives for them: only Christ can—and will—discharge such a right.” What’s the difference between healthy accountability, helping a fellow Christian avoid self-destructive behavior, and trying to run that person’s life for them?
Have you ever been upset, even angered, by another person’s “sin,” only to have things that are hidden in the dark brought to light, motivations revealed, in a way that totally changed your view of the situation? How can trusting God to judge far more accurately than we ever could change the way we relate to one another
This made me think of so many times I stood in judgment, even behind the sweet, empathetic smiles and “I’m praying for you’s” that so easily came out of my mouth. And how I now understand that there just might have been more to the story than I actually thought I knew… I have been convicted, once again. I’ve said so many times since my healing, “I have not walked in their shoes.” It is not my place to stand in judgment or condemn or speak ugliness to others about someone who is hurting for such reasons in which I probably have no clue. It is my duty to love UNCONDITIONALLY.
So, I am grateful for this message from Sunday that continues to speak to my heart this week.
I am grateful for the smell of a can of coffee grounds all fresh.
I am grateful that I had part-time jobs when I was in junior high and high school.
I am grateful for a lunchtime walk to the bank on a buhrisk, buhreezy, buheautiful day.
I am grateful for parents who have taught their daughters to write thank you cards when others do nice things for them.
I am grateful for those same parents who teach by example.
I am grateful that I no longer “walk on eggshells” every day.
I am grateful for homemade tortillas.
I am grateful for pictures on my phone.
I am grateful for really nice tech guys who know how to walk me through “fixes” without making me feel stupid.
I am grateful for medicine for my daughters.
I am grateful for silly things that a certain someone says that just makes me smile. Seven bells = 7:00. Double ott = 00, my niece’s basketball number.
I am grateful that Parker can count to 100 now and was honored at her assembly to join the 100 Club.
I am grateful to have heard Reilly’s voice in the background on the phone call with Katrina last night.
I am grateful to not have a car right now. It’s kind of freeing to not have errands to run because I can’t, but it was really nice today to walk to where I needed to go.
I am grateful for a man who has his hands full but felt compelled to greet me through the glass, so he did “the head nod,” you know, that silent “Hey” instead of “Hi.”
I am grateful for wacky little tips that are sent to me on random occasions that actually WORK. The most recent doo-dah is this: Is there any cooking flub more irritating than extracting eggshell bits from a bowl? Next time, skip the slippery fingers and hold a separate piece of shell near the fragment. Like attracts like, so the pieces will stick together for fast, frustration-free removal.
I am grateful for the excuse “better late than never.” Geri, please forgive me and expect a box to arrive soon.
I am grateful for staplers that work.
I am grateful that I don’t say, “I seen…”
I am grateful for this:
And I am grateful for unconditional love that has been shared with me.
But I AM grateful for memories of potato cakes and bologna boats. And extra pie crusts baked and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. And homemade noodles drying on a tea towel for me to snitch as I walked by.
I am grateful for a very full weekend of activity.
I am grateful for lots of candles and room spray and real fire in the fireplace to smoke out some of the skunk smell.
I am grateful for a great football game all the way to the last play.
“I’m too busy hating your sin to love you.”
I am grateful that not every day is like this one. Each one is different, some better, some worse.
I am grateful that my kids are raised and that season of life is over.
I am grateful for old, comfortable couches.
I am grateful for rainy afternoons, sitting in the car with a great friend, doing nothing at all but sharing our lives.
Judging a person does not define who they are.
It defines who you are.
I am grateful for family who take the time to share time with us.
I am grateful for my sister who cleaned up the entire feast with one hand.
And I am grateful for a message yesterday that spoke to my heart as a sinner who has been condemned by others, and as an “other” who has pharisaically condemned sinners. Here is that message that will stay with me all week and hopefully beyond:
rhondaisgrateful 