My boss and I were having a conversation yesterday about being the boss. I guess I have never been the boss, other than motherhood, so I was very enlightened as she gave some great insight.

She’s pretty open about her feelings, and that is rare in an employer, I think. But I need to appreciate that fact, because she’s a good teacher. Sometimes I think she shares too much, but I admire her for being vulnerable – besides, she’s a good teacher. And I am her student.

My husband is a boss, and I can observe some of what my boss was talking about, but I had never realized it before. It’s all about perspective and what you choose to notice, I guess.

1. Bosses are expected to be gracious – it’s part of their job.
2. Bosses have feelings and those feelings include loneliness, being left out, not wanting to make the tough decisions, controlled anger that cannot be expressed…
3. Bosses like to be included in the office banter and fun.
4. Bosses need pats on the back, too – they are human.
5. Bosses, most of them anyway, don’t enjoy giving bad news or cracking down on slackers.
6. Bosses are rarely shown gratitude – it’s part of their job.

I am quick to look for my paycheck but rarely if ever think about the struggle it has to be sometimes for that paycheck to be written.

I am quick to complain about being overworked, but I can turn off my computer and call it a day.

I am quick to point out the annoyances and faults of my bosses and take for granted all their great qualities that attracted me to this career. It’s easier to notice the negative. And sometimes it’s hard to acknowledge the positive.

I am quick to thank fellow employees for something or comment positively on a presentation that took time to prepare, but I RARELY think to comment to my bosses when they conduct a meeting that had to have taken preparation.

I watched my husband spend hours sitting at a table this past weekend, handwriting cards to every employee in the new company that is being formed. No one else saw this. I am sure very few, if any, thanked him for the personal touch.

I have watched him sacrifice his time off to go help others or get the new offices ready.

I have noticed the lines of stress that show on his face as he spends his off time constantly thinking about the company, his employees, how he can improve, and decisions to be made.

I have been his ear as he tells me about his day and talks about his employees with adoration for going above and beyond or sharing about their children’s accomplishments.

I have heard him tell many of his employees “thank you” for a job well done, or “You did a great job,” concerning a project, and I have also heard him respond, “No one did,” when I’ve asked him if any of his people commented on something he did for them.

I have experienced his kind and gentle admonition when I did something incorrectly, I have relished his accolades when I achieved a workplace milestone, I have appreciated his signature and thoughtful “Dear’s” and his shoulder squeeze when his “old school self” just wanted to reach out and show that he cared.

Because at one time, he was my boss.

Even at 53, I am still learning a lot from being an employee.

Even at 53, I am still finding more ways to be grateful.

Even at 53, I realize I need to be more observant.

Even at 53, I am kinda glad I am not at the top of the totem pole. I just need to do better at being towards the bottom.

I am grateful for these little lessons that come out in every day life, when I talk to my boss, when I watch my husband in his professional role, when I sit at a computer all day and let the little things bother me, when I am quick to expect and not-so-quick to show gratitude.

I am grateful once again, for the reminder to say, “Thank you.”

And I am grateful for my boss,  who is vulnerable and real, and teaches me very valuable life lessons.

This morning on our walk, I was grateful that I brought a jacket.

I was grateful for the beauty of the moon.

I was grateful for the quiet street.

I was grateful for mowed grass to walk through.

I was grateful for the cardinal singing, and I imagined he was singing Psalm 121, so this favorite song of mine (above) played on my internal jukebox and will all day long.

I was grateful that all of the things swimming in my head yesterday dissipated in the stillness of the morning.

I was grateful for my walking partner and the fact that I would have rather stayed under the covers but he asked, “You wanna walk?”

I was grateful for the prompting of the Holy Spirit with each step I took, to pray for Lisa and Nancy, for Chris and Kreyson, for Karissa’s health and her bible study, for Delores and decisions, for my granddaughters getting ready to go back to school, for Melissa and the boys, for an end to our search for the depression expert, for my Dad, for a break for my brother, for Valerie, for my sister-in-law’s upcoming surgery, for Alan, for Hong’s boys, for protection for my Texas grandchildren, for Sam, for Geri’s new life at home, for Curby and Jeffry’s hearts, and for Uncle Charlie and cousin Charlie.

I was grateful for the bittersweet memories that came to mind of teaching some of the best kids in the world, missing my choirs.

I was grateful for the privilege of seeing children riding their bikes to school for something happening in the early morning.

I was grateful to watch a beautiful white and gray cat being curious on our patio.

I was grateful that Natia can still run happy all over the front yard.

I was grateful for the beauty of blooming ornamental grass.

I was grateful for the gift of a cool August morning instead of sticky humidity.

I was grateful that God knows my anxious heart and already has everything mapped out.

I was grateful that ALL of my help comes from the Lord, through creation, through the lives of my circle, through His word.

I was grateful.

I still am.

I’m hungry, I miss sweets, I need to iron, I need to work faster, Natia looks so cute while she sleeps, oh I need to write that card, don’t forget to take that stack to the mailbox, someone just knocked on the door, I ate too much celery, stay FOCUSED!, I hope Sam got some pats on the back today, I should have taken typing in high school, I have GOT to get our bathroom organized, I need to go read James 2 again, church was good and people were so friendly, I miss COR church, football and volleyball season YES, I need to go downstairs and take a break and play a little, rats, no piano, why is this computer so slow, don’t forget to have that account changed, I wonder if the girls are excited for school next week, I miss the smell of Haven Grade, why does that make me ALWAYS think of monster cinnamon rolls and chili, we should have chili tonight, I wish my grandchildren were going to school, we need a tenant, ugh the duplex is not ready to go, gotta make those reservations, I really don’t wanna do this eating plan, I miss a potato, but I also missed Dr. Pepper and survived now 5 1/2 years without, John McCain was a good man, it’s pretty incredible that he has both sides of the aisle speaking at his funeral, I wonder if I will even have a funeral, I wish it would stay 68 degrees from now on, Bob Goff hurry up and write another book I can’t get enough of your simple wisdom, Sam is so kind to people, what if I can’t find this whizbang immunologist?!, I wish I could get on Facebook, I feel so unproductive, I need to connect with the CASA guy and get going again, what should I fix for dinner poor Sam, I wanna listen to that sweet little girl squeal about getting a new heart over and over and over again, I wonder if everyone received my cards, what was I doing in 1988 when Wild Thing was on the radio, I need to be nicer to people who give me anxiety, please heal Nancy’s body Jesus, I think I will weed/feed the yard myself, Natia is fat too and it’s my fault too, should we get a kitten?

I am grateful that Sam likes to walk with me, and I am grateful that he lets me unload all of that so that I can start all over again tomorrow.

When I was 15, I was involved in a pretty decent motorcycle crash.  While I was in the hospital, I memorized Psalm 46, or at least most of it. And I repeated the first verse over and over and over during the months and years of healing that followed.

The Lord is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. The Lord is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. The Lord is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Over the many years since, I have repeated that scripture over and over and over, when I couldn’t form any original thoughts, words, or prayer, when desperation set in and I felt like life was spiraling or life was in a vacuum.

Today, I am grateful for that brown leather bible that I held onto in that hospital bed, I am grateful for the random/not-random-at-all thumbing through to find something, anything that might give me peace, and I am grateful for God’s divine direction that led me to Psalm 46:1.

I am grateful that even now, in moments of anxiety, He gives so much scripture of reassurance.

Quite simply…a hug in words.

Nothing like a hard day, and then coming home to find a fun surprise in the mail.

Nothing like a hard day, and then to be acknowledged as a “fixer” of all things.

Nothing like a hard day, and then be recognized as “Grandpa.”

Nothing like a hard day that brings tears, and then ending a hard day with the good kind of tears.

I am grateful for a black t-shirt.

I am grateful for the sweet heart of my daughter.

And I am grateful for hard days that remind us to be grateful for the little things in life.

I am grateful for the sound of rain hitting puddles just outside my window.

I am grateful for the sound of a purr from a contented cat.

I am grateful for the sound of a happy thumping tail on a couch when I walk into a room.

I am grateful for the sound of a soda can opening when sweat is dripping down my back.

I am grateful for the sound of an acapella choir at church.

I am grateful for the sound of sleet on a dreary day.

I am grateful for the sound of a breeze in an aspen grove.

I am grateful for the sound of gravel crunch.

I am grateful for the sound of metal door mats.

I am grateful for the sound of Bible pages turning in church, and by my bed, and at the table.

And I am grateful for the sound of Sam when he comes home. Like right now.

I am grateful for my road trip partner, my Senior Project Manager, my role model of forgiveness, my walking motivation, my forever home creator, the one who makes me laugh always, the one who cries with me during America’s Got Talent and when we are both touched by hymns that reach our souls, the man who holds my hand during every prayer and does not let me turtle when I am down but insists I deal right then and there, the guy who loves 10 grandchildren as if they were his own.

I am grateful for Sam, the one who found me in my brokenness and stretched out his hand so I could grab on.

Happy birthday, Sam I Am – this year holds so much potential and adventure, and I am thrilled to be by your side, watching God bless your world.

“I was chatting with a few people one day when the topic of salvation came up, specifically who would and wouldn’t be allowed into heaven. We were doing what we aren’t supposed to do – we were playing God. We’d name individuals we’d consider to be “on the fence” of eternal glory and foolishly determine their fate. Despite its gravity, it was a lighthearted conversation. That is, until the conversation turned toward certain evil deeds which much of the group considered to be unforgivable. We had done it. We had drawn the line. There would be no grace for them.

It’s been a few years since that conversation, but it still haunts me. Why did we draw the line? Why would we limit God’s ability to forgive? Is God’s mercy so powerless that it has a cap? Or could it be that God’s grace is much more comprehensive than we are comfortable with? Would it make our blood boil and cry out, “Not them! That’s not fair!”

Honestly? I hope so. I believe that God’s grace is so large and encompassing that we should be shocked by its unfairness. I imagine we will get to heaven and be stunned at those whose darkened hearts were lit in the splendidness of Christ’s mercy. We will all stand as reformed sinners in heaven, and the magnitude of the sin will be irrelevant in the brilliant reflection of Jesus.

Friends, God’s grace isn’t fair. And we should be grateful that it isn’t, because we all need Jesus. The vastness of God’s mercy is startling, perhaps even disturbing. We may get to heaven and bump into our earthly worst enemy, because the brilliance of the light of God’s grace may reach even the darkest of crevices. That is the very gospel itself. It’s absurd and sometimes even difficult to fathom, but I am ever so thankful for the irrational, illogical good news of grace!” – Janelle Gregory

(Janelle Gregory serves on the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection staff as a Human Resources Specialist)

It’s a good thought for an election day. This morning, I read a chapter from my Bob Goff book about Walter, a guy who is the first face of hope when refugees step off the airplane here in the United States. You should read it. It’s really, really good.

Bob talks about how he takes balloons everywhere. He’s kinda known for balloons. Balloons are not my friend, however, especially if I am within touching distance. If they are on the other side of a big room, I love balloons. They are happiness with air. Balloons say, “You make me happy!”

Anyway, Bob joined Walter at the airport and brought balloons to greet the people who were arriving with nothing and needed some help and happiness.

He also said that sometimes he goes to a fast food joint and buys 20 hamburgers and goes around looking for hungry people. How cool is that. I want to be like Bob when I grow up.

Of course, Bob referenced Matthew 25:35-40, and he talked a lot about me. Because so many times, I drive past someone who is probably hungry or thirsty or sad or lonely or could use a new pair of shoes or a tank of gas, or just a little conversation…and I say a quick prayer and hope that the right person comes across their path to help them.

And these days, I listen to political pundits and hear the awfulness from people I know and love speak about “those Democrats” or “those Republicans” and I remain silent. That’s as bad as speaking the hateful words, isn’t it? Kind of like driving by “a situation” and hoping someone else stops to help.

I don’t understand how someone who lives a life under the umbrella of Jesus can spread hatred for a political party, so prevalent these days, and I don’t understand how some of my closest people can separate Jesus’ teaching to love everybody always when it comes to undocumented immigrants and homosexuals and those in an opposing political party…but I remain silent. Kind of like driving by “a situation” hoping someone else fixes the problems we have in this country.

In other words, I offer deflated balloons, not happiness.

I hope instead of help. I loathe instead of love. In this transformation of finding out who Rhonda really is during this chapter of life, God is uncovering some ugliness from down deep and revealing some cold, hard truth.

As my people spew distaste and disdain for opposing political parties and I sit in my silent distaste and disdain for them, the finger is pointed right back at me.

I thought I knew who I was. I am sometimes good, but I am sometimes in need of a lot of Jesus and a lot of grace. I have people in my life who turn my stomach for a whole batch of reasons, and I need some serious overhaul to extend grace and release judgment, to offer HELP instead of pious pity, to reach out with “balloons” and a hug rather than silence and inner contempt.

I am very grateful today for Bob Goff. God is using him in my life to uncover some ugliness that I thought was dead and gone.

And I am grateful for balloons.

As long as they stay wa-a-a-a-y over there.

Sam and I are walking again. Six miles a day or close to it. The world’s problems could be solved if couples would walk six miles together with no distractions other than a random skunk that causes the couple to create a new route or the farmer in the dell who does the farmer wave while driving the farmer truck down the early morning street of Small Town USA.

Sam and I are walking again. It’s a good thing, a long time coming. We’ve both allowed life to become a barricade, and in so doing, we’ve gained a barricade around our middles.

Saturday morning, life’s problems had been solved, but we were still a couple of miles down the street. I saw a blackbird on a wire up above, and I immediately thought, “4 and 20 blackbirds baked in a pie…”

It drove me nuts. 

“How’s that nursery rhyme go?”

And for the next 20 minutes, we quizzed each other on Mother Goosers. I would start one, Sam would finish it, sort of. In Sam’s way, anyway.

“…stuck in his thumb, and pulled out a plum…”

“Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a pail of water…”

“…the cow jumped over the moon,
the little dog laughed to see such sport…”

I am grateful for a husband who plays along and doesn’t ignore.

I am grateful for sore legs, sore feet, sore bottom, and satisfaction.

I am grateful for time to walk, for safety while walking, for cooler mornings and evenings to walk, and for a husband who fills in when I am absent of motivation.

He is Jack Sprat, and I am the wife, for sure.

Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie!

When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
Was not that a dainty dish
To set before the king?

The king was in his counting-house,
Counting out his money;
The queen was in the parlor,
Eating bread and honey.

The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes;
When down came a blackbird
And snapped off her nose.