I’ve saved this little illustration for a while now, just because it tapped into tenderness inside of me. I re-read it today, and as I anticipate seeing my granddaughters this weekend, I decided to share it and be grateful.

When my oldest son was about 4 years old, he told me that “The bandaids at Granny’s are better. I like it when Granny puts on my bandaid.”

I immediately called my mother to find out what magic brand of bandages she was putting on skinned knees and sore fingers, only to discover that they were the same brand we bought in the large economy size at our house.

The next time we visited, I had a chance to watch her in action and I learned why Granny’s bandaids were better. It had nothing to do with size, shape, or what cartoon character was printed on the bandage.

When Granny put a bandage on your skinned knee there was quite a bit of ceremony attached to the event. There was discussion of the wound and how it came about, examination of the cut or scrape with commentary regarding the size and shape, a listing of possible treatments, and then the careful and ceremonial placing of the little piece of plastic and gauze, followed by a big kiss on the sore spot and a hug. If the injury was particularly painful, or inflicted in a way that also resulted in hurt feelings, quite a bit of lap time was often added until the wounded child felt healed and able to return to the business of being a kid.

As I watched, I realized why Granny’s bandaids and her method of healing bumps and scrapes was better. The healing offered was complete and addressed not only the injury to the body, but the spirit. The injured child got focused attention, hugs and kisses. Granny didn’t just see a cut finger; she saw whole little person it was attached to.

Because he felt loved, he felt healed. – Author Unknown

*****

I am grateful for the opportunity to be a grandparent again.

I am grateful for flexible bandaids and cartoon bandaids and clear bandaids and a new box of bandaids and the different kind of paper wrapping that comes with a bandaid.

I am grateful for people who throw their used bandaids in the trash and wrap them in toilet paper or a kleenex so other people don’t have to witness ewww.

I am grateful for sweet words like “boo-boo” and “ouchy.”

I am grateful for Moms (and Grandmas) who counteract tough Dads and others. You know, those tough Dads who say, “It’s just a scrape/cut/little blood/broken elbow/gash (take your pick at the injury inflicted). Don’t baby her! She’s just fine.” Sometimes, that creates a mental injury inflicted… Just sayin’.

*****

And I am grateful that even though my scars are visible…

I had lunch with a friend today. This is a friend who is always smiling, always pleasant, always so warm and engaging.

I had no idea.

I talked and talked and talked about life these days and filled her in since it had been awhile. And when I was unloaded, I asked, “So. How are YOU?”

I had no idea.

Behind the smile, behind the warm and engaging, there is pain and anguish.

It was a reminder to me that even though I sometimes bare my soul to the world and leave nothing left to the imagination in my writing and in my unloading…

I need to listen.

I need to inquire.

I need to stop talking and observe.

Because not everyone bares their soul to the world, and behind every smile, behind every “I’m fine,” there is a story that is worth telling.

I am so very grateful for this friend who models for me a positive outlook.

I am so grateful that she chose ME to befriend.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to try again.

I am grateful for the sound of a thumping tail, happy to see me.

I am grateful for the sound of my husband, first thing in the morning, after he’s had a restful night’s sleep and calls me to say, “Well, hello there, darlin’” in his drawl and smiling, playful voice.

I am grateful for the sound I make on the keyboard when ideas are flying through my brain and I can’t get them out of my fingers fast enough.

I am grateful for the sound of leaves crunch underfoot and leaves scattering in the breeze.

I am grateful for the sound that babies make when they are sleeping deep.

I am grateful for the sound of a friend who felt safe enough to confide in me…

Because I had no idea.

…lead me to the Rock that is higher than I. – Psalm 61:2

Life is like a messy desk right now. Everything is right there at our fingertips; we’re just having a hard time making sense of the piles and figuring out which pile to tackle first.

Life is like a Martha Stewart garden right now. There are so many beautiful things, but there are so many, we tend to overlook each individual beautiful thing and neglect to appreciate the individual loveliness.

Life right now is like a really great buffet, the buffet that has multiple buffets with an ice cream station that includes lots of toppings from which to choose and a chef at the end of one of the lines with a big carving knife and other chefs preparing your omelet any way you so desire and bread in the form of fresh hot rolls with honey butter brought to your table and vegetables you actually WANT to eat and fried chicken piled high so that you don’t have to search for the breast piece…and it’s so overwhelming, I choose mashed potatoes, green beans, and a slice of roast beef and then I don’t return for more. I stick with the familiar and load up on the hot rolls that were placed in front of me.

The weekend was a blur.

Between my brother’s visit and rescue help with our investment property, heaven-sent time with Elaine and sharing every possible thing in such a short time to catch up on the last 15 years, a visit from Cindy and Keith and much-needed laughter and fun and familiar, and the extra stresses of life these days, I am overwhelmed. I don’t know which way is up, who’s on first, when it’s due, what I overlooked, and what comes next.

So, today, I am just grateful for a messy desk full of possibilities and opportunities and busyness so that I don’t get bogged down in TV watching and boredom and feeling sorry for myself-ness.

And I am just grateful for a Garden of Eden all around me, a garden of friends who are as different as the flowerbeds of Stewartville, friends that give me hope and happiness and encourage me and allow me to listen to their stories and when I see them, they are like a bouquet of beautiful.

And I am just grateful for buffets of issues and problems that add spice, and buffets of dull, same ‘ol same ‘ol fare that allow me to breathe and sit in what is comfortable and rut-like, if only for a few moments…and buffets that include some surprising “wow factor” that make me want to go back for more.

But just so you know:

All I needed was the plastic pumpkin bucket with handles for collecting candy, an old black dress with a little stuffing, Mom’s hose, some old lady black shoes, and a plastic old witch’s mask that was smashed to my head with the thin elastic band. The elastic band always got tangled in my hair and it hurt! The mask smelled funny and freaked me out but was so fun to put on when I got ewwww! reactions from Mom and Delores and Mrs. Schrag. I am pretty sure I wore that same costume several years in a row, even though there was a black-markered HALLOWEEN box of other possibilities to put together.

At the end of neighborhood trick-or-treating, it was the anticipation of dumping the bucket on the floor in the living room to see the loot I had gathered all evening. I recall that any candy was good candy in our house, since the only candy we ever got was coffee candy in the crystal jar or an occasional walk downtown to the drugstore for shoelace licorice or sixlets behind the big glass case. I loved those little white paper candy sacks that made me feel like I had just won the lottery… I digress.

I went to the thrift store this week to peruse the racks of costumes for fun things to take on my trip to the great Northwest. I have two granddaughters that need a big box of dress-up fun. Furry hats, a cape or two, some princessy-looking numbers, a police jacket, leopardish and leathersome, and…a puffy great white shark.

I scored.

So, on this last Friday before I head Northwest for Halloween…

I am grateful for a little Ama fun and anticipation. And racks of unwanted costumes.

I am grateful for Halloween memories.

I am grateful my parents didn’t buy into the evil of Halloween but allowed us to enjoy the fun of All Hallow’s Eve.

I am grateful for my years at St. George Episcopal School where I learned about All Saints Day, the day after costumes.

I am grateful for masks, as long as they are plastic to hide my face, not internal to hide my reality.

I am grateful for candy in an old faded orange pumpkin bucket.

I am grateful that I do not have to watch scary movies if I do not so desire.

I am grateful that my husband does not find pleasure in scaring me for fun.

But I am grateful that he enjoys handing out candy to children who ring our doorbell, and I am especially grateful for the tears in his eyes when little Cinderella sang “You are My Sunshine” as her “trick,” and I am grateful that she and her sisters came back the next year and remembered our home as the one where Sam asks for a trick.

And finally, I am grateful that I do not have to wear hose ever again, neither the real pair nor the old witch-y hose for fun.

I want to fix. I want to help. I want to solve. I want to serve. I want to participate. I want to support. I want to assist. I want to resolve. I want to offer.

I want and I should are completely different and I NEED to separate.

I am finding myself and my calendar busier these days than they should be when I am in the city. I’m missing the changing colors of this beautiful season. I’m missing the sounds of the leaves crunching underfoot. I’m missing the wonderful that is all around me, the things that bring such enjoyment in my life. I’m missing just being, because I am doing and scheduling and working and running and those things are okay IF I am finding benefit and fulfillment in them and am enjoying.

In my Michelle calendar on my desk, here is today’s thought:

Dust if you must, but there’s
not much time,
with rivers to swim and
mountains to climb,
music to hear and books to read,
friends to cherish and life to lead.

My thoughts this morning are scattered – there is so much inside that I want to unload.

But for now, I will be grateful so that I can begin to see the beauty and possibility of the day.

So I am grateful for an early morning wake-up.

I am grateful for the anticipation of seeing Elaine tonight.

I am grateful that she has the opportunity to attend the writer’s workshop and learn more about writing her untold story.

I am grateful for a brother and a Dad who is working so hard to help us.

I am grateful for a happy dog every morning.

I am grateful for the off button on a remote when the political negativity gets to be too much to bear.

I am grateful for an egg in a cup every morning for breakfast.

I am grateful for a morning phone call from Sam to tell me he loves me.

I am grateful for my job and for my bosses.

I am grateful for Lysol wipes.

And I am grateful for Philippians 4:7

“God’s peace…is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will keep your thoughts and your hearts quiet and at rest as you trust in Christ Jesus.”

I am grateful for the strength in an iris leaf that makes it stand tall and proud.

I am grateful for puffy clouds against a blue sky.

I am grateful for the support of my sister and my brother.

I am grateful for warm hot fudge sauce cake with a scoop of ice cream on top.

I am grateful for open windows on a cool morning and the smell of fresh air.

I am grateful for a talkative CASA girl who is figuring out life and making good choices.

I am grateful for fresh popcorn.

I am grateful for Maya Angelou.

I am grateful for things crossed off the list.

And I am grateful for someone else to mow the yard.

A gratitude list from the memories of last week.

1. Hot dogs skewered on stretched-out hangers over an open fire in the middle of the front yard on a Thursday night in small town America.
2. A bigger-than-Dallas moon to watch on the drive back to the city.
3. A new book, several new books.
4. Happy Natia, tail wagging, excited to be “home again.”
5. Hundreds of iris bulbs and the anticipation of next spring.
6. Dead box elder bugs and a new broom to sweep them away.
7. Spending a Saturday morning in a run down laundromat with machines humming, Natia on the floor sleeping, and nothing but a new book to occupy my time.
8. Tears that can’t be helped when I hear acapella music at church.
9. Happy husband.
10. Listening to my daughter’s stories of the day with noisy children in the background.
11. Baking banana bread.
12. Bills paid.
13. Mid-afternoon walk with my dog, releasing her from the leash, and letting her run fast across an empty lot.
14. Feeling productive in my work.
15. My piano and my butterfly quilt…the missing is no longer.
16. Hearing my husband singing “Amazing Grace” while he gets ready in the morning.
17. The sounds of little girls splashing in the creek water and squealing when they find frogs, across the street at the park.
18. Being welcomed in our new small town America.
19. Fried chicken at the Triple C with a bunch of farmer types in overalls and coveralls.
20. An evening with Paul and MJ and two great kids.
21. Extra mayo.
22. A new TV series to watch. Current can’t miss: This is Us.
23. Lunch at Panera with Cosmo, Jimena, and Paul.
24. Learning to be content with what we have and not needing new.
25. The sound of mourning doves in the still of the day.
26. Creaky floors that remind me I can walk, and I can hear.
27. Anticipation in the wait to see dear friends: Elaine, Julie and Dave, John and Linda, Shirley…and waiting to see family: Dad, Dwight, and Katrina and her family…and to feel little hands in mine once again when I finally get to see Parker and Reilly after two years of absence.
28. Loving going to church, loving my church.
29. Knowing that God is speaking, not just thinking that maybe God is speaking.
30. Bendy straws.

Apparently, box elder bugs like white houses. I have been staring at about 52,345 of them crawling on the screen of this 2nd floor window in front of my desk all the day long. It is not pleasant. Do not come and visit us right now. At least not in the daylight hours.

On to less creepy thoughts…

I am grateful for a morning that began with laughter in the pickup with Sam. I was telling him about helping a co-worker with her car noise. I thought I could help, since, you know, I am a mechanic 2nd generation. I told her to pop the hood and she didn’t know how. That made me feel smart. Sam laughed. Not that I felt smart, but that I used the phrase, “Pop the hood.”

And I am grateful for the privilege of seeing the most beautiful sunrise in the history of the world when I drove back to box eldered white house.

And I am grateful for the small town Kansas entertainment that comes through the pickup speakers from the small town radio station that employs radio people who really should only be in small towns because they need LOTS of practice before hitting the big time. Oh my.

And I am grateful to have learned this morning about every area school lunch menu for today, and every area senior citizen center lunch menu too. I know where to go to get a bowl of chili and canned peaches, or corn dogs and tater tots, or pork roast, mashed potatoes, and a side of Watergate salad.

And I am grateful for the delight at having a little sleeping dog at my feet all day long, un-creepified because she cannot see the invasion of the box elders.

And I am grateful to have had dinner on Mom’s china last night for the first time in many, many years. It has finally found a home, and this daughter is happy.

And finally, I am grateful that my 2nd generation mechanic skills allowed me to know how to check oil and transmission and I could even point out that co-worker should fill the reservoir for her windshield washer fluid. Thanks, Dad. Now, if only you had also been an exterminator.

…except for butterflies. and fireflies.

…it could hold a rather large amount of gratitude. – A.A. Milne

Yesterday was a great day. 

There are just those days when you say, Wow! and you think it can’t really get much better. Those days when your heart is bursting with happiness. Those days that cause tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

Yesterday was one of those days. It had been awhile since I had a heart bursting with happiness and gratitude kind of day. My fault totally. Every day should be that. But I allow the dull and doubt, the sullied and shame, the brown and blah to enter and cover the happiness and gratitude. It clouds my vision like the gray of a dreary day.

But not yesterday.

It started with a happy dog.

It continued with a call from my happy husband.

It spread when my boss came around my desk, ordered me to stand up, and then hugged me tightly while telling me we just placed a REALLY BIG DEAL in a REALLY BIG JOB that she and I had been working on for a REALLY LONG TIME. We both had tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

And then it got even better when I left to go to court and witnessed a most wonderful hearing that culminated in the judge ordering my CASA girl’s adoption date set for Valentine’s Day, CASA girl’s day of choice. A not-so-minor answer to many many prayers. More tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

The day turned to evening, and I spent my time with two large computer paper boxes of paperwork which was actually mail and financials and catalogs  and church bulletins and pictures and all of the important things that I need to save which turns into all the things that aren’t very important that I need to toss when it becomes months later…and it was so good to sort and organize and pile and TOSS.

In the middle of the purging, I spent an hour on the phone with my youngest child, catching up on life and relishing the sound of her voice that is rarely heard in these days of busyness. She couldn’t see it, but more tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

In my piling and purging, I found an envelope from cousin Dean with an old article folded that included a hand-written message from my Mama. I uncovered an envelope of pictures from Shirley that she sent to me when she was also piling and purging, pictures of my girls and my Mama in the days of Central Christian. I saw a list of gifts received from our wedding. I discovered kindergarten graduation pictures that were intended for a picture frame. I enjoyed looking through 50th birthday cards and felt loved all over again. Joy. Happiness. Gratitude.

Yawning. Satisfaction. A little daydreaming that needed to turn into night dreaming, a little more yawning…

“Ready to go to bed, Natia?”

And the day ended with a thumping of a happy tail on the couch.

Yesterday was a great day.

I look at this piece of art, “Shack,” by Elizabeth Murray every day. It hangs large and loud on the wall facing me, and over the past four years, I have grown to love it. I can look at it all day and notice new things. Can you see her? She kind of looks like Olive Oyl.

It is called “Shack” for a reason, of course. The woman’s world is a scattered chaos, her home in shambles, disorganized organization. So, the artist deconstructed the art and put it back together in this three dimensional masterpiece in order to tell her story. You can see the walls of her home, layered but still recognizable. You can see the cobblestone path leading to her shack, and I have also heard it described that the path can also be the chain that binds her to her existence in the home, connecting her down the chimney of her brain to the soles of her feet. She has been violated in some way, and so she has blocked entry to her innermost parts. You can see where her heart belongs, and although her home, her life, is in shambles, the light of the sun, or I like to imagine the Son, still shines through.

Murray’s work has been described as resonating struggle and pain in her own life, and this piece certainly shows that.

But it also shows the sun. It is up to the person appreciating the beauty to decide whether the sun is rising or whether the sun is setting. And, whether it is the sun or the Son.

The message resonates with me…

I am grateful for art.

I am grateful that even though I am completely uneducated about art, I can appreciate it for the gift it is to me as I look at this piece each day.

I am grateful that my employers love art and chose this piece to share my space in the office.

I am grateful that even though the artist’s message may have been very different, the message that her work speaks to me, fills my soul and tells a small part of my story, my shack.