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Posts Tagged ‘gratitude’

Cat carrier with child

During a trip to the vet, Britain (at 20 months old) decided to change places with the cat in the cat carrier. Such incidents were routine in “Britain’s World.”

Our 30-year-old son, his cat, and his dog just left after a 20-hour, 43-minute visit. The house echoes in silence as the whirlwind of energy he brought with him dissipates into stillness. My senses register profound emptiness. I take a deep breath, settle before my keyboard, and realize I’ve never given myself enough credit for parenting this amazing creature, who is my antithesis in many ways.

  • I am an introvert; he is an extrovert
  • I cherish my alone time; he invites friends everywhere (even into the bathroom with him when he was a child)
  • I examine the instructions; he intuits where things go and how they work
  • I love reading books; he loves playing Ultimate
  • I am always cold; he is always hot (except when I was pregnant with him; I was always hot)
  • I stroll; he bounces
  • I follow a plan; he flies by the seat of his pants
  • I’m early; he’s late (except he was born 6 weeks early because he couldn’t wait to get out of such a cramped space)
  • I play it safe; he is the poster boy for Balzout
  • I save; he spends
  • I claim to want more adventure; he claims to want more order

Parenting such a soul from birth to 30 has been the quintessential adventure (be careful what you claim to want). For years, I felt like a failure because nothing I did with him seemed to work out as planned. I couldn’t get him to read a book, sit still, be quiet, do his homework, or remember Mother’s Day.

I thought it was my job to teach him my way of doing things, to pass down my perspectives and values, to mold him into an acceptable human being. I realize now that it was his job to drag me, kicking and screaming, out of my certainty into the Land of Endless Possibilities. He took me from a world of two-dimensional black and white into high def, 3D, full-spectrum color. The experience of being his mother has shaken me to the core and challenged every last thing I thought I knew about myself, life, and the Universe.

When he moved away and left us with an empty nest, a sense of order and calm returned. Life became more predictable, the pace less frantic. There has been more time to reflect on what I learned from him.

So, when he visits and brings with him the ADHD Vortex, every cell of my body begins to vibrate at a higher frequency, and my world turns upside down within the first 30 seconds. Instantaneously my mind and body return to the altered state of Britain’s World.

This morning, as he drove away in a cloud of swirling, joyful energy, eager to meet up with his wife for a week in Cleveland, a tear escaped as I breathed a long sigh. I am so grateful for you, Son, and I love you so very much just the way you are. I also hope we never have to live under the same roof again.

Live long and prosper, Beloved Teacher! And never stop coming to visit.

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Acrylic paining by Barbie Dallmann

It’s Magic! (acrylic painting by Barbie Dallmann)

 

For nearly three months I’ve been practicing magic. I’ve been saying the magic words and intentionally engaging in magical practices. I have even been facilitating a magic group on Monday nights at Unity of Kanawha Valley. I can say with certainty, THE MAGIC has made a huge difference in my life.

You know the magic words. You learned them from your parents. You taught them to your children. We all say them often, usually without thinking about their power. I’m referring to the magical practice of gratitude and those sorcerous words: Thank you!

The most powerful insight for me has been the discovery of the chasm that lies between simply saying thank you and actually BEING wholeheartedly grateful. When I say thank you, I smile and feel a twinge of happiness. When I am engaged in wholehearted gratitude, I get a tingling that starts in my heart and moves out through my limbs. Sometimes I feel a chill and get goose bumps; other times, I sense waves of heat moving through me. Always, my body seems too small to hold the love surging through my cells. Often the joy leaks from my eyes.

At that level of gratitude, fear loses its stronghold. I am sufficient; I lack nothing. Every space of my being is filled by love, joy, and a sense of purpose. At those times, I am living the essence of “All is well.” It is magic! And it takes practice.

The MagicOne of the daily practices I learned from this book is listing ten things for which I am grateful and WHY I am grateful for each. I sanctify each entry with the words, “thank you, thank you, thank you.” When the list is finished, I read it aloud and allow myself to feel profoundly grateful. I literally breathe the gratitude into my lungs, feel it entering my bloodstream, and imagine it traveling into my heart and circulating throughout my body.

Even Facebook has become a gratitude extravaganza for me. When I see a post that makes me smile, I take a moment to think of the friend who posted it. I close my eyes, and give thanks for the ways in which that person has enriched my life. I imagine giving him or her a warm hug and whispering, “Thank you, thank you, thank you … for being YOU. My life is richer with you in it.” Then I open my eyes and click LIKE. When I see those who have “liked” one of my posts, I do the same thing, sending love and gratitude to each one. Facebook is no longer a waste of time nor a source of irritation; it has become an uplifting spiritual practice.

As Thanksgiving arrives and the countdown to Christmas begins, I will be choosing gratitude instead of stress, savoring the richness of the season instead of complaining about the traffic, and staking my claim to peace on earth, good will to men. Now that’s MAGICAL!

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Painting

Watercolor … “Inspiration” by Barbie Dallmann

I was halfway through the morning dog walk, a little less than a mile from home, when I heard it. Subtle. In the distance. A faint fluttering of leaves in the treetops. I hoped the breeze would make it to the ground. It was a muggy morning, with intermittent sunshine coaxing wispy bits of fog from the low-lying grasses.

Then I heard it again. The sound was a little louder this time. No, not the sound of wind rustling leaves. This was a sound I never heard growing up in the treeless prairies of Nebraska. It is the sound raindrops make when they hit leaves. The tiniest splat. So tiny it can only be detected when there are millions of raindrops hitting millions of leaves.

“I hear the rain coming,” I told the dogs. “Let’s get home!”

I quickened my pace and dismissed the idea of running. Two dogs, hiking shoes, and no bra. If ever there were reasons not to run, I had plenty. As the sound intensified, I knew what was coming. The words “torrential downpour” popped into my head. I looked behind us and could see a sheet of water in the distance. There was no escape. This was going to be really bad.

A burst of wind, and my muscles tightened in anticipation. One huge drop hit my head, then two, then twenty all at once. This was not the gentle shower of a watering can, but the splash of water pouring from a bucket. Oh, my goodness! So loud, and so much water! My thoughts were racing, expecting a lightning strike or to be washed away by flood waters. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Get home!

And then, within 15 seconds, the rain stopped. I waited for a second wave, but that was it. I marveled as the tiny, yet powerful storm moved on. The dogs shook themselves, and I laughed, swiping the dripping hair out of my face. It felt more like getting hit with a water balloon than a rain storm.

Before we got to our driveway, the sun was out again, and I saw something sparkle on the ground. A quarter and a nickel. Wow! Thirty times more money than I usually find on a morning walk. This feels like my lucky day.

 

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ReadAloudYesterday I finished my third year as a ReadAloud Volunteer in a grade school classroom of approximately 25. Next Thursday I’m going back to celebrate the penultimate day of school with a class pizza party and an opportunity to say good-bye to a very special group of people.

Reflecting on this past year’s experience induces a tearful sense of gratitude. Where do I begin to describe what it’s been like for me? Somehow the books, the kids, the teacher, the questions, and the laughter (lots of laughter) have come together to create an idyllic situation, one I have found myself eagerly anticipating each week. I enjoy practicing the reading as I try to get the voices of the characters just right. I anticipate questions that might arise and do a little research, hoping to be prepared.

This hasn’t been an experience of simply “reading books to children.” Yes, I do read books, but not to “children.” I read to lively, funny, inquisitive, and tremendously smart young people, complete human beings in every way. We’ve engaged in some of the most intriguing discussions, ranging from life on Alcatraz Island in the 1930s, to autism, inflation, Elliott Ness, ice boxes, and tooth powder. We’ve talked about the stock market, summer jobs, and even debated the pros and cons of kissing and marriage. This class has kept me on my toes all year, and I have loved every minute of the hour spent with them each week.

And so, to Mrs. Burdette’s Fourth Grade Class at Overbrook Elementary School, I say a big THANK YOU! Thank you for the smiles, for the laughter, and for the applause. Thank you for inspiring me to expect more from young people. Your ability to listen, to learn, to grow, and to share has warmed my heart. I hope you’ll always remember the fun we had with books this year and that reading will forever be an important part of your lives. I feel blessed to have been a part of your fourth grade experience.

 

 

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