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Saturday, 27 April 2013

  • Joy, not Jealousy

    I am amazed at how many good things happen to me on a regular basis. My husband tells me all the time how much he loves and appreciates me. The people I work with do such kind things for me, like all signing a "thank you" card and giving it to me out of the clear blue. I have good, true friends who make me laugh and smile. My daughter moves over and smiles happily when I lie down on her bed with her before she goes to sleep. My life is so full of good things.

    And it is so easy to be joyful during the good things. My heart sings with these small moments of happiness, and when something big and grand happens (like Bella's fifth birthday at Disney Land), it's hard to contain the happy.

    Yet...when big and grand things happen to others, it is also easy for that joy to slip. We can subtly shift from joyful to jealous, falling into the trap of asking "why them" - when what we really want to know is, "why not me?" We may even be tempted to play the victim card, thinking things like, "I should have gotten that. That should have happened to me. I DESERVE that." (If you know me personally, you know that the whole "I deserve" entitlement mentality is one of my biggest, angriest grievances against modern culture. I'll save that for another rant.)

    Being happy for other people sometimes seems like a chore, and it doesn't come naturally. I first noticed it when I was teaching kindergarten, and two kids were playing a game. One of them won, as someone is wont to do during a game. (The whole idea of filling children's lives with mandatory mediocrity [i.e., nobody ever wins or loses] is probably my second biggest, angriest grievance against modern culture. I'll save that for another rant too.) Anyway, Kid A won. I congratulated Kid A. Kid B started crying and accusing Kid A of cheating. Kid A did NOT cheat. She just got a lucky spin and landed on the ladder that propelled her to the top of the board. But in Kid B's mind, a stroke of luck was equivalent to cheating. His instant thought was, "I should have won, not you," and it came out as a fit. After that moment of clarity, I made a point of actively teaching that aspect of character. The speech usually went something like, "I know that you wanted to win, but you may not have a fit about losing. So-and-so is your friend, and when good things happen to our friends, we need to be happy for them, not angry." I repeated this speech MANY times over the next seven years.

    And I repeat it in my own head too. It's easy to be happy for my friends when good things happen to them, if it happens to be something I don't care about. Someone got a brand new car. Cool! I have no desire to own a luxury vehicle, ever, so if you get yours and it's a dream come true, then I am over-the-moon excited for you. YAY! But if someone goes on an amazing vacation and travels to places that I want to go....oy. That's harder. My immediate thought is, "I want to travel. I wish it was me. I don't think that person will appreciate it NEARLY as much as I would!"  

    Ha! Even as I think those types of things I KNOW that they are untrue. I KNOW that it's only my own fallen nature speaking, that I am allowing jealousy to thrive instead of fostering joy. It's one of those things that, in my daily request that God change me, is often repeated. Because, really, who would want to live a life of jealousy when she could be living a life of joy?

     

Thursday, 31 January 2013

  • Nothing Says Love Like Finding the Salt

    So I had somewhat of a breakdown this evening. I couldn't find the salt.

    I got home from work later than usual. Yesterday I had spent the afternoon working on dishes and laundry, only to turn around and spend 2 hours cooking. (No, I don't usually spend that long cooking a meal, but Bella was helping me. And as parents all know, when your four year old helps you with anything, it takes twice as long as if you did it yourself.) By the time we ate it was after seven, then it was bedtime and frankly, I just didn't feel like washing any more dishes.

    Which meant, of course, that I had to wash them this afternoon. I got home, started some laundry, sorted out a bank discrepancy and after a while started on dishes. One of the most obnoxious things about my cooking habits is that I use a TON of dishes. I really do. I even try not to sometimes, but I still do. And when I am moving at a leisurely pace and have lots of time, it doesn't bother me. But when I have a pile of pots and pans and dishes and utensils all with caked-on broccoli cheddar soup and dried bread dough stuck to them, and I can't even begin to cook tonight's dinner until this disaster of a kitchen is cleaned up, and it's already almost six o'clock...

    Oh yeah, and I'm still trying to finish packing up everything we took out of the garage. And I haven't done Bella's history project with her. My poor child is going bonkers because I've been practically ignoring her the past few days, and the lack of structure is too much for her tiny brain to handle. And when she goes bonkers I get annoyed, which turns into a nasty cycle. And I haven't swept the floor in maybe 118 days or something. It's absurd.

    And did I mention that I'm leaving the country in seven days?

    And to top it all off, I can't find the salt. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. I got all those dishes done, I was gathering up everything I needed for tonight's dinner and about to call Bella in to help me cook. It was after six o'clock (again), and I went to grab the canister of kosher salt...and I couldn't find it. Anywhere. Not in the pantry, not on the still-cluttered-but-clear-of-dishes counters, not in any cupboard. 

    I shuffled into the living room, nearly in tears, and collapsed onto the couch. Sometimes, you just feel defeated, you know? Sometimes it takes a heavyweight champ to knock you down, and sometimes all it takes is a missing canister of salt.

    Josh noticed my battle-worn countenance and teary-eyed response to his inquiry. I don't lose it all that often, and I'm not much of a crier in general, so a misty-eyed declaration that I lost the salt got his attention.

    He wanted to know what was wrong. (Everything.) He wanted to know what I needed. (More hours in the day.) He wanted to know if there was anything he could do. (No. Not a thing.) Bella came and gave me kisses, cuddled with me, then demanded to know when I was going to let her come help me cook. (In her mind, with the typical self confidence of a four year old, all I needed to be completely better was hugs and kisses from her.) 

    Josh sat quietly for a few minutes while I sniffled and wallowed, then he got up and left the room. I heard him moving around in the kitchen and thought he probably just needed to be away from my crazy for a while. Understandable. Bella was still in my lap so I cuddled with her some more. Then Josh appeared and said, "Did you take it to school or something?"

    He was looking for the salt.

    It made me laugh, and laugh and laugh. The salt didn't matter of course, and he knew it. He knew it was just a metaphor, a symbol of everything in my life that felt out of place and out of sync. He couldn't do anything about all of that, so he did the one thing he could do...he went to look for the salt.

    He didn't find it. I still haven't found it. But we went and picked up dinner out, and I hugged him until I felt a thousand times better. That one simple act righted my world again. Sometimes it's easy to take a spouse for granted, and then you remember how much you love them when they do something absolutely perfect, like finding the salt.

Saturday, 19 January 2013

  • Discrepancies

    I co-coordinate a community produce co-op along with two good friends, Amy and Alice. Today Alice and I were there later than usual, dealing with discrepancies. We knew that we had unloaded eleven fruit packs from the truck, but when the last woman came to pick hers up, there was not one left for her. We knew that we had unloaded eleven bags of bread, but when the last participant had left, there was an extra bag, staring at us in mockery. And to top it off, there was a whole basket of fruits and veggies missing. My friends and I are three imperfect people, managing a crew of fifteen or more imperfect volunteers, coordinating the distribution of produce to ninety or more imperfect participants. The margin for error is high. Still, it's frustrating when there are discrepancies - not because it's a pain to fix them (though it is), but because it means that something, somewhere, failed. It wasn't as efficient or as accurate as it should have been, and then we end up making a dozen phone calls, retracing our steps and stretching our memories, trying to figure out who got a box of fruit that wasn't theirs, who left a bag of bread that they should have taken, and why on earth there is no basket for Amy.

    Our lives are full of discrepancies. They happen everywhere, from the very minor to the life-altering major; in subtle ways and in knock-you-upside-the-head ways; in public life and in personal life. And they happen for a whole lot of reasons.

    Take the holidays, for instance. Perfect example of discrepancies. For one thing, there are the unrealistic expectations. We see TV commercials of a (beautiful, put-together) mom and dad with a nice (immaculately clean and clutter free) house. The (large, real) tree is decorated and lit, and there are (gorgeously wrapped) gifts piled high underneath. The kids are smiling as they unwrap (large, expensive) presents, and the whole family gathers around the table where a (plump, golden) turkey is the center of a veritable feast. Mom gets jewelry, dad gets a Rolex, the kids all get electronics, nobody is grumpy and everybody loves cranberry sauce. Oh, and it's snowing outside. Mustn't forget the snow.

    In real life, of course, that's not true. In real life, mom runs around with sneakers on and her hair thrown up in a ponytail, standing in front of an overwhelming amount of store merchandise, wondering exactly how much she can afford to spend on presents. In real life, the house is perpetually messy, because...well, people live there. Mom makes a grocery list the length of Manhattan for this one special meal, trying to overlook the fact that she doesn't actually like to cook. At the last minute she remembers that she should probably get a present for her husband and not just the kids, so she grabs something that she hopes he will like, then wonders if he got something for her, then decides it doesn't matter. On Christmas morning, she's exhausted, the kids are up crazy early, nobody likes the cranberry sauce and the kitchen is full of dishes and leftovers. Oh, and there's no snow. Because they live in San Diego.

    We create such images of things the way we wish them to be, and so often they are not. We all have an idea in our heads of what our "perfect" holiday (date, boyfriend, spouse, career...insert your fantasy here) would be, and sometimes we even go crazy trying to bring it into existence...but how many of us have ever had a holiday exactly the way we wanted? That's not to say we haven't had absolutely marvelous holidays, but they are rarely the "ideal." The discrepancy exists because our expectations are unrealistic. 

    Sometimes, discrepancies occur because people are dumb. And dumb people do dumb things, which brings a whole lot of dumbness into the world.

    And sometimes, discrepancies occur because change is hard. I know what I want to be. I think to myself, "I want to be healthy!" But I don't get home from work until six o'clock and I know there are people waiting to be fed. I could go to the gym and then head home to make dinner, but it's easier to grab Taco Bell. 

    I think to myself, "I want to live a life full of joy!" And then life hits me with a brick. And I could be joyful in spite of the brick, but it's easier to resent the brick.

    It's always easier to resent the brick.

    But, here's what I figure...this is my solution to all this. I keep trying. My life is going to continue to be full of discrepancies; that cannot be helped. Some of them will undoubtedly be my fault; some, maybe not so much. But I keep trying to bridge that gap between what is and what was meant to be. That is, after all, why God sent his Son to earth in the first place. I'll never quite make it as long as I'm here, but every day, I will try to undo the discrepancies.

     

About Me

  • Mama of one spectacular little girl; cooker of yummy food at a tiny little school; full time wife to my husband of twelve years; born traveler, ice cream enthusiast and incurable explorer.

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