Small Celebrations

When I picked up the phone, I heard a little voice say, "Hi, grandma."
"Hello, Ashlyn," I answered but was surprised that she was calling past her normal bedtime.
"I have some exciting news!" she exclaimed.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I just lost my first tooth!"
I could hear the excitement in her voice and imagined her now partially toothless smile. She continued talking and told me the tooth came out when she wiggled it.
"I am going to put it under my pillow. Daddy woke Emily up to tell her too."
I could hear Emily talking in the background. Then Ashlyn stated, "I have to go to bed now."
"Thanks for calling."
I hung up the phone and thought of the special moment she had shared with me. How momentous it was for her--a passage into a more mature stage of childhood. More teeth will come out but probably not with the fanfare of the first one. The enthusiasm of a child is contagious if we do not snuff it out with our lack of interest or cynicism.
As adults we have been hit with pain and disappointments so we frequently neglect to commemorate or even notice the small milestones and accomplishments that are before us. Life can take away our spontaneity and zeal so that we become sluggish and boring. Ashlyn's special moment reminded me that life is filled with small, but meaningful celebrations. What will I see today? Let me know what you find in your life to celebrate.

Acts of Kindness

After going to Alan’s doctor’s appointment, I arrived late at my neighborhood Bible study and did not have time to go home to get my Bible. It was good to be back with friends after being gone because of my surgery. The circle was widened to add another chair, and I sat down between two friends.
The group shared concerns and prayed before starting the actual lesson. The first verses were read as I listened while everyone else followed along in their Bibles. Another lady read the next few verses while I longed to have my Bible too. The friend on my left moved her Bible closer to me so I could join her. She smiled and nodded when I whispered that I did not have time to go back home.
Normally, we go down the row with each person reading. As it got closer to me, I thought I would remind the leader I had no Bible. However, the friend on my right handed me her Bible with a smile just before it was my turn.
In both cases, my friends saw a need and with no fanfare met it. Their small gestures allowed me to fully participate in the study. How kind they were.
I thought of the thousands of opportunities that are presented to me to be of service to others, and sadly, how many I miss. I realized that I need to be more observant and then proceed. Frequently, the actions may seem rather insignificant but to the receiver they may be monumental. It seems that our society has become so busy, distracted, and isolated that we often neglect good manners and small acts of kindness.

Scampering Squirrels

The Scampering Squirrels
Rebecca Carpenter
March 19, 2009
Near the lake, the dark trunk tilted slightly like a drowsy giant. At first, it seemed that the wildlife were still sleep too. Then I noticed him-a furry squirrel clinging to the tree and scrutinizing the yard. As he descended the tree at the back, his companion skimmed the front. They did not appear to even see each other since both were lost in thought.
The first squirrel signaled his feelings with his fuzzy, gray tail forming undulating waves while his body remained still. Then instantly his position changed. Up and down the tree he went scaling the trunk and scampering from limb to limb. He ventured to the end of a high branch and looked longingly at the feeder but realized that it was too far away to jump.
At the base of the tree he disappeared and then rose unexpectedly above the grass as he stood upright—his white chest a striking contrast to his gray body in the early light. He nibbled small acorns with his tiny jaws vibrating rapidly. His eyes continued to dart back and forth across the lawn. For such a small animal he had tremendous energy but seemed to have little notion of where he was headed.
Often we are like the squirmy squirrel—running around with no apparent destination or purpose. Scrambling from one activity to another—working a short time—and then continuing the quest but not even sure what it is. Just as the squirrel takes opportunities to momentarily remain still and survey his world, we should stop and evaluate our world too with its constant enticements. But instead of running off again, we should decide where and why we are running. Then we can determine the right path for our current season of life.

Tragedy and Thankfulness

Clean water flowed into my cup as I prepared my morning tea. While I read my morning devotionals, I snuggled in my comfortable chair. Wrapped around me was a soft, velour blanket. Beyond the window birds darted back and forth across the lake—chirping and singing. The serene picture was comforting.
When I finished and started preparing for breakfast, I thought of the abundant choices I had and also the wonderful meals that friends had provided during my convalescence. In addition to plenty of food, I lived in a sturdy, clean home. Even though I had some issues at the hospital, my overall treatment during surgery was excellent. All of my blessings came to mind as I followed the news about Haiti.
Pictures of destruction, despair, and death flashed across the television and covered the papers. How were they coping? How could the people survive in such deplorable conditions?
How they would treasure a cup of pure water. A warm blanket and a comfortable chair would be a dream. A clean bed in a home with sturdy walls and roof would be a fantasy. A pantry or refrigerator full of food would be unheard of. A closet of clothes would be only a vision. Things that I often take for granted would be cherished.
Since I first heard the news of the earthquake, I have been praying for the victims of the disaster both in Haiti and their loved ones who are far away. It is so reassuring to see people around our country and around the world come together to help in so many ways. If only, instead of arguing and fighting, we would all continue to reach out to each other.

Patient Renewal

A cool breeze blew across the lake towards the patio. I wrapped myself in a warm blanket, sipped hot tea, and marveled at the scene before me. A cover of gray clouds hung just above the trees. A trio of mallards hovered just over the water as they zipped down the channel. I turned when I heard a splash as they returned and screeched to a landing on the surface—one, two, and three.

A timid squirrel tiptoed along the brick patio in front of me. Two dark, shadowy figures ambled along the shore across the lake. They resembled the bear that had previously visited our yard, but then I realized they were twin dogs who had strayed from their home.

Twirling like miniature ballerinas on a magnificent stage, a succession of tiny leaves fluttered in the breeze. A few surged with the wind currents and disappeared over the roof. A single leaf pressed against the screen, hesitated, and dropped to the ground. Small clusters swirled together in a special dance before descending. The performers rested on the frost damaged green and brown lawn.

Standing tall before me, the sturdy oak was also a combination of green and brown. Dark green leaves clutched several branches. However, only a few sparse brown leaves hung precariously on nearby branches. One tree with opposing looks.

My entire garden was like that—a combination of vibrant and lifeless. The recent freeze had snuffed life from the less tolerant plants but served to strengthen the more hardy ones. In the spring, dead plants will be removed, damaged ones pruned, and hardy ones lightly trimmed. Eventually, the garden will be renewed and return to a sanctuary of beauty.

For now, I have to be content with what is before me. If I rush to prune, another freeze could cause even more damage. If I pull up brown vegetation, I won’t give it an opportunity to possibly recover. If I dig up and replace the damaged ones, I risk having them also freeze. Though difficult this is a time of rest and recuperation for my garden.

Surprisingly, through the trees at the end of the lake, a burst of sunlight glistened from the sunrise. A small section of water blazed with a golden sparkle—a promise of new growth and improvement. While I wait patiently for my garden, shouldn’t I also do the same for my own recuperation? It is easy to think we are to scramble to always be busy when we really need to stop and enjoy the rest.

Don't Call Us

Six year old Ashlyn and I were talking on the phone recently and discussing my recovery from surgery. I told her the doctor thought I was doing well but had to be careful for a while.
"After I opened our large sliding glass door yesterday, I was hurting," I told her.
"Grandma, put a note on the door that says 'Do not open'," she stated.
" That is a good idea," I said. "Also, I can't use the vacuum, and the floors need to be cleaned. Grandpa can't use it either because of his back."
"Put a note on the vacuum too," she giggled. "You should get someone to help you."
"I had thought about that," I answered.
"Just don't call us!" she stated matter-of-factly.
We both started laughing at her statement and continued with our conversation.
Later when I thought of her answer, I laughed at her honesty. As adults we are often quick to give advice, notice faults, and criticize. However, when it comes time to take action, we answer "Don't call us!!" It is much easier to complain than to be part of the solution.