giving myself

Last week I had a birthday.

When I was a child, I thought birthdays were all about me:  sort of an opportunity to be Queen for the day.

To tell the truth, up until last week, I still kind of thought birthdays were all about the birthday girl.  My children cooperated with this theory as soon as they were old enough, expressing eagerness to give me presents and backrubs and coupons good for cheerful service.  They were, I thought, copying how I treated them on their birthdays.

But then I had the "perfect storm" of a birthday, and my eyes were painfully pried open.  Life (celebrated and represented by a birthday) is about giving.  It is more blessed, Jesus says, to give, than to receive.  And then he thought it'd be good to let me learn it by living it, day after day.

To begin with, I had pms (which, I know, some think is a myth; let's just say it felt pretty real this time).  So I was a little grumpy to begin with.  But I smiled graciously for my Farmer's (belated by an hour) morning birthday wishes.  I made our breakfast graciously.  I oooh-ed and ahhh-ed over the gifts the children had picked out for me.  I allowed the whiny toddler to help me open my presents.  I smiled, pleased, to receive the gift my Farmer gave [allowed me to order].

And then (it was a little mp3 player) I wanted to play with it.

But there were groceries to buy.

On my birthday.

Since I wasn't actually having any luck transferring my music to digital form, and since the clock was ticking, I went, not quite so graciously.  [do you see me overlooking the fact that I get to go alone, since my Farmer - graciously - took off work to be home for my birthday?]

Before I left, I (graciously) pointed out to my Farmer some potential timing issues relating to pie-making and pottery-studio-paneling and toddler-napping.  [do you see me overlooking the fact that, on his day off, my Farmer is not only watching the children while I run errands, but is also planning to make me a birthday pie - with the children - and put up paneling in my pottery room?!]

And then I bought groceries.  God, in his graciousness, had many little treats planned for me on my outing:  Cans of crab, which I love, and have never before seen at the discount grocery store.  Also five unexpired bars of 85% Lindt in pristine condition, Belgian chocolate cream cheese for a song, and my favorite kinds of sausages.  Wonderful new books for me at the library, checked out by my favorite librarian, who had just watched a documentary I had recommended, and loved it!  And at my regular grocery store, crab cakes were a dollar off.

I returned home to a wonderful smell - my Farmer had made stew!!  But ..... I was eager for those crab cakes ..... and it turned out he had made the stew from the dried peas I had told him I didn't like!!  I put the groceries away, suppressing irritation at all the helpers - big and small - getting in the way.  [and yes, overlooking the fact that they want to help me]

After lunch, I took up one of my new books and settled into the recliner.  It was not to be: Lil' Snip, whining so unbeguilingly, wanted me.   I graciously read Curious George to him, mostly from memory, mostly without looking longingly at my own book.

When he hopped down, temporarily appeased, I picked up my book again.  Nice appeared with a flutter of homemade coupons - for backrubs.  She had set up a little backrub-giving shop.  I laid my book back down, graciously, and turned myself over to Nice.

The rest of the day was the same:  willing myself to speak nicely over the utter cacophony of three or more of their voices at once, to not ruin my birthday for them; coaching them in kindness, kindly; and receiving, graciously, what they want to give.

: : :

Here's the moral I thought I was writing about:  grownups don't get to receive on their birthdays; they just get to give to their families the gift of their graciousness, so the children can learn to enjoy giving.......so that when they grow up, they too can give and not need to receive.

Here's what I think I'm actually being taught:  even though I am no longer (in some ways) a child, I still need to receive.  My birthday was not about how graciously I could give a good day to my children.  I missed the point.  It wasn't that they were giving me the "wrong" things and I needed to set a good example by receiving them anyway.  They were giving me the right things.  I could have been truly receiving them.  I could have been blessed by them.  My birthday was a day for them to be blessed by giving to me.  And for me to practice truly receiving, because I need the practice and because they learn from watching me.

Hmmm.  Didn't I just write about this?  About letting go of one thing in order to receive something better?

: : :

[I am still learning.  Very likely I am still missing a lot.  Maybe even the main point.  I am grateful for my blog, where I can learn out loud, as it were.  Maybe, someday, I will be able to look back and see the path that He has brought me so gently along, and how it has led me to Him...]

shopping with a purpose

The auction I told you about is now open and will close February 7th!!  

All proceeds go to help families adopt terribly neglected

  children at an orphanage in Katie's country.  

Go here to place bids on awesome items like:

...and my own sweet Sweater Teddies are being auctioned as well:

(to find them, click on "older posts" at the bottom of each page of the auction - 

they're at the bottom of the third page.)

    

   

God bless all who are helping in so many ways to rescue and care for his little ones.

cozy

I'm sitting here by the fire this evening, and I keep feeling all these delicious new empty spaces in my house now.  The peace is such an untold secret .... but good secrets like that are for sharing.  It all started two months ago, I think, when I started doing coursework online that changed my focus from fitness to feasting.

I had hoped to lose a few pounds, but as I filled up my soul with truth, I began to shed excess everywhere.

What was first?  . . .  Books, I think.  I went through my shelves of fiction and "self-improvement" and gave away diaper boxes full.

It was like shouting in the Alps in avalanche season:  suddenly everywhere I looked, I saw deposits of unnecessary accumulation.  Out the door it went!

CDs and the CD tower.

More books.

Toys (the children, believe or not, helped with enthusiasm!).

Seldom-used bowls from the backs of cupboards.

Clothing (mine, and baby clothing languishing in the attic, "just in case").

Still more books.

Technological detritus.

Puzzles and games.

Papers that once seemed important.

[The funny thing is, it's actually difficult to think of what all I've gotten rid of - and some of this was stuff that we had to ponder over whether or not we'd miss it.  Needless to say, we don't.]

And as the stuff left, it seemed to release something in us that we didn't even know had been bound.

I painted a door.  He built a shelf.  I started sewing curtains planned a year ago.  He cleaned out the garage.  I painted another door.  He started building me a pottery wheel.  I moved all my pottery from littering my windowsills into a display case in my pottery room.  He attacked that ominous stack of papers.  I fixed a crooked curtain rod and hung a shade.


It's almost like . . . 
                             . . . the stuff we own . . . .
                                                                       . . . . owns us. 


And releasing our stuff, releases us.


Try it:  look around; can you find something to give away?  Something else?  Can you give until there are empty places?  Until you find yourself smiling a little more?  Until you see how restful blank walls and empty corners can be?

I don't know if it ever stops, honestly, if there's ever a time when there's nothing left to give away.  That's okay.  I don't think it's meant to be a task to be completed.  I think the giving's the thing.

And the spaces that are left - the wide open peaceful spaces - are the first reward.

There's also this strange security:  I didn't need all that stuff.  I'm okay without it.  I'm enough.

It's quite cozy.  I think you'll like it.

hidden treasures

Remember Katie?  How she was rescued from neglect and loved from this ...

... to this?

Well, there are other children still living (if you can call it that) at the orphanage where Katie was.

They're waiting for families, and some families are waiting for them.  As you can imagine, rescue is not cheap work.  Here's a way we can to help.

Hidden Treasures is the name of a charity which raises funds via online auction to help families bring these children home.  The next auction will open at midnight, February 1, and among many other donated items will be four siblings of these guys, Sweater Teddies made from felted wool sweaters:

(each one welcomed at "birth" with a hug from Lil' Snip)

If you'd like to help some of these children find a home, check out the auction February 1st - maybe there will be something there you could use.  You can also donate an item for the auction, or make a monetary donation, by emailing hiddentreasuresauction@gmail.com.

a big, big, house

I've got some new wheels turning in my head and I wanted to share them with you.  I haven't done anything about them yet, and it's always a danger with me to think exciting new thoughts and then, satisfied with just the thoughts, leave the accompanying actions languishing on the mental back burner .... indefinitely.

Here goes.

This morning our moms' group met.  We'd each brought an anonymous gift for an exchange, and while we sat around them in a circle of metal chairs, we had a time of sharing and prayer:  first things first.

One mom shared about a cousin, homeless, coming with her young daughter to stay with them till she gets back on her feet.  I mentally raised my eyebrows and thought "wow, didn't this mom let some other friends stay with her till they got back on their feet?!  She must have the patience of Job!"  I pictured the chaos, loss of privacy, and interrupted routine, and shook my head at the thought of doing what she had courage to do.

And then I remembered my aunt, who, having raised her own multitude and fostering many others, has recently taken in a family of nine (9!) children on a "temporary" basis.  Two months later, their lives turned inside out with loving nine extra souls, they are still giving.  And giving.  And giving.

The home of a woman I know (whose decorating skills and budget have often tempted me to envy) flashed through my mind, flawlessly decorated room by flawlessly decorated room, and I wondered what the houses of my friend and my aunt look like while they provide a home for the homeless.

I realized that I have equated beauty with success.  I thought that that was my purpose in my home.  That order and cleanliness were the goals.  A sort of visual peace is what I have sought after - in direct conflict, sometimes, with the living that necessarily goes on, since I share "my" home with five others.

But that's not the point at all, is it?

The point of a home is to be a place of belonging for people.  Somewhere to come to, out of the storm.  Somewhere that, as they say, "if you go there, they have to take you in."

A place of love.

I am broken, again.  "You are not your own; you are bought with a price."  The very air I breathe is on loan from above.  There is nothing, nothing, I can truly call my own.

Not even my house, "my" sanctuary.

True sanctuary is within, in the meeting with my Lord and my God in the inner places of my heart.  To arrange my home to feel peaceful can be a gift to those who dwell within its walls.  But to house in my very being a peace which passes all understanding is a far greater gift, and can be given whether the floors are clean and the knick-knacks dusted, or not.

Now, those are my thoughts.  Who are you going to send, Lord, to give me a chance to live them out?

[and in case you're thinking, but my house is too small for even the family that lives in it!!  here's a link to a related article, on small-house hospitality]

winter wonder

The fire has gone out.  My fingers are cold.

But you know what?  I am a grateful woman.

There are bags of pellets for the pellet stove out in the garage.  The sun is streaming through my (supposedly) energy-efficient window in my (relatively) warm house.  My pantry is stocked with nutritious food, and if it weren't, it would be a matter of minutes for me to go buy what I need at my choice of nearby variety-laden supermarkets - and with cash, I might add, that my able-bodied husband earns honestly at his fairly-compensated and steady long-term job.

My children are warmly clothed.

My to-do list centers on maintenance rather than on survival.

I'm more likely to need to vacuum my carpets than patch a leaky roof.


We ration Christmas cookies to curtail greed ....
  .... some are rationing the last of the rice, to keep starvation at bay.


A World Vision Catalog came to our door a week ago, and as we pored over the photos of foreign children holding ducks and goats, suddenly the wish lists we'd laboriously thought up for the children in our lives seemed awfully petty.

                             When we could give food....





What are you grateful for today?

                            How could you show it?