Learning About Myself through Others

Have you ever noticed that when you think you're in a position to teach someone, or comfort someone, or change someone's life, you end up being taught, comforted or changed in ways you didn't expect? I've had this happen several times in my life, so I don't know why it comes as such a surprise to me that it has happened again.

The first time that I can recall this happened was when a very dear friend and mentor of ours was diagnosed with Leukemia at the age of 60. When we found out that this amazing, robust, artistic man had received such grim news and had immediately been admitted the hospital for aggressive treatment, my first thought was, "What can I possibly offer him?" I hadn't experienced such illness in my life. As a matter of fact, I'd only really had to go through the death of one family member, my grandmother, and I'd been too young to fully understand what was happening.

But here was a man who had been like a father to my husband, had welcomed him into his home during a particularly rocky time in his life, and had offered himself as a spiritual guide. He had seen us through no small difficulties and witnessed some of the ugliest moments of our lives. He had given us so very much. What could we possibly offer? So for quite some time--a week? a month? I can't quite recall--I resisted visiting him in the hospital. I felt so guilty, and yet I couldn't bring myself to do any differently.

It was just before Easter, and my two young children had been busily decorating egg-shaped cupcakes. They turned out so beautifully that I had an idea. The children and I would brighten our friend's day with a plate of these festive Easter cupcakes. So, on a warm Spring day, I loaded the children into the car, my belly swollen with the second trimester of pregnancy, and we made the trek to the hospital to see our friend for the first time since his diagnosis.

Reed was so vibrant, even in the final stages of his cancer, but one thing he absolutely could not do was eat. He had lost quite a bit of weight, and just the idea of food made him queasy. As a result, our cupcakes were useless and I, likewise, felt useless, too.

But as I sat in my awkwardness, desperately searching for something to offer my friend, reminding a four- and five-year-old not to touch that, and not to climb there, Reed did something amazing. He comforted me. He shared his thoughts, and his peace, and his joy with me, and he let me know that he was content with what the Lord was doing in his life, and that I should be, too.

I walked away from the hospital room that day in such awe that this man, who I had sought to comfort, had ended up comforting me.

Three months later, on the due date of my third child, I stood with Reed's wife and other loved ones as Reed took his last breath on this earth and stepped into eternity with God. As I stood there on that Thursday afternoon, my stomach tensed and hardened with early contractions. A week later, Monet would be born, and would be given Reed's name as a middle name. He, too, would become a gifted artist.

Once again, I find myself in a place where I have been unsure about how well I would be able to serve and teach.

Once again, I'm being served. I'm being taught.

Two weeks ago, we welcomed a young man into our home from Swaziland for a six-month stay as part of a international voluntary exchange program. Our guest, who I will call Rejoice because that's what his name means, has been such a blessing to me and has already begun to teach me so much about who I am, what I believe, and how my life affects the world and those around me. His politeness, eagerness to learn and amazing dedication to Christ have been sources of much introspection for me.

Over the next six months, I'll be writing about Rejoice, about welcoming him into our family, and about the amazing lessons I'm learning along the way.

Please help me to welcome Rejoice into the Today's Lessons family!

Lurkers, delurk!

Bo has been dealing with some issues at work lately that leave him pretty frustrated when he gets home at the end of the day. I'm trying to get some input on how to handle these frustrations and wondering how much of the day other people lose by sounding off about their work day after they've come home.

So, I'd really like to hear from you. How much time do you spend grumbling about your work day? If you're a stay-at-home spouse, how much time does your spouse spend talking about work frustrations? How do you handle these frustrations?

If you're reading and lurking, I'd really love to hear your input.

Question...

Indulge me: how much time do you/does your spouse spend per day decompressing or blowing off steam about work once you're off the clock and at home?

Things I Am Thankful For Today

I do an awful lot of grumbling and complaining, so for these next five minutes, I'm going to list every thing I can think of that I'm thankful for.

Thank you, God, for:

My five beautiful children;
their good health;
my good health;
my husband's good health;
a beautiful home;
a great community;
a wonderful church full of people who are loving;
being able to stay home and orchestrate my own day;
great food;
this incredible computer that lets me do so much;
my iPod, with which I am learning so much;
the ability to communicate with friends and family;
my daughter's ability to go to college and not pay a thing;
cats who are fun to watch;
neighbors who let us live our lives;
my dad, who vacuums the house and loads the dishwasher every day;
a very comfortable bed and bedroom;
friends;
the ability to clean and declutter;
the views from my windows;
living in a place where we get to experience all four seasons in their fullest;
a vehicle that runs;
getting snowed in every once in a while;
great food stores nearby;
chocolate cake;
the freedom to home educate my children;
the freedom to learn every day;
Monet's artwork;
Sweetheart's great, helpful attitude;
clean, running water;
the organization that's part of our church that helps others have clean, running water;
extended family;
photography;
vitamins;
pizza;
blogging;
affirmation.

That's as far as I could get in five minutes, though there's much, much more to be thankful for.

What are *you* thankful for?

The World Around Me

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This is one reason I love the internet. Fun, educational games like this always remind me of how much I still need to learn as an adult. ;-) I've been messing around with this little challenge for about a week now. I didn't do so well the first time. I think I got 37 on my maiden attempt. Bo, the amazing thing he is, got 78. My goal is 100, because I don't think I could type faster than that. You have to spell the countries correctly, but you needn't capitalize. I'd love to hear how you do!

::: i love this face :::

I absolutely love this face. Love it. Love it. Love it. I never would have thought in a million years that I'd have a daughter so fun, beautiful and intelligent, yet there she is, in all of her red-headed, brown-eyed glory.

And yesterday? She was a baby. Just toddling after me, thinking I was the greatest thing that ever lived. To see her all grown up, on the cusp of turning nineteen, living away from home and running her own life, making new friends and amazing new people is so surreal to me.

If you have a little girl, you'd better stop what you're doing right this minute and go wrap your arms around her. Give her the biggest hug and the sloppiest kiss you can muster. Tell her how beautiful and amazing and smart she is (no matter what the child psychologists and friends and grandparents and experts say you should do/say). Bake some cookies with her, or watch her favorite movie with her (even if it's High School Musical), and let her know how awesome it is that she's alive and that she's spending her time with you.

Before you know it, she'll be nineteen, and she'll be away at college, and you'll be looking at pictures of her and wondering how it all went by so fast.

I know it's so banal to say these things, but I think that's because they're really, really true.

And now, I need to go spend some time with the two daughters who are at home getting their jammies on and asking for a story. I love their faces, too.

::: oh, to be a cat :::

What's it like to be a cat for a living? To spend one's days figuring out how to squeeze one's self into places that one would not normally care to squeeze into? To be enamored by every moving thing, whether it's the ladybug on the window, or the cursor on the computer screen, or the laser beam controlled by a teenage boy, or one's own tail?

What must life be like when one's only worries are when the people will rise and fill the food bowl, or banish one from the counter, or spill some cream as they're filling their coffee mugs? What must it be like to fill one's days with searching for the warmest beam of sunshine or the freshest basket of clean laundry or the last sleeping child? No worries about exercise, or relationships, or beauty. One simply knows that one looks good, even in one's graceful act of bathing.

And when one has an issue with a fellow cat, one simply lets out a horrifying hiss or a terrific growl, maybe even bats a clawed paw, and the message is clear. Soon enough, one will be playing with one's enemy, or one's tail, and all will be right with the world again.

When one needs a change of scenery or a safe hiding place, one has only to climb a tree, or curl up on a warm refrigerator, or perch atop an open door, and then one can have a view of everything, can bat at the people as they pass by, just for fun, or can completely ignore them, also just for fun. One can turn one's gorgeous green eyes upon the people, or turn and lift one's tail with dignity; one can choose to pay attention, or to not, but one can not be ignored, whether one is lying on the keyboard or the newspaper or pawing at the yarn in the evening or at a person's face in the wee morning hours, hoping for a little nibble of something, or eager to leave a dead-mouse gift, or hoping to get the person's attention just long enough to ignore them.

If I were a cat for a living, I would rule the world, I'm sure. Mice would fear me, children adore me, trees cradle me. And no matter what I was doing, whether sleeping or bathing or eating or playing, I would always be gorgeous.