Gentle Thoughts Vol. 4

"Happiness is not something to be chased, it is a decision to be made."

Advent

"Our soul rises on tiptoe as we peer over the horizon.

 Waiting for the appearance of the Morning Star to come...

 and deliver us."

From a morning prayer

A Different Perspective

The other day I was sitting in my den; late afternoon. Glancing up from my reading, I noticed the late summer sun spotlighting a pitcher full of fresh flowers from the farmer's market on the table across the house in the dining room. So dramatic. 

The irony was: I'm not a dramatic person. I like things soft, smooth, and gentle. 

These harsh shadows, vivid contrasts between the light and the dark, and almost blinding highlights brought on by the low-angled sun were not at all my cup of tea.

Yet somehow, I was drawn to them. They bade me come closer... to notice the fine detail they skillfully lit on each delicate petal. To realize that MY preference...the type of beauty I am drawn to...is truly not the only thing that is labeled beautiful. There are so many different perspectives to be had. 

Each one as beautiful and unique and inspiring as the next. And this day, I was so grateful for the reminder.

Gentle Thoughts Vol. 3

"Can you remember who you were before the world told you who to be?" 

- Danielle LaPorte

Gentle Thoughts vol.02

Stop watering the weeds in your life

&

start watering the flowers.

Gentle Thoughts vol.01

“God is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to receive them."  

-St. Augustine

Roses In Winter

I've never been a big fan of roses... Perhaps just for the sake of being different? I tend to shy away from the overly prosaic as a rule, but like any rule, there is usually an exception.

And my exception is the glorious Bluebird. It's held me under it's enchanting spell since I was a teenager apprenticing in a family-run little flower shop. Building order after order of yellow, pink, white, and multi-hued florabundas without batting an envious eyelash... One too many young starry-eyed boyfriends ordering the overly-cliched red dozen perhaps, had skewed my appreciation for what many consider the mother of all flowers.

But then one day a new shipment appeared on our loading dock that would change the way I would look at roses forever. Out came the boxes full of heady blooms, and straight into the walk-ins they went for safe keeping. The afternoon carried on, and toward closing time one of our chief designers started working on a hand-tie for his wife whose birthday was close on the morrow. He disappeared into the fridge for some fresh materials, and emerged with the most magnificent rose blooms I had ever beheld. Enormous...soft...velvety...luxuriously abundant chalky blue-lavender petals with slightly deeper centers...equal parts vintage and modern. I think I audibly caught my breath.

Turns out they were his wife's very favorite, and it was easy for any casual observer to see why. Every rose ever after would pale in it's shadow. Those many years ago, it was one of the first true lavenders on the market. They were expensive and hard to come by. And I was head over heels.

Each time they would come in by special order, I couldn't get enough...hovering over the work table of whomever was filling the order, burying my nose in their soft fragrance... They quickly became my cultivated soul flower.

Months passed, and I came into work on the morning of my 16th birthday (a little gray-ish feeling to be working that day, truth-be-told) to find waiting on my work table

16 Bluebird Roses

displayed in an arrangement fit for royalty.

I cried.

I had never (and perhaps have never since) received a gift that made me feel so incredibly special. I did not deserve such a gift. From co-workers/a boss no less. I did nothing spectacular. We were not super close friends. Yet the time and thought that went into ordering them (a month or more in advance), the exorbitant cost, the artistic time and love that went into presenting them in such a grand fashion. All of these things that went over and above the usual status-quo effort expended on a gift...it was overwhelming. And for the week or two that they were alive, my heart nearly burst from the purest form of human kindness they exuded. This gift of all gifts.

So what is the purpose of this tome? To educate you on the virtues of the Bluebird? To cram as many superlatives into one blog post as is humanly possible? To simply pass the time on this snowy weekend?

No, dear ones. My purpose in writing is perhaps less obvious, it is to share with you the joy of being known. My co-workers saw the simple delight that these particular roses brought to my life. How they spoke to me, and made my heart sing. - Perhaps that seems strange to some of you - but us romantics often feel rich, deep connections with objects and creatures of the natural world.

And not only did they see it, they remembered, and they chose to go out of their way to make me feel like a million bucks. This insignificant 16 year old apprentice.

Since then, lavender roses have become a dime a dozen on the market...you can easily find them everywhere, and though only a dim whisper of the glory of their forerunners, every time my husband brings me home a dozen, my heart swells again. Because he knows me. And he knows this story. And I love how he reminds me of it each time they grace our home.

As they are this very moment.

Birthday Wishes

My birthday was Sunday. Marked by another candle on the cake/cards/calls/texts from family and friends, and the most wonderful weekend of celebration executed to perfection by my husband.

One aspect of birthday merry-making that, while a part of my life for several years now, really gave me pause for reflection and gratitude this year, was the long line of well-wishes from my Facebook friends. So many of those (you) dear people I'm not actively in touch with anymore (the definition of a "Facebook friend" I suppose), but seeing the messages roll in from around the world - every year starting with my sweet Chemistry compadre Rachel now in Cambodia, moving through Europe and the beautiful souls I've had the pleasure of meeting there, then finally to the United States when dawn breaks on the east coast, the parade of wishes this year really seemed to trace a sort of map of my life up to this point. Bringing to mind so many happy memories, activities, trips, jobs, hobbies, and friendships as I scrolled down my wall.

Friends I've known since the day I was born, my first babysitter's son who was like a brother when I was young, dear friends from my quizzing years, fellow bunheads (ballerinas ;-)), my first youth pastor, choir friends, singing school friends, blog friends, blog friends-turned-real-life-friends, piano students, piano student's parents, stamping customers, photography clients, photography peers, fellow creatives I have collaborated with, exercise clients, our old mail lady, the guy we bought our Patty from, and of course many other friends and family of the dear and everyday variety! Each of you have been a piece that makes up the quilt of my life. And I am so grateful for you.

And even more grateful that you took a moment out of your incredibly busy Decembers (ask any December baby, we sure get the short end of the birthday stick!), to write a wish on the wall of someone you knew...maybe a very long time ago, maybe for only a few short months, maybe we've never even met in person, but your notes meant so very much - each and every one - and helped to make my birthday weekend a joy-filled celebration!

Thank you.

White Christmas

Growing up, my dad was a teacher. And teachers live for snow days. And teacher's children live for snow days. And New England transplants who are teachers and teacher's children really live for snow days.

Somehow, I don't really know when, the old Bing Crosby movie White Christmas became our family's "lucky snow movie". Whenever the weathermen were calling for even a chance of flurries, evenings would find Posh (our dad) correcting papers on the couch watching White Christmas, and we would all willingly gather round and enjoy the classic song, dance, and romance. It was a powerful movie, that. In the mornings, more oft than not, we would wake to find a sparkling world covered in a fluffy white blanket!

Many, many years (and snow days) later, I think I probably still have the entire movie memorized. Even my husband regularly throws out quotes from Bing and Danny (Kaye), and readily breaks into their arpeggiated 

"snow, snow, snow, Snow, SNOW"

  with me whenever we spot the first flakes of a new winter storm starting to fall!

So this December, how delighted was I to find that our local theatre was performing White Christmas The Musical over the week of my birthday?! The tickets are purchased, the dog sitter secured, and I just can't wait to go and sing along to all my favorite songs!!! 

There will likely be tears. Because that's what nostalgia does to a girl who was a teacher's daughter from New England that loved snow days once upon a time. 

(Ok, who am I kidding. I still totally love snow days. And we still might break out our now-DVD version of White Christmas whenever the weathermen start getting our hopes up for a winter storm!). And speaking of winter storms, God: we're ready and waiting!!!