Light, but not lightly

Kindness, compassion, grace may be offered with a light touch but are never tossed off lightly.
It costs. It always costs to give. Perhaps not too much, but cost it does. The phone call in the middle of the night: time to get over to St. Francis Hospital to deliver a baby. There are guests who show up (with warning)on your anniversary, two days before you're leaving for a seventeen day vacation and you still have to get the boat out of the water and take down the dock.

And the response is to give with a light touch, naturally, easily, graciously.

Grace, that's grace. To be so possessed by it oneself that it is simply what you do, graciously share your gifts, your joy, your wisdom with others.

I am so grateful for everything Kathie and Phil taught me about grace this week. They let me help pull the boat out of the water and onto the trailer, a brave move. They trusted me with Molly the golden retriever and Fluffy the bird.

What does grace look like? Salmon without pepper if it's pepper you don't prefer. Candles on the anniversary table. Long hours at the medical practice followed by long hours on the internet searching for pertinent information. Facilitating a hospice group conversation.

It all sounds sort of ordinary. But it isn't. Not ever. Every act of grace is a choice. Every act of grace has an opposite. Grace is a choice.

With a light touch, lots of laughter, and bowls of blueberries, Kathie and Phil choose grace.

What a gift!

Are you a bird?

“Are you a bird?”

Fluff is still as sharp as ever. Fluff is an African Grey Parrot and I remember the day he came home, to his new home anyway, from quarantine. Fluff is from Zaire/Congo. Phil brought Fluff home thirty-seven years ago. That’s a long time to have a pet. And he’s not even to his typical half-way point yet.

Fluff came to live with Phil, Paul, and my then-boyfriend, now husband, Dave. During their years together the guys taught Fluff a number of clever phrases. They also used Fluff to ‘goose’ each other, if a parrot can be said to do such a thing. “Wake up, Paul” was quickly countered by “F you, Phil.” This became a problem. No parent comes to Chicago to visit and likes to be met by a swearing bird. Fluff eventually lost his irregular vocabulary through lack of reinforcement and use.

So I worried that he had forgotten what I taught him, too. After over 25 years of absence, I was thrilled to encounter Fluff again this week. Don’t tell her this but I’d forgotten all about her until she whistled to get my attention. I like being whistled at. Even if it takes a bird to do it.

“Are you a bird?” Funny thing: I say this all the time, “are you a bird?” It is rarely germane to the conversation at hand but that doesn’t stop me. I say it in Fluff’s voice, “Are you a bird?” So the big test. Would Fluff remember it. Phil said it had been years since they tried it. Fluff has a clear identity of his own; he is excellent at telling us, “I’m a bird,” and he also knows that “birds can’t talk.” He says so.

The moment of truth. The Cheerio box was rattled, the treat in my fingers. “Are you a bird?” I asked Fluff.

“Are you a bird?” he asked me back.

Yes. Of course. “I’m a bird.”

Okay, this is confusing!

You're confused? I lived these vignettes in a different order. Let me explain.


Several posts on one day, August 25 I believe it is, Phil and Kathie's 32nd wedding anniversary, by the way. It was the only time in my life I saw my husband without his beard. Anyway, I digress, already.


The Odyssey.

Roughly 6500 miles it looks to be. Homer couldn't touch that.

An odyssey of, oh, about a month, out visiting friends, family and the folks from whom I am certain I will learn something more about grace. It is time.

The series of posts I put up today start from one about five or six entries back. The last is first. I posted several all at once and the first one of the series (go to Older Entries) is titled, "I'm on the hunt." Wild horses are involved. Did this just make any sense?

Find "I'm on the hunt!" by clicking on Older Posts until you find it. And then read forward in order until you get back here. And we'll all be caught up.

It's all about being gracious. And I look forward to finding out more of what it means, how it looks, what it feels like - to give and receive.

For now I know this, grace is a perfect waffle, an extravagant act of forgiveness, a hug from the server who brought your breakfast, lingonberries, drivers who let other drivers merge, over-tipping for a small meal. I wonder what else is out there?

"Just lovin' on ya, Jan"

The Entrance of the Queen of Sheba was playing as I walked through Betty's daughter-in-law's door. Seriously, you would have thought so.

Have I ever felt so welcome, anywhere? So loved? So appreciated? And for why?

'Cuz I was me.

No reason.

Big reason.

Betty Shadle has a wonderfully loving family that cares for her now that she is in skilled care with Parkinsonian Syndrome. Jack is, well, let's put it this way, "Let me at 'em." He is also very funny, whether droll or hahaha. Jack, Junior, is, well, very smart and strong and yet very tender when it comes to the things that matter in life. If you want an intelligent discussion with someone with whom you are going to disagree, talk to Jack.

And Ann. Ann is God's work, our hands. She not only does it, she embodies it in spirit and action. Talk about faith active in love. And grace. And grace. And more more grace.

Their gracious care for me, on the first leg of this 6,500 mile odyssey, was abundant and free.

In Texas parlance, or Ann's anyway, they just loved on me like I was the queen herself. Better, no stiffness, no protocols, no coy discretion. Just grace. Acceptance. Affirmation. The gifts of kindness and extravagance.

Quite frankly, it was their gracious reception that inspired not just an odyssey but an odyssey of grace. Grace. I had no idea how needy I was for it. Again. And how completely they cared for me.

I decided, hey, if you want to know something, go to the masters.

Hence, this odyssey (Okay, I'm just ripping off Homer but I do love the story, and a poem about it I'll post here soon) to the masters.

Not everyone who is a master of graciousness can be visited by one soul in one Subaru in one month. So if I don't show up, it's not because I don't find you to be a tremendous example of grace. If you read this, odds are, I already do.

But if I do show up, know this. It is because you are a gracious sign of mercy and kindness and love in this world. And I want to watch, just for a little bit. Just to see you in action. Not toward me, but in everyday life. I want to apprentice myself to you for a day or so and learn.

How to be grace. How to be gracious. Thank you in advance for all I will receive. I hope you get something from me, too. I intend that, pray I deliver.

The memo for moms

The memo for moms. Whatever it says, my mom didn't get it.

Not in time for me.

Sadly, my family home was a nutty mess. You don't need the details. There are enough of them that if you can't picture it from your own, a neighbor or friend's experience, you've seen them on TV.

I got lost in my family's house. Not that it was terribly big but there didn't seem to be a place for me and my parents did not see me. They didn't know me, or want to. My loneliness was of proportions far beyond what we may think young children are capable of. My despair was desperation. Did you know seven, eight, nine year old children contemplate suicide? I did.

Then Betty found me. Somebody found me. A human being, an adult who cared, who SAW me, who listened and laughed and took me seriously. A person to whom I could bring my questions and observations and opinions (lots of those) about life.

To her mind, she simply stood at her door and talked to me for an hour.

To my mind, she saved my life.

When I was ready to give up. She saw me. And cared.

She told me last week that it had "worried me terribly what I did to save your life."

"Worry?" I asked.

"Yes, I worried, after you wrote a few years ago and told me I saved you I wondered and worried what on earth it could have been that you needed saving from, and what was going on. I was terribly worried about you."

Not without reason. Bless her heart, she worried about me. Had anyone ever really said that to me before? Really. Had I ever heard it?

So I told her what I don't need to tell you. And she understood. And she was grateful herself for all the hours --- one a day --- she spent standing in that hot sunny doorway of hers, with the powder blue carpet underfoot, simply listening to me being human. She saw me. And heard me to speech.

She listened, as Lily Tomlin wrote, "with the same intensity most people reserve for speaking."

And so I survived.

Getting going

This started in Texas.

I have been meaning to go and visit Betty Shadle for years. And just now I finally got to it. From Denver to Longview, Texas.

I wasn't sure if I needed, or would need by the time I left to go home, a passport but I brought all the Texas-looking paraphenalia I could muster --- my cowboy boots, jean jackets, stick horse (okay, no stick horse), and I wore my cowboy hat practically to bed the nights I was out on the road traveling.

The New York University and Macalester decals on the back window of the car made me nervous. I didn't want to stick out. So I took my dirty Subaru through a few fields, got some straw sticking out under the doors and hoped for the best.

Well. Was I a goof nut or what. Every person I met looked me square in the eye with a gracious gleam and gave me welcome.

I LOVED Texas. I loved my visit with Betty, I expected that. What I was not expecting was loving Texas, loving Texans. Okay, so there are some places I did not go that might not have been so friendly but driving across practically the entire state, grace. Just grace.

And then, Betty. Betty is a story unto herself. And so is her remarkable, wonderful family.

For here, for now. Let's just saw that if one didn't know the gifts of grace before, one would after.

What they gave me: sheer grace. All of it.

I am on the hunt!

A journey of a single ice-blue Subaru headed out on an odyssey searching for signs of grace begins with --- a detour. Or two, or three. And road work. Lots of road work. And a herd of wild horses.

Now, that is grace! Right there. Right at the start. Stopped for road construction, the wild horses are right out my window. A couple of dozen beautiful horses nipping and sipping from the pond, chewing grass, posing for pictures. A gleaming palomino, the horse of my dreams was alive before my very much alive and watchful eyes. A gift of grace, those horses.

And so the day continued. Little bits of grace, like this one: a "hey, no problem! We're good! Really, it's okay, we're good!" response from the gas station manager when I -- for the first time in my life -- pulled away from the pump with the hose and nozzle still very much attached and in my car. "No biggie. We're good."

I envisioned my odyssey ending right there in tiny town Kansas. But no. Grace.

It is time for grace. It is time for gracious signs that the universe is full of good.

And it is time for me to experience grace, and gracious acts of welcome and kindness, most especially from myself.

I am on an odyssey that currently looks to last through September and take me roughly 6500 miles across the U.S. From Colorado to Connecticut, the coast of Maine, and back. Up and down, over and around. Searching for, finding, being delighted by grace.

In this process of healing and redemption from injury I've pushed and challenged myself. My motto is "The lines are there to be hit," and "Lean forward," all intent on urging me on.

What I realized was missing was grace. Gracious care for myself. The reminder that I am more than I was reduced to. That I am still a part of all I have been, have seen and experienced and loved. That I am still part of what I accomplished. That the strong, worthwhile, and, yes, even gracious person I have been is not gone, just was MIA awhile.

So, the next thirty days or so will be about this odyssey of grace. And I would love it if you would respond by telling us about your experiences of grace and graciousness too!

A herd of wild horses couldn't stop me.