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!
Friday, August 26, 2011
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.”
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.”
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