The premise of Patty's Ponderings is to reflect on the fast-paced, deadline-driven world in which we live. My disclaimer? I am no longer in the work world. Sometimes, I feel guilty that I am not offering my nephews an example of a good work ethic. Yet, as my mom says, going swimming--strengthening my right arm, and preserving my right ankle as much as is possible--is my job. I do not mean that my swimming is drudgery, as the work world often seemed to me to be. My swimming is challenging. Yet, it is rewarding--very rewarding.
But, I digress.
This morning, I went to work. Zoomer and I left to swim at the YMCA. Fifteen minutes after leaving home, she and I arrived at the pool,. During those 15 minutes, I encountered two people engaged in my pet peeve--engrossment in their electronic devices. First, a man in his twenties stood at the end of a switchback--an accessible ramp--engrossed in a conversation with someone. Later in our travels, Zoomer and I met up with an attractive, blond woman dressed in a gray business suit, and a fuchsia blouse. The blond businesswoman's head was buried in some electronic device. Zoomer is my silent business partner. Thus, while the electric wheelchairs of some people make noise that alerts people to their presence, such is not the case for me. The businesswoman was so engrossed in her electronic encumbrances that she did not see me coming. I spoke up. We parted ways.
Such encounters lead me to wonder--to ponder. What is so important that we miss in our surroundings--people, beauty, and all that life offers? What do we miss because of the magnetism of electronic devices? Complaints are made that no one has time to relax anymore. I challenge the premise.
No one has time to relax anymore? No. That is wrong. They do--we all do. It is a choice.
I confess that I am addicted to my computer. I communicate with individuals living on other continents. But, as much time as I spend sitting at my computer, I am not its slave. Though my contact with people is radically different from my working days, such is not all bad. I make choices. Essential to engaged living is circulating with people every day. Circulating without tether of wires, ear plugs, or other such appendages. Be it the grocery store. the Y, the Children's Museum, or wherever I find myself, full attentiveness to the people I encounter, meet, and know is vital. May I help them? May they help me? May we share our joy? Or are we called to share our sorrow. Joy is not happy. Sorrow is not sad. Happy and sad are nothing more than superficial ways of gasping for air. Joy and sorrow call us to inhale...to exhale--to live fully.
Take time. Take the time. Read Ecclesiastes 3:1-15.
Showing posts with label fleeting gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fleeting gratitude. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Monday, September 5, 2011
Honor
Honor. Family honor. Physical honor. Personal honor. Honor.
Mere mention of the word "honor" elicits a call to have good posture--to stand at attention. To limit our understanding of "honor" does a grave disservice to the word--to everyone involved in Honor's Service.
I confess, I am guilty of affirming that limited definition. Yet, recent events and life stages bring honor into question.
Family crests. Monuments. Physical stature.
None of these words engenders a spirit of forgiveness. Yet, forgiveness is perquisite.
Personal honor, and family honor are intertwined. My counsel of a young man struggling to find his way in the world surprised me.
How many of us, who are adults, yearned for something our parents did not give us? Usually, that something is not material, although it well may be. The form of something is not important. The revelation of forgiveness is.
My necessary forgiveness regarded questions that only I could answer by my own life experience. Why did my peers not understand my disabilities? Why did they bully me? How could I stop it? Those are impossible questions for anyone to answer satisfactorily.
By nature, I am very hesitant to assert my views--however urgent I feel they are needed--face to face. I am a coward--a coward's face. Yet, I feel emboldened by the written word. Writing allows the reader to absorb my words "in the structure of time," as the young man I speak of might say.
I am learning to appreciate a different dimension--physical honor. Never have I heard others mention it.
Physical honor. Graceful aging calls us to it. As babies, we are born with a set of physical capabilities. Whatever that set may be, it is our starting point. We take no notice of what those capabilities are. Why should we? We have known no other way of living than with that particular set. We learn our limits by testing them. All-nighters, weight-lifting--childbirth, perhaps. Depending on our life circumstances, aging alters that set. Our permission is NOT required.
I was born with the set of capabilities, which were described in part as being cerebral palsy, and epilepsy. That was my starting point. Seen as having limits, just as any other child, I tested them--believe me, I tested them. Just ask my therapists.
I did not understand my limits. Aging has changed those limits. Age forty. Morning stiffness. Age forty-five. Painful hips. Strained walking.
Each new limit called me to respond. Before I could accept the somethings that were given to me--to my aging body--I had to take a very different action. To my left hip, and my right ankle, I needed to forgive them for the service they could not give to me. I needed to forgive myself for yearning--for demanding--that my left hip and right ankle could give me no more.
Cognition of my body parts' service to me was and remains essential. Acknowledgment. I abused my body, such that some of my body parts are wearing out. Vigilance. Ever I must re-cognize my body's service. Ever, I must acknowledge--confess--to any abuse I may be inflicting on my body for selfish reasons--for vanity.
A brace. An electric wheelchair--Zoomer. Forgiveness of my parents for being human--forgiveness by my temperamental child self.
My counsel to the young man was a question. Have you ever considered that you need to forgive your parents for not giving you what you yearned for-for what they could not give you? Have you ever considered honoring what they have given you? Have you considered honoring that they have given is everything that they know to give you?
Honor. Standing at attention? No, not physically. Honor. Attending to the gifts that have been given. Forgiving what has not been--what could not be--given to you by your parents?
Honor. Family honor. Physical honor. Personal honor. Honor.
Mere mention of the word "honor" elicits a call to have good posture--to stand at attention. To limit our understanding of "honor" does a grave disservice to the word--to everyone involved in Honor's Service.
I confess, I am guilty of affirming that limited definition. Yet, recent events and life stages bring honor into question.
Family crests. Monuments. Physical stature.
None of these words engenders a spirit of forgiveness. Yet, forgiveness is perquisite.
Personal honor, and family honor are intertwined. My counsel of a young man struggling to find his way in the world surprised me.
How many of us, who are adults, yearned for something our parents did not give us? Usually, that something is not material, although it well may be. The form of something is not important. The revelation of forgiveness is.
My necessary forgiveness regarded questions that only I could answer by my own life experience. Why did my peers not understand my disabilities? Why did they bully me? How could I stop it? Those are impossible questions for anyone to answer satisfactorily.
By nature, I am very hesitant to assert my views--however urgent I feel they are needed--face to face. I am a coward--a coward's face. Yet, I feel emboldened by the written word. Writing allows the reader to absorb my words "in the structure of time," as the young man I speak of might say.
I am learning to appreciate a different dimension--physical honor. Never have I heard others mention it.
Physical honor. Graceful aging calls us to it. As babies, we are born with a set of physical capabilities. Whatever that set may be, it is our starting point. We take no notice of what those capabilities are. Why should we? We have known no other way of living than with that particular set. We learn our limits by testing them. All-nighters, weight-lifting--childbirth, perhaps. Depending on our life circumstances, aging alters that set. Our permission is NOT required.
I was born with the set of capabilities, which were described in part as being cerebral palsy, and epilepsy. That was my starting point. Seen as having limits, just as any other child, I tested them--believe me, I tested them. Just ask my therapists.
I did not understand my limits. Aging has changed those limits. Age forty. Morning stiffness. Age forty-five. Painful hips. Strained walking.
Each new limit called me to respond. Before I could accept the somethings that were given to me--to my aging body--I had to take a very different action. To my left hip, and my right ankle, I needed to forgive them for the service they could not give to me. I needed to forgive myself for yearning--for demanding--that my left hip and right ankle could give me no more.
Cognition of my body parts' service to me was and remains essential. Acknowledgment. I abused my body, such that some of my body parts are wearing out. Vigilance. Ever I must re-cognize my body's service. Ever, I must acknowledge--confess--to any abuse I may be inflicting on my body for selfish reasons--for vanity.
A brace. An electric wheelchair--Zoomer. Forgiveness of my parents for being human--forgiveness by my temperamental child self.
My counsel to the young man was a question. Have you ever considered that you need to forgive your parents for not giving you what you yearned for-for what they could not give you? Have you ever considered honoring what they have given you? Have you considered honoring that they have given is everything that they know to give you?
Honor. Standing at attention? No, not physically. Honor. Attending to the gifts that have been given. Forgiving what has not been--what could not be--given to you by your parents?
Honor. Family honor. Physical honor. Personal honor. Honor.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Three Young Lives
I have never given birth to any children...not that I remember, anyway. I am 51. Maternal instincts are not within my self-concept.
Yet, something quite unfamiliar is beating in me--the impulse to knock some sense into the heads of three guys, who have yet to make firm declarations of their life pursuits. To call them "boys" is inaccurate. They are in their 20s, and lower 30s. Don't get me wrong--I love these guys. Yet, "young men" exceeds their current beings. Certainly, "men" is beyond of the reach of these individuals today.
In my 20s, I was an Idealist with a capital "I." Work pulverized my Idealism, replacing it with necessary Pragmatism, with a capital "P."
A tone is creeping into my thoughts. "When I was your age...," "Listen to me, I have experience...," "Mom and Dad worked hard to live the life they enjoy now," "There is a point at which you need to put issues from your past in the past OR transform those issues into forces to serve you and others toward a better future...."
When I was in my 20s, and early 30s, I am sure my parents were thinking some of those same thoughts. They had lived through my father's year in Korea. They raised three children. They were involved in professional associations, and served in public office. They were active in their community--dedicated to creating a better world. Not with bravado. They did so with simple, clear acts rooted in deep convictions.
My grandparents of their son and daughter. It was a different time. They were proud. Their children had exceeded their achievements. One grandfather completed the eighth grade. When he sought certification to be a public accountant--a CPA--Pops went to a high school instructor. He tested his way to deem his worthiness to pursue a career. He did not test out of responsibility to education, he was tested into--proven to possess the requisite passion for--a career in accountancy. One grandmother followed the work of her time--a teacher. Ray--I'm too young to be called Grandpa--was rooted in the family logging and papermill work. Later, he worked on the railroad. One grandmother volunteered her gifts in a state hospital. She fulfilled expectations of her time--motherhood. Yet, I wonder. Had times been different might she have unwrapped her gifts--made her way into medicine? We will never know.
With all of that said, I don't know how to stifle the tone in my thoughts. Where is Archie Bunker when you need him?
I do not know what contributions my three young guys will make to the world. They have the intellect. Yet, to date, they lack the aptitude to apply their intellect--to make use of their gifts.
Technology has marvelous applications that improve many people's lives. Yet, my three guys do not know the meaning of "white noise." They lack the recognition requisite to tap technology's marvels.
They like settle for white noise. They like don't listen to the world around them. They like don't look to see where they may offer themselves--their gifts. Are they guys of their time? Only with time may we know.
Never have I conceived a child. I am not a mother. Yet, an unfamiliar impulse is beating in me--an unfamiliar tone is creeping into my thoughts.
Yet, something quite unfamiliar is beating in me--the impulse to knock some sense into the heads of three guys, who have yet to make firm declarations of their life pursuits. To call them "boys" is inaccurate. They are in their 20s, and lower 30s. Don't get me wrong--I love these guys. Yet, "young men" exceeds their current beings. Certainly, "men" is beyond of the reach of these individuals today.
In my 20s, I was an Idealist with a capital "I." Work pulverized my Idealism, replacing it with necessary Pragmatism, with a capital "P."
A tone is creeping into my thoughts. "When I was your age...," "Listen to me, I have experience...," "Mom and Dad worked hard to live the life they enjoy now," "There is a point at which you need to put issues from your past in the past OR transform those issues into forces to serve you and others toward a better future...."
When I was in my 20s, and early 30s, I am sure my parents were thinking some of those same thoughts. They had lived through my father's year in Korea. They raised three children. They were involved in professional associations, and served in public office. They were active in their community--dedicated to creating a better world. Not with bravado. They did so with simple, clear acts rooted in deep convictions.
My grandparents of their son and daughter. It was a different time. They were proud. Their children had exceeded their achievements. One grandfather completed the eighth grade. When he sought certification to be a public accountant--a CPA--Pops went to a high school instructor. He tested his way to deem his worthiness to pursue a career. He did not test out of responsibility to education, he was tested into--proven to possess the requisite passion for--a career in accountancy. One grandmother followed the work of her time--a teacher. Ray--I'm too young to be called Grandpa--was rooted in the family logging and papermill work. Later, he worked on the railroad. One grandmother volunteered her gifts in a state hospital. She fulfilled expectations of her time--motherhood. Yet, I wonder. Had times been different might she have unwrapped her gifts--made her way into medicine? We will never know.
With all of that said, I don't know how to stifle the tone in my thoughts. Where is Archie Bunker when you need him?
I do not know what contributions my three young guys will make to the world. They have the intellect. Yet, to date, they lack the aptitude to apply their intellect--to make use of their gifts.
Technology has marvelous applications that improve many people's lives. Yet, my three guys do not know the meaning of "white noise." They lack the recognition requisite to tap technology's marvels.
They like settle for white noise. They like don't listen to the world around them. They like don't look to see where they may offer themselves--their gifts. Are they guys of their time? Only with time may we know.
Never have I conceived a child. I am not a mother. Yet, an unfamiliar impulse is beating in me--an unfamiliar tone is creeping into my thoughts.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Living A Blessings List
Many years ago, a one-time relative of mine instituted a practice with her children. On Thanksgiving Day, she gathered her sons to write blessings lists. To me, the lists seemed contrived--artificial. She was well-intended. Yet, something went horribly wrong. Her good intentions were not strong enough to withstand the contrived nature--the scorn the lists met from her sons.
It is excusable that her sons were scornful. It is not desirable. Yet, it should have come as no surprise what the boys response well might be.
Yet, where was the family? The mother continued. Yet, she was given no support from her family--from her husband's family. They felt a certain smugness that somehow, because they did not need to write such lists that did not need to support the mother.
Many years later, Hillary Rodham Clinton said of raising children, "It takes a village." Clinton's comment may seem trite. Yet, it is far from it. Many years after some children were blessed by sharing their home with their grandparents, the pace of life goes ever so quickly. Lost seems being conscious every day of how we have been blessed--how we are blessed.
Who has graced my life today? What have I been graced to do today? How has my vision been graced today? How have my ears--how has my understanding--been graced today?
Once saying grace becomes a recital, the words are meaningless. Blessings must be lived, not listed.
It is excusable that her sons were scornful. It is not desirable. Yet, it should have come as no surprise what the boys response well might be.
Yet, where was the family? The mother continued. Yet, she was given no support from her family--from her husband's family. They felt a certain smugness that somehow, because they did not need to write such lists that did not need to support the mother.
Many years later, Hillary Rodham Clinton said of raising children, "It takes a village." Clinton's comment may seem trite. Yet, it is far from it. Many years after some children were blessed by sharing their home with their grandparents, the pace of life goes ever so quickly. Lost seems being conscious every day of how we have been blessed--how we are blessed.
Who has graced my life today? What have I been graced to do today? How has my vision been graced today? How have my ears--how has my understanding--been graced today?
Once saying grace becomes a recital, the words are meaningless. Blessings must be lived, not listed.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Fleeting Gratitude
This morning I came to church conflicted as to how to express myself. My sense is that I am not alone. I felt extremely grateful to everyone for their tremendous support--their prayers--as I find solutions to my physical problems walking. Expressing gratitude is usually quite natural for me to do. I hate being needy--at least expressing my needs has been something I hated to do.
This morning, a reversal of those two inclinations presented itself to me. I knew that I felt grateful that I have courses of treatment I can pursue--surgery, and a motor scooter. Yet, I was not ready to relinquish expressing my needs for support. I feared that if I expressed too much gratitude that I would lose the right to express my needs for strength and support in the future--or that my gratitude might drown out my appeals for support.
I fear I may be experiencing fleeting gratitude. I wanted what seemed unattainable--a diagnosis for my problems walking. I could have wanted anything. The point is, once I got what I wanted--a diagnosis, and a course of treatment--my appreciation for that diagnosis was a distant memory.
I have three questions. Do you ever experience fleeting gratitude? Is fleeting gratitude a side effect of the pace that we live our lives? Is fleeting gratitude a sign of disproportionate expectations we have for our lives?
This morning, a reversal of those two inclinations presented itself to me. I knew that I felt grateful that I have courses of treatment I can pursue--surgery, and a motor scooter. Yet, I was not ready to relinquish expressing my needs for support. I feared that if I expressed too much gratitude that I would lose the right to express my needs for strength and support in the future--or that my gratitude might drown out my appeals for support.
I fear I may be experiencing fleeting gratitude. I wanted what seemed unattainable--a diagnosis for my problems walking. I could have wanted anything. The point is, once I got what I wanted--a diagnosis, and a course of treatment--my appreciation for that diagnosis was a distant memory.
I have three questions. Do you ever experience fleeting gratitude? Is fleeting gratitude a side effect of the pace that we live our lives? Is fleeting gratitude a sign of disproportionate expectations we have for our lives?
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