Flutterby's

Encouragement, much like a snowballs, are fashioned by hands that take random thoughts as snowflake-like ideas, and gathers them up to make something new.

   From a note here, or a whisper there, it could be as if we're painting a picture. One that we couldn't say was actual until we applied all the colors in just this way.

This is the gift others bring to our masterpiece.  They bring the moment of connection, of open sharing.  Sometimes that is knowledge.  But it appears most often it is the opportunity to examine ourselves that brings forth the breath of beauty.  Had we not discussed, then we'd not have considered...and had we not conflict, then perhaps we would not been to the place of lingering on what just happened?  Perhaps a pearl of observation would not have been uncovered.  Where do butterflies go?  We witness their passing and while present we may experience a flittering moment of gladness.  Then, we continue on our way; as do they.

Yet influencing joy....in any way we can, even when that may be about revealed contrast as suffering, or sorrow.  We have an effect on quality of life as sure as those colorful wings that carry a flutterby.

Early Days

Remember those early days playing on the jungle gym?

I still cringe today thinking about my angst over the possibilities of those 'could have's' with my son.

   "Dad! Dad! Look at me!" He'd shout hanging upside down from eight feet up.

   "Oh my God!" my soul would screech without a sound uttered.

   "That's nice honey," my lips would say, as my heart played wipeout in my chest.

   "Be care-ful" I'd creak, trying to disguise my alarm; sounding cheerful. The idea was to not  scare him; or distract him in any way with my terror, fulfilling a parents worst nightmare.

  " I will" he chirped back, then pull himself back up; my heart coming down from my throat in unison with his efforts.

Small drops of perspiration surfaced on my forehead and upper lip, I turned my head feinting interest in other activities in the park, but only in desire for him to not see me trembling,

   "God help me!" I bit my lip while looking back, wearing a pasted smile while waving enthusiastically at his next death defying antic; showing him I was watching, dreading he'd loose focus for want of getting my attention.

  " I see Hon-ey!" ( Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord)  "Uh huh, ver-ry neat!" ( Confidence, show confidence in him boy-o)

   "If I ever meet the man who invented that contraption I swear I will pummel him!" I'd whisper with shallow breath, between clenched teeth of my frozen smile.

Then I would recall…..

My parents….

Voicing the very same words.  So life is a cruel, just, circle.  We are given ample opportunity to suffer for our children's sake as they develop.  It is the nature of parents.  Yet our darlings display the values we hoped they would embrace; and in doing so, we can celebrate a job well done.  Then, if luck is with you, they’ll have similar heart-stopping events with their own kids and you’ll be around to hear

“You won’t believe what YOUR Grandkid did today”

In my head I’ll be saying, “I hope he took ten years off your life.”

Revenge is dish best served cold.

Grace Offered

I read this and had to make a place on my blog for it.  Those magic moments that take command without asking permission; you just know what the right thing is to do. 


 It was just another harried Wednesday afternoon trip to the grocery store.
My husband was off teaching young men to fly. My daughters were going about
their daily activities knowing I would return to them at the appointed
time, bearing, among other things, their favorite fruit snacks, frozen
pizza, and all the little extras that never had to be written down on a
grocery list.
 My grocery list, by the way, was in my 16-month-old daughter's mouth, and I
was lamenting the fact that the next four aisles of needed items would pass
by while extracting the last of my list from my daughters mouth, when I
nearly ran over an old man. This man clearly had no appreciation for the
fact that I had 45 minutes left to finish the grocery shopping, pick up my
4-year old from tumbling class, and get to school where my 12-year-old and
her car pool mates would be waiting.
  I felt men didn't belong in a grocery store, and this old guy was no
exception. He stood in front of the soap selection staring blankly, as if
he'd never had to choose a bar of soap in his life. I was ready to bark an
order at him when l realized there was a tear on his face. Instantly, this
grocery isle roadblock transformed into a human.

   "Can I help you find something?" I asked.
He hesitated, then told me he was looking for soap.

   "Any one in particular?" I continued.
    "Well, I'm trying to find my wife's brand of soap."
I started to loan him my cell phone to call her when he said,

"She died a year ago, and I just want to smell her again."
~***~
  Can you imagine the gift of his grieving?  How could anyone be callous to
such a call to console?  Wouldn't it stop you in the self centered whirlwind
of accomplishing self appointed task and errands? I was stopped in my own
busyness.  As a softening and compelling desire to comfort and make his
missing moments easier, and I wasn't even there!  I suddenly conducted my
own mental inventory of all those I love and yes, miss. And for all the host
of reasons for the distance, I pause and thank God I can still remedy my
ache with a phone call, or a letter, even a trip to visit should the longing
persist.  I both honor his loss as a sacred experience, and a personal
lesson for my own awareness to my abundance; inviting my gratitude to
surface.  

For the moment to touch, to see and yes, to smell  are precious
treasures, that reinforce, and validate those cherished companions gathered
unto us all as hearts comfort.   And doing so, realize that the blessing of
company is by far the kindest grace love offers.