Dad's Garden

Drive by my parent’s house during the growing season, and you’ll likely see an old man wielding a hoe in a large garden. If you pull in the drive way, he’ll amble over and engage you in a conversation like this:

“You wanna’ see my garden? I got this-here new hoe, and I need someone to ‘try it out’ for me.”

You look at the used hoe in his hand and think: New hoe? But you follow him anyway because he seems excited to show you his garden, and somehow you feel honored to be asked to “try out” his hoe.

“You gotta’ see my pumpkins!” He bends down and pulls back a giant green leaf. Underneath is the most beautiful pumpkin you’ve ever laid eyes on. And the reason you know that is — because he tells you so.

“Look at this. Whoo-wee! Ain’t she a beauty? Isn’t it the most beautiful pumpkin you ever laid eyes on? I’ll bet you she’ll make the best pumpkin pie you’ve ever tasted!”

After that you see the most beautiful zucchini, cantaloupe, watermelon, taters, corn, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers and carrots you’ve “ever laid eyes on” too!

While he’s showing off his produce, he also shows you his intricate watering system of little streams that guide the life-giving water to all his lovely plants. He complains about the weeds. “The dirty buggers are always trying to choke my plants!”

You’re not sure when, but another hoe appears, and he shows you how to use it to keep the little streams clear of weeds. “...otherwise, the plants will be puny and bear scrawny fruit,” he says.

Before you know it, an hour goes by, and he asks if you’d like one of his cookies and a cup of coffee. “I keep a stash of cookies and a thermos with me for just such an occasion.” So you follow him over to the shade and listen as he tells you about his garden, his two horses and half dozen cats, his last surgery, the engine he’d like to fix out in the barn, and how he tried to buy five cows at the auction and came home with seven…

Later, as you drive away, you look down at the box of produce on the seat next to you and smile. Those are the most beautiful zucchinis, cucumbers, and tomatoes I’ve ever laid eyes on!

As I think about my Dad’s garden, I wonder... If my life was a garden, would it be as healthy? Are my little streams clear? Or are weeds blocking the flow of life-giving water? Perhaps it’s time to get out the hoe and do some weeding — because the results are worth it!

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD

And whose trust is the LORD.

For he will be like a tree planted by the water,

That extends its roots by a stream

And will not fear when the heat comes;

But its leaves will be green,

And it will not be anxious in a year of drought

Nor cease to yield fruit.”

~ Jeremiah 17:7-8, NASV

The Dreaded "Uh Oh" Moment

Have you ever had that “uh oh” moment when you realize you’ve said, or done, the wrong thing? When I hear about an accident, say like a skydiver falling to the ground because their parachute failed. I often wonder if they had an “uh oh” moment somewhere on the way to the ground.

While I haven’t an “uh oh" moment that dramatic yet, I can tell about a few smaller ones I’ve lived through.

I had an “uh oh” moment shortly after my husband and I bought a used car. A queasy feeling came over me when we gave the guy our money. The deal seemed a little too good for a car that looked so nice.

A couple days later, I went in the post-office, and when I came out, the car wouldn’t start. I called my husband. And wouldn’t you know? It started for him just fine. Perhaps it was “operator error”— or was it? It kept happening to me, but not to him. Maybe the car just didn’t like me. So, we switched cars, and it started happening to him…

Then we heard a warning on the news to beware of buying “flood cars.” The cars look normal—but they never run right and even worse—they may not be safe. My stomach sank. We were the unlucky owners of a car suffering from the effects of being submerged in water. Over time nearly every sensor and electrical part in the car failed. The money we thought we were saving, we spent just to keep it running until we could afford to buy another one. By the time it was over—could have bought a brand new car!

Lesson learned? If you feel queasy feeling about buying a car—trust your gut—and do your research.

But how often do you jump out of a plane or buy a car? Not often—or maybe never. These kinds of lessons are easy to remember. In fact, we may never even have to learn them ourselves. Just hearing about someone else’s “uh oh” moment is enough for us!

But there’s another kind of “uh oh” moment we are doomed to learn from all by ourselves—and unfortunately—it’s the most common. It’s the moment right after you’ve said the wrong thing, and there’s an awkward silence… and you’d give anything to jump in a time machine and go back a few minutes.

I know my former neighbor wanted to jump in a time machine right after she asked me when my baby was due. The surprised look on my face must have tipped her off.

What’s the good news in all this? Believe it or not—there’s something great about the dreaded “uh oh” moment. The benefits may not be realized immediately, but I guarantee you will reap them in the future.

How? They make a bigger dent in your brain. What do I mean by that? First, memories actually make dents in our brain tissue, and second—it’s not possible for our minds to retain every detail of every event that happens in our lives.

Picture for a moment, that every event in your life is an e-mail. Your e-mail box contains millions of messages. There’s no way you can remember them all. It’s impossible for one of them to stand out—unless there is some sort of “attachment” to make it stand out.

That’s how our brain works. It retains a stronger memory of events with emotional attachments—and pain and embarrassment are effective attachments. They make a memorable impact on our brain. This increases our chances of learning from our mistakes—and reduces our chances of repeating them!

So next time you feel yourself floundering through an “uh oh” moment—embrace the embarrassment. It will make a nice big dent in your brain!

Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a word spoken in the right circumstance.
~ Proverbs 25:11

Heckle and Jeckle and the Big Risk!

Just for fun, I'm posting another speech I gave at my Gig Harbor, WA Toastmasters Club recently. I was working on Project #6, Vocal Variety. My purpose was to entertain by telling a story, while practicing my objective. The theme of our meeting that day was "cartoons," which reminded me of an incident when I was about five-years-old. The story went something like this...

I opened my eyes. The room was still dark, but with a hint of gray. I inched my body over the edge of the bed and lowered myself until my feet touched the floor.

I stopped and listened...

I heard my older brother breathing on the bunk bed above me. So, I crept to the doorway and peeked down the dark hallway toward my parents’ bedroom. Their door was closed. I felt a flutter of excitement! I wouldn't try if their door was open, even part way. I'd wait until next Saturday.

But now was my chance. I had been plotting this for weeks.

I still had to make it past my teenage sister’s door down the hall in the other direction. I was pretty sure her door would be closed, even if it wasn't she slept like a corpse. And I knew what a corpse looked like. My grandma worked at a cemetery, and I'd seen one.

I tiptoed past my sister's door, trying to miss the creaky spots on the floor. But I missed one.

Oh no!

I froze like a tree—trying not to breathe. I listened for a stir. All was quiet.

Whew, that was close!

I continued on my journey, only a few more feet to go and…

I stepped into the living room! My eyes scanned the dim room and landed on the object of my quest. There, resting under a pair of rabbit ear antenna, sat our black-and-white TV!

Some people had color—but not in our neighborhood. No matter. I walked up to the box with the shiny glass screen and turned the volume knob all the way down. And once again, I held my breath as I twisted the switch to the 'on' position. The faint buzzing sound of the TV seemed loud!

My heart raced.

Would my dad hear it?

Even from behind closed the door, sound passed easily through the flimsy walls of our house. I stood still, taking small shallow breaths, and waited. Nothing...

Finally, the TV warmed up and the picture came into view, nothing but fuzz. Oh, there had to be something on one of the channels! I carefully clicked the dial around to the next station and some funny looking bars came into view.

Well that was better than fuzz. I still had hope.

I clicked the dial around to the last channel—and my heart leaped like a frog! All of a sudden, I was staring at two black and white magpies sitting on a fence—talking to each other! I wanted to hear what they were saying!

Should I risk turning up the volume a bit?

I watched the the birds play around and tried not to giggle out-loud. Oh, how I had dreamed of this! But I wanted to hear, seeing wasn't enough. So, I reached out my hand to the volume knob, and ever so slightly, turned it up.

I heard the birds talking! They called each other Heckle and Jeckle!

I snuggled close to the TV, pulled my nightie down over my knees to stay warm, and looked up at the screen. I watched the naughty pair of birds and giggled quietly to myself. I was so enraptured… I didn't hear my dad walk-up behind me.

"What are you doing up at this hour watching that garbage?!"

I nearly jumped out of my nightie!

He reached over me and switched the TV off. "Now you get back to bed this minute you little whippersnapper!"

I jumped up and dashed down the hallway, slid under my covers, and pulled them over my head! I waited and listened to my father’s footsteps getting louder—bump, Bump, BUMP. He stopped outside my door...

I held my breath! The seconds seemed like hours before I heard his footsteps again, this time getting quieter—BUMP, Bump, bump. His door closed with a thud—and then I remembered to breathe.

I lay there with my heart racing. Was it worth it? Oh yes! It was worth it! And I've loved cartoons ever since!

Death is Inevitable, Dancing is Optional

A few years ago, work consumed my life. I juggled being a wife and raising a family with two jobs. My health and family suffered as a result. Then, one New Year’s Day something strange happened. Even now, I’m not sure if it was real or just a dream...

I woke up with a start—it felt like someone was watching me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Hmm, I must have dozed off on the couch. I ached with exhaustion. The last thing I remembered was mulling over my New Year’s resolution.

That’s when I saw him—a bearded old man him sitting in my living room!

“Who are you?” I said, my heart racing.

He held up an hourglass, and said, “Don’t you recognize me?” His eyes sparkled back at me from under giant bushy eyebrows.

“Uh… Father Time?” I asked.

“That’s what people call me, but that’s not my real name,” he said in a deep voice. “You can call me Bob.”

I felt like I needed something to calm me down, and all I could think of was chamomile tea. So, I said stupidly, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” he said. “It runs right through me.”

“Wh… what are you doing here?” I asked.

“Dispatch sent me,” he said. “I heard you were struggling with your New Year’s resolution, and I came to give you some advice.”

“Dispatch?” My knees were shaking, but he seemed quite calm—as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

“Yes,” he said, “Michael and Gabriel get the big jobs.” He twirled his long beard around his finger. “At least I’m not Fred—the Tooth Fairy…”

My mouth fell open. That brought him back to the moment, and he gave me a piercing look.

“Well, you understand that I can’t give you a New Year’s resolution, per say, but ‘Up-stairs’ there’s a definite consensus on the subject. However, I am allowed give you some clues. It’s up to you to decide.”

“Okay…” I said studying his face. His skin looked old and young at the same time… weird.
“Here’s your first clue.” He cleared his throat and spoke these words:

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot…
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance…
He stopped and peered out at me from under his bushy eyebrows—as if he expected me to say something.

“Well, these verses are familiar.” I said timidly.

“Do you know why I spoke them to you?”

“Er… not exactly,” I said. “I’m not good at thinking when I’m nervous.”

“That’s normal. Now, consider them again carefully. What stands out?”

I whispered the verses over to myself while he waited. “Well, not everything on the list is inevitable like birth and death. Some of the things are a choice—like dancing.” Suddenly, I felt the fog lift from my brain. “Dancing is optional!”

“Ah yes, my little Grasshopper,” he said, “You’re getting warmer! The new year is a time to reflect, a time to assess where you are in the seasons of life—and consider what to do with the time you have left.” He paused, and said gravely, “If you died today, what would you regret?”

As I thought of the time I spent working—not spending time with my family, taking care of myself, or spending time with God —I started to cry.

“You’re beginning to understand, aren’t you, little one? You have been too busy, not saying no to anything.” He took an extra long pause, and said, “But have you taken time to dance?”

Somehow, I knew he wasn’t really talking about dancing—but before I had time to answer or blow my nose…

Father Time… Bob said, “I knew a man, a very busy man. Bryan Dyson was his name. He was the CEO of Coca-Cola at the time. He learned an important lesson—which is your next clue.”

His eyes focused back on me in that funny way that made me feel like he was staring at the back of my skull—only from the inside. Once again, he cleared his throat and spoke:

Life is like a game in which you are juggling five balls in the air—work, family, health, friends, and spirit, and you are keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four—family, heath, friends, and spirit—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will become scuffed, damaged, or even shattered. In any case, they will never be the same.

My heart swelled as I listened—my chest felt almost too small to contain it.

“That’s it, my child,” he said. “That’s all I have to say. The rest is up to you.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I know what I need to do.” I said, “I know what I want to do!”

“What have you decided?” His eyes sparkled even more.

I felt a burst of energy and stood up. “I’m going to take time to dance with my family—we’re going to play and talk, and I’m going to listen! I’m going to dance with myself, go for a walk, get some rest, eat something good! I’m going to dance with my friends, give them a call—on their birthday, and invite them to lunch! And most of all—I’m going to dance inside, meditate, rejuvenate—and talk to God!”

“My work here is done!” He smiled triumphantly and stood to go.

I looked at him and realized I wasn't afraid of him anymore. “When you came, I felt awkward,” I said as I walked him to the door. “I didn’t know what to say…”

“I get that a lot,” he said with a chuckle.

“I asked you if you wanted a cup of tea,” I held out my hand, “but what I should have asked is—would you care to dance?”

He took my hand and twirled me around, and as he did, I closed my eyes and laughed. When I opened my eyes he was gone...

Scripture from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, NIV

Footnote: This entry is adapted from a speech I delivered on December 30, 2009. It was the first time I tried doing a skit. I played myself and the other character. I was terrified, but I survived, and my audience didn't pelt me with tomatoes!

Meaningless?

Day after day I read more discouraging news—job losses, war, flu outbreaks, and endless political infighting. I needed some encouragement. So, I opened up my Bible for my daily reading, and what did my eyes land on? The words of Solomon in Ecclesiastes, “Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless.”

That’s not what I needed to hear!

Okay, so I caught him at a low moment. Solomon messed-up and disobeyed God. He was experiencing a time of sorrow and regret. Even the so-called wisest man who ever lived was a sinner. That’s no surprise—we all are. But still—here’s a man who had it all—wisdom, success, fame, and fortune beyond the wildest imagination. Yet, at the end of his life he says it’s all meaningless!

As I read on, I found this man—who didn’t withhold any pleasure from himself—did admit to finding meaning in a few things. And it struck me they were all things that had nothing to do with wealth, fame, and fortune—because he said things like:

Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love. … A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without Him, who can eat or find enjoyment?
–Eccl. 2:24; 9:4

How simple is that? Nothing fancy—just take pleasure in your work and your important relationships—and acknowledge God.

Now that’s’ what I needed to hear!

Then it dawned on me, I don’t need to be discouraged. Even in these hard times, I already have everything I need for a meaningful life—work to enjoy, people to love, and most of all—a God who loves me! I don’t need to be rich, powerful, or famous. I don’t even have to be perfect. God knows my frailty—that’s why he sent His Son. All I have to do is acknowledge Him.

Jesus said, “And why are you anxious about clothing (an everyday concern of life)? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory did not cloth himself like one of these. But if God so arrays the grass of the field… will He not much more do so for you? Do not be anxious then, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or 'With what shall we cloth ourselves?’… For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added to you.”
–Matt. 6:28-33

Tribute to Ginger - A Lesson on Attitude and Persistent Prayer

It’s been a year since Ginger, my dear feline friend, died at the ripe age of nineteen. I wrote about how she became part of our family several years ago. I thought it would be a fitting tribute to share her story now—as she would have turned twenty-years-old this summer.

Ginger didn’t start out to be my cat, but when the kids grew up and left home—she stayed behind and kept me company. With the house too quiet and empty—we needed each other. I still miss her clinging precariously to my lap as I clack away on my computer…

(Bear with me, this is longer than my other posts. :-)

“Dad…. Dad?”

“What?” He lowered his newspaper. Three little girls in stair step sizes stood facing his recliner. The tallest one, Lila (now Sydnee), prodded the smallest one forward.

“Daddy, I want a kitty,” three and a half year old Leneah spoke. Red cool-aid stained her upper lip and her short crooked bangs betrayed her recent hair cutting effort.

“We want a kitty too,” chimed in her sisters. Evidence of red cool-aid marked their lips as well. I could see what they were up to. It was Leneah who really wanted a kitty. No doubt Lila, my little-mother-hen, figured she needed a little help getting one.

“You’re wearing me out!” he said with exasperation. “I’ve already said no several times. What is it about no that you don’t understand?!”

My husband wasn’t a “cat man.” And since he has no problem expressing his opinion, it was well known among family and friends that he hated cats. “They have fleas. They get hair on everything. And above all, they have attitude,” he’d say.

If anyone has attitude, it’s him. I smiled. That’s why he doesn’t want a cat. He says he doesn’t want to share a house with a cat that has fleas and fur, but it’s really the attitude.

“Come on, honey. What will it hurt to get a cat?” my heart went out to Leneah. “You know how much she likes animals … or critters of any kind for that matter. Now that the weather is warming up, she plays outside all the time. I didn’t think of that the other day, and I made the mistake of not checking her pockets before washing play clothes. We had a few really clean bugs and worms in the washer.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth for a second, but he shook it off, determined to end the discussion. “You know how I feel about cats,” he said stubbornly. “Let her have all the bugs she wants! Or better yet, get her a gold fish or a turtle.”

“Leneah can’t pet a fish, Dad,” nine year old Lila said, rolling her eyes. “And besides, my friend Robby has a turtle and some kind of fungus started growing on it. It’s gross.”

“Yuk!” said six year old Layla with a disgusted look. “I’d rather have a kitty.” Unlike Leneah, she was scared of bugs, and would rather play dress-up indoors. I suddenly pictured an unhappy cat in doll clothes.

Leneah just stood there looking hopefully between us. I wonder what’s going on in her little mind. Fungus probably sounds like another interesting pet to her.

“That’s it. End of discussion.” I could tell he felt ganged-up on and wasn’t backing down. “If you don’t like my idea, then forget about getting a pet.” He picked his newspaper up and acted like he was reading.

“Come on girls. Let’s not bother your Dad right now. He’s tired after working hard all day, and besides, it’s time to get ready for bed.” I said as I herded the disappointed little group to their room.

“Mind your mother,” my husband said from behind his paper, clearly relieved to be off the hot-seat.

After the nightly ritual of baths and story time, I tucked each one in and had them say their prayers.

“Dear Jesus,” Leneah prayed, “I want a kitty, but Daddy doesn’t like ‘em. Could you help me get me one? Maybe you could help Daddy like ‘em. Then maybe we could get one, Amen.”

If her Daddy won’t get her a kitty, she’ll just go over his head. If he only knew… What was that? I thought I heard a noise, a pause and then my husband's footsteps. I smiled in the dark....

Summer came and faded. Leneah turned four. Thanksgiving came and went and still, her prayers for a kitty persisted. Then one day, my husband asked if the girls were still praying for a cat.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, if we ever do get a cat, I will be the one to find it!”

“So what changed your mind?” I asked.

That’s when he told me about an ad he'd seen in the newspaper about adopting rescued cats. But the surprise was, he had already called the number! He said a friendly semi-retired veterinarian answered the phone.

“I often come across unwanted or injured cats,” she had said. “After nursing them back to health, giving them shots and neutering them, I put them up for adoption. Come and take a look. I have a few in my garage right now.”

“What is your fee?” He asked, thinking if it was too high, it might get him off the hook.

"Oh, don’t worry about that. I only ask for a donation. Whatever you can afford is fine.”

Tears stung my eyes. I was witnessing the answer to my daughter’s prayers.

He looked at me and cleared his throat. “Gather the girls for me. I want to talk to them.”

“Come in the living room, girls. Your Dad has something to tell you.” They looked at me curiously. I couldn’t hide my excitement.

“What is it, Mom? Why do you look so happy?” Lila asked.

“Hurry up, and you’ll see.”

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” my husband announced. “I may have found us a cat, but don’t get your hopes up,” he cautioned. “We’re going to go see a lady about it tonight. If she has the right cat, we’ll bring it home. If not, we’ll have to wait until the right one comes along.” Then he looked at our youngest daughter sternly, “And since it was your idea, you have to promise to help feed it and clean the cat box.”

She nodded her head seriously.

Later that evening, the first snow began to fall. A special feeling was in the air. We bundled up and piled into the station wagon. The girls were excited. They chattered in anticipation about what kind of cat we might find. Would it be big or small, striped or plain, fluffy or smooth? Even my husband got caught up in it.

“I think a short haired cat would be best,” he said. “Long haired cats are too messy.”

When we arrived, the friendly older woman led us out to her garage. It was clean and tidy with newspaper spread on the floor. Several cats curiously looked at us. One fluffy gray cat rubbed against our legs and meowed sweetly as if to say, “Pick me! Pick me!” One black and white one looked bored and began to groom. Then a small orange tabby shyly peeked out at us.

“What about that one?” my husband asked.

“Oh, that’s Ginger. She’s shy, but otherwise a nice healthy young cat,” she paused thoughtfully. “She’s probably shy because people weren’t too nice to her to begin with. She was dumped on the side of the road, young and pregnant. Someone brought her to me. Now she just needs a friend.”

“That’ll be the one then,” my husband said. I was surprised at his quick decision, and I wasn’t sure she was friendly enough for our daughter. I looked at him doubtfully. He looked back. “This is the one,” he said with an end of discussion tone in his voice.

We took her home. Once in the house, she ran straight under the nearest bed and didn’t come out for two days—except when no one was looking, as evidenced by the used box use and missing kibble. I didn’t want to insult my husband’s decision and cause him change his mind about having a cat, but I felt bad for Leneah.

“I think we may have picked the wrong cat,” I said finally. “Leneah has only had a glimpse of Ginger since she’s been here. She needs a friendlier cat, like the fluffy gray one, one that she can actually pet.”

“Yeah, Dad, let’s take her back and get the gray one,” the girls chimed in.

“I don’t want a long haired cat.” He looked irritated. “Give Ginger a chance. She’ll come out sooner or later.” But that evening, I heard him on the phone asking if he could trade cats. The next day he put Ginger in the car and took her back, alone. As they drove away, I felt strangely sad him and for Ginger.

Later that night, we had a tiger in the house. The friendly gray kitty that meowed sweetly, “Pick me, pick me,” when we first met her, now howled, “Feed me! Pet me! How dare you go to bed and ignore me!” I was up half the night trying to keep her quiet so my husband could sleep.

“I knew that cat was a tiger,” my husband said the next morning with a glint in his eye.

“Did you bring that cat home just to teach me a lesson?” I should have known he could recognize an attitude a mile away.

He smiled, “I already told the lady I’d probably be back.”

That evening, the girls and I ran to the entry way when we heard the sound of our car in the driveway. My heart was thumping. Lila gave me a knowing look. Would he be empty handed? We both looked at Leneah’s anxious little face.

The door opened. We stepped back. An orange head peeked out from inside his coat! We held our breath. He put Ginger on the floor and went and sat in his recliner a few feet away. She hesitated, first looking at us and then towards the guest bedroom.

What happened next surprised us...

She made a beeline for my husband’s lap, where she proceeded to stretch out confidently, as if it were the most natural thing to do. I couldn’t help noticing the satisfied look on my husbands face.

As it turned out, her behavior towards him paid off because this time she stayed for good. At first, she preferred his lap above ours, but once she was secure with him, she made friends with the rest of us. And it wasn’t long before I caught her sleeping with Leneah.

People ask what changed my husband’s mind about cats, and I say, “The persistent prayers of a little girl—and a cat with the right attitude!”

Happiness is a bowl full of ketchup!

The chatter stopped when the French fries and ketchup arrived. I sat across the table and watched my two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter eat her fries. She carefully loaded each fry with ketchup, put it in her mouth, and smiled while she chewed. Then she let out a little sigh, picked up another fry, and loaded it with more ketchup. Soon the ketchup was gone, but there were still more fries. “More ketchup, peeze?” More red stuff—“Tank-you!” The fries disappeared.

Hmm, maybe if I’d put ketchup on her cereal this morning she would have taken more than two bites.

The next morning, I couldn’t get the picture of my granddaughter enjoying her ketchup out of my mind. Ah, if only contentment were a bowl of ketchup away… I felt restless and worried. I lost contentment somewhere over the past few months. Where did I lose it? When did it happen?

I’m always forgetting things. I walk into another room to get something—only to forget what it was when I get there. Then I go back to where I started—hoping to remember. So I decided to try to remember what I was doing when I felt content before.

I thought about when we moved last year. Life was anything but calm, and yet, I remember being content. My husband had been out of work, and when he found a job—I was grateful. I didn’t like moving thirty-five minutes away from the kids, but when my husband agreed to move half-way between the kids and his job for me—I was grateful. When we found a place to rent we could afford—I was grateful. We downsized from a house to an apartment. I was apprehensive at first, but it felt good to get rid of stuff. It was freeing, and afterward—I felt grateful.

Then it hit me—I was grateful!

I thought of my granddaughter again. An expensive plate of lobster wouldn’t have impressed her unless it was served with a bowl of ketchup. And my life was surrounded by “bowls of ketchup” —of all sizes. Large and small things, easy to over-look things— blessings that cares and worries had hidden from me. I got distracted. I let my gratitude muscles get flabby!

Then I pictured my worries like little thieves—stealing my contentment. I realized that if I wanted my contentment back, I needed to exercise my gratitude muscles and flexing those muscles would send those cowardly worry thieves packing!

My mind went to the much-loved verses—prescriptions against worry—vitamins for strength. The kind we all need to take everyday to strengthen ourselves against the worry thieves—so we can see all the “bowls of ketchup” we have to be grateful for.

Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
–1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God that surpasses all comprehension, shall guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
–Philippians 4:6-7