Before Avery could feel one ounce of shame or one iota of failure, I went down on bended knee and looked her straight in the eye. And then I spoke the following words with every ounce of conviction I could muster; I didn’t want her to just hear these words, I wanted her to feel them.
“Yes. You do look around a lot. You noticed Carter sitting off by himself with a skinned knee on the field trip, and you comforted him.
“You noticed the little girl who couldn’t quite get up on the haystack at the pumpkin patch so you boosted her up.
“You noticed Banjo had a runny nose, and the vet said it was a good thing we brought him in when we did.
“You noticed the boy at the zoo looking lost and you suggested we help him.
“You notice the beautiful, breathtaking view every time we cross the bridge.
“And you know what? You’ve taught me to notice. And I don’t ever want you to stop noticing. That is your gift. It is your gift that you give to the world.”
By the look of bliss on her face, you might have thought she was just given unlimited access to a candy shop. She was literally glowing. Glowing. And even when she tried to suppress her smile and look serious, she couldn’t.
“Okay, Mama. I won’t stop noticing,” she said solemnly, yet unable to contain her smile.
Along this Hands Free journey, we are required to make choices in order to grasp what really matters. These choices are not always the popular ones; they are not always status quo. These choices may be looked down on by outsiders and rejected by the “experts.” But after you make these choices — they feel right in your gut — there is always validation. Sometimes this validation takes days, weeks, even years, but it comes. And when it does, you’ll know you made the right choice for your child, for your family, for yourself. Thankfully, validation for the choice I made about the progress report came within days.
I’d just gotten my hair cut. It was shorter than usual. I was feeling a little insecure about it. I straightened it in such a way that was different from my usual style. I walked out into the living room, still in my pajamas, with this new hairstyle that I was not so sure about.
“Wow, Mama. You look so pretty! I love your hair.” It was the voice of my observant child. My face relaxed into a smile, and I immediately felt better about my hair. Apparently my child could sense her words comforted me. What she said next stopped me in my tracks. “You were just waiting for someone to notice, weren’t you?”
My hand covered my mouth to suppress my awe and my joy. I looked to the sky with tears in my eyes. Yes. Yes. We are all just waiting for someone to notice — notice our pain, notice our scars, notice our fear, notice our joy, notice our triumphs, notice our courage.
And the one who notices is a rare and beautiful gift.
Let us all be Noticers today.
Let us notice our children’s gifts rather than their flaws.
Let us notice what our spouse does right, not what he or she did wrong.
Let us notice the sacrifices our parents made, rather than all the times they messed up.
Let us notice how hard people are working, not how quickly they are providing service.
Let us notice where our love and kindness is needed, rather than spew criticism and scrutiny where it is not needed.
Let us be Noticers. Love others right where they are. Love others just as they are. Someone is just waiting for us to notice what’s blooming or wilting inside that could use a little undivided attention.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today I vow to notice the good before the bad . . . the right instead of the wrong . . . the blessings above the inconveniences . . . the strengths rather than the weaknesses. Focusing on the positive is the key to finding joy in the most unsuspecting places and in the most challenging times. Today I will notice the good. Bring on the joy!
HANDS FREE LIFE HABIT BUILDER 5
See What Is Good with Glimmers of Goodness
Thank you, hurried morning. It is in the hunt for shoes, library books, and backpacks that I appreciate the slow Saturday. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Slow Saturday.
Thank you, perpetually cluttered house. It is in finding rumpled sheets, toothpaste blobs, and abandoned socks that I appreciate the evidence of life being lived. I shall pay attention and appreciate Life Being Lived.
Thank you, growing older. It is in finding another gray hair and another laugh line that I appreciate the gift of another day. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Gift of Another Day.
Thank you, free-spirited child. It is in experiencing everything a little faster, a little louder, and a little riskier that I appreciate the courage it takes to be bold. I shall pay attention and appreciate Being Bold.
Thank you, sensitive child. It is in experiencing everything a little deeper and a little more quietly that I see the beauty of a tender heart. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Tender Heart.
Thank you, pang of guilt. It is in wishing that I did things differently that I appreciate the opportunity of Second Chances. I shall pay attention and appreciate Second Chances.
Thank you, disappointment. It is in experiencing letdown that I appreciate the fact that I had the courage to try. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Courage to Try.
Thank you, daily challenge. It is in looking straight into the face of sorrow, struggle, fear, frustration, heartache, and worry that I appreciate the fact that I keep showing up. I shall pay attention and appreciate the fact that I Keep Showing Up. And I will keep showing up.
Because even on the hardest days, even in the most challenging moments, I can see tiny glimmers of goodness if I look closely for them.
So today I shall pay attention and appreciate any Glimmers of Goodness I can find.
Having a full and complete day of goodness is hard, maybe even impossible, considering life’s daily stresses of children, bills, schedules, deadlines, responsibilities, and pressures. But finding Glimmers of Goodness within a day is possible — even when you are irritated, annoyed, or frustrated. In fact, it is in times of overwhelm that I can find these bright spots most easily. It may sound odd, but try taking each not-so-pleasant experience or feeling and thanking it for its hidden gifts. From that place of gratitude, you might be able to find a Glimmer of Goodness, reminding you that the whiny, messy, unpredictable moments of life are not all bad. In fact, they are what make home a home and a life a life.
Habit 6:
GIVE WHAT MATTERS
Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you’re not really losing it. You’re just passing it on to someone else.
Mitch Albom
IT’S PROBABLY SAFE TO assume that at some point during your life, you’ve been given a gift from a child. It’s probably also safe to assume that the gift was not from a shopping mall or even put in a box with wrapping paper or ribbon, but simply presented with love. In my case, broken seashells, traumatized frogs, bouquets of dying weeds, and handfuls of rocks were presented to me in small, dirt-laden hands beneath a wide smile. Those were just a few of the unconventional gifts Natalie gave to me throughout her first years of life. At the time, I considered her offerings of homemade gifts endearing and did not try to dissuade her. But as she grew, her gift-giving practices expanded to people outside the family, and that’s when things got a little uncomfortable. I literally cringed at the sight of my child tearing through our kitchen junk drawer looking for the “perfect gift.” When she found it, she would beam at the broken snow globe or the used neon Sharpie as if she just knew the recipient was going to love it. Teachers, pastors, neighbors, and friends were bestowed with gifts found in the deepest, darkest, dustiest crevices of our home. While some people may have viewed her regifting practices as earth friendly and generous, my inner perfectionistic, appearance-minded self could only think of the words tacky and cheap. I’d try to convince Natalie that she should shop for a gift with actual money, but she would have none of it. That wasn’t special, s
he’d tell me. I would end up attaching a store-bought gift to her homemade offering until one winter my Hands Free heart told me to stop, watch, and learn.
Early that December, Natalie asked if we could make a holiday care package for a family in India with whom we’d connected through Samaritan’s Purse. On top of the new pajamas, packaged toothbrushes, and pristine white socks, she placed two hairbrushes that she and Avery had used for almost a month. Despite my protests, she was adamant that the brushes must be included. Shortly thereafter we received a thank-you note from the family with an enclosed picture. You can only guess what the children were holding proudly in their hands. You only can guess who immediately noticed shiny, silky hair where tangles and knots had once been. You can only guess who sighed with relief and exclaimed, “Boy, I sure am glad we sent hairbrushes!” I decided I must keep watching and learning.
Around Valentine’s Day we heard that one of my mother’s friends had lost her husband of forty-seven years. I suggested we send flowers. Natalie assured me a handmade Valentine, created by her, would mean much more. In response to my daughter’s card, the eighty-year-old widow wrote:
Thank you for the Valentine. I thought I was not going to get one this year for the first time in many, many years. It made me sad, but now I feel better because I no longer have to worry about being forgotten. Always remember that some people have the ability to smile on the outside when they are hurting on the inside. These are the people who may need your gift of kindness the most. I know this for a fact because I am one of them.
As I read that dear woman’s note, my idea of a “proper gift” flew right out the window. But it wasn’t until early March, when a nasty flu season held on for dear life, that I made the critical connection between real giving and living Hands Free.
Natalie’s best friend, Catherine, suddenly acquired a dangerously high fever and couldn’t get out of bed. Within minutes of hearing the news, Natalie made a card and retrieved a beaded bracelet from the bottom drawer of our bathroom. I remember feeling slightly relieved that the price tag was still on the pearly accessory. By the end of the day, however, I was powerfully reminded that the cost and the condition of the gift were insignificant compared to the thought behind it. Catherine’s mother called to tell me how much Natalie’s present meant to her daughter. When the mother recounted what her child had said about the offering, I could not hold back my tears. With sincerity Catherine had remarked, “I bet a lot of people heard I was sick, and after they said, ‘That’s too bad,’ they just went on with their life, but not Natalie. She stopped what she was doing to show me she cared about me. She’s the best friend anyone could have.”
I remember struggling to swallow the lump in my throat when I heard Catherine’s profound observation. I quickly got off the phone and ran into the bathroom so no one would see me cry. Finally, I was ready to admit why my child’s gift-giving practices irritated me so much. Yes, I liked presents to be new and nice. Yes, I liked to make a good impression on people. Yes, I liked to stay in line with the way mainstream society gifted, but the real truth was much more shallow and much more painful. The truth was, Natalie was willing to give something I wasn’t. Her gifts were so meaningful to others because she put time and thought into them, and those were commodities with which I was not so generous. I was faced with an unsettling question: Could I really say I was living Hands Free if I didn’t ever give the gift of myself?
I vowed to find a way to give meaningfully, thoughtfully, and habitually the way Natalie did. I narrowed my aspirations to one of my strengths. I could gift words. I decided that whenever I felt appreciation, concern, or love for someone, I would make a point to tell him or her either verbally or through a written note. For nearly two years, regardless of time, schedule, and inner doubts, I dedicated a few minutes each day to express love to at least one person. It wasn’t until my family was about to move to a new state that I learned the impact of this purposeful offering. I’d posted a picture of the moving van on social media and told local friends to stop in for a hug if they felt inclined. I was shocked to see which neighbors came to my door and what they remembered most. One person said she would not forget when I called her from the Whole Foods parking lot just after she had her baby to see what she needed. One neighbor mentioned the birthday card I gave her where I listed all her positive qualities. She said she couldn’t remember being affirmed as an adult and it had inspired her to affirm other adults. Another friend recalled the time I stood in the driveway listening to her struggles as if there was nowhere else I needed to be. She said I followed up with a card, which she now kept in her drawer.
I finally understood the difference between the way I used to give and the way Natalie taught me to give. There was standard giving — giving with shiny bows, loaded gift cards, and elaborate gestures. And then there was undistracted giving — giving your time and attention on a regular basis so that it becomes second nature; so it becomes who you are.
Give What Matters, the sixth intentional habit of a Hands Free Life, means offering your most precious commodity, the gift of yourself, even when there are a million distractions and pressures providing you with reasons not to give. Such a way of life allows you to readily notice opportunities to make a lasting impression on others while empowering you to seize these opportunities. Because you are no longer held back by how a gift looks, its price, or whether or not it is “good enough,” suddenly there are countless ways to bring joy to the lives of others as well as your own. When you live life Giving What Matters, you free yourself from hidden agendas and unrealistic expectations. You also eliminate future regrets that might sound like, “I wish I had told her . . .” or “If only I had done it sooner . . .” Giving What Matters means you no longer wait for the proper day, a grand occasion, or the perfect moment to express how you feel about someone. You freely open your hands and heart and let love pour out when it is needed. Giving What Matters is a liberating approach to living fully in today.
In this chapter, we’ll consider three ways to let go of societal pressures and inhibiting attitudes to experience the joy that comes from true giving. As children often show us, our most precious gift is the one given from the heart with a loving smile — no wrapping paper required. A listening ear, a lingering embrace, a word of encouragement, sustained eye contact, one-on-one time, or a helping hand have always been priceless gifts, but they are even more sacred now that our culture has become so rushed and distracted.
To give our most precious commodity, the gift of ourselves, we must let go of all that distracts us from what matters most. Perhaps the perfect gift is not in the getting, but rather in the letting go. Letting go of societal standards . . . letting go of monetary expectations . . . letting go of perfection . . . letting go of consumer pressure . . . letting go of the need to out-do, impress, or check off the list. Let us give like the heart of a child — presenting the best of ourselves as if we were a carefully picked dandelion bouquet held out with love.
GIVE WHAT MATTERS TO PLAY AGAIN
Apparently when you play an instrument from age five to seventeen, people think it shouldn’t be kept a secret — especially the people who live with you. I’ll never forget the look on Scott’s face when my dad suggested that my sister and I “play our instruments” during a holiday visit soon after Scott and I were married.
Scott shot me a look of confusion and then annoyance. “Hello? You played an instrument for twelve years? Are there any other hidden talents you’ve never told me about?” he joked.
My sister’s shiny silver flute and my wooden violin with beautiful detailing made an appearance that afternoon. I was surprised at how my fingers remembered their placement on that smooth, ebony fingerboard. But once I put the instrument back in the case, it stayed there for another ten years. It survived three interstate moves, always managing to find a place on the metal shelf in the basement where it sat undisturbed.
“Daddy said you played the violin growing up,” my little songbird, Avery, sa
id one day, eyeing the mysterious black case when we were in the basement gathering suitcases for a trip.
“Yes, but I doubt if I can even play anymore,” I said, crushing any hopes she had of hearing me play. Avery’s disappointment was palpable, but it wasn’t enough to end several more years of excuses. It takes too long to tune. The instrument is so old it probably doesn’t sound good anymore. I think the strings are about to break. Maybe after I’ve had some time to practice. And that’s just a small sample of the many reasons I created to avoid playing my violin.
But eventually there came a day when I couldn’t bear to give any more excuses. I saw those reasons for what they were: sad, pathetic, and no longer acceptable. I’d come to this realization when considering how I might give my family a meaningful gift for the holidays. The answer was easy because it had been haunting me for over a decade. I wanted to show them how I once made music and that it was not too late for me to make music again.
The exquisite handmade violin that had sat neglected in its oblong case for twenty years finally saw the light of day. I’d decided to create a practice calendar. After all, if I was going to make this instrument come back to life, I needed to set aside time to familiarize myself with the instrument. I needed to refresh my memory on tuning the strings, reading sheet music, and placing the bow and my fingers properly.
Each night after my children went to sleep, I went into my narrow bedroom closet to practice. Because I no longer had a music stand, I’d prop the sheet music I’d printed from the Internet against dusty shoeboxes. At first, the sound I made was quite disturbing. Where the bow once purred on the strings, there was now the piercing sound of a catfight. My inner doubt said, “Give up!” My inner perfectionist said, “You should really clean this closet instead.” My inner taskmaster said, “Shouldn’t you be making cookies for the neighborhood cookie swap on Saturday?”
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