I was having one of my Is-There-a-Better-Way-of-Life? day-dreaming sessions in the outdoor garden section of Home Depot. While standing next to a display of brilliant orange mums, I paused for a moment to feel the sun on my face. I could hear my daughters’ voices drifting through the fall breeze. As they considered cacti or pepper plants for the back porch, my favorite quote of all time came flooding back to me.
Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.
William Martin*
In a matter of minutes, I felt more hopeful than I had in months about the way I was living. The part about tasting fruit and crying when pets die was the clincher. I can do this! I thought to myself with clarity. I have the ability to make the ordinary come alive right here in my current life. And perhaps it doesn’t require a move to the country, raising farm animals in the backyard, or selling my entire shoe collection to make it happen.
But . . . I had to be realistic. Making the ordinary come alive would require time and effort. I knew all too well that my “stuff” had the tendency to take over and cover up what was truly important. In my home, in my daily schedule, and in the essence of my very being, life had the potential to become a continuous cycle of scrolling, clicking, completing, purchasing, committing, shuttling, competing, rushing, consuming, pressuring, uploading, posting, and primping. Those were the very behaviors that nearly cost me everything I held dear when I was living distracted.
Yet as my daughters discussed which homegrown herbs would be safe for our cat when it was on the porch, I was inspired. I vowed to make it a daily practice to seek out at least one simple joy in an ordinary day. In the week that followed, I discovered that grasping meaningful moments came more easily than I ever thought possible. With heightened awareness, we caught a glimpse of the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary by:
• hopping on our bikes after dinner for a quick ride and pointing to a “cotton candy” sky
• staying just five extra minutes at bedtime to hear things on my child’s heart that seem to only come out in the darkness
• watching the antics of Banjo the cat while the homework waited a few minutes to be completed
• holding Natalie’s hand as we walked into swim-team practice and thinking how good it felt
• going to the farmer’s market on Saturday morning and trying every apple there was to sample and conveniently forgetting that we left the house a mess
• working side by side with my children to remove unused items from their bedrooms and donating the extra clothes and extra toys to families who would use and enjoy them
• asking pet owners if my daughters and I could pet their dogs as they walked by and watching their faces when they talked about their beloved companion
• stopping to admire the way a street vendor used a Coke bottle for a flower vase and using that example to talk about the meaning of repurposing
Those are a few examples of how our family noticed and savored the simple joys without a lot of extra effort, cost, or inconvenience. The best part, though, was how these intentional actions inspired further actions in my children. Natalie made lip gloss out of old crayons and Vaseline — her version of repurposing. She also began packing tiny apples from the farmer’s market for snack rather than boxed crackers. Avery spent an entire Saturday morning clearing the clutter from the top of her dresser. She changed the focal point of her desk from material possessions to a living being — a fish named Violet, which she fed daily and watched with delight. Both children delighted in contributing fresh red peppers to our dinner salad that were grown in their miniature gardens on the porch.
It’s definitely not minimalist living, but it’s less. It’s not raising livestock, but it’s caring for God’s creatures. It’s not the experience of a farmhand, but it’s a taste of homegrown. These small acts of meaningful living showed me that I have more influence on my family than I previously thought. There is hope for those growing up in a drive-through, task-oriented, materialistic, and competition-driven society. That hope is in my hands.
If I want my children to be awed by sunsets, I must take time to be awed by extraordinary sights in nature.
If I want my children to appreciate the softness of a beautiful animal, I must take time to appreciate soft, cuddly creatures.
If I want my children to relish in the joys of a screen-free Saturday, I must express joy in going off the grid.
If I want my children to value experiences rather than things, I must celebrate a spontaneous run through the sprinkler, good conversation, snowball fights, and crickets that lull us to sleep.
If I want my children to experience the freedom that comes from open blue skies and crunchy leaves underfoot, I must partake in such freedoms myself.
If I want my children to look straight into the eyes of those who speak to them, I must look into their eyes and listen to their words.
If I want my children to seek real-life moments and real-life connections now and in the future, I must live by example.
I can’t expect the world to show them life is best lived with open hands, open eyes, and an open heart. It must come from me. There must be sacred pauses in our daily schedule so there is time to notice the everyday miracles around us. Thankfully, drastic life changes are not necessary to do this. It is possible to incorporate elements of a simpler, slower, more natural, and more gratitude-filled life into my current one. The hope is in my hands, and I have the power to offer it to my children and future grandchildren.
Although I didn’t think my newfound hope for grasping life’s simple joys needed further solidifying, God offered one final confirmation to seal it. Our family had driven to a new park in our city where we’d enjoyed a picnic and played on the swings. We were packing up our things when I noticed a well-tended war memorial behind the picnic pavilion.
“Let’s check out the memorial before we go,” I suggested, pointing to a marble wall surrounded by two majestic flags and blooming rosebushes.
Our family spent a few minutes reading the brick walkway that bore the names of those who’d made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. Avery was especially interested and asked me to read all the names while Natalie proceeded to walk to the car with Scott. After patiently waiting for several minutes, Natalie hollered, “Time to go!” But my small, freckle-faced Noticer had her eyes fixed on one particular memorial brick. Natalie’s summons did not stir Avery. She didn’t even look up. I remained silent and waited.
Avery crouched down and gathered a handful of fallen rose petals from the blooming bushes. She took the loose petals and walked them over to the brick of an army specialist and placed them carefully round his name. Then she scattered a few more beneath the flagpole. After standing back as if to admire the improved look of the memorial, she stated, “I’m ready now, Mama.”
In one heartfelt gesture, my child solidified the way I believe God wants me to live out my twenty-first-century life. I wrote it down so I could refer to it whenever that feeling of uncertainty and doubt flared up:
If you should happen to catch a glimpse of what really matters in life, regard it with care. Decorate it with flowers. Cover it with love. Hold it in the sunshine. Give it a little bit of time and attention. And when the world tries to push you forward, listen to your heart instead. Because if you don’t make time for what really matters, no one is going to do it for you. Taking a few minutes to savor everyday wonders makes the he
art fuller, the inner doubts quieter, and the human connections stronger. And that’s when the ordinary becomes extraordinary for yourself and those who share your life. (No drastic measures or pet llamas necessary.)
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
I want my loved ones to spend less time on digital devices. I want them to see beyond the electronic screen. I want them to know what life feels like in their hands, not through a keyboard. I want to ensure that the people in my life have the capacity to connect to humans, nature, and life in the real world. I will lead by example. I will be their guide for finding simple joy in the everyday routines of life. This may mean setting limits on tech time, extending invitations for nonmedia activities, and taking substantial breaks from the online world. At times leading by example may feel uncomfortable, inconvenient, unpopular, and ineffective. But each time I see the people I love holding what really matters in their mitten-clad or dirt-caked hands, I will be reminded of how important this gift truly is now and in their future.
LEAVE A LEGACY TO INSPIRE A FUTURE GENERATION
The morning rush typical of most downtown coffee shops had died down. I didn’t have to strain to hear the words of the beautiful twentysomething writer with bright, clear eyes sitting across from me. Her fingers were perched above something that resembled an iPad. She was ready to take notes for a magazine article she was writing about my journey.
Would she get it? I wondered. Would she understand the relevance of the Hands Free message or would she think that I am out of touch with what is important in the modern world?
The writer interrupted my insecure thoughts with a warm and welcoming offer: “Instead of asking questions, I like to ask people just to tell their stories. I find they don’t leave anything out that way.”
Tell me your story. I was suddenly hopeful. This sounded like the start of the best interview I’d ever had.
I was no more than five minutes in when I told the most important part of my story: the kiss that my then-four-year-old daughter had placed on the palm of my hand. It happened when I took my first step to be less distracted and more present. I’d temporarily let go of all my distractions — the phone, computer, to-do list . . . the pressure, perfection, guilt — and simply held Avery. Her response was a kiss on my hand that ultimately changed my life.
The young woman’s fingers stopped typing. Her eyes had that unmistakable shine of unspilled tears. She blinked in rapid succession as if trying to force the emotion from escaping. “Wow” was all she said.
“It’s very emotional,” I agreed, feeling moved by her heartfelt reaction.
I continued, describing more experiences like the kiss that kept propelling me forward on my journey toward a less distracted, more meaningfully connected life.
“As you are talking, I keep thinking of my favorite quote,” the young lady said, cupping her steaming coffee with one free hand. “ ‘If nobody speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable?’ ” she recited. “It’s from a book by Jon McGregor. I loved the quote so much that I painted the words on a canvas and hung it in my apartment.” Her face lit up as she divulged this little bit about herself — this bit that revealed what made her heart sing.
It was my turn to be captivated. I felt as if she had just given me a gift — a gift of understanding . . . of unity . . . of camaraderie. This beautiful young lady got exactly what I was saying — she recognized the importance of living with open hands and open eyes. Like Avery, she was a Noticer of remarkable things. I vowed not to forget her beautiful offering. Little did I know just how much it would impact me in the hours ahead.
After leaving the coffee shop, I headed to my daughters’ school. I had been invited to speak to a second-grade Girl Scout troop about achieving their dreams. I’d jotted some notes, a few things I wanted to be sure to tell the children about setting goals and using positive affirmations.
But as the girls sat in front of me like little sponges with expectant eyes, I felt compelled to share specifics from my personal journey rather than offer vague generalizations. But would they get it? Or would the story of my highly distracted life sound like a foreign language to them? Would they stare at the clock wondering how many agonizing minutes until my talk was over?
Despite my reservations, I told my story. And when I got to the part about Avery’s kiss on my hand, there were a few little gasps . . . a few smiles . . . a few shining eyes.
I looked around carefully to make sure everyone was still with me. Even my own daughters, who sat at a table in the back of the room, looked at me with hopeful faces, wanting to hear the story they’d heard many times before.
And so I continued. I told the children how I wrote about the kiss on the hand and published it on a blog. I told them how my story inspired other people to look for their own Kiss on the Hand moments — those beautiful moments we so often miss in our busy, distracted lives. I told the girls about how I kept publishing weekly blog posts for years until finally a book publisher took notice and thought my story was worthy of printing.
I held up my finished book, my 240 pages of little moments that made life worth living. And when I did, I saw fire in those children’s eyes. I saw dreams igniting right then and there.
“Tell me your dreams,” I said. “What do you hope to accomplish?”
One by one, their small hands raised triumphantly.
“Veterinarian.”
“Singer on The Voice.”
“Pro basketball player.”
“College softball player.”
“Robot inventor.”
“Olympic ice skater.”
“Teacher.”
“Published author.”
“But what if someone says, ‘You can’t do that’? What if someone says, ‘You don’t have a chance’? What if someone says, ‘You’re no good’?” I challenged.
“Don’t listen to them!” one girl fired back.
“You know what you should listen to?” I asked. “Listen to your heart when you hold that basketball. Listen to your heart when you take that pencil in your hand and can’t stop writing. Think about what it feels like to sing at the top of your lungs. Think about what it feels like to do something you love to do. But don’t stop there. Share that incredible feeling with someone else. Because if we share our remarkable thing, someone else might notice his or her remarkable thing.”
I searched the girls’ faces one by one. They were still with me — listening, learning, and digesting what I had to offer. And that’s when I leaned forward and lowered my voice to almost a whisper. “Maybe you don’t make it to The Voice. Maybe you don’t make the pros or land a book deal. That doesn’t mean you didn’t succeed. Maybe sharing your journey, your dream, or what excites your heart is the achievement. Maybe inspiring someone else to see his or her life differently is the success.”
After receiving big hugs and signing books for each precious girl, I walked out of the building with my daughters. As always, Natalie was five steps ahead. I held back for my stop-and-smell-the-roses younger child.
As I fell in stride with Avery’s leisurely gait, she grabbed my hand. “I teached you, Mama? Tell me again what I teached you.”
Although my children were not part of the Girl Scout troop, it was apparent this little girl had listened to my presentation and wanted to hear a certain part again. I was happy to oblige. “You taught me that life should not be lived in a hurry. You taught me that if I slowed down, I could see all the beautiful things. You always had this huge smile on your face and I didn’t. That’s when I realized I could learn a lot from you about living life.”
Avery suddenly stopped walking and looked up, her little glasses teetering on the edge of her nose. “Remember when I kissed your hand, Mama? That’s when I changed your life.”
For a moment, I had no words. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift I received from a twentysomething writer with hopeful eyes who let me tell my story over coffee.
If nobody speaks of rem
arkable things, how can they be called remarkable?
How can they spread like a kiss drifting in the wind?
How can they inspire a future generation?
How can they find their way back to the person who created one of the most remarkable moments of your life?
Now, more than ever, we must speak of remarkable things. Now, when undivided attention is a rare and priceless commodity . . . now, when we too often choose glowing screens over shining sunlight . . . now, when digital notifications take precedence over soul-to-soul connection.
Now more than ever, we must speak of the remarkable things that make our heart sing . . . that fill our eyes with tears . . . that bring beauty, comfort, and joy to our ordinary, mundane lives.
You may think the person on the other end won’t get it.
But maybe she will.
So speak. Speak of what makes your heart sing. Speak of what alters the way you see your life.
Because you never know who might be listening . . .
And using your dream to envision her own.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today I will vocalize my dreams. Maybe it is to run a race . . . to dance . . . to go back to school . . . to create art and sell my wares . . . to write . . . to reveal something beautiful inside me that the world needs to see. I might get discouraged. I might be misunderstood. I might feel scared. But I vow to remember that in taking this risk, there might just be “successes” unimagined. Maybe I will inspire someone else. Maybe I will experience happiness. Maybe my children will make a bold move because I did. Maybe my heart will sing in a way I never knew it could.
Hands Free Life Page 17