Hands Free Life
Page 18
LEAVE A LEGACY OF SELF-KINDNESS
It was a simple enough recipe — place peanuts and several types of chocolate in a Crock-Pot for two hours and then scoop out the melted mixture in dollops to create bite-size treats. Simple, right? Well, not if you forget about it for four hours.
Avery came downstairs when she smelled a pungent odor wafting from the kitchen. “What is that horrible smell, Mama?” she asked, scrunching up her face as I scraped peanuts that now resembled black beans into the sink.
“Oh, I just wasted four bags of chocolate chips because I forgot to turn off the Crock-Pot. I cannot believe I did that!” I chastised myself as I aggressively shoved charred clumps of chocolate into the garbage disposal. “And now I don’t have anything to bring to the party.” I didn’t try to hide my disappointment. I just couldn’t believe I’d messed up something so simple.
That’s when a little voice of wisdom cut right through the burned haze of my frustration. “Everybody makes mistakes, remember?” she reminded me. “Be nice to yourself,” instructed my curly haired daughter.
Those had been my words to her over the past few years. But it hadn’t always been that way. During my distracted years, minor kid mishaps and trivial mistakes were viewed as major inconveniences that derailed my perfectly orchestrated plans. But living with a mother who lost it over spilled cereal and broken eyeglasses was not the life I wanted for my children. After witnessing the fear in Natalie’s eyes when she spilled a bag of rice, I prayed for the strength and patience to look beyond the mess and mayhem. In my children’s openly flawed existence and endearing little quirks, God showed me something worthy of love and forgiveness. I began offering my children love without condition and restraint, and when I did, their little faces glowed with validation and acceptance. To love someone as is was a gift, I realized.
Whenever Natalie and Avery messed up, I learned to say, “Be kind to yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.” As my children grew, they began saying it to themselves and to each other. And one day, while berating myself over a burned Crock-Pot and ruined recipe, those words came back to me. And for the first time in my life, I believed they really did apply to me too.
I decided that multiple decades of being unkind to myself was enough. It was quite enough. Be kind to yourself . . . only love today. I began saying these words. Sometimes ten thousand times a day, I said them.
Only love today. Only love today. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to yourself. This healing mantra became a song on repeat. And it was working. These empowering words were silencing the bully in my head. There was a crack of light. I was able to see the next steps: I would stop beating myself up over past failures. I would stop replaying mistakes over and over in my head. I would be open about my shortcomings, real with my humanness, and generous with my apologies.
“I don’t always get it right, and I never will,” I honestly admitted to myself. But miraculously, I did not see that as failing, nor was it something to be sad about. There was a silver lining: on the days I didn’t get it right, my children were still learning valuable lessons about life, persistence, determination, failure, compassion, authenticity, grace, and forgiveness. Even when I wasn’t getting it “right,” it didn’t mean my children were going to turn out all wrong. My humanness allowed my children to be human. My courage to keep showing up gave my children courage to show up. Loving myself despite my failures, flaws, and imperfections gave my children permission to love themselves as is. As a result, my children discovered much sooner something I wished I’d known all my life: you can’t see the silver lining that comes from falling down until you get back up.
But I see it now. I see it now. Even after forty years, it was not too late.
I must admit that I still have bad days — I do. But the tendency to go easy on myself is stronger than my tendency to bully myself. This is significant because it used to be the other way around. My knee-jerk reaction was to criticize, condemn, and not-good-enough myself to death. That was a brutal and hopeless way to live.
It’s taken four years of baby steps to get to this place of loving myself as is. But it began with a single mantra: Only love today. Be kind to yourself. Those God-given words shut down the bully and threw me a lifeline. And when I grabbed it and pulled myself up, I saw two little girls looking on their authentically messy, hopelessly flawed mother with love in their eyes and relief in their chests. That’s when I saw the silver lining. It shined so brightly that I could see every blemish, every imperfection on my tattered soul.
I couldn’t have hidden them if I tried.
But I didn’t want to hide anymore.
I had two very good reasons not to.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today I will love myself right where I am . . . not when I lose weight . . . not when I accomplish this or that . . . not when I get my life straightened out. I will look at myself in my mess and mayhem and remember that I am a human being capable of mistakes and worthy of God’s grace. I will speak words of kindness and compassion to myself even when they are not the first words that come to mind. Today I will choose to love myself because I want my children to choose to love themselves too. Loving myself may not be how I started, but it can be who I am now and how I am remembered when I am gone.
HANDS FREE LIFE HABIT BUILDER 8
Leave a Legacy with the Presence Pledge
I hope you feel like a welcomed spark to my life, not an inconvenience, annoyance, or bother to my day.
I hope you feel comfortable in your skin, not constantly wondering how many things you need to change before you’re loved and celebrated.
I hope you feel heard, valued, and understood, not dismissed for being too young or too inexperienced to have an opinion or know what you need to thrive.
I hope you feel capable and confident, not incapable of trying new things without constant supervision and correction.
I hope you feel brave to bare the colors of your soul, not pressured to hide your light or play small to gain acceptance.
I hope after spending an hour . . . a day . . . a lifetime in my presence,
I leave your heart fuller,
your smile wider,
your spirit stronger
your future brighter
than you could have ever imagined by yourself.
Never in my life could I remember being so profoundly impacted by a single question than I was by this one written by psychotherapist and mom Andrea Nair: “How do my children feel about themselves as a result of spending time with me?”
After reading that question, it stuck with me. Each time I was in the presence of my children, I thought about it. That question motivated me to speak more kindly and listen more intently than I ever had in the past. But it didn’t stop there. Andrea’s question popped into my head when I was in the company of Scott, my parents, my sister, friends, colleagues, and even grocery store workers who helped carry my groceries to the car. I soon realized that by making others feel loved and heard while in my presence, I could live the kind of legacy I’d always wanted to live — one that left the world a better place upon my departure.
* William Martin, “Make the Ordinary Come Alive,” The Parent’s Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for Modern Parents (Cambridge, Mass.: Da Capo, 1999), 59. Used with permission.
Habit 9:
CHANGE SOMEONE’S STORY
The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.
Frederick Buechner
FROM THE TIME AVERY was a toddler, new situations caused anxiety to well up inside her. And truth be told, I felt anxious too. With each unfamiliar building, each new teacher, and every “first” Avery faced, I’d hold my breath and gently nudge her forth. I always hoped my assurances sounded stronger than I felt. There was just something about this child whose glasses sat on the tip of her nose, whose unruly hair would refuse to behave in an orderly fashion, whose inner firefly light was only seen when someone took time to
really know her that made me want to protect her. Avery had described herself differently from the rest enough times for me to believe it was true. She marched to her own beat, made up her own lyrics, and sang like no one was listening. Avery was a friend to all but not really attached to one. I often wondered what would come of her unique spirit in this hard, fast-paced world that could so carelessly hurt and hinder.
Meet the Teacher Day at my daughters’ new school was one of those particular situations where I wanted to hold Avery close and shield her from worldly harm. She’d had trouble sleeping the night before due to the butterflies in her stomach and the questions that plagued her mind. Would I be liked here? Would I be okay here? Would my teacher be nice? Would I have any friends?
Upon walking in the front door, the difference between my children’s former school and their new one was palpable. Going from knowing everyone we passed in the hall to walking amongst a thousand strangers was intimidating to say the least. Despite our reservations, my daughters and I maneuvered through the crowd. We successfully purchased their school spirit T-shirts, deposited money in their lunch accounts, and visited both classrooms. The initial meeting with Avery’s teacher had gone exceptionally well. We’d sat in small chairs getting to know each other and even shared a few laughs. Avery had spied a lollipop “tree” behind the teacher’s desk that delighted her. She left the room smiling her squinty-eye smile — the one where the corners of her mouth merged with the corners of her eyes. Her sunflower-on-steroids expression of joy was literally stuck on her face as we slowly made our way through the packed halls toward the exit door.
As we descended the steps with hundreds of other students who’d come to meet their teacher, I noticed a woman coming right for us. No matter how many people were in her way, she was determined to get to us. It was as if she knew us. It was as if she must reach us.
Finally this tall, slender woman with a welcoming smile stood directly in front of us. My children and I came to a halt. That’s when this lovely woman leaned down and gently cupped Avery’s face in her hands. In a deep, warm voice that held a hint of Southern charm, she said, “You are so cute. You are so, so cute. I just can’t stand it! Who are you?” she asked excitedly.
Avery’s eyes shifted over to me without removing her face from the woman’s hands. She began giggling like this was the funniest and most wonderful thing that could possibly happen. “I’m Avery,” she responded between giggles.
“Well, you are beautiful, Avery. I just love your freckles. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m the P.E. teacher.”
How this woman knew to pick Avery out of the crowd, I did not know. How she knew to take both my daughters under her wing and introduce them to the principal and associate principal, I did not know. As I fought back tears of relief and gratitude, I did know one thing: what was happening in that moment was incredibly significant. I just didn’t yet know how significant.
Avery went home and reenacted the whole scene for her visiting grandparents. When Scott came home, she acted it out again, never leaving out the face — the face in the hands was the most important part. Avery called one of her friends back home. “You will never guess what happened to me today,” she said, clutching the phone with a wide smile.
Suddenly the most wonderful realization occurred to me: this was Avery’s story! Throughout her life, people would tell her their stories — like the day they met their spouse or the day they found a winning lottery ticket in a puddle next to their car or the day they quit their dead-end job to follow their dreams. In turn, Avery would tell her story. She would describe the day she was picked out of the crowd and held with loving hands — the moment her anxiety eased and her outlook brightened.
In the days following Avery’s exchange with her P.E. teacher, there was a noticeable difference in my child. Particularly on P.E. days, Avery would hop right out of bed excitedly. “I am going to see the lady with the big smile,” she’d tell me as she put on her gym shoes. “You know, the one who held my face,” she’d remind me, as if I could possibly forget.
Because of the profound impact this positive interaction had on Avery, I felt compelled to share the story on my blog. Within twenty-four hours of hitting the publish button, over 100,000 people had read and shared the post. Commenters left incredibly touching stories about how one small gesture of kindness during a moment of despair had changed their view of the situation and for some, even the way they viewed the world. I sent the blog post to the P.E. teacher, Mrs. Janas, through email. It was imperative that she knew how she affected Avery and so many others. The exchange of several email messages between the two of us resulted in a divinely orchestrated meeting. Brought together were Mrs. Janas, myself, and a longtime reader of my blog who had introduced Mrs. Janas to my writing six months before my child’s path crossed with this particular teacher. On a sunlit patio one August evening, the three of us gathered with our families. By the constant stream of conversation amongst us, you would have thought we’d known each other more than just a few days. The commonalities between the three families were so unbelievable that it was apparent that God brought us together for a reason.
That night, Mrs. Janas looked into my tearful eyes and told me about the ripples of goodness she experienced as a result of that initial interaction with Avery. The ripples began in her own heart and expanded with every person who read and reacted to the story. I told Mrs. Janas about people as far away as Russia, Africa, and New Zealand who’d been inspired to action after hearing Avery’s story. All over the world, someone was telling a story of love, understanding, compassion, patience, and understanding. And it all began by Mrs. Jana’s placing loving hands beneath the chin of a nervous child and letting her know she mattered.
In that moment it was all I could do not to fall to my knees and thank God for highlighting this final and most important piece of living Hands Free. Changing Someone’s Story is vital to conquering worldly distraction, negativity, and fear to live freely and love fully.
From that point, I vowed to stop worrying so much about Avery’s unique light being squelched out in this often cold, harsh world. Instead I would encourage her to be a Story Changer, like Mrs. Janas. I would keep praising her ability to notice those in pain and her desire to take action. I would stop worrying so much about what could happen to my children and instead focus on what they could make happen. Love, compassion, understanding are inside us all just waiting to touch a face, bring a smile, or wipe a tear from an eye. With every human story that is changed for good, there is one less story of hate, violence, greed, and animosity. With every life touched, the world becomes a better place. Rather than fretting about a cruel, selfish world, Changing Someone’s Story became my focus. And now it can become yours.
Change Someone’s Story, the ninth habit of a Hands Free Life, is about bettering the world by offering spontaneous gestures of compassion to those we may or may not know. Although it is easy to worry about how our loved ones will fare in today’s violent, narcissistic, and often bleak world, we must remember there is goodness too. More importantly, we must remember that we have the power to create that goodness. By noticing the pain in the faces around us and reaching out without hesitation, we can cultivate hope where there once was none.
In this chapter, we’ll reflect on how you can seize everyday opportunities to Change Someone’s Story and produce ripples of positivity throughout society. May you discover that you need not go abroad or into dangerous territories to make a profound difference. May you find that whether your hand is small, large, wrinkled, smooth, dirty, or clean, it has the potential to create a more humane world. One simple gesture of kindness has the potential to change the entire outlook of one person, one family, one world, and then come back to the one who started it. By Changing Someone’s Story we can transform the world one beautiful face at a time.
CHANGE SOMEONE’S STORY BY RESPONDING WITH EMPATHY
Avery is the only person I know who rejoices when she gets sick. Strep throat is her
illness of choice. She never really feels bad when she has it, yet she cannot go to school until the antibiotics have been in her system for twenty-four hours. To Avery, that’s a win-win situation. So there she was, on this particular day, in one of her ideal sick-but-not-too-sick scenarios. With one dose of amoxicillin down the hatch, Avery began celebrating. To no one in particular she announced that she would be having “alone time with Mom” while her “pink medicine made her stref throat un-contagious.”
I accepted the fact that I would not get much work accomplished that day, but I knew from past “sick” days with Avery that I would make progress in other, more meaningful areas. This particular child has that way about her.
After making a work-related phone call that I could not postpone, Avery and I planned to go to the pet store and replace Banjo’s missing identification collar. After looking at the fish in the glass tanks, we planned to go out to lunch. Avery mentioned that she would be careful not to breathe on anyone. “Remember, I’m contagious!” she exclaimed, looking a little too happy for such a condition.
As we prepared ourselves for the outing, I was reminded of one of the many reasons I love hanging out with my little Noticer. Minimal prepping is required before leaving the house because Avery looks beyond appearance. It is not that you have brushed your hair until it shines or that you have on the trendiest pair of jeans. In Avery’s book, it’s all about the smile you wear on your face.
As expected, Avery didn’t comb her hair. Instead, she secured her mess of curls in a ponytail with a glittery band. I followed suit by forgoing the hairbrush and threw on my favorite ball cap. Avery immediately commented. “That hat looks so good on you, Mama.” She read the words on the hat aloud. “Life is Good.” After pondering that notion for a moment, she made a correction. “But it really should say, ‘Life is great.’ Because life is great!”