Diligent Joy Blog

Grace and Gratitude

Savoring the moment is one of the characteristics associated with life satisfaction, along with gratitude.  There are few things I savor more than a sunny summer morning.

Where I live, these are relatively rare.  This year, though, we've had an abundance of them, and I have found myself beginning to take them for granted.  This morning, though, I took my coffee outside to our gazebo to simply sit and be with the morning.

I love the sound of the birds, busy already with their bird business.  I love the sunlight and shadows on the deck and how the sunlight shimmers off the worn screens on the back of our house.  I love the absence of people noises and the temperature and density of the air.  Up here in the Pacific Northwest, even summer morning air is cool and full of dew, and on occasion, the clean, salty smell of the Puget Sound. God's grace seems to abound.

I love noticing the contrasts between light and shadow, cool air and warm coffee, quiet and chirping.  For some reason, on mornings like this, I find it easy to sit and "do nothing" for quite a while.  But am I really doing nothing?  Or am I taking time to notice, observe, savor the world around me?  Something that I rarely do in the busy-ness of most days.

In my spiritual readings last week, the focus was on gratitude.  I love gratitude!  Gratitude can change my attitude from cranky and annoyed to centered and peaceful in a relatively short period of time.  Cultivating gratitude is worth the time and effort to learn.  A line from the reading struck me:  God is grateful for you.  I had not taken that perspective before.  I have been grateful for all God has given and done--but to think that God is grateful for me?  Really?  But I'm so imperfect. 

The ideas shared went on to claim that God has created us, and we are savor-able and worthy of His/Her gratitude because we exist.  If we have caveats to that grace, then we are not forgiving ourselves or someone else.  Wow.  God's gratitude seems to be as unconditional as Her/His love.

I find myself approaching this concept slowly, catching glimpses of it from time to time, testing to see if it could really be true, peeking around corners to see if it's still there.  I have a feeling that it's much like a sunny summer morning:  full of delight and there for my savoring, if only I will take the time.   

A Little Slice of Heaven

Here's the thing.  I don't go to church much in the summer.  I spend time with my family relaxing, visiting, going to family (church) camp, and boating.  But I'm not often in that lovely sanctuary between mid June and September.

Today, I wake up.  There is laughter downstairs from my son and his friend.  I get up and make coffee, lunches, pack the cooler.  We are going on the boat.  The house is messy--leftover items from a swim meet are strewn on the stairs and in the entryway.  I don't care.

We get ready and are pulling out of our street in record time for us--8:12 a.m.  We drive down the freeway in the early morning quiet, casually discussing Harry Potter past and present.  We have two extra teen boys with us, for a total of four.  When we pull into the top of the boat launch, my husband sighs happily.  Glass on the water.

We put the boat in the water and drop off three teens to wait on the tube while we pull Eric for the first run, which he routinely takes, and then happily pulls everyone else the rest of the day.  I go next, doing a spectacular face plant on some errant waves, then have a fabulous run.  We take each of the boys, cheering as they get up, get in and out of the wake, do jumps and tail grabs, attempt and almost land a 360. 

We say hi to friends who live on the island on the lake.  We retrieve the tube, head to the cove and have lunch.  A pontoon boat full of young women comes by, loudly proclaiming it is one of their birthdays.  They entreat our boys to dance to the music we are playing.  They decline politely and sun bathe on the tube and back of the boat. 

We run our eldest back to the dock so he can go to work, then head back to the cove to retrieve the others and take them tubing on the now wavey lake.  They are laughing, bouncing, falling off.  I go to the front of the boat to sit and enjoy the ride. 

There is really nothing more wonderful I can think of to be doing on a gorgeous Saturday in the summer.  The zen of being in the moment, watching these guys laugh and play, hanging out with my family and friends, reading to them from a book that is interesting--connecting and laughing.  What more could I possibly want?

I don't go to church much in the summer.  Today, I am in heaven.

MOBs

There are strengths I have developed as a mother of sons that are (most likely) decidedly different than ones I may have developed as a mother of daughters.  Alas, I will never know for sure what might have been, but I do know what is. 

I have philosophized about this with other moms (we came up with an an acronym--MOBs for Mothers of Boys).  We agree there is a directness we have cultivated over the years that has at times surprised us and is unlike how we imagined ourselves to be as parents when we began the journey.  This comes from years of experiences like coming home to car bumper parts a strewn across the living room and the entry way looking, once again, as though a sporting goods store has vomited all over it.

I have recently renewed the gift to myself of a house-cleaning service.  Somehow, I hesitate to reveal this knowledge to the general public, even though I know many moms who also avail themselves of this nurturing help.  Come to think of it, most of them are moms of boys.  Of course, our male offspring are capable of cleaning, and they do--mine mostly under duress.  My job is to remind them that these are life skills they need and to continue to require cleaning help from them, even though we have a service that helps out every couple of weeks.  Their job is to THINK about what an appropriate place is for car bumper parts and sporting goods equipment.

All in all, we have wonderful children.  As I watched them wake-boarding and tubing behind our old boat this weekend, with duct-taped seat cushions and faded life jackets, I realized that this family connection time is precious.I love being with them, laughing with them, playing with them.  I doubt I would have learned to wake-board after age 40 if I did not have boys.  I doubt I would laugh at their off-color parody of rap music if I did not have boys.  I  probably would not have the same perspective I have about fireworks (stay legal and stay safe) and stinky socks (not on the counters!) had I not had housefuls of boys visiting, vacationing with us, and growing up around me.

I pay homage to all the moms who have joined me on the journey.  Special thanks goes to the Ski Beach moms at family camp--an annual ritual where the moms have hung out on the beach, solving our deepest and most heart-wrenching parenting issues in the safety and comfort of friends who are further down the road than we are.  Moms who lovingly tell us where to let go and what is important to hang on to.  This group has had such power and miraculous love associated with it that I have had, on occasion, a non-camp mom request I take an issue to the camp moms for advice.  How would the world be different if every mom had access to this loving circle?

One recent summer day, my husband was mildly admonishing me for some misinterpretation of male adolescence.  I reminded him, rather hotly, that he had had it pretty easy as a dad.  With the exception of a short period of preschool interest in Barbies and nail polish, he'd pretty much missed Disney Princesses, glitter, pink everything, and many other gender-related experiences, while I have endured (hand on my forehead) tomahawk throwing contests, cigar smoking on 18th birthdays, bumpers in the living room, and the like.  He acquiesced. Hm mph.

Now, as these sons and their friends graduate from high school in waves, some are contemplating ROTC or other military connections. I grieve and thank God, guiltily, that my sons have not chosen this route (yet....). Still, I have a strength I would not have otherwise had, and realize that the gift I can give them is clear questions about their motives, their futures, their dreams.  And then, I can give them support and a place to come home to.  I can feed them, love them, laugh with them, and celebrate the men they are becoming.  Yes, I'm pretty sure God knew what She was doing when She gave me boys.