K is for Kindness

Welcome to Day 11 of the A-Z Blog Challenge, letters of gratitude.

When I was in my 20's, I couldn't understand how anyone managed to like living to be 50 or 60 or older. I would look at people's faces and see all the wrinkles, the lines. How their bodies morphed into something resembling an apple from an hourglass.

Though there were always exceptions to this rule, I just couldn't see myself getting old. And I wondered how anyone could do it.

But time and gravity plays tricks with us all. I'd suck in my tummy (which is getting smaller every day, thank you) when I used to look at myself in the mirror in the morning, and I'd see a young woman of 20, not the one that was there. Until recently.

Now I see my body for what it is and what it is not. Wrinkles and all. Lumpy parts and parts that still manage to stay smooth and soft. I am seeing more and more the reality of who I am. And okay, I will admit it publicly, expensive underwear helps!!

Part of my journey this past year has been to learn to do with less, to learn how to manage the big stresses in life, when it looks like it all will be taken away. At some point this past year I realized that I didn't own my stuff, my stuff owned me. A friend reminded me that I stressed over giving up some of my stuff because I placed too much importance in it. Otherwise, it wouldn't cause me so much pain to lose it. The really important things in life are not made of stuff.

I read blogs by young women who should have their mouths scrubbed out with soap, and regularly. I've made the mistake sometimes of speaking my mind, to object to something, or someone's attitude when it would have been better to zip it, and I've caused problems for myself. I get to feeling righteous when there is only one who can be truly righteous.

A great competitor of mine in my former business gave me this quote that I love: Don't wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty. But the pig likes it.

Yes, I am grateful for the wisdom that comes from years of making mistakes, saying the wrong things, and learning how to listen more and speak less. Being kind is a virtue that comes gracefully with age, and from appreciating every living being, regardless of the odd little worlds they drag around with them. It comes from releasing the resentment or fear I hold onto. Making an extended hand instead of a fist.

After all, salvaging a relationship is always better than being right. And that can't be bought or sold. It is given, by one who is truly kind of heart. It rewards the giver more than the receiver.

The Silver Dollar

I was raised in the church. My grandfather started off as an evangelist, but he was one of the good guys. I learned early on what the meaning of love and sacrifice meant. My brother and I would visit him, stay in their guest bedroom (Grandpa never lived in anything but a 2-bedroom house the church provided him). Sometimes a battered woman would come in the middle of the night, usually bringing one or two kids. We would be moved to the living room couch so this poor woman could spend the night in the pastor's home, in a bed with her children, away from an abusive husband.

We also learned that homeless people, we called them hobos in those days, knew his house would offer food. They'd come to the back door, and be served. Sometimes they'd sit in the kitchen, huddled over a bowl of soup and bread. I was told not to talk to them. Although I knew my grandparents didn't have much money, they had enough to give a bowl of soup to someone who needed it, and never asked for a thing in return. We learned later that somehow a mark had been left on the fencepost, or the name or address had been communicated by some invisible trail of whispers, so people knew a decent person lived there.

On Sundays, Grandpa would stop between the 4th and 5th stanzas of the closing hymn, and ask people to come forward to pray with him. It used to bother me so much, that, if no one else came forward, I would. I had to be gently reminded that I didn't need to do that any longer, but it didn't stop me from feeling compelled to walk toward this kind, handsome man who had enough love in his heart for the whole world. And I was just a speck in it.

I think a lot about those days now. So much economic uncertainty in our world these days. It has affected all of us. With this as a humbling backdrop, the clanging of egos and harshness of hucksters has me wincing a lot. I seek the decent people who are nice to their fellow man. Isn't sexy, exciting and might not contribute to book sales, but seems like the right place for me. I'm having trust and faith in a plan laid down for me if I will just stop and listen to the words.

When I was about 6 or 7, my father brought home a silver dollar from Reno. My parents were the college advisors at our church, and they had taken their group skiing. I loved that silver dollar, and felt rich carrying it in my purse.

One Sunday, someone did a mission presentation in the sanctuary. There were pictures of brown children with dirty legs and distended bellies flashed up on the screen. They talked about the power of just one dollar and what it could do. When the offering plate came in front of me, I went into my purse and pulled out my silver dollar, and laid it proudly in the plate.

Someone had seen me do this, and after the service, my dad said, "Wonderful that you gave that dollar. But it didn't have to be THAT dollar." He had replaced it with one of his own, and handed me back mine, and gave me a kiss.

If I could remember more things like that every day, I'd be a stronger person, better wife and mother, better writer.

I do enough, I have enough, I am enough.

What about you? What kinds of things do you think about that help fill you with gratitude for what you have so generously been given?