gratitude

All the ways that our family’s pandemic experience was an “ideal” one.

When life was “canceled” a few months ago due to the arrival of a pandemic on our shores, I did a little happy dance. Read about it here.

I was suffering from burnout, which can easily become the norm for mothers of several children (five, in my case) who desperately feel the ticking time bomb that is my time with them at home.

It’s tricky to find a balance when trying to give our kids every opportunity in life because along with that comes a whole lot of chauffeuring, volunteering, teaching and training. All while trying to manage a semi-peaceful household.

Well, I have to say that during January through March, I was failing miserably at achieving that balance. Enter COVID-19. Devastating to most. A godsend to me.

So, while I don’t mean to minimize what others have gone through over the past few months, I would be forever ungrateful if I failed to acknowledge the countless advantages our family had during quarantine.

First, my husband had a job that could easily be done remotely. Not only did this guarantee us a stable income but it meant that we could take daily walks during his lunch hour. (And I had backup with child-rearing if I really needed it).

Second, unlike so many couples, who both had to work from home, as well and single parents who go at it alone every day, we had the luxury of a stay-at-home parent. That meant I could minimize interruptions to Tim’s many Zoom calls, keep the kids from killing each other and help with schoolwork without taking a hit to work productivity.

That is a position few families found themselves in and it was not lost on me. Or Tim, for that matter.

Third, we live in a neighborhood with numerous walking paths and enjoy a wonderful fenced backyard where we can be outside while social distancing. Watching videos of Italians serenading one another from their balconies was both heartwarming and heartrending. The thought of the only access to the outside world being from a balcony sure made me feel spoiled in my single-family suburban home.

Fourth. There are seven people in my family. No loneliness in these parts. Want to play a board game? Great! There’s plenty of people to join you. A round of badminton? Doubles? Easily accomplished. Need a shoulder to cry on? Not a problem.

The annoyances that come along with large families are not few, but you can bet we were all glad to have plenty of options for a partner in crime during our quarantine.

Fifth, I finally found myself grateful for the extra 750 square feet we added onto our abode almost two years ago. The process was a terrible headache but you can bet that seven people (most of whom are now adult-sized) crammed into 3200 square feet around the clock is a whole lot better than those same people fighting over 2500 square feet of territory.

Sixth, after evaluating our food storage, I was delighted to find that we could probably last about 6 months without going to the grocery store. Aside from fresh milk, produce and eggs, we were in good shape! And I even had canned varieties of all three if we really got desperate. (But…yuck!)

And on that note, I got my hands on a cow from a local friend (we’ve done this before) just before meat processing plant outbreaks and the price of beef shot up. Our freezer is jam-packed with locally-butchered beef that will last us two years, easy.

Lastly, I can’t say enough about how much my faith sustains me in daily life.

When all this pandemic crap hit the fan, church was canceled indefinitely. Being able to meet in our home for Sunday worship and daily scripture study has been a tender experience. As our family has refocused on the things that matter most, we’ve gained an added measure of peace that things are gonna be all right in the end. It is our faith in Christ that grounds us in that soul-sustaining belief.

So, while I can’t say my first pandemic has been ALL fun and games, I CAN show gratitude for the fact that, in our case, we were dealt a much softer blow than so many. My personal hope is to ease the burden on others for whom this has not been the case. I’m trying anyway.

From the Bronx to Broadway.

Today we drove from Boston (my favorite U.S. city) to the city of all cities.  My heart was racing the whole time-not because Tim was driving like a New Yorker, but because we had a matinee to catch.

Wicked on Broadway.

It was the only thing I wanted to do while in New York. It would be the most expensive thing we would do in New York.

I might have shed buckets of tears if we were to miss this singular experience.

I had Tim drop us off at a subway station in the Bronx so he could skirt the city and drive the Suburban to our hotel in Jersey.  (Someone had to take one for the team and sit it out with Jack.)

We were the only white folks on the train.  Talk about instant culture shock for these Idahoans.  I was pleased to find that my girls seemed unphased by this role reversal.

On our ride into the city, we encountered much of what is probably common to subway-riding New Yorkers: people selling overpriced candy in order to pay rent, a lady with outstretched hand, begging for money.  Another disabled woman asked for help with her medical bills.

All this in a matter of minutes.

Admittedly, it was sobering.

Here we were, five females from Boise, Idaho, in New York City.  Headed to a play for which we had paid $150 per ticket.  In New York City.  (Did I mention that?)

And we were riding a train with dozens, even hundreds of people who would never know that experience.

It’s been said that “ Comparison is the thief of joy.”  While that can most certainly be true, I also believe that it can work the opposite direction.

I could lament the fact that, in contrast to many people with whom I associate, this was my first time seeing a play on Broadway.  I could whine about how I can only afford to attend a single production while here.

Heck, I could complain about any number of things-from the fact that our seats were 11 rows back versus front and center to the inconvenience of sitting behind someone taller than I.

But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?

My takeaway from our train ride was that comparison can only rob us of joy when we lack perspective.  If we constantly look in the direction of those who have more and do more than we, we cannot help but feel short-changed.

Alternatively, when we experience a world of the have-nots, we suddenly realize what a small percentage of the world enjoys the blessings we do.  Instead of feeling entitled, our joy is enhanced by the gratitude we feel.

I know mine was.  Dang, I’m glad we took the subway in today.

The lost art of the thank-you card.

Less than a year after Tim and I were married, we flew down to Los Angeles for my cousin Scott’s post-wedding reception (hosted by the groom’s parents), my aunt and uncle.

Both families were significantly more well-to-do than my own (and Tim’s).  As evidenced by the prime beach club location for the reception and the presence of caviar on the menu.  Not in a hoity-toity way, of course.  Just giving a bit of perspective.

Being newly-married ourselves, and “starving” students, we didn’t have much of a budget for wedding presents.  So, naturally we didn’t splurge on their gift.  It might have even been a regift.  Maybe.

It was a strainer/colander.  Practical but not exactly the most exhilarating item to unwrap.  It was our humble offering to congratulate the couple on just starting out.

Within a month, I received the most gracious card from Scott’s wife Ashley, thanking us for coming and for the gift.  She was kind and sincere in her thanks, despite having received a plentiful array of presents to delight.

Tim and I have attended numerous wedding receptions in the seventeen years that have passed since then. Being more established financially, our gifts have far exceeded that one in class (and price).  None have generated the classy thanks of that particular  card.

In fact, if I were to venture a guess at the percentage of thank-you cards we’ve received for the gifts we’ve given, I’d say it was just under 50%.  Surprising, if you ask me.

You see, shortly after getting married myself, my top priority was to whip out cards to show gratitude for the many loved ones and friends who celebrated with us and sacrificed to give us a gift.  It took months.

I curled up on the couch as often as time would permit between school and work, and pen a thoughtful, personal note to each gift-giver.  My goal was to ensure that each person knew I remembered them and the specific gift they had chosen.

I even checked in with Tim when a name on the list didn’t ring a bell so he could help me put a name to a face.

Writing those thank-you cards was such a satisfying experience.

First, it reminded me of how many people took time out of their schedules to join in this happiest of occasion.  In a way, I could almost relive the joy of visiting with them as I took the time to thank them personally.  It was like a double-dose of happiness.  Gratitude does that.

Second, I’d like to think that it brought a smile to their faces to know that their sacrifice was not lost on me.  From my mission president and his dear wife who drove several hours to attend our sealing, to my old Texas friends who made a road trip from San Francisco to be there.

From my sweet aunt whose husband had recently passed who came all the way from Chicago to the members of Tim’s family who also flew out from the Midwest to show their support.

It meant a lot to me.  I wanted them to know that.  I think they did.

And third, I simply think that sending thank-you cards is a classy thing to do.  When Ashley sent me a thank-you card for that silly strainer, I almost laughed out loud.  But it said a lot about her.  She’s a class act.

Not only does gratitude demonstrate our level of graciousness, it multiplies the joy of all involved in those expressions of gratitude, from giver to receiver.

I spent three years as president of the Young Women organization at church (and as a teacher of the 16-18 year-olds for two years before that.

When each young woman graduated from high school and moved on to the women’s organization at church, I gave each of them a gift, along with a card to express my love for them and the joy that it was to be their leader. I tried my darnedest to make it personal, so they knew that I loved each of them individually.

I received many thank-you cards for those gifts.  Some made me cry.

One year as I wrote a card to one of these graduating young women, I had a hard time finding the words to express how I felt about her.  To be sure, she was blessed with an abundance of talents and gifts, which I could easily enumerate.  But she lacked warmth, and so I found it hard to muster the exuberant expressions of praise/love that came so easily when addressing other young women.

I silently prayed that I could do her justice in the card I wrote and was filled with an overwhelming feeling of love for her.  My pen took over and I filled the card to capacity with my heartfelt, genuine identification of the incredible person I think she is.

Sure enough, when I received a thank-you card from her fairly promptly thereafter(she had been taught by her parents to do so), I opened it and stopped dead in my tracks.  She had given a cursory thanks for the graduation gift.  And that was it.

No acknowledgement of the tender words in the card I had given her.

No mention of the hours (and hours) I had expended on her behalf as Young Women President.

It was SUCH a letdown.

Do I love her any less?  Of course not.  Do I regret having composed such a genuine show of love to her?  Not a bit.  I hope it had positive effects on her despite no indication of it on her end.

However.  There are three lessons in the story:

One, to express thanks is good.

Two, to feel gratitude is inspiring.  It fills the soul.

Three, to express thanks with a heart full of gratitude blesses all parties involved.

As a mother, I hope to instill the habit of saying thank-you in my children.  It goes far beyond verbal expressions of gratitude.

After Christmas, we break out a stack of cards and take turns writing thanks to those who sent us presents.  Each child is encouraged to do the same after a birthday.  When we arrive home from a trip during which friends hosted us for a meal or an overnight stay, we do the same.

It’s simply a habit now.  Hopefully one that sticks.  And even more importantly, a habit that generates a true sense of gratitude behind the expression of it.

Unmet expectations. The parable of the non-flowering plum tree.

The first spring after buying our first home, I discovered that our neighbors had given us a little gift.  A perfect view of their gorgeous flowering plum tree, which we could enjoy from the comfort of the couch in our family room.

For the brief time it was in full bloom, I reveled in its beauty, which filled my soul in ways I cannot describe.

So what was my first landscaping decision after we purchased a second home in the neighborhood less than two years later?  Why, plant a flowering plum tree, of course.  And locate it strategically so that I could kick back and bask in it from the recliner in my family room.

Imagine my disappointment the following spring when instead of progressing from bud to flower to leaf, it skipped the second step entirely, leaving me wanting for those stunning pink blossoms.  I rationalized by attributing its meager flowering capacity to the tree’s immaturity.

Unfortunately the same disappointment repeated itself year after year after year.  We’ve lived in this house almost thirteen years and I can count on two fingers the number of times the tree has rewarded us with a beautiful display of flowers.  What a downer.

I realized fairly early on that plum trees need to cross-pollinate.  You can’t just slap one plum tree in the ground and expect it to be fruitful.  My expectation of springtime blossoms aplenty was built on misinformation.  I was longing for something that simply could not be.  At least not without some intervention on my part.

How often do our lives play out in a similar fashion?  How many of us have imagined outcomes in life that have yet to be realized?  And what can we do to mitigate the inevitable frustration that accompanies unmet expectations?

Let’s go back to my plum tree analogy.  In my case, I was lucky to discover the fault in my planning.  Armed with the realization that in order for my plum tree to produce blossoms it needed a member of the plum family in close proximity, the solution was obvious.  Plant another plum tree.

But…I was too lazy to do that.  Besides, we really only had room for one plum tree at that point.  So I picked option B.  Which was, get over the loss of a few meager weeks of pink blossoms and be grateful for what the tree had to offer the other nine months of the year.

That tree has provided shade for me as I’ve sat in my backyard to keep an eye on my frolicking children.  It’s housed dozens of birds, providing entertainment galore.   My kids once picked its tiny fruit (it’s a flowering plum, after all), ground them down to make a fascinating concoction, called it “plum butter” and sold it to the neighbors on our street.

Not to mention that my tree gratifies us with lovely purple leaves 6 months out of the year.  Why would I focus on the lack of pink flowers when it has blessed us with all that?  Even if the pink blossoms were the reason I desired it in the first place?

We would do well to do our homework before pursuing certain dreams.  But sometimes even the most careful research can fall short in producing desired outcomes.  Life still has a way of presenting pitfalls and challenges to our hopes and goals.  We must not let our expectations curb our efforts to appreciate all that is good in life.

Our didactic plum tree is on the chopping block as we prepare to add onto our home this year.  Though the disappointment of over eleven springs with nary a blossom to bless my soul is deep, I am reminded to be grateful.  Grateful for all the blessings in life that came to me unawares.  And grateful for the knowledge that joy can be found in the most unexpected places.  Even in flowering plum trees that refuse to flower.

Yesterday morning I peeked out my window to discover a few pink blossoms gracing the branches of our tree.  As if to say, “Sometimes you get exactly what you wish for.  Sometimes you don’t.  Either way, if you want to be happy, be grateful.”

 

 

OI Regional Conference – Portland edition.

Last weekend Tim and I attended a regional conference in Portland organized by the Osteogenesis Imperfecta Foundation, an organization that supports those living with brittle bone disease.  I didn’t really know what to expect, and to be honest, I can’t say that I learned anything mind-blowing with regard to Jack’s condition.  After all, I scoured every corner of the internet to find information on it within the first month after his diagnosis so I feel pretty informed.  Still, it was overall an pretty awesome experience for a number of reasons.

First, the presenters were primarily medical professionals who treat individuals with OI, far more OI patients than any of our providers treat.  Many of them have a particular passion for this tiny segment of the population and for finding treatments that will improve their quality of life.  They’ve also been involved in some of the groundbreaking research that has enabled certain “experimental” treatments to become mainstream.  So mainstream that our doctors here in Boise knew precisely which course to take, a course that has enabled Jack to far exceed our expectations for mobility and fracture reduction.

We had several opportunities to sit down with a few of these doctors and just pick their brains on the best course of action to take with Jack in the future, which armed me with significantly more information than our local providers have been able to give.  Our providers have been great, to be sure, but having treated a much smaller population lack a breadth of experience that I felt these medical professionals had.

Second, it was fantastic to see other individuals with Osteogenesis Imperfecta with a wide variety of health limitations.  Several people did not even appear to have the condition, aside from a bit of stunted growth perhaps.  But they could simply pass as short.  Others were what I would describe as stereotypical – with pretty much every indicator of the condition.  Some were wheelchair-bound, others spend a portion of time in a wheelchair but could also walk, one little girl even sported a pink cast for her most recent fracture.  It was heartwarming to see how resilient these awesome people are – their commitment to maximizing their lives and improving it for others with the same condition.  Several are faithful attendees of these conferences and have a deep commitment to raise awareness of OI so that this disease does not go ignored by the medical community simply because of its rarity.  They are weak in bone but strong in spirit.  They are truly inspirational.

A small number of them had a bit of a chip on their shoulders (understandably).  They had been treated as guinea pigs in the early days of their disorder, and were weary of participating in studies that may/may not be beneficial to them (or anyone else, for that matter).  They’re tired of the pain, tired of doctors who don’t understand, tired of insurance companies and hospitals bickering over who should have to cover the cost of their care.  It was sobering to see their struggles and to feel their frustration.  It filled me with an enormous sense of compassion for the crummy hand they’ve been dealt and equal admiration for how they weather it all with grace and grit.  They are a special group, and they deserve every bit of praise for enduring their condition so resolutely.

Finally, and this was the benefit of attending that most surprised me, I was renewed with a sense of gratitude for the factors in our lives that have made this whole OI experience much easier to bear.  We talked with several parents of kids with OI.  One family, in particular, approached us and asked us a bit about Jack (who was not with us).  They said, “We couldn’t help noticing based on some of the questions you’ve asked during the presentations that you have a son with OI.  How old is he?”  “Almost two,” we answered.  “Wow,” they replied.  “How are you doing?”

It was spoken with a tone that implied the heaviness of the diagnosis, an offering of deep empathy and support, and a slight skepticism that one could be doing well under the circumstances.  And, to be fair, their son appears to have a more severe type of OI than Jack does, though his initial diagnosis was pretty much the same.  When we indicated that we were doing great, and we showed them a video  that my sister Jill had sent us the day before (she was helping my mom take care of the kids at home), they were baffled.  Not so much at the video of Jack jumping and dancing around our family room, but that we were so okay with the fact that he has brittle bones.  It sort of caught me off-guard.

Certainly, those early days and weeks after Jack broke his femur were some of the most difficult of my life.  Occasionally, they almost feel like a dream.  I can reflect cognitively on how challenging they were – the strangeness of caring for a newborn with a spica cast, the fear of mishandling Jack and wondering whether each prolonged crying session meant he had broken another bone, the foreboding thought about what the future might hold for Jack and how that would change the dynamic in our family.  It was tough stuff, to be sure.  But even as I think back to those days, I can’t really feel the pain – I feel mostly gratitude.

They say hindsight is 20/20, but even as I was in the thick of my experience breaking Jack’s femur and all that followed, I was surprisingly lucid despite my incredible fatigue (I was, after all, a 38 year-old mother of a fragile newborn and four other kids, to boot.  Bone-tired, I tell you.)  I had the presence of mind to process all the medical jargon the doctors were throwing at me, to keep my head when they confirmed the worst of my fears, and to put on a happy face for my kids when we had to explain to them what it all meant.  I wrote down a list of the “tender mercies” I could see – evidence of the Lord’s love for me and His assurance that all would be all right.  There were too many “coincidences” to be coincidences.  He was mindful of us and assisted us in viewing this whole experience with an eternal perspective – a gift that I don’t think I fully appreciated until we talked with this couple at the OI conference.  I shudder to think of how harrowing their own experience had been, without the perspective a firm belief in God and his eternal plan gave us.

I also could not reflect on those early days without appreciating the overwhelming support we received from our family, friends, neighbors, and church congregation during the weeks after Jack’s first hospitalization (and beyond).  One of our next-door neighbors was devastated by the news, reflecting on it again and again, and took the time to bring us meals and shovel our driveway despite the multiple heart attacks he had suffered in previous months.  Several sweet friends from church came in and cleaned my house, a service initiated by a mother whose own significant family trials at the time were swallowed up by her selfless desire to lighten my load.  A few of my mission buddies, who live from Washington D.C. to Hawaii pitched in for gift cards so that we could buy pizza, which we did for months and months afterward – thanks to the generous sum the cards contained.  I did not cook a single dinner for a month thanks to meals brought in, I didn’t have to purchase diapers for four months, my kids got rides to school without my having to lift a finger for who knows how long, people did my laundry, they referred me to medical resources, they fasted for us, they prayed for us.  The hours others spent on our behalf by those far and near was innumerable.  And it was truly humbling.

So, when this couple asked how we were doing, it was eye-opening for me.  It made me wonder at the enormous burden that was eased immeasurably by the service of those around us.  And it also reminded me what a gift it is to know that this life is simply a small portion of eternity, that our experiences are opportunities to learn and develop Christlike attributes, and that Christ Himself rose from the grave so that our imperfect bodies may one day be resurrected.

So how are we doing?  Thanks to that knowledge, and the many loving individuals who serve us daily, we’re going to be just fine.  Mighty fine.