[originally posted May 27 2012, 10:16 AM]

Photo by Rick Smit (Flickr.com)

I was sitting in Panera Bread after a quiet lunch and came across this post on 60 second meditations. Before I did a little writing I had planned, I just closed my eyes for 60 seconds.

Normally I would have been annoyed by all the noise around me if I wanted to meditate. Instead, this wave of gratitude and appreciation wash over me and I noticed the water I was swimming in. The music playing wasn't my type, but I heard it as creativity and expression. The voice of a child was curiosity and openness manifested. The cool air from the ductwork was safety and comfort and abundance. The food I still tasted was bounty and nourishment.

You get the picure. I hope you get the feeling. Like a fish noticing the water.

[originally posted May 26 2012, 5:27 AM]

I'm returning to my hometown of St. Elmo IL to tend to some family business. I thought of it as sorting through a bunch of hoarded junk in the garage and upstairs of my parents' house. After some reflection this morning, I'll think of it as a treasure hunt instead. 

This house is a sacred place where I was lovingly taught important values that have shaped me for the better. It was a place of security and safety, and of modest abundance. My mother died almost a year ago, and my father moved soon thereafter to a nursing home because of his dementia. The house has been empty of inhabitants but is still full of memories. 

So when I'm lifting heavy scraps of metal, or sorting through endless small boxes stuffed with napkins, receipts, and plastic grocery bags, I'll remind myself that it's the treasure we find that makes it worthwhile. It may come in the form of a precious photo tucked inside a book, a diary of our grandfather's final days, or merely a recollection of simpler times. 

All told, instead of a chore, I'll see it as an adventure -- a treasure hunt.

[originally posted June 11 2011, 3:40 AM]

My mom wasn't Catholic or Jewish, so the guilt titer in the house was always low.

I got the sense that she didn't carry much guilt, and I was always pretty straight-laced and well-behaved (more about Brad and Lori later).

Forgiveness

I have this memory of "the look". It's sort of an all-purpose warning facial expression that conveys "I suspect you are going to do something of which I would not approve". My mom used it strategically and successfully. I suspect it was a better deterrent than specific prohibitions, which teenagers are craftily legalistic at obeying in specific, but defying in intention.

On the other hand, I can think of a number of transgressions that were granted forgiveness. For instance, when the little red lights come on in your car as you are driving, you should stop and attend to the warnings (i.e. "the look"). Otherwise, you (i.e. your parents) could pay $500 in 1969 dollars to replace your burned up engine.

Mercy

If forgiveness is wiping the slate clean, then mercy is getting a hug afterward.

My mother wasn't very demonstrative, and used the words "I love you" sparingly. I didn't feel any love was missing however. Her steadfast presence and availability, her dependability, and her attention to detail for all our needs was the non-verbal proof of her love. As we both got older, the words were spoken far more often, or I listened better.

Grace

Grace is what happens before you deserve it. To be specific, it's the good stuff you are given. Undeserved unconditional love.

I had heard the word "grace" for many years as a quaint old religious term. Then sometime in middle age, a friend showed it to me when I wasn't expecting it. That's when I really understood grace.

But I had been living in an atmosphere of grace my whole life, and didn't recognize it as something discrete. It was like a fish not recognizing the water he was swimming in.

Grace is like the verdict coming before the trial.

Not guilty.

[originally posted June 10 2011, 7:28 AM]

Even in college, I didn't call home, or write, or travel home much. That seemed okay with everyone. Family farewells were short and cordially warm.