right here and now

     Every once in a while, I savor a meal. It happened last Friday. I enjoyed the food and the wine. I enjoyed the table setting and the candlelight. I enjoyed the people around the table. I savored it all.

     Today, I want to be intentional about savoring things. I probably won’t savor the whole day or even most of the day, but I will savor parts of the day. And I will keep practicing, because I want savoring to become a habit. I want to learn to take the “bread” of right-here-and-now and give thanks.

“He took bread and gave thanks to God. . . .” Acts 27:35

“Finding peace of mind, and so happiness, right here and now. Learning to live so that we savor each day, waste none of the precious moments God has given us.” John Carmody

enjoy the world

     I have a friend who, by her own admission, isn’t great at anything, as most people see greatness. She doesn’t make a lot of money or have a fancy resume or do glamorous things. She isn’t famous, and she isn’t powerful. She isn’t a lot of things that a lot of us want to be.

     I have watched her for a long time. I have seen that she is great at one thing, and it’s the only thing that really matters: she loves much.

     I guess that’s why she enjoys much.

“You never enjoy the world aright . . . till you love men so as to desire their happiness, with a thirst equal to the zeal of your own. . . .” Thomas Traherne

“[F]or she loved much.” Luke 7:47

the whole picture

     Recently, a friend did and said some things that hurt me and made me angry. I lived with the hurt and anger for a few weeks. Pretty soon, what he had done wrong started to look like the whole picture, but it wasn’t. Here’s how I found that out.

     One morning over coffee, I decided to take a short break from looking at what he had done wrong and instead spend a few minutes looking at what he had done right. I wasn’t trying to end-run the hurt or downplay it or to bury it under you-should-be-grateful. I was just agreeing to spend a few minutes saying “yes-and” – “yes, I have good reason to be hurt and angry, and he also has given me gifts.”

     I asked for help in remembering the gifts, and I started jotting them down – the people I have met through him and the trips I have taken because of him and the encouraging words and the visits and the wise counsel and the comfort when I was scared and lonely. The list went on and on. I’m still adding to it.

     Before I started the list, I could only see what he had done wrong. Now I can also see what he has done right. I can see the whole picture clearly.

“Then [her] eyes were opened, [her] sight was restored, and [she] could see everything clearly.” Mark 8:25

the voices inside

     There are a lot of voices inside, and they don’t always say the same thing. When that happens, my job is to decide which one wins.

     Just this morning, I read one line (about singing for joy), and it brought a little leap of excitement. A voice inside said, “You could do that today.” I enjoyed entertaining that possibility for a few minutes – until other voices chimed in with things like “Are you kidding? Do you remember how far behind you are at work?” and “That situation you’ve been worried about might really go south.” Pretty soon, the idea of singing for joy sounded silly, impossible, unrealistic and irresponsible.

     I’m going to try it anyway.

“With my whole being, body and soul, I will sing for joy to the living God.” Psalm 84:2

the music we make

      I will make music today. The only question is what kind of music I will make, and that is up to me. It isn’t dictated by what happens to me or by what my childhood was like or by what music the people around me are making. It is my choice.

     I will choose over and over again. I will give complaint, or I will give thanks. I will look for the bad, or I will look for the good. I will speak wounding words, or I will speak healing words. I will look down, or I will look up. Every small choice is another note.

     At the end of the day, it’s the music we make that counts.   

“As one old gentleman put it, ‘Son, I don’t care if you’re stark nekkid and wear a bone in your nose. If you kin fiddle, you’re all right with me. It’s the music we make that counts.” Robert Fulghum, All I really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

“Sing to God a brand-new song. . . . [S]trike up the band and make great music!” Psalm 149:1, 3

my powerful rightness

      Some weeks ago at a restaurant, I asked the waitress if the fried haddock sandwich could be broiled instead. She said yes. Later, she came back for our order. When the food arrived, I got a fried haddock sandwich.

     “This is fried,” I said to my friend. “I ordered broiled.”

     My friend said, “You ordered fried.”

     “No,” I said. “I ordered broiled. I never order fried.”

     “I know,” she said. “I was surprised when you ordered fried.”

     I was shocked by how much I wanted to be right – even about a fried haddock sandwich.

     Since then, I’ve been experimenting with “maybe you’re right.” I feel a lot lighter when I’m not carrying around my powerful rightness.

“Free me from . . . my powerful rightness.” A Benedictine prayer

“Set me free that I may give thanks. . . .” Psalm 142:7