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On a Friday Morning, When Among Other Things . . .

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I’ve been thinking . . .

On a Friday morning when among other things, I will be meeting some really important people — every one of them. . . . I sit here with my laptop, thinking about what a lucky a person I am. Like the rest of us, who would have thought anything like this would have come of it when I wrote that first blog post (how long ago?)? I had no idea that anything like this would ever come of it.

Yet here I am, deleting a sentence I just spent a good hour editing. What I was trying to say in too many words was that I’ve changed and that folks who’ve known me are noticing.

“Wow, you did that differently than you would have done that a year or two ago.”

“I don’t have time for grown ups who act like spoiled brats anymore. Too many good folks are worth worrying about.”

“Blogging has been good for you.”

Everyone who reads my blogs has had a hand in that growth. Everyone has taught me.

On a Friday morning, with my laptop again in front of me I am wondering. Who would have thought anything like this might have been come of it?

I never dreamed I would fall in love.

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The Paradox of Lifelong Friends

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I’ve been thinking . . . ”

about how Friendship goes two ways. So does every gift.

Give yourself away and beauty comes back in unexpected fashions. Send off a kind word. Get back a melody. Offer hand to hold and find yourself surrounded by people who care. Invest your time in a person’s future, end up finding a person you want to be part of your own.

Soon it’s all of the time. What can I give you? What do you need? How might I help? Might I set this bit of love over here next to the flowers by the porch swing?

Food, clothing, and shelter. What good are these? . . . without color and feelings and an “I know what you mean?”

With a lifelong friend, laughter takes new dimensions — bass becomes tenor, alto, and soprano. Imagination dances. Even sadness has a place for relief.

And we don’t ever notice who we are when we are together, but, if we stop to consider, we suddenly understand that we like who they see.

It’s what friends do. They give and they receive without thinking, but with eternal gratitude.

A paradox, yes.

A lifelong friend doesn’t need explaining, . . . or fixing.

Lifelong friends, we just are.

It’s what we do.

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In the end, to make a life better . . .

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I’ve been thinking . . .

about Mihaela, Robyn, and Adam, .all three asked me a question — not the same question, but somehow leading to the same answer . . .

I know that on that last day, I will look upon what went before and see that every hurt I caused could have been avoided, if only I had a little more unconditional love to go around.

The words — words that I wrote in beauty and wonder came from love. . . . But sharp, thoughtless replies could not have left their mark, if I had lived the idea of unconditional love at a trying moment.

The father’s hand that held mine gave me unconditional love. I knew it in my soul, in my fingers. I might have passed that love on with a touch, a kind word, a care to someone’s feelings.

If only . . .

Mihaela, Robyn, and Adam, I made this contract once.

I will be the writer that strives to keep alive the music of the language, to hold head and heart together in the words, and to write with hope and passion that one person is better because he or she read what I wrote. — — Contract with Lisa.

On that last day I will have lived it. I will be that writer, that human being.

I have the power to make a life better through the unconditional love inside me.

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Finding Your Frequency in Business and in Life
Change the World: That One Person Is Better

To Be Wildflowers . . .

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I’ve been thinking . . .

about wildflowers.
In the early spring, in a grassy field, we can see something that looks to the unschooled eye to be a weed, but they’re not they’re wildflowers.

Some folks walk to a different drummer, some go their own way, some get called weeds when they are really wildflowers.

It’s easy to misunderstand each other, we use different words in minds that work differently. We grew up learning differently about how the world works. What we call a rose does change what we think of it. What do you think of weeds and wildflowers?

When someone misunderstands us, we don’t need to get thrown, if we know who we are. One person’s weed is another person’s wildflower. What matters most is that wildflowers stand tall enough to reach the sun so that we can grow.

We have these tiny bright traits of beauty that outstrip the most cultivated flower.

It might be a smile that comes easily.
It might be the grace of a quiet way.
It’s the charm of a person who doesn’t mind a wait.
It’s the one who never gives up.
A twinkle in the eyes gives it away.
A softness in the voice passes it on.
A sweet touch to the face offers it up.
Wildflowers are natures surprises set out with love.

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The world is filled with people.

We are so many wildflowers. I’ve never met a person who, in some way, wasn’t one. Each of us offers something new to learn, new to know, new to understand about the world and each other. Each genuine person I meet always has some trait, some quality — something that I don’t have enough of in my life.

Every wildflower offers me a chance to be a better person.

I’m on the lookout for wildlowers of every sort this weekend — some will stand inside a clear, old milk jug vase I think is special. I’ll put a bow around it. Some will be the people who come to admire the vase that holds some wildflowers standing tall inside.

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Sensitized

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I’ve been thinking . . .

about being sensitized.

When I was in my 20s, my mom was in the hospital. She was dying. When I turned on the TV, it seemed every sitcom, every channel had a show in which one character was in the hospital. It wasn’t any more than usual. I was just sensitized.

When I had my son, the same thing happened. On TV, on the street, everywhere I looked, I saw people with babies or women who about to have one.

My own situation made me more aware of what was going on.

Today I woke up thinking, Oh my, it’s Friday again. How do my weeks seem to be Tuesdays and Fridays more than anything? I wonder what I will write?

Then I thought Something has me sensitized to those days of the week.

Why don’t I choose something else? I know I can. So I will. I choose joy.

This weekend, I’ve decided to be sensitive to joy everywhere I look. And the first place I looked was out my window to see a gorgeous coral sun sitting on the edge of the lake — a joyous, unique sunrise.

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For the Quiet Ones . . .

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I’ve been thinking . . .

about the quiet ones.

They say we don’t stop to smell the roses. I think everyone pretty much knows that. The roses, the tulips, the other flowers — they do just fine without us. We’re the ones missing out on them, when we walk right by without notice.

Ah, but I’ve been remembering a conversation I had once with a guy whose child was about to start school. We talked about how teachers spend all of their time on certain kids and how managers do too. What we realized was that everyone notices the really smart kids, the funny ones, the helpful ones, and the ones who cause problems. Everyone remembers them.

But it’s hard to remember the quiet ones.

You know the quiet ones. They are the ones who let the rest of us go first. They’re the ones, who when they smile seem to do so for no reason. They’re polite. They don’t push or shove. They don’t complain or gripe. Quite frankly, they’re easy to miss. They don’t stand or say much about what they think.

That’s why they are the quiet ones.

That doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking.

That doesn’t mean they aren’t intelligent, or entertaining, or beautiful down to the last detail. It only means that they don’t make noise.

Are they like the roses that do just fine without us?

What are we missing by not listening to the quiet ones?

This weekend, I’m going to notice all of the quiet ones.

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The quiet ones who are always here . . .

The quiet ones who just happened by . . .

The quiet one inside each of us . . .

This is for you.

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