It’s Friday again! It’s the day I’ve set aside for my little gratitude blogging experiment — the Oh Happy Day! project. It’s my version of “TGIF” with the literal “thanking” thrown in. I try to pull at least one thing from the week for which I am thankful as a way of re-focusing my attention on the blessings of life and love and time. Honestly, it usually works. Gratitude is funny that way. (And, yes, I’m a bit sporadic about the project like I am with everything else. But, I know you’ve grown to accept my Junkie ways.)

This week, it was easy to decide my most gratitude-inducing experience. It was obvious the moment it occurred. Not every week is like that. Sometimes that choice is a bigger stretch. Sometimes there are so many things to be thankful for that it’s hard to choose one to act as Junkie subject matter. Sometimes, my vision is clouded, and I can hardly recognize even one of those blessings to inspire my writing (and thankful heart). This week started out in a move toward the latter. I began Monday tired and frustrated from some events of the prior weekend. A busy schedule and a full immersion in my own overthinking tendencies compounded my anticipation of a “difficult” week. Annoyingly, the mopes just tend to multiply, pushing gratitude further and further from my mind.

Then yesterday rolled around. It was the peak of my frustration, the final lap of my racing thoughts, the tipping point of my emotional balance. Lunch hour to the rescue! I opted for the local deli not far from my office and an outdoor table. Nothing adjusts the attitude like lunch outdoors. I ordered the usual… a cup of chili with crackes and a large sweet tea. This time I also got one of those giant sugar cookies simply because I was at the aforementioned peak. I sat down and was able to look around me. Outside. Outside of me. I felt the temperature of an unusually cool Spring day in April. I stopped taking my own temperature for a moment. I made notes in my journal about new blog posts and work promotions. I took note of something besides my own frustrations. I enjoyed a phone call from a friend, and I listened to a voice outside the one in my own head. Sitting there in my blazer and heels, trying to keep the napkins from littering the parking lot, I actually felt the wind on my face. I actually noticed for the first time that day that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a breath of fresh air, literally and for my spirit. It was beanless chili with just the right amount of spice for my body, but it was food for my soul.

It always amazes me how a little thing can shift perspective. How a simple and mundane action can alter so many things when we choose to pay attention to it. I guess that’s why I write about it so much. Sometimes the daily things we do a thousand times are just the needed reminder that life is big and small all at the same time. Having lunch outdoors at the deli on Thursday–something I do quite often–turned me around with its sheer simplicity. Simple words. Simple tastes. Simple light. Simple sweetness. Simple deep breaths. Simple pleasures. It shifted me outside myself. And, that’s a good thing.

Thursday’s midday experience made me think of the other spectacular “power” lunches I’ve had this week–the ones that were lost in my internal involvement… Monday’s unexpected sandwiches with my Mom and Dad, Tuesday’s quesadilla with the Queen featuring project planning and sage advice, Wednesday’s enjoyment of leftover taco fixings at my desk catching up with cyberspace.

This  morning, I got the call. It was one of the girls from downstairs in our office inquiring about lunch. We call it “Friday Lunch,” and it’s become a tradition around here for whoever wants to join in. (I’m posting about it today in Quack! the other blog I write for the day job.) We decided on our chosen local carryout by the typical process of elimination and deferring of judgement. We sit to eat together. It has power. And, I enjoyed it.

This week, I’m thankful for lunch. Oh Happy Day!

Hello Friday!

My office is on the second floor of our building in the Starkville Industrial Park, and I have a window that faces the north side. I regularly enjoy the decision the Queen made to let the crape myrtle trees next to the building follow nature’s course and grow to their hearts’ content rather than chopping them off at the fork in the branches (read metaphorical knees) like some poor myrtles endure. This particular landscaping technique (letting them grow) has often afforded me a wonderful view out of my window despite the standard pre-fab metal-sided glimpse of our industrial neighbors. “My” crape myrtle has been home to several bird families over the years. It’s offered beautiful blooms interspersed with blue sky on summer days. It’s displayed the waning colors of fall among bare branches and revealed the new growth of Spring. Right there on the other side of the glass, it’s given me a walk through the park in the middle of industrial manufacturing central. It makes me smile.

However, this week it’s brought me a touch of jaw-dropping surprise and just a smidgen of annoyance. This week I (and my crape myrtle) have been visited by a very persistent bird. And, frankly, he (and I’m assuming he’s a he) seems to be highly ticked off. At me? I don’t really know. Sometimes it seems like it. But, maybe that’s presumptuous and possibly a bit delusional.

Maybe he (and I’m assuming he’s a he) thought he saw a hot little birdie mama in the glass reflection he’d like to build a nest with among the newly sprouted crape myrtle leaves. Maybe he thought he saw another available boy bird honing in on his crape myrtle territory. Maybe it was seeing the great beyond through the slivers of light at the other end of our building. Maybe the very existence of the glass itself just ticked him off. Maybe that transparent, but obviously apparent boundary just pushed his buttons. I don’t really know.

Here’s what I do know. He had his eye on me. He scoped out the glass. He flapped his wings with everything he had. He moved back and forth from side to side right in front of the window without ever touching it. That’s the part that brought the jaw-dropping surprise. He opened his tiny beak. And he SANG. Repeatedly. Persistently. LOUDLY. Much more loudly than expected from such a tiny beak, from such a tiny bird. So much so that it got his little feathers all ruffled. And, although that’s the part that brought me the smidgen of annoyance given the disruption to my thought process it produced, it’s also the part that I really sort of respect. What a bird!

He walked flew right up to that glass wall–the one that caused him doubt and fear and maybe anger. He did what any self-respecting bird does best. Intimidated or confused or not, he sang the loudest and most defiant song he could muster. It got MY attention. He hauled off and sang. He showed me.

And he did. Show me.

Fresh on the heels of nature’s little object lesson, the report for today’s Oh Happy Day! gratitude project has me thinking about boundaries. And about singing. And, oddly, about how grateful I am for both. We all have boundaries whether internal or external. The boundaries make themselves most apparent in times of transition. When we contemplate change–a change in perspective, in thinking, in lifestyle, in action–sometimes all we can see are the boundaries. Within those walls, we feel our own limitations. It’s easy to lose our vision, our gumption, our selves there.

Yet, if we look carefully, most boundaries are glass. Humans have the unique capacity to see the transparency and the transiency of limits. God designed us with the ability to hope, to imagine, to see beyond, to see through.  And, whatever real or imagined situation we see through that looking glass, we can glean new perspective and new courage to push against those limitations–to alter and expand the space in which we live and move and breathe. Whether through the time-tested promises of faith and hope found in the Bible, or the caring words of others that often shift our perspective, or our own sheer defiance of a particular situation, we can haul off and sing. We can sing the loudest and most persistent song we’ve ever sung. We can push through a week with a sick and crying Baby Girl in need of Mommy’s care. We can juggle and act based on our own priorities, rather than those of the world around us. We can bend a creative block and make it produce something fresh and timely. We can change a situation that has caused us pain for too long. We can learn to do something new. We can choose to do what brings us joy. We can say “no.” We can say “yes.” We can say “enough.” We can say “more.” We can sing. Out loud.

This week I’m thankful for the singing lessons of that little bird. I’m thankful for the songs of faith and of faithful friends and family I’ve heard this week. I’m thankful for boundaries. And for recognizing their transparency. I’m thankful for the ability to sing.

Oh Happy Day!

“Mommy, I have a ‘prize for you.”

Spoken with a gleam in his eye and hands concealed behind his back, trying to balance his “prize” with a juicy cup and several beloved stuffed friends, Squiggle Bug took obvious pleasure in saying it. Let me tell you. There is no pleasure quite as obvious as 3yo pleasure. And, although he couldn’t quite articulate the SURprise, I was all too happy to be surprised nonetheless.

Every day this week, my boys have commited themselves to offering Mommy an unsolicited “surprise” at the end of each work day. The Bradford Pear tree I mentioned last week is still in full bloom next to our driveway, and it has limbs just low enough for Little Drummer Boy and Bug to break off a small cluster on their way to the door after we get home. Although I know what the “prize” is every time, I still give them each a hug and a kiss and a surprised “oh I love it” before putting the current fruit of our “flower tree” into one of several vases on my kitchen window sill.

It’s Friday again, and I’ve neglected the Junkie this week in favor of a busy work schedule. But, with the daily “prizes” of the week fresh on my mind, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to give credence to a thankful heart once again in an Oh Happy Day! gratitude posting. This week, I’m grateful for “prizes,” those unexpected pleasures that have come my way–the serendipity of surprising words, surprising accomplishments, surprising glimpses and surprising gifts. I’ve noticed how powerful those unexpected moments of crystal clarity can be, the moments when we recognize and embrace the value found in little things. The “prizes” of the week have reminded me that what may seem small and insignificant to one person, can grow and expand into something so much bigger for someone else. The insignificant can become significant in the right place, at the right time. The “off-the-cuff” can become “right-on-target” in the right place, at the right time. The simple gesture can become empowering in the right place, at the right time. It makes me think about what I’m doing a little more carefully. It makes me think about my own definitions of “small” and “big.” It makes me want to do and say the little things, just in case they might grow in the right heart, in the right place, at the right time.

The week’s lessons in the art of surprises:

Exhibit A: Surprising Looks. The proud faces of my boys as they prepared to hand over their treasured “prizes” was an unexpected pleasure this week that I took the time to enjoy. And, truth be told; I was kicking myself for the number of times I KNOW I have overlooked those precious expressions, distracted by some seemingly more important notion. Their smiles offered me a surprising glimpse into the unencumbered joy of giving, the joy of accepting, the joy of being affirmed and affirming.

Exhibit B: Surprising Words. I was the recipient of some unexpected, but much-appreciated compliments this week. Someone I value and admire offered some positive feedback on this blog and on some of the day job endeavors in which I’m currently engaged. It’s interesting how those surprising words gave me a new drive toward creativity, a renewed motivation to measure myself and my endeavors in terms of quality rather than quantity.

Exhibit C: A Surprising Fit. I’m just a girl at heart. Still. And, in specific, I’m a girl who had three babies in four years. This week, I pulled out a nice Eddie Bauer jumper dress–a lovely and polished outfit that I honestly hadn’t worn since sometime before I was pregnant with Baby Girl, maybe even Bug. It fit! It looked good on me. It made me feel like I could take on the world. And, in some ways, it empowered me to take on my little world in a new way. I know my male readers out there don’t get this one. But, we all have hidden confidence benchmarks. Sometimes for women it involves a pair of blue jeans or a nice grey pinstripe jumper with a pair of 3″ black boots. Just sayin.

Exhibit D: Surprising Freedom. This week I acted on something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. The details would bore you, but suffice it to say that it was a simple act that allowed me to feel like I was taking better control of myself and taking ownership of some of my own decisions. Following through on intentions brings with it an unexpected freedom–the freedom to act, the freedom to be deliberate, the freedom to move forward with new things. The impact of just one small act really surprised me.

When I go home in a few minutes, I’m sure LDB and Bug will gather their “prizes” again. They’ll struggle with hiding them while holding on to all their own personal treasures. They’ll smile and hand them over with pride in their eyes. They’ll follow me to the kitchen and watch me add them to the vases. Then, they’ll go on about their movie-watching and car chasing, satisfied with themselves. And, I’ll smile again. The Bradford has mostly leafed out with tiny bright green growth now. The leaves are inhabiting the same branches as the flowers and will soon push them out. Already, any decent gust of wind or drizzle of rain sends down showers of the white petals. The time for “flower trees” is almost gone. For the boys, it will give way to more outside time, rock collections harbored away in their pockets, dirty jeans and skinned knees. Their surprises will probably shift to something like interesting sticks or colorful rocks or slimy green lizards. And, I’ll gladly take them with a smile (even the lizards), but I won’t soon forget these blossomy “prizes.” Or the Exhibits of the week.

Oh Happy Day!