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Copyright © Louis Schmier and Atwood Publishing.
Date: Fri 7/4/2003 3:20 AM
Random Thought: Our Natalie And The Good Stuff
After four miles on the flat, sweaty south Georgia streets I
almost long for the cool, Himalayan streets of San Mateo. Actually, I
long for my fifteen month old Natalie.
Susan and I have been in the deep throes of "Natalie withdrawal."
It hasn't even been two weeks since we held our grandbaby in our arms or
fed her a sinful muffin or watched her dip her hands into a bowl of some
Cheerios and milk to feed herself or heard her say "yesh" or changed her
diaper or dressed her or put her to bed or held her hands as she struggled
to take a few steps. It seems like months. She has Susan and me wrapped
around her stubby little finger.
You know they say that grandchildren are God's gift for not having
strangled the kids. It's true! We spent two weeks in the San Francisco
area doing what grandparents are supposed to do. As we were spoiling
Natalie rotten, I noticed something. Whatever our precious and most
beautiful Natalie did, we thought it was cute. When she had a "blow out"
diaper, we kidded around though we tightly wrinkled our noses; when she
was tired and cranky, we compassionately cuddled her; when she "spit up"
and splattered me, I just non-chalantly shrugged my shoulders and changed
my shirt without a gag; when she dove into a icing-ladened cupcake, we
laughed at the mess--and took pictures; when she opened her mouth to
receive each morsel of a sinful blueberry muffin in the coffee shop, we
smiled deliciously; when she hit a button on the TV remote that she was
"eating" and turned off the show we were intently watching, we chuckled.
As we flew back on the red-eye, experiencing those first twinges
of "Natalie withdrawal," I thought about those messy diapers, cleaning the
mess around Natalie's high chair, running after this crawling dervish, the
tired crankiness, and the spitting up. You know, if I had seen those
things as inconveniences, irritants or annoyances, I would have made sure
they would have inconvenienced, irritated, or annoyed me. And, I would
have turned aside and have missed an awful lot. If I had seen them as
blessings, I would have made sure they would have delighted me. It was my
choice. It's always my choice how I choose to look at things and people.
I remembered a story I had read of a Zen master. He had his first
enlightened glimpse while walking through a marketplace. He overheard a
customer tell the butcher, "Cut me only the good stuff"; the butcher
replied, "Hey, take a look; it's nothing but good stuff!" This was just
the catalyst the master needed. He took a look at the ground, the sky, the
people in their bustle of buying and selling, and from that moment on
everywhere he saw nothing in them but the good stuff. It is just as I
look at Natalie: nothing but the good stuff.
Maybe Natalie is now my special booster shot to continue to be
acutely conscious of "the good stuff." So, I wonder. What if we practiced
our various teaching and advising and administrative and staff roles with
the same attitude as both that Zen master and me when I played with, cared
for, pampered, cleaned up after, spoiled, and loved Natalie? What if
everything, conscious or otherwise, was, for each of us, a blessing of
"the good stuff?" What if we each were enveloped only by a desiring and
commited spirit of "wanting to" and never felt a compliant pressure of
"had to?" What if we each I felt and expressed a constant appreciative
"thank you" and never a mournful and beseeching "pleeeeease?" What if we
each could not and did not say each day--as I say to my Natalie--anything
other than "I love you today."
The more I think about it, the more it hits me. I understand more
something I read in one of my Michael's books. It was an African shaman
saying: "Give thanks for a little and you will find a lot." It means I
wouldn't be changing a diaper or my soiled shirt if Natalie wasn't there
to be changed. It means be attentive and don't treat anything as if it
was made of transparent cellophane. It means see the importance of and
experience a sense of abundance in each supposedly innocuous event and
supposedly ordinary person. It means see the proverbial glass as half
filled and not as half empty. It means the more I consider anything or
anyone to be a reason for joy, the more joyful I will be and the more
joyfully I will want to be with. It means the less I wallow in the
difficulties, the shallower will any potential rut, and the easier and
quicker it will be to get out of it. It means appreciation and gratitude
is an attitude we can freely choose in order to create a better experience
for ourselves and for others.
When we enter a class each day, when we walk down the hall each
day, when we step on campus each day, do we, like the Zen master, work
hard to see nothing but "the good stuff?" Do we say grace, offer a thank
you, say "I love you" for the offering of challenge, opportunity,
possibility of growing, changing, touching someone, and changing the
world? Do we make an grateful heart a regular, natural, and buoyant part
of our day?
If you do, I guarantee it will boost your spirits. It will be as
with my Natalie. You will look forward to each moment; you won't be able
to wait for each moment; you will wonder in each moment; you will be awed
at each moment; you will find your sense sharpened each moment; you will
find yourself seeing and listening to so much more each moment; you will
be delighted each moment; you will appreciate each moment; you will know
each moment is a gift; you will feel each moment; you will find much to
celebrate and be thankful for; you will hear the music each moment; you
will dance each moment; you will refresh and be refreshed each moment.
If I have one updraft that keeps my spirit soaring about my
Natalie, each of my two sons, my Susan, each student, my garden, teaching,
and life in general, it is this: be a living text of thankfulness for
"the good stuff." I tell myself each day to take things and people with
gratitude and not take them for granted; I tell myself that I must be
grateful to them and be grateful for them. And each time I can
successfully find and ride those rising currents, be it changing Natalie's
messy diaper, cleaning her messy hands and face, working on my own messes,
helping each student help him/herself, or connecting with a colleague or
friend, I find a calm contentment and a quiet joy in my belief that what I
am doing is unsurpassable.
Have a safe and happy July 4th (and a belated happy Canada Day to
my Canadian friends). Susan and I are off to the Atlantic coast in a few
hours to pop a few firecrackers and down a few hamburgers with old friends
of ours.
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