WordSisters

Category: inspiration

  • Mom’s Inspiration

    For years, my mom had a clipping stuck on her refrigerator with a magnet.

    moms-resolution

    Although it was in a semi-public place, the clipping was a private message for her, not a directive for the family and friends who might see it.

    Mom knew she’d be in and out of the refrigerator numerous times a day. She probably hoped that by putting the clipping right there she’d be forced to notice it. At least once a day, she’d really see the words and be reminded of her intentions. Every day, she could rededicate herself to the effort of becoming her best self.

    As a visitor, I saw it often but never thought too hard about it. They were her goals, not mine, and Mom wasn’t in the habit of preaching about her values or goals.

    But when the clipping turned up in a box of Mom’s things that my sister had saved, I realized how much her example has influenced me. I, too, regularly rededicate myself to the effort of being my better self.

    I make New Year’s resolutions (often the same ones about health and writing – they’re still good, because I frequently stray from my goals). Throughout the year, I also take stock and evaluate whether or not I’m living the life I want to live. For example, I might ask myself: Am I too bizzy with household tasks that don’t matter? Am I letting other people’s agendas overtake my own? Can I be more tolerant and easygoing and let go of irritation faster? Am I pushing myself creatively? And more.

    My refrigerator is bare. Unlike Mom, I keep my resolutions and inspirations in journals or in the Notes app on my phone where I see them often. When I reread my intentions, I’m pleased to see that I’ve followed through on some. Others, not so much. But I’m easy with myself – effort counts. I’m a work in progress and I just need to keep trying.

    Mom’s clipping lists five goals. I love that she circled the two that were most meaningful to her. As her daughter, I can tell you that most days, she nailed them.

  • Be Safe. Don’t Die.

    img_1806Be Safe. Don’t Die.

    I was half way out the door when I heard, “Be safe. Don’t die.” It was Crystel’s voice. I cringed. She was 12-years-old. I thought of turning around to tell her not to say that. That it would be ‘nicer’ to say, “I love you.”

    I paused. She was sincere. I didn’t say anything.

    Instead, I asked myself backing out of the driveway, “Why am I uncomfortable? That it’s true? That at any moment I could die, be in a car accident, be shot in an airport, or fall on the Minnesota ice?”

    Be safe, don’t die, has all the realness one can ask for in an adieu. It means, “I want to see you again. It means, don’t leave me. It means, I want you to come home.”

    Jody remembers that it was after Crystel saw the movie, “If I Stay,” that she started saying, “Be Safe, Don’t Die.”

    img_1808It was as if she understood that death happens. That people could leave their home and their life could forever be altered.

    In the movie, life changes in an instant for Mia after a car accident puts her in a coma. During an out-of-body experience, she must decide whether to wake up and live a life far different than she had imagined. The choice is hers if she can go on.

    Crystel is 14 now. She’s still telling me and her other family members to be safe and not to die. I find this comforting. She wants me around. She doesn’t want me to disappear from her earth. “Be safe. Don’t die,” has all the fondness of an “I love you.”

    Now, Jody and I also tell her, “Be safe. Don’t die.” Our way of telling her that we love her.

  • A New Year Blessing

    This poem by Celtic poet John O’Donohue  has touched me each time I’ve seen it recently, so in that spirit, I’m sharing it with you–

    img_0214

    A New Year Blessing

    On the day when

    The weight deadens

    On your shoulders

    And you stumble,

    May the clay dance

    To balance you.

    And when your eyes

    Freeze behind

    The grey window

    And the ghost of loss

    Gets into you,

    May a flock of colours,

    Indigo, red, green

    And azure blue,

    Come to awaken in you

    A meadow of delight.

    When the canvas frays

    In the currach of thought

    And a stain of ocean

    Blackens beneath you,

    May there come across the waters

    A path of yellow moonlight

    To bring you safely home.

    May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

    May the clarity of light be yours,

    May the fluency of the ocean be yours,

    May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

    And so may a slow

    Wind work these words

    Of love around you,

    An invisible cloak

    To mind your life.

    © John O’Donohue