You may think all the gratitude I’m about to express is inspired by Thanksgiving. You may find it hard, at this moment, to feel grateful. Your life may be filled with such tribulation that your overarching response, understandably, is disappointment and an aching heart, rather than gratitude. On the other hand, maybe life has been so good to you that you’ve forgotten to be grateful. Aren’t blessings meant to be taken for granted, you may ask, since they’re so abundant in our lives?
JoinedFebruary 17, 2023
Articles19
Kathy Baker is a writer and speaker, a messenger of encouragement who loves to touch hearts and tickle souls with her work. She is the author of “Leaving Adversity Plaza,” and “A Tale of Three Choices: His, Hers, Mine.” She loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at [email protected].
Helping hands. Often we use that term metaphorically, as a way to illustrate the love and encouragement that others offer us. Lately, though, I’ve been considering helping hands more literally. I’ve been noticing the mystical language of hands — the hope, comfort and support they offer those in need.
I swear to you: I am losing my alleged mind. Lately, there have been just too many events, too many changes and too many emotions in my life. Many of the comfy boundaries and pathways in my life are shifting, in flux. The dependable patterns in my life are slipping away. I feel like I’m walking along a path made of jello. Or sand. Or quicksand.
As I grow older, I find that I take humor to the extreme. You might say I take seriously the concept of NOT taking things too seriously. Some of my friends and family have referred to my humor as “outrageous,” “crazy,” “offbeat” or “weird,” and those are the kinder comments. But for me, life works best and is most enjoyable — no matter what is going on — if I can find humor in everything… and I do mean everything.
Eight deer accept the dinner invitation, each arrayed in their best bib and tucker. They gather in the clearing just as dusk begins to settle over the trees and sky, like a soft blanket enveloping a sleeping child.
Warning: I’m about to launch into a rip-roaring, foot-stomping, titanic rage about the incredibly cold, somewhat snowy winter we’re having. So, if you don’t want to read the ravings and rantings, just skip the next couple of paragraphs.
Have you ever asked yourself what you know for sure? I remember a magazine article years ago that posed that question. Occasionally, I revisit it. Odd as it may seem, my answers today are pretty much the same as they were decades ago. I’d like to believe this means I’m wiser as well as older, but I’m pretty sure it means I have to keep making mistakes that lead me back to what I most value.
A number of years ago, I found myself sitting in a huge, old ship captain’s house, built in 1876, along Lake Erie. I settled myself in the parlor, a square, high-ceilinged room. Rocking gently in a big white rocking chair, facing a large, lovely watercolor of rowboats lined up at a dock, I blissfully sipped my coffee.
A year or so ago, I asked my granddaughter Kate, then age four, to tell me a story. As she spoke, I was intrigued by how her imagination flows from one thought to another. She has no boundaries; she simply lets her mind take her wherever it wants! Her story starred her favorite stuffed animal, Fox, that I gave her when she was two. Ready?
Spring is here! Flowers are bursting into bloom, the sun shines bright and warm and — thanks to the rain we often deplore — the fresh grass is so green that it hurts your eyes.
Nothing in life is perfect. How many times have we heard that? And yet, we continue seeking perfection: in ourselves, in others, in our home, in work and leisure activities. We know perfection is unattainable, yet we find imperfection unacceptable. Sadly, this can result in a lifetime of disappointment.
It is 7 a.m. on a frosty December morning. I step out on my front porch to retrieve a package. Wearing my usual chic, pre-shower ensemble (ancient eyeglasses, black sweats, a too-tight tee shirt bearing the affirmation “I deserve a standing ovation,” accented with white athletic socks and a pair of sandals), I wave at my neighbor, Eula Mae, who is loading her kids into the car to drop them off at school. Even at that hour, she looks fresh as a daisy. I hope my appearance doesn’t startle her too much.