Obligation or Offering?

by Joanie Butman

The nutritional program I discussed in January is a distant memory, and though my body stubbornly holds firm at the same weight, I feel healthier as a result of the minor adjustments I’ve implemented. I don’t think the nutritionist will be making me the poster girl for her program any time soon. Frankly, Catherine Aird’s quote is more or less the strategy I’ve adopted in life, “If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to be a horrible warning.”

I may have mentioned the program espoused temporarily eliminating “noisy foods.” She defined noisy foods as “inflammatory, allergenic, addictive or just not supportive of your best health.” The list consisted of my entire diet: meat, dairy, wheat, sugar, caffeine, alcohol. What I discovered through the program was that while I didn’t necessarily need to remove any or all of them, I felt much better when I cut back the amount I was consuming. Above all, it made me more mindful about what I ingest.

Well, ‘noisy’ isn’t confined to food. It’s even more challenging exercising discernment as it relates to what I put into my mind amidst the cacophony of information that bombards me daily. I don’t know about you, but I am on information overload. Thanks to the internet, iPhone, TV, radio, email, Facebook, etc. it comes in faster than I can process. Therefore, it is a constant struggle weeding out what is relevant and what is not. Too often, the irrelevant becomes so loud it drowns out the truly important stuff that vies for my attention.

The observance of Lent, which began this Wednesday, provides the same opportunity as that nutritional program to reduce or eliminate “noisy foods” in my spiritual diet, which could probably be described in a similar vein. I’ve always felt Lenten sacrifices are more than a little self-serving – at least in my case because I tend to be the beneficiary. Seriously, is it never all about me? The by-product of my effort might be a kinder, non-complaining, non-gossiping person or maybe even a thinner, healthier, more clear-headed version of my former self (if only for the requisite 40 days). It doesn’t always include abstinence, sometimes it involves choosing to doing something extra – maybe a philanthropy project, a Lenten Bible study, reading a spiritual book or just allocating a certain portion of each day to quiet time with God. Whatever I choose, it most certainly makes me feel better because who gives up something that’s not bad for you to begin with?

So, what’s the downside? None in my mind. In fact, I was surprised to learn that there are those who view it with disdain considering it an effort to earn God’s favor, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t view Lent as an extra credit project. I don’t choose to give something up or take something on during Lent to earn favor or forgiveness. I choose to do it because I already have them. I suppose the important question to consider is why you choose to participate. I do it because it gives me the opportunity to realign myself with God by turning down the volume of distractions that prevent me from enjoying the symbiotic relationship God desires, to strengthen our relationship through His power not my own. It’s a form of worship, an expression of love and gratitude for the sacrifice Christ made on my behalf. It’s no different than wanting to do things you know any loved one would appreciate – something that tells them how much you treasure them and how grateful you are for their presence in your life.

True to form, I ushered in Lent with a decadent Fat Tuesday this past week eating and drinking copious amounts of pasta, wine and dessert – three of my favorite food groups. Remembering how miserable I felt the next day will be excellent incentive to persevere through Lent without them – except during the Spring Break trip I’m leaving on tomorrow. Everyone knows if your vacation falls during Lent, you get a papal dispensation – especially if it involves leaving your country of origin. And if that doesn’t ring true, I could join the camp of people who believe you get Sundays off. The mathematical basis for this argument is that if you count the days from Ash Wednesday to Good Friday, it is actually 44 days not the prescribed 40. This anomaly provides the leeway to subtract the four Sundays. I don’t know of any rule that would prevent me from using all my Sundays on my trip to the Dominican Republic chaperoning a group of seniors from my son’s school. Perhaps that in itself could be my Lenten offering – having to be the responsible adult for six straight days, not a role at which I excel - which brings up my next point.

Much like my efforts in that nutrition program, the emphasis shouldn’t be whether you choose to execute your effort with perfection, just perseverance. The only perfection required is the purity of your desire to do it at all and the perseverance to start again even if you slip up. Think of when your children were young. Some of the purest expressions of love are the imperfect ones children present in their early years. You know the type – the bouquet of weeds tenderly offered is the first that comes to mind. They are the cherished ‘I love yous’ that can’t be bought in a store, the ones you can’t throw out, the ones hidden in your heart and/or your memory box, perfect in their imperfection. It would be unthinkable to judge or criticize the efforts of a child to express his or her love for you. So it is with God and us.

As I mentioned, there are those who view the observance of Lent as an attempt to kiss up to God, which couldn’t be further from the truth. If it were, my efforts wouldn’t get me much. However, when you choose to offer your desire and perseverance to try to do better – regardless of how imperfect, God ‘multiplies this little gift and fills it with the transforming power of His love’ strengthening and encouraging any effort on our part. This holds true every day, not just the 40 (or 44) days of Lent.

P.S. The senior high school trip to the Dominican I mentioned will be followed by a second ‘senior’ trip to Florida to visit my parents and in-laws. Frankly, I don’t know on which trip it will be harder to adhere to my Lenten resolutions. Either way, I won’t be sending out any writing over the next two weeks and am counting on my ‘field research’ to provide lots to discuss upon my return.

Choosing Love and Forgiveness

by Joanie Butman

I left a recent viewing of the poignant film Philomena overwhelmed by a plethora of emotions it evoked in regard to the nuns of my youth: guilt, shame, but most shocking was an intense hatred. I know, strong words but true. Righteous anger might be a better, and certainly kinder, choice of words. I know there are probably generations of people who harbor similar feelings. I didn’t even realize they existed until this movie brought them bubbling to the surface from some hidden reservoir of pain. I believe the nuns I experienced and the ones portrayed in the movie are close to extinction, and none too soon for me. I know they were trying to rescue me from my own sinful nature, but the only thing they succeeded in doing was convincing me I was hopeless and driving me away from the church and the only One who held the power to save me.

My life-long aversion to nuns began as a six-year-old during my first stint at sleepaway camp – run by nuns of course. My mother had sent me with the teddy bear with which I slept. It was soft and cuddly with the latest ‘technology.’ You could wind it up to play soft, lullaby music. My first night there, one of the nuns confiscated it and told me I was “too old” for that. I never saw it again. I can still remember my helplessness and bewilderment as to why she would deny a little girl away from home for the first time this small comfort. No wonder this woman totally clad in black – and all those I associated with her – became the proverbial wicked witches of my childhood.

How disheartening that the very women who took vows to lead others to Christ failed to share His love with those entrusted to their care. No, theirs was a model of shame – a popular teaching method of prior generations. Instead of graduating from their tutelage embracing God’s unconditional love, I spent the next thirty years chasing what I’d had all along, wearing myself ragged trying to earn back my worthiness – something Christ had done for me long before I was even born. What a waste of time and effort.

There is nothing healthy about living under the burden of sin and shame. I remember one particular incident that remains burned in my brain. My face still flames with humiliation. It was 7th or 8th grade, and I got caught passing a note to a friend. The intercepted document contained one of those silly ‘sex’ quizzes published in Sixteen, TEEN or Ingénue, the magazines of choice for young girls at the time. It was something about kissing and bases and whatnot, nothing shocking by today’s standards but enough at that time to brand me the Mary Magdalene of my school. (Who, by the way, despite what the nuns taught me was NOT an adulteress. Poor thing’s only crime was being possessed by demons, which could have described many a nun in my day.)

I was promptly ensconced in the corner staring at the wall with my back to the class, under the statue of Mary, while the entire school prayed for my sorry soul, which was hanging by a thread over the fires of hell. I kid you not. They stopped the school day and announced the need for prayer on my behalf over the public address system. They might as well have taken me out to the schoolyard and stoned me. In fact, the scars that incident left were far more lasting than any stone would have created. I suppose at some level believing I was already doomed to a path that led directly to hell, I decided I might as well enjoy myself on the way down – and I made the most of it.

To this day, their influence is so ingrained in my being I find my Catholicism popping up instinctively. For example, I was sitting in the front pew of a Congregational service a couple of weeks ago and noticed a woman on her way up to communion chewing gum! My ‘nunsense’ kicked into high gear as I whispered to my friend and warned her to lean back so we would be a safe distance from the lightening bolt that was sure to come and strike this woman down as she put her hands out to receive. Apparently, the Congregational church is more lenient with that type of transgression.

Once when I got my times confused I arrived at the tail end of the earlier service. I walked in just as communion was being served and sat in the lobby enjoying a cup of coffee while waiting for the next service. As the pastor walked down from serving the balcony communion, he offered it to me. Aghast, I looked at the coffee in my hand and replied with horror, “I’m drinking coffee. I can’t.” Clearly befuddled he tried again. I just couldn’t do it. I hadn’t fasted for an hour. I don't even know if that rule still exists or whether it went the way of the no meat on Friday edict. Yes, the lessons of our youth are hard to shake. I just wish the ones the nuns instilled were of a more loving, redeeming quality. Judgment and condemnation don’t make for pleasant traveling companions.

Even with all that said, some of my best childhood memories were of my camp years. Not the one with the teddy-snatching nun but Camp Marydell, a Catholic camp run by nuns where I spent portions of the next six summers. As I was reading some of the letters my mother kept, there are hints that those nuns had their moments as well. A quote from a letter when I was eight or nine states, “We got in trouble today because a girl in my cabin made us laugh at the table. The nun said if you don’t keep quiet, you’ll eat lunch in the yard!” Who knew that laughter was one of the seven deadly sins – must have been during the benediction. Come to think of it, many of the incidents for which I was condemned during grammar school involved excessive chatting or laughing. Those nuns would be rolling in their graves if they knew where I progressed from there.

Back to Philomena. The most powerful lesson I learned through the film was forgiveness. It was long past the time to choose to put those nasty feelings toward the nuns (and by association the Catholic church) to rest. While it took me a few days to process and fully embrace the message, Philomena taught me about forgiveness, reconciliation and something I never expected – compassion for those nuns. Why? Because only someone who never experienced God’s love could treat others, especially children, with such bitterness and cruelty. You can’t share what you don’t have. How sad to choose to spend your entire life in a vocation such as theirs and somehow miss God’s love amidst all their rules and regulations. That to me is the true tragedy.

Only days after seeing the movie, I watched as the real Philomena met with the Pope completing her long journey of forgiveness and reconciliation. Following her audience with Pope Francis Philomena commented, "He really made me feel so good inside because I carried the guilt inside me for 50 years without telling anybody." She also showed her lighter side by claiming, “Those nuns would be jealous now.” Despite her cruel treatment at the hands of the nuns, Philomena remained a life-long Catholic. The real testimony to her faith and the message she chose to share with the world is, "You can't go through life being so unyielding...so you've got to forgive. You've got to. You just have to forgive."

I don't know whether the film will win any awards at the Oscars tonight, but Philomena's generosity of spirit will reap rewards far more lasting and meaningful than anything the Academy could offer. Philomena Lee is an inspiration to all of us that as hard as it may be sometimes, the wise choice is always love and forgiveness.

Choose Compassion

by Joanie Butman

Based on responses from last week’s post, I think it’s safe to say I am not the only one who struggles with the term ‘testing’ or the negative emotions it evokes. For example, my Facebook posts usually get anywhere from 30 – 50 views on average. I can always tell when I hit a nerve because that number jumps exponentially, sometimes closing in on 500. Last week’s post came in at 248. Not many by social media standards, but certainly enough to alert me that my post resonated with readers as did the numerous emails I received from mailing list subscribers. Usually when the numbers get that high on Facebook, there are at least a few likes or comments. Only one like on this post and that from one of my most loyal followers. What does this tell me? That we, as a species, are uncomfortable around pain and will do everything in our power to protect ourselves from it.

I referred to the story of Job last week but didn’t discuss a rarely talked about phenomenon highlighted in his saga: namely, his friends blaming him for his troubles – something people do all the time whether they verbalize it or not. Few will admit it and often aren’t even aware of it, as it’s such an instinctive form of self-protection. If we can attribute someone’s pain to a lifestyle choice or anything of their own making, we convince ourselves that as long as we don’t do that, we’re safe. Here’s a perfect example. I was talking to a friend recently and mentioned that one of our town officials got hit by a car in town and was seriously injured. Her first response was, “She was probably crossing in the middle of the street. I hate when people do that.” I was stunned and not because it isn’t something I haven’t done. I suppose I recognized my own tendency to do the same from time to time despite my experience of being on the receiving end.

When I was diagnosed with a rare cancer, people had all kinds of hypotheses of how I contracted it – too many fertility drugs being the most popular. That someone might think it is one thing; that they would actually voice it was unbelievable. However, I realized that admitting the randomness of a cancer diagnosis is just too frightening for most people because that would mean they could be next. Yes, people are uncomfortable with pain and suffering, even if their discomfort manifests itself through a Pollyanna attitude. You know, the person who assures you that you are going to be fine when they have no idea what’s going to happen. It’s a way of reassuring themselves that there’s always a happy ending, which may be the case but certainly not on earth.

Here’s another example. I have a friend with serious eye issues and while recouping from surgery was totally blind. While dining out one evening she was approached by an elderly woman who asked, “What did you do wrong for God to take away your eyesight?” My instinct at that moment would have been to lash out with a caustic, “I hit an old lady for asking stupid questions!” Luckily, my friend is much more mature than me. But really, how do you respond to such an inquiry? Even if we are the authors of our own pain, it doesn’t mean God can’t use it for good. Whatever the case, it doesn’t help anyone in pain to be on the receiving end of such an accusation.

Blame and judgment are not difficult concepts to wrap your head around because we do it to ourselves all the time – especially as parents. When your child derails for any number of reasons, I don’t know about you, but my first reaction is, “What did I do wrong? This wouldn’t have happened if I was more strict, less strict, more available, less hovering, more loving, etc.” You know the drill. Blame is just as damaging, if not more so, when it is self-inflicted because it’s isolating. Let’s face it, having kids is a crapshoot. You do the best you can and hope that even a fraction of what you try to instill takes root; but ultimately, our children are responsible for their own choices and the consequences that come with them. Parenting is a perfect example of people judging your abilities to lull them into a false sense of security that the same won’t befall one of their offspring.

We all have Job periods when you learn who your true friends are – the ones who choose to provide compassion and empathy rather than judgment and condemnation. The ones who, despite their discomfort, will sit with you in your pain because as Brene Brown points out “compassion is not a relationship between healer and wounded but a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.” That’s the basis of every support group.

Choosing compassion is simply choosing to suffer with someone – something Christ provides in abundance. Having Him in my corner doesn’t guarantee a win by worldly standards or a life without difficult and painful experiences, but it does mean we will be together regardless. It means He will be carrying me every step of the way providing whatever strength and endurance is needed, much like He did with Job. A test from God is never about passing or failing. It’s about growing. It’s not God causing our pain but adding purpose to our suffering. That knowledge eliminates the fear and anxiety with the concept of testing. When you choose to embrace the test, you will discover the blessings and the growth it provides as well as the compassion it will give you for others in similar circumstances. The following email I received yesterday from a cancer patient says it all:

“…it's helpful to hear of people who have recovered from cancer, and are able to minister to others through their experience. I understand why some people say that cancer has been a blessing in their lives because it has enriched them in ways we could never have imagined.”

Amen!

Snowmageddon

 by Joanie Butman

Once again, this week found the northeast digging out from yet another snowstorm. My son and I avoided my husband’s “All hands on deck!” rally as long as possible before he recruited us for snow removal. You can only hide for so long until you have to face the inevitable. It just prolongs the agony. The snow was not the light, fluffy kind. It was of the heavy, dense variety making progress slow and laborious. Our yard looked like a scene out of the movie, Frozen, which brought to mind a recent blog post from a young mom who lost her husband this fall.

Dana’s 6-yr-old daughter was traumatized by Disney’s Frozen – particularly when the parents die. When is Disney going to come up with a new storyline? Isn’t that the same way Bambi opens? I’m still traumatized. Regardless, what moved me about her post was how Dana handled the situation. She didn’t gloss over the subject that was all too real for this little girl. As painful as it must have been for her, she used the opportunity as a valuable teaching moment to help her daughter face her fears. Not by shielding her, but by walking through them alongside her, which meant sitting through the movie three times because her daughter didn’t want to miss the birthday parties at which it was being shown.

I think that is exactly what God does for us during every storm we face. Many people refer to these times as periods of testing – which always rankles me. Why? Because it seems to me they are times of learning more than anything else. Learning about the character of God and learning about our own character. During a lengthy conversation yesterday, my friend chipped away at my misconceptions of testing in much the same way my husband was breaking up ice dams on our roof this week, though she was much gentler.

Perhaps having recently gone through the college application process twice, I am particularly sensitive to the term ‘testing’ because anything our children have done is weighed, measured and either found lacking or not. It’s all about testing and performance – proving their worthiness to the admissions office. In our world, where everything we do is evaluated, the focus is on individual performance. In fact, my son and I were keeping a close eye on the mailbox yesterday waiting for his results. So much for the postal service slogan, “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” Mailman never showed.

God, on the other hand, always shows up – maybe not in the way we want, but He is there alongside us. I’ve always felt that periods of testing are more about God’s performance than ours. I suppose that’s why I prefer the term teaching because it shifts the focus off of us and onto God, which is exactly where it belongs. He knows everything about us – including what we’re going to do in every situation – but we don’t. We don’t need to prove anything to Him, but to ourselves. As Billy Graham says, “God doesn’t test us because He doesn’t know how strong we are, He tests us because we don’t know how strong we are.” Yes, God uses the opportunity to prove to us what He can do, but more importantly, what we can do through Him when we rely on His strength.

In the cancer world, contrary to what you might think, gratitude is a common reaction – not for the pain but for what it taught us. I’ve always learned more through difficulties – about God and myself. And it had nothing to do with my performance but His. In fact, it was only when I couldn’t perform at all and had to totally rely on God that my faith grew exponentially. If I never had such an experience, how would I know the true nature of my faith? Without having to exercise it, how could I trust its veracity? How could I move it from theology to reality so I could continue to build upon it? Simply put, I couldn’t. We can’t advance to the next level of anything until we master the skills of the one we’re on.

Do you know what every spiritual giant has in common? Pain. It teaches us valuable lessons we can’t absorb any other way. It brings us to a deeper level of faith and intimacy with God. I will let one of those spiritual giants explain. This is part of Dana’s post regarding their third viewing of Frozen.

The days leading up to the movie, I prepared Audrey.  I let her know I would simply be there to talk her through the parts that scared her. We talked about breathing through the difficult moments.I figured lately this has been my main stress reliever, why wouldn’t it work for a six year old?So I went and I sat there anticipating what was to come. The movie started and right away Audrey clinched her teeth, held her knees to her chin and said, “it’s coming mommy. Elsa is going to hurt Anna. Hold my hand mommy. Hold my hand!” I whispered, “I am not here to hold your hand. I am here to tell you it will be OK.  She will be OK. Breathe Audrey.” And she did. She took the three largest breaths I have ever heard a child take and she made it. She didn’t cry and she was OK. And then the next part, the parents dying…..eekkk. I even hate this part. She looked at me, “it’s coming. Can I sit on your lap?” “No, you can’t,” I told her. “Anna and Elsa will be OK. It will be OK.” And without telling her, she took three large breaths and it was done. She didn’t cry and never said a word about it to me. The rest of the movie – perfect.  She sang the songs with the other girls. She munched on her popcorn, asked to go potty every five minutes…she was normal. Just like the rest. Despite what her little heart has suffered. 

We as parents, friends, and a community all want to shield those we love from ever experiencing any harm. We have fear and know too well what could come. We have seen suffering, but we have seen hope and faith too. When we experience loss, sadness, and heartache – whether it is from death, job loss, relationships, disaster, it is natural to want to run away from it.  It is natural to keep ourselves busy, shield our eyes from it happening, clinch our teeth, close our eyes and ask “when it will be over?” Instead, the pain and fear can prepare us, build us and encourage us for the next time. Because there will always be a next time before our happy ending of eternity. Facing our suffering, facing our fear will only build us, strengthen us and make us what many strive to be. 

I lost my husband. I acknowledge that there will always be suffering. I will always miss him. I can clinch my teeth, close my eyes, run out of the theater, but what does that do? I need to face it. We all need to face our trials. We need to embrace, learn, and understand because there will be more on this earth and in this life. But, we are stronger for it. We are more loving because of it. And while we all may experience are own Frozen movie from time to time, there is always this little voice right inside us saying, “I am here, you will be OK, there will be a happy ending. Open your eyes, I’ve got you.”It is God not shielding us, allowing it to happen, helping us through because he knows we will be stronger for it and with Him we will get through it. 

Taking Steps of Faith,

Dana

Even with the myriad examples of this kind of testimony, the concept of testing is a tough pill to swallow. During any conversation on the subject the story of Job is inevitably brought up. I think God picked Job specifically because He already knew how Job would react. Even so, God used this opportunity to deepen Job’s faith and bring him to a new level of intimacy with Him. Remember, God didn’t cause Job’s suffering. Satan did. God didn’t need proof of Job’s faith. Satan did. God didn’t stop Job’s suffering, and He won’t necessarily stop ours either. That’s not the point. What did Job learn? God is trustworthy. He learned that God keeps His promises of restoration. He learned that faith doesn’t prevent suffering, it just makes going through it more bearable. He learned our circumstances aren’t “the measure of healing, peace is the measure."

My friend’s final comment on testing sums up the story of Job perfectly. “We can’t ‘ace’ a God-test by good performance as the world judges these things; quite the contrary. We ace it by relying on Him, and He can then shine as He shows us, and the world, His faithfulness.” Pretty heady stuff for a snow day. Between that conversation and the ice dams, my lazy day by the fire with a good book proved elusive. Tonight another storm is predicted: a few more inches of snow and my son’s 18th birthday party! Somehow, I don’t think a relaxing night by the fire is in the cards for tonight either.

Just as Dana points out, we’ve all experienced, and will continue to experience, our own Frozen periods when our world is torn apart, when the weight of our pain or loss seems insurmountable. How you choose to respond in those situations depends a lot on where you choose to focus. Do you choose to tough it out on your own, or do you choose to rely on God’s presence and promises? I don’t know what kind of storm you may be digging out from under, but I do know whatever it is, the burden is lighter when it’s shared with the One who’s walking alongside you.

Hugs from Heaven

by Joanie Butman

Have you ever read Dr. Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages? It is an insightful book about how we give and receive love. The languages he identifies are quality time, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service, or physical touch. Your love language is innate. It is not something you can learn from the Rosetta Stone. However, you can learn someone else’s.

Chapman asserts that being able to communicate love in the manner in which someone else receives it is the key to a successful relationship. If you’re not speaking their language, it doesn’t matter how much you love them, they won’t feel it, which is why it is so important to be in tune with another’s love language whether it is a spouse, a child, a parent or a friend.

Years ago, a good friend of mine introduced me to a love language I‘d never experienced before, nor was it included in Chapman’s work. She shared her fascination in discovering and collecting hearts in the course of an ordinary day. It began with rocks but quickly expanded to include all kinds of mediums. I consider these little ‘sussies’ hugs from heaven. For the uninitiated, a sussie is an unexpected gift given for no real reason other than its relevance to the intended recipient.

Whatever you choose to call them, they are a present from the Divine. An opening – albeit brief – through the cacophony of this world to whisper a quiet “I love you” into the recesses of your soul. In those moments a warm feeling envelopes me, much like you’d feel wrapped in the comfort and security of a loved one’s embrace. I can only look up, smile and respond with a sincere, “Thanks. I needed that.” He knows of course, which is exactly why it arrived. It may pop up on a trip to the doctor, on a leisurely walk or in your salad. Regardless, they are reminders of His promise to be with us always – “to the very end of age.”

Once my eyes (and my mind) were opened, I began noticing hearts with increasing frequency. Not only that, I discovered my friend and I were not the only ones enjoying this type of intimate spiritual conversation. There are even a number of photo books documenting some of the most beautiful heart stones. Drew Barrymore is the most recent entrant to the heart culture with her book Find It in Everything. If I were going to publish one, I’d change it to Find Him in Everything because that’s the way I choose to live my life.

As I became more proficient in this newfound language, I realized it was all in your perception. Once I started looking for hearts, I saw them everywhere. Again, not unlike life. Some people see God everywhere, while others wander blindly through life seeing the same things but oblivious to the beauty underneath. Never is this truer than when we are going through difficult times. Some people look at their circumstances with despair, while others can see beyond their pain to discover God's presence and the peace only He can provide despite whatever challenges we face. It's all in the way you choose to look at things.

At any rate, once my fascination with hearts became known, people began sharing their own discoveries and hence, a new method of communicating emerged. I receive photos all the time of hearts in the craziest places. This one was in a kitty litter box! Heart sightings became a portal into the lives of others and vice versa. It was awkward at first and many people didn’t ‘see,’ understand or appreciate the import of the stones I gave them. “You’re giving me a rock?” Eventually, I won some of them over; but even better, the more willingly I shared mine, the more comfortable others became in sharing their own. What a great lesson on many levels. Of course we are meant to be sharing our hearts with each other because by doing so we establish a connection bringing us closer to the universal love that unites us. It is a language that leads to authentic relationships. When you choose to open up to others, many will open up to you. If they don’t, at least it won’t be because you didn’t make the effort.

For example, years ago I made a book of encouragement with photos of cairns and heart rocks for a friend who had been diagnosed with cancer. I have since shared that book with numerous people in similar situations. Last year on a trip to Sloane Kettering in New York City, I felt compelled to bring a number of copies with me to leave in the waiting room. Over the past six years I’ve spent my fair share of time in those waiting rooms – sometimes getting good news, sometimes not. During those visits I have met many anxious people needing a hug from heaven. So I spread my rock books around and let God do the rest. I felt embarrassed by my boldness but reminded myself that anyone I have ever sat with and comforted always appreciated it. My hope was that these books might offer hope and comfort to a lonely, fearful soul with no one to hold their hand.

Six months later, out of the blue, I received an email from one of them. She had tracked me down on the internet. She wrote, “…I saw it at Sloan Kettering yesterday when my husband was there for diagnostic testing results. How amazing to be in the reception waiting area, praying for strength and guidance when I looked at the magazines and yours caught my eye. Seems like your book found me – I was just so moved by it…. You made a ‘Wise Choice’ by leaving the book there. I remember thinking that perhaps someone had left it by mistake, but now I am very glad to know it was there on purpose. The work of the Holy Spirit no doubt. Ironically, I love stones, I love hearts, I love the beach, and I love inspirational writings, so this book was just calling out to me. I am attaching photos of a favorite stone I picked up on South Beach in Martha's Vineyard - can you believe that I never noticed its shape until yesterday. Now I know why I liked it!” She concluded with a promise to pray for me.

I share this story because you just never know when sharing your heart will pierce through someone’s fear or anxiety to soothe a troubled soul. To me, that’s worth looking foolish to some. The way I look at it, if choosing to see hearts everywhere is my brand of crazy – so be it. It’s certainly harmless enough.

In the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day it is virtually impossible not to notice the ubiquitous hearts that scream at us from every florist, jeweler, chocolatier or Hallmark store. Perhaps even from a creative barrista. These are not the kind of hearts to which I refer, though they are indeed expressions of love. The ones I stumble upon are mostly in nature and don’t arrive to celebrate anything other than God’s love, which can’t be confined to one day or to any one language. Once your eyes become accustomed to this new dimension, there are no limits to when, where and in what form they arrive. That’s the thing about God. He’s always there, we often just don’t notice. He knows precisely how to express His love to each of us in a way that we can receive it.

So my Valentine message to you is to choose to keep your eyes and heart open, and the One who longs to send you signs of love and encouragement – not just on Valentine’s Day but every day – will find you.

Dedicated to Beth for opening my eyes to the love and beauty right in front of me. Photo to left is a tomato she found in her garden. Here's a Godwink. Just as I was finishing up this blog Friday evening, I received a text from Beth sharing this photo. Yes, He can even arrive in a cocktail.

My husband gets the award for most creative valentine. I didn't notice it at first, which is why there are tire tracks through it. He was crushed!! 

Do you have a favorite heart photo/story? Email it to me at joanie@choosewiselybook.com!

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