Category: Personal Growth

Practicing Calm — What the Boys Taught Me – A Series: Part 4

There’s an idea I keep coming back to: no problem gets solved by the same thinking that created it. We have to see things with fresh eyes. That’s especially true when it comes to staying calm because staying calm doesn’t happen by accident. It happens when we’ve thought ahead about what we’ll do the next time we feel frustrated, pushed, disrespected, or worn thin.

Many of us, without a plan, default to raised voices. We want calmer homes, but when the moment comes, we go straight to frustration and yelling because that’s the response we’re used to. Staying calm comes from knowing, ahead of time, how to respond when things are out of control or don’t meet our expectations.

One Afternoon

I have a friend whose home I’ve spent a lot of time in over the years. I have never heard anyone yell. This family communicates. They don’t lose control.

One afternoon I saw what that looks like when it’s been taught to children too. Her two sons, nine and five, were playing a board game in the living room, close enough that I could hear every word. It was going well for a while, but the younger one couldn’t quite follow all the rules, and it was hard for him to win. He began to fuss and complain quietly.

His older brother patiently explained a few things, but he was only nine himself, and he wanted to win too. Finally, he said, “If you keep fussing and having a bad attitude, I can’t keep playing with you.” The fussing continued, quietly. A couple of minutes later, the older brother repeated himself, then calmly packed up the game. The younger boy’s face fell, but there was no yelling, no tears. About five minutes later, they were playing something else and having a good time.

I know how that sounds. Some of you are shaking your heads, thinking, “Those kids aren’t real, mine would never do that.” I was surprised myself. But here’s the thing: I can guess how those parents handle disagreements with each other, and with their children, just from observing the two boys. They have a plan. They have a system. And their children have absorbed it simply by living inside it.

There’s power in staying calm and communicating clearly. Children learn from what they see, not from what we tell them. You cannot teach one thing and live another. If there’s conflict in your home, if you find yourself losing control, and your children doing the same, the answer starts with mastering yourself first.

Tuesday Morning

Such an easy thing to say, I know. Staying calm isn’t only about how we respond in the moment, as those two boys did. It’s also about the expectations we carry into a moment before it even starts. I experienced that lesson again this week.

I used to be a rager. It took having my eyes opened, realizing I needed to control myself, not blaming others, and having a plan to move forward. It has taken several decades of practicing to get where I am now, and I still have work to do.

At 7:30 on Tuesday morning this week, I was on my knees asking forgiveness for being abrupt with my mom. I felt embarrassed because I often ask forgiveness for the same thing. Calm has not been an easy lesson for me. But I have made progress. I am better. I am kinder. And I keep trying when I goof up.

Mom sometimes takes her Depends off at night, which leaves a mess on her nightgown and sheets. Tuesday morning it happened again, and I lost my patience getting her up.

After my prayer, some thoughts came to me. I was reminded that I wet the bed until I was twelve, and that the scoldings I got for it never helped; they just made me feel bad. I also thought of my daughter Jodie, who has a special-needs daughter in diapers and changes her sheets many times a week. Jodie doesn’t expect anything different; it is what it is, and she handles it. I realized my expectation was the problem. I kept expecting Mom to stop this behavior if I scolded her, when the truth is, her dementia isn’t going away, and this may continue for as long as she’s here. Another thought I had was simple: change the expectation from “this has to stop” to “some mornings there will be a mess.” Therapists sometimes call this reframing, catching the thought before it becomes the reaction. It works for Jodie. It will work for me.

Wow. One more step in a lifelong process of learning to be calm. My embarrassment evaporated into gratitude. I look forward to putting this new expectation into practice.

I shared the boys’ story because it’s a beautiful example of what can happen when we work on calm, so that our family and others can see the work we’re doing, even when we aren’t perfect. So don’t be discouraged if you or your children aren’t there yet. These boys have been practicing the example their parents gave. We need to continue practicing too. Perfection isn’t what we’re aiming for; progress is.

For me, that plan now sounds like this: if I feel my patience slipping with Mom, I stop and ask myself what story I’m telling myself in that moment.

That’s the plan, the system, the thing I can lean on, so I can help everyone around me build one too.

Practicing Calm — It’s Better to Laugh Than to Cry – A Series: Part 3

Story 1

This story from my family goes back decades, to when my youngest daughter, Kate, was still a teenager. The two of us were hurrying out to the car for a church event. I felt rushed. We were running late, and I hate being late. With seven children, you’d think I would have become more accepting of the occasional late start, but I hadn’t, and that day it made me feel anxious.

It had been a warm summer day, no rain in sight, the weather perfect. But as I stepped off the curb to get into the car, I found myself ankle-deep in water. I felt my hackles rising. Who filled the gutter with water? Asking who filled a gutter with water is not exactly a reasonable question. That’s how it goes when we let anger run over: irrational.

As we drove down the tree-lined street, I sputtered about how ticked off I felt, how inconsiderate the whole situation was, how being late seemed like a sign of disrespect, and on and on.

About five blocks from home, I pictured myself stepping off the curb into ankle-deep water. I saw my shocked expression, and myself looking down at the foot I was holding up while it dripped. The mental picture was so funny I started laughing, and the longer I laughed, the harder I laughed. I looked at my daughter, who had been very quiet until then (it might have been dangerous to make a sound), and she started laughing too. We laughed for a good two blocks.

Then my daughter turned to me and said, “Mom, it was funny when it happened.” Her comment brought me up short. She was right. It was one of those unexpected, funny situations that happen in life, and she was pointing out, kindly, that I could have saved us both a lot of stress if I’d just laughed in the first place. That’s often the best way to manage trouble and find happiness in the middle of it.

Story 2

In another season, we took a family vacation with our oldest daughter, Jodie, and her family. Kate was still living at home. We’d prepared for over six months. It was a big deal.

However, one by one, everyone got sick. There was crying, vomiting, and exhaustion. We camped one night and then moved on. But it became hard to travel with the children, and so Jodie decided to head home early. She was ill the day they left, with two sick children in the backseat, and a nursing baby to feed. They were pulling a trailer, and on the way home the truck broke down. They were stranded overnight, and some family members had to travel to help them get home.

When I saw the pictures they took on that drive home, it was beautiful. There weren’t any complaining faces, despite the ruined trip, the months of planning, the lost time. Just smiles. They laughed instead of complaining about one of those unexpected situations that happen in life. Their children were small and not feeling well, but if they remember this trip at all, they’ll remember it as a good one, with adults who held it together by finding the humor in a hard situation.

Kate is now in her 30s, living in Washington with three kids of her own, ages 13, 10, and 7. She was here visiting in July. I found myself watching her the same way I once watched Jodie. I shared one of Jodie’s experiences in last week’s article. Kate was handling her three children with that same steady patience I saw in Jodie all those years ago, the kind you can’t fake and can’t rush. This is something I’m still practicing: it’s better to laugh than to cry or yell, almost every time.

It hasn’t gotten easier, but I do it more often.

Practicing Calm — The Honey Bucket – A Series: Part 1

I used to think staying calm with my children was a skill I’d eventually master and move past, something I’d graduate from once they were grown. I know better now. Right now, I’m caring for my 96-year-old mother, who has dementia, and I’m finding myself back in the same classroom I thought I’d left decades ago.

That’s really what this series of five articles is about. Not a formula, not a finished skill, but a practice, one that shows up again and again across a lifetime, in different seasons, with different people, in ways we don’t always see coming.

The stories in this series are from long ago, mostly from the years when my children were small, or my grandchildren were underfoot. But I keep coming back to them, because the lessons in them are just as true today as they were then. I hope these stories feel less like advice from someone who’s arrived, and more like company from someone still on the road with you.

I’m in a new season of practicing calm. My mom is 96 and living with dementia, and some days caring for her tests every ounce of patience I thought I’d built up over the years. I lose it occasionally. I hear my voice get sharp, or I feel that same old flash of frustration rise, and I have to stop and remind myself of something I learned a long time ago, back when my own children were small.

Staying calm isn’t a skill you master once and keep forever. It’s a practice. And you never know when life will hand you a new season that puts you right back in the classroom. I was reminded of that recently when I came across an old story from years ago, back when my grandchildren were small, and I was watching them for the day. It’s a good reminder that the practice never really ends, and that’s okay. Enjoy. : )

I was sitting at the table watching Mary today. She had a small bowl of popcorn and was happily eating. Every bite or so, she would look up and give me a coy little smile. I would smile back and eat a piece of my popcorn. After several bites and coy smiles, Mary got up, toddled over to me, and lifted her face for a kiss. I gave her one, and she went back to the popcorn, took another bite, gave me that same shy smile, and I returned it. Then she got up again, came over to me, and lifted her face for another kiss. We repeated this a few times.

20 Minutes Earlier

What made this peaceful, joyous moment so remarkable was what had happened just 20 minutes earlier.

In the kitchen was a large bucket of thick honey, straight from my own bees, with no water in it, so it was very sticky. I noticed that bucket the day before and thought, “Hmm, that lid isn’t on very tight.” Then, as busy people do, I went on my way and didn’t do anything about it.

Today my grandchildren came to spend the whole day. I was prepared with crafts and fun, and all was going to be great. But I was running behind, which meant we were late eating breakfast and getting dressed. It was after 11:00 when I was tying the last shoelace. Just then, Mary came into the living room dripping honey from head to foot.

I let out a shriek, grabbed her, and ran for the tub, clothes and all. I fussed the whole way. “Mary, what did you do? Why were you in the kitchen? Look at this mess!” All the things you’d expect me to say.

As I stripped her clothes off and washed away the very thick honey, I made myself think about what was happening. I had a real mess in the kitchen, I was sure. This was my last set of clothes for Mary, and she hadn’t even been dressed for ten minutes. I was angry, and honestly, it was my own fault for not securing that lid.

I forced myself to calm down and really look at her. She was perfectly happy being doused in warm water, and any sense of trouble had already evaporated into the joy of the bath. She’s just a baby, really, only 16 months old. She’s interested in everything, and I mean everything. I hadn’t secured the perimeter, so to speak, and now I had a mess to clean up.

More than that, I realized that damaging this precious relationship over her childish need to explore, and my own oversight, would be a terrible trade. So, I stopped fussing. I washed her off, kissed her as I dried her, and steeled myself to go face the kitchen. It really was a mess.

A couple of days ago, I was talking with a mom about staying calm. She told me she’d decided to practice it, and that it was making a real difference. She said the more she practiced, the better she got at it. Amen to that.

Staying calm, not losing your temper, being present, seeing a child as a person with needs instead of a problem to solve – these are all practiced skills. The more we practice, the better we get. That’s what I had to do that day: practice some more.

What I’ve Learned

I’m imperfect at this, just like most of you. I felt angry first. I fussed. But then I made myself stop and choose better. A few things I’ve learned along the way:

  • The sweetness of family life comes through when we stay as calm and kind with our children as we can manage.
  • Children aren’t small adults. They don’t think like we do or behave as we do, and that means they’ll end up in trouble often as they grow and learn.
  • Living with children means living with the possibility of mess, frustration, and moments that test our patience. But damaging a relationship over a mess is never worth it.
  • Staying calm takes practice, practice, and more practice, and we won’t be perfect at it. The better we get at it, though, the better we feel about ourselves, and it tends to spill over into the rest of our lives too.

And here I am, all these years later, practicing all over again. : )

Finding Your Two Mites

My sister Cindy has a job caring for a man with dementia. As I know well, this can be an overwhelming and consuming responsibility. Here was her text to me:

“Mary, I need advice. Taking care of D. is draining me. I didn’t go to the temple all week. I’d leave his house, and I had nothing left. He wants to be with me constantly. When I’m cooking his food, he stands right next to me, and I have to move away. He asks me what he should do about everything. It’s exhausting.”

After some pondering, because I do know firsthand what this is like, here was my response: “No matter what our current mission, we can survive and even thrive, but we must revive.”

Watching over others truly is a mission, whether it’s caring for an elderly person with dementia, several toddlers, a house full of teens, or navigating a work environment. When we take on the task of teaching, guiding, nurturing, loving, and serving others, it’s a mission, and an important one that impacts the world beyond the walls of our home. But caring for and interacting with others can be challenging.

Most of the time, I take Mom on errands with me when I would rather be alone. She loves riding in the car, even though she can’t recall going five minutes after we return home. But in the moment, she’s satisfied and happy. The challenge is that every few minutes she asks the same question: “What town is this?” or makes the same observations: “Isn’t it interesting what people do to their yards?” or “Aren’t the mountains beautiful?”

Those of you raising children know exactly what I’m talking about: Mom, I can’t find my shoes. Where are my Legos? Can I have a snack? Why can’t Jimmy come over? And so it goes. Or the opposite, wondering if your teens will ever talk to you and let you know how they’re doing and what they’re doing. It can be exhausting. And what about maintaining peace at work when someone is having a hard day?

My mother sits quietly in her room much of the time, often sitting with her eyes closed or her head in her hands. This requires that I help her engage in some way. It can take as little as saying, “Mom, crochet,” or as much as walking her outside for a while.  My husband Don requires frequent care as well. But if I look, I can find time to rest. But do I?

You, as mothers, know what this is like too. Your littles are busy playing for 30 minutes without fighting, or running around the backyard having fun. Your teens might be napping or off with friends. There is a lull at work. Often in these less hectic moments, instead of resting and being still, we do what needs to be done: dinner prep, laundry, finally getting to the disgusting bathroom, and so forth. Even though we aren’t wrangling kids or others, we are still busy working and keeping an ear out.

Thursday at 8 am, after being on the go since 6:15, I finally knelt to pray. Just as I was finishing, I heard Don calling from the living room. His feet, which were soaking in a special water bath, were done, and he needed help — no time to continue kneeling quietly and listening. No woman I know is immune from these types of interruptions.

So how do we manage? How do we stay calm, feel peace, and be happy despite what life really is? We have to find ways to revive, and for most of us in this season of life, they need to be simple, manageable, and only use small moments of time.

What Fills You Up

Over the years, ideas have come to my mind, some still useful and others that fell by the wayside and were replaced. It’s been a process, not a one-time thing. Here is what I currently do to center myself, reduce stress, find reasons to smile, and feel calm and happy.

Singing. Each evening I sit in the bathroom, my bedroom, or go outside and sing. I love singing. I do it with vim and vigor and never worry about who might hear. It’s wonderful and rejuvenating.

Reading in stolen moments. I always have a book in my bathroom. I visit this room several times a day, and at each visit I read at least one paragraph, sometimes half a page. I love reading; it feels fun, and fun is always restorative.

Getting up early. Although I resisted the impression for several years, I now get up at 6 to 6:30 am. I have found that I can have at least thirty minutes to an hour by myself before another voice is heard. No questions, no needs to fill.

A morning routine that says, “I matter.” Early in the morning, I have a routine that sets me up for the day. I pray, take my nutrition, and get dressed. I put on a small amount of powdered blush and lipstick and give myself a spritz of a perfume I love. I hadn’t done either in years, but when I began this year, it wasn’t for anyone else but me. They are simply small ways of saying, “Mary, I love you.” It’s amazing what tiny acts of self-care can do for the soul. I write three things in my gratitude journal and read my daily affirmations. Focusing on gratitude and reminding myself of who I am matters deeply as the day revs up, the frustrations increase, and the weariness sets in.

Friends who really know me. I have several friends I connect with regularly. I have lunch with one every three months. We live far apart, drive quite a way to meet in the middle, and want to make it special. I schedule calls with others once a month to once every three months. I had one of these calls last week and another this week. What a gift and a relief. I can share hard things. They listen, have good ideas, and we laugh a lot. It’s deeply restorative.

My nightly shower. I shower most nights. I pray for someone else, then feel the water, enjoy the silence, and let the day go. It’s something I have done since I was sixteen and has never lost its power to soothe my soul, return me to calm, and center me as a daughter of God.

My next-day worksheet. Each evening I write down whatever is cluttering my mind on my next-day worksheet. Someone asked me recently if I wake up at night thinking about all the appointments, doctors, and problems coming up. I was able to say, honestly, never. It’s all on a sheet waiting for me in the morning, and I am free to relax and sleep.

Listening and responding. All day long, thoughts come to my mind: that wasn’t okay, try this instead, stop and finish tomorrow, sit down, you’re a silly woman so smile. I believe these thoughts come from God because I am loved and need the help. Following them has made an enormous difference.

None of these things are managed perfectly. I may miss a shower because it’s just too late. I may not read every time I visit the bathroom because someone is calling for me. Not everything in my morning routine gets done every day. But I manage well enough, and that’s why I’ve been able to do what I’m doing for nine years without falling apart.

Look Back to Find What You’ve Lost

My granddaughter Lizzy is a painter and does wonderfully creative work. She has had her paintings in several shows. Recently, she lamented in a Facebook post that she hasn’t painted a single stroke since her daughter Ila was born several months ago. I could relate.

I used to sing constantly, the songs my mother sang from the 1940s and the music I grew up with in the 50s and 60s. I sang while gardening, cleaning, and caring for my kids. When I wasn’t singing, I played music. Then somewhere in the busyness of caring for my mother and Don, I stopped. No music at all. As I have shared, I finally began singing again in the last year and a half, nudged back to it by a quiet thought I believe came from God.

Since writing my recent article on stillness and making space for yourself, I’ve begun playing music again, the music I grew up with and sang as a busy mother of seven. I have found it exhilarating. I hadn’t realized how much I missed something I had quietly let go.

As you look for what rejuvenates you, think back. What did you love and let go of in the busyness of parenting, working, grandparenting? What might still be waiting for you to return to it?

Your Two Mites

As I wrote about recently, the widow’s mite teaches us that what we give from the heart, even when it feels small, is enough. My list will not work for everyone. I am an Upholder with a busy and energetic nature, so this approach works for me. You will need to determine what works for you. Then make a list. Be clear in your own mind about how you’re going to revive each day, regardless of your energy and temperament. A written list of your ideas can show you whether you’re on track or whether some honest pondering is needed.

We all bring what we have. Some days it’s more, and some days it’s two small mites. But given consistently and from the heart, it’s enough for those we serve and for ourselves.

We can survive and even thrive, but we must find ways to revive.

Drunken Snails and Other Miracles

When I moved from Montana to Utah in my late 50s, something stopped me in my tracks – the realization that I was responsible for my responses, no matter the circumstances or the people involved. This hit me hard. I couldn’t blame others for how I felt! I was mad and honestly didn’t want it to be true. But I am a learner, and the thought wouldn’t leave.

The Quest

I began a quest to learn more about receiving good into my life. I had grown up believing that everything was hard and a struggle. I was done with that story. One of my early mentors was Leslie Householder. I read her book The Jackrabbit Factor and its sequel, Portal to Genius, and attended several classes. What I learned changed everything. If I had faith, believed in myself, and kept a handle on my thoughts, miracles could and would happen.

I wanted all seven of my kids to understand what I was learning. Without meaning to, I had taught them through example that life was hard and a struggle. We live how we were taught. I wanted something better for my kids. I wanted them to have control over their thoughts and the results that come from holding to the belief that we are creators, not victims, and that we can have miracles.

Andrew was twenty-nine at the time. He had just lost a job he had given his heart and soul to and gotten very little back. He was feeling down about it. Every time we talked, and that wasn’t often, I asked him if he had read The Jackrabbit Factor. I knew it would help him see things in a more positive light. I have to admit I nagged just a bit!

One morning he called me and talked for about 40 minutes. This was out of the ordinary, as our calls usually lasted 10 minutes, with me asking questions and him answering with a yes or no. He wanted to share what he was learning and say thanks. Andrew is a quiet man and not demonstrative, but I could hear the happiness in his voice. He was excited and grateful. He even told me he was glad I had nagged!

Andrew had been practicing the principles Leslie taught, and they were working for him. He was still looking for a new job. Then his car broke down. For several months it just sat there. After reading the book, he set a goal to get it fixed and changed his thinking about it. Within a few days he got two calls, offers of help and less expensive parts than he had expected. The car got fixed. He also found work that suited him well.

What About Those Drunken Snails?

Here’s another fun example of the changes in Andrew’s way of thinking. Simple yet powerful.

He is an avid gardener. He had a very small yard, at the time, which he tended with loving care. One year he planted sunflowers which the snails promptly ate. He planted them again the next year. To ward off the snails, he put pans of beer in the garden. One night there was a huge storm. He was sitting in the living room worrying about his 1″ high sunflower seedlings. He had this thought, “Last year the snails got them, and this year it’s the storm.” Then he caught himself and remembered what he had learned from reading The Jackrabbit Factor. He changed his mind chatter to, “It isn’t morning yet, so I’m not going to sit here and worry about what hasn’t happened. They will be just fine.” When he went out to check on the seedlings in the morning, he told me that not only were they just fine, there seemed to be twice as many sprouts and the garden was filled with very happy, drunken snails!

This experience with Andrew happened in 2010. At the beginning of that year, I had made a list of things I wanted in my life. They weren’t physical things but quality-of-life changes. For them to happen would require miracles. Because of the principles I had learned, I wrote them down, read them regularly, and waited for opportunities. One of the items on my list was that Andrew and I would have more meaningful and regular conversations. The book and his experiences opened a doorway for us, and our communication increased.

We all are who we are when we begin. Our job is to grow and to help our children see, by example, a better way. We can teach them as we learn. Our mistakes are not permanent. We can impact even our grown children if it takes us that long to figure things out — and sometimes it does. A good parent never stops working on becoming a better person, and in doing so they impact their children for good. I mentored parents for over a decade and a half, and the one thing most of them needed to hear was this — it’s never too late.

You can learn, grow, and be the example your child needs. It’s never too late!

Two Mites and a Moment of Stillness

I had the privilege of cleaning in the LDS Syracuse Temple. It was enjoyable because of the building’s beauty, peace, and quiet. It was also wonderful because of my working partner, Melissa. We had a deep, interesting, and moving conversation about learning to slow down and being still.

This is something I’ve been tutored in for over a decade, but it still isn’t a habit for me. I’m a mover, shaker, and finisher. Stopping and stillness are not part of my natural energy.

So, what has my tutoring in stopping and being still looked like?

When working on a project such as organizing the garage or simply cleaning the bathroom, I occasionally have the thought to stop, to finish later. I know the thought isn’t coming from me because I’m a finisher. I look heavenward and think, “I could finish this!” The next thought is often, “It will wait. Go and….” Then something that matters more will come to mind: check on Maggie, see if Jodie needs help, hug Don, touch a grandchild passing through, see what my mom is doing, call a friend, or sit and rest.

And here is where an insight Melissa had fits in beautifully. She compared our experiences to the parable of the widow’s mite — what we give from the heart, even if it’s just two small coins’ worth of effort, is enough. Maybe all I got done was cleaning several shelves in the garage or just the toilet bowl. It’s enough, and it will hold until I can give more without sacrificing the things that matter most: rest, connection with a child or spouse, caring for another person, etc. (The Parable of the Widow’s Mite is found in Mark 12:41-44 and Luke 21:1-4)

Stopping and being still is valuable for many reasons. When we stop, even for a few moments, we can unravel problems, come up with solutions, rewrite our stories, and make wiser decisions. We can really see another person — a child or spouse, a friend or neighbor — and let them know we see them. We can appreciate the beauty around us, even if we’re feeling grief, sadness, anger, or loneliness. Stillness brings a measure of peace regardless of what’s happening in life. Over time, this practice of slowing down and being still leads to better health and a sense of well-being we might otherwise miss.

My favorite scripture has long been “Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10. It’s been a favorite since my early adulthood. In my heart I’ve always known that stillness, stopping for a few minutes, was a valuable gift I could give myself if I would.

Slow Down

This past Wednesday, I was introduced to the song “Slow Down” by Sissel, a singer from Norway.

In the midst of my confusion
In the time of desperate need
When I am thinking not too clearly
A gentle voice does intercede

In the time of tribulation
When I’m feeling so unsure
When things are pressing in about me
Comes a gentle voice so still, so pure

Slow down, slow down, be still, my child
Be still and wait, on the Spirit of the Lord
Slow down and hear His voice
And know that He is God

You may have another view of God and life, but I’ll bet these words still stir your heart as a parent, homemaker, working woman, neighbor, friend, etc. We are all busy.

An Incredible and Moving Thought

Monday morning, I got up at 6 am. I did my morning routine to center myself for the day. I took care of my husband’s health list, dressed, fed, and helped my mom with her needs, helped with Maggie, and so on. Around noon, I was in the bathroom resting, LOL, and I had this thought:

“Mary Ann, it isn’t what you do, but the pace at which you do it.”

That is why this song, and my favorite verse of scripture, touched me so deeply this past week. I know it’s important to be still, to slow the pace of life, even for a few minutes.

I’m working to be still, to slow down during the day, to sit with no agenda even for a few minutes: to begin my affirmations with purposeful silence and not rush through them, to intentionally give myself time to think and hear after prayer. I’ve been experimenting with sitting on the patio, looking out on the world, and not feeling pressed to move to the next thing for at least 5 to 10 minutes. : ) I’m managing it fairly well, and I’m looking forward to how this changes me, because I know it will.

And that brings me back to Melissa and the widow’s mite. Some people have learned to slow down and be still; it comes naturally to them, or they’ve cultivated it over time. For me, and for many of you, I bring my two mites, because right now that’s all I have, and as Christ and the widow taught us, it is enough.

If you’ve had experiences with stillness, I would love to hear about them. I can use the ideas and motivation, and I’m sure many of you can too.

Leave a comment on the website and bless us all as we learn and grow together.

 

I Thought I Had Committed (I Hadn’t)

In January, my daughter Jodie gathered a group of friends to work on having a better outcome in 2026. We listened to an interesting YouTube video by Daniel Pink. The premise was that structure beats willpower. We each determined what we regretted from 2025 and how we could do better in 2026 to avoid repeating our mistakes.

My regret was not getting my writing in until the last minute. I regretted that because it fed this old story — there is no time in my life for me — and it led to feelings of resentment toward those I care for. I placed my lack of consistency on them and their needs.

We also worked on choosing a priority goal. Of course, mine was to write every day, as consistently as possible, even if only for a few minutes, or to continue even if interrupted several times. I wanted to take responsibility for my choices and stop blaming and complaining.

Here’s something I shared early on in one of our conversation threads: “I have a hard time doing my own things even when I try. I do my personal morning routine, but it’s interrupted, and I usually don’t get any writing done. For the last four days, I rarely sat down, and tonight I didn’t even get to eat my dinner until 8 pm. No TV, no internet, no reading, no loafing, just serving and doing what’s necessary. I oversee what I choose to do, but I’m obviously doing something less effectively than needed.”

Jodie, our discussion leader, asked me if I had articulated my most important goals for the year. My reply was, “Not well.” After careful thought, this is what I decided was my most important goal for 2026 — to write every day, so I wasn’t pushed up against a deadline, feeling resentful, and hanging onto that old, untrue story.

As we wound down the class, Jodie — my daughter and the discussion leader — decided we would be good accountability partners. Interestingly, Jodie had the same goal: to write consistently. We checked in with each other daily for two weeks. On some days our writing got 10 minutes, and on other days an hour.

At the end of the two weeks, I realized that it had become easier to write daily. I was able to write every day except Sunday, which I take off, and I was more prepared as my publishing deadline loomed. What had happened? Nothing in my life changed — not the schedule, the interruptions, the people, nothing. If anything, it had gotten more intense with Don’s fifth surgery on February 23rd. I had to think about this for some time because nothing had changed except that I was writing daily. My resentment had faded. I had stopped blaming my family and circumstances. What had changed?

For Me, it Wasn’t Structure Over Willpower but Commitment Over Intention

When I finally sorted it out, I had to laugh. It was something I know in my core and am very good at: making a commitment. I understand the importance of systems, or as Pink termed it, structure. I mentored mothers on workable and successful systems for over a decade.

I also understand the difference between intention and commitment. I had let life, complications, and caregiving overtake me. I hoped I could fit my writing in. I wanted to fit it in. I knew it mattered, not just to my readers, but to me. I seriously thought I was trying. But here is the crux: I had not continued in the commitment I had held before I became a full-time caregiver. I had consistently written, despite vacations, illness, schooling, etc., for years. But that earlier commitment had morphed into an intention, a desire, a hope. I felt serious. I cared deeply. But I was no longer committed to the task! It’s embarrassing to admit.

Such a Simple Difference — Commitment vs. Intention

From decades of experience, I know when I’ve committed and when I haven’t. It rings in my heart. For example, I’ve discovered after some research, prayer, and thoughtful pondering that some of my physical problems are caused by sugar. During a prayer, I told God I intended to stop eating sugar. You all know I cook almost everything from scratch and use only Monk Fruit and no wheat flour. I’ve done this for over five years to help Don with his health issues. However, three years ago, I began having a harder time staying on the sugar-free wagon. After my hip surgery last September, it became even harder. I was weary and ate food that others provided. I still did a ton of cooking, but the few months that others cooked for our family put me back on the sugar wagon. I’m sure God smiled when I told him I was giving it up. He knew I hadn’t committed. He knows me.

Over 30 years ago, I had to give up all pork and chocolate. They cause serious mood swings. I’ve researched the components of both, and they share some things that cause the swings. When I realized these foods were not good for me, and after a great deal of prayer, I made a commitment about pork. It took several more months and some experimentation when it came to chocolate. 🙂 However, for over 30 years, I have not budged on these two things, not once! This is where I need to go with sugar.

It’s where I need to go again with my writing, despite the major changes in my lifestyle. The class was in January. Jodie and I began holding each other accountable in February. In the next few months, I didn’t miss one day, not one. Why? Because it changed from an intention — a need, a want, a hope — to a commitment to myself.

Because of my way of being, when I commit, it’s usually a done deal. I rarely need outside accountability. It doesn’t work this way for everyone. We all have different personalities, and some of us are better able to commit than others. But I’ve seen even those who find it hard to make a commitment to themselves — and then hold true — do it, if it matters enough and if they understand themselves.

A helpful book to read about your way of being is Gretchen Rubin’s The Four Tendencies. She categorizes people into four groups: Upholders, Rebels, Obligers, and Questioners.

The book explains how understanding your tendency helps you make better decisions, form habits, and improve your life by working with your nature, not against it. It reveals why some people easily meet deadlines while others struggle with self-imposed goals.

Upholders meet both outer expectations (e.g., work deadlines) and inner expectations (e.g., New Year’s resolutions) easily. They value discipline and structure.

Questioners question all expectations and will only follow them if they make sense. They resist outer expectations unless they can justify them internally.

Obligers meet outer expectations readily but struggle with inner ones. They need outside accountability to follow through on their own goals.

Rebels resist all expectations, both outer and inner. They value freedom and individuality and need to feel they are making their own choices.

I’m an Upholder, and my shared experience this year with these other women showed me I hadn’t committed. Jodie, as an Obliger, needs external accountability. Since we are no longer holding each other accountable, she has struggled a bit and has had to find ways to manage her tendency. When we understand our way of responding, we navigate better. Don, my husband, is a Questioner and needs to understand why. Knowing this about him helps me help him.

It isn’t useful to beat yourself up when you find it hard to commit and stick with it. Instead, understand yourself so you can find ways to make it work. You don’t need to read the whole book — just take the easy quiz. Then accept yourself where you are and learn to work with it.

Back to the sugar. I realized that even though I can usually hold myself accountable, in this difficult season, I needed some outside accountability. I had an appointment with my naturopath last week, and we talked about sugar, and I committed. This week, she reached out to see how I was doing. I was glad I could say, “Making progress.”

The Results of My Writing Commitment

I manage that old story better — there is no room in my life for me. There is if I make it happen. The story still surfaces, and maybe always will, but I can rewrite it quickly. I no longer panic over repeated interruptions (well, not as often). I know that my consistent effort will pay off. I am experiencing it.

I’ve stopped blaming circumstances and caregiving for my lack of getting it done. If I miss a day, I know I chose to miss. Again, this takes daily practice, but I am managing better.

I feel less anxious and resentful. I’m still a work in progress, but I am so much calmer, kinder, more tender, and on top of my deadlines than I was.

Am I perfect? I’ve missed some days, but if I make it 90% of the time, that’s a HUGE win — and I’ve been doing that. It can still be only 10 minutes. I’m still repeatedly interrupted when I sit at the computer, but realizing why I was struggling, taking responsibility, and giving up blame has been life-changing. Now, the blame is where it belongs: on my shoulders. That can be irritating, but taking responsibility feels better than being a victim.

What is Your Commitment?

My friend, Mary Black, and I visited a month ago. I shared my experience with her. I told her it was embarrassing that I was struggling with something I understand and have taught. Here was her response: “Oh, I am feeling that right in my soul. That’s exactly what I needed to hear today, Mary Ann, so thank you, thank you.” This is something we all deal with. As you look at the places in your life that aren’t working, could a lack of commitment be the issue?

If you’re struggling, think carefully. Have you committed to whatever it is — being calmer, touching your kids more, keeping a family system going, accomplishing a goal, learning a language, creating firmer family relationships, being a better housekeeper, getting rid of stuff, overcoming a weakness, and so on?

There is a difference between intention and commitment.

A Spring Story – A Principle Taught

It’s spring — that season of newness, freshness, and quiet beginnings. It seemed the perfect time to share a story from Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards’ book The Daffodil Principle, because it beautifully illustrates something I’ve come to believe deeply: that lasting change happens 1% at a time. Not in grand gestures or overnight transformations, but in small, consistent efforts that grow into something magnificent. The story below is a beautiful illustration of this life-changing principle

Daffodil Garden

Several times, my daughter had telephoned to say, “Mother, you must come and see the daffodils before they are over.” “I will come next Tuesday,” I promised…

We parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. On the far side of the church, I saw a pine-needle-covered path, with towering evergreens and manzanita bushes and an inconspicuous, lettered sign “Daffodil Garden.”

We each took a child’s hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path…Then we turned a corner…, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight, unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes, where it had run into every crevice and over every rise. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons, and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.

“But who has done this?” I asked Carolyn. I was overflowing with gratitude that she brought me…This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

“It’s just one woman,” Carolyn answered. “She lives on the property. That’s her home.” Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.

We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing with questions. On the patio, we saw a poster. “Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking” was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. “50,000 bulbs,” it read. The second answer was, “One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two feet, and very little brain.” The third answer was, “Began in 1958.”

There it was, the Daffodil Principle. For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun – one bulb at a time – to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a time. There was no other way to do it. No shortcuts – simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as it unfolded. Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for only three weeks of each year.

Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty, and inspiration. The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time – often just one baby-step at a time – learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time.

When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.

The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the implications of what I had seen. “It makes me sad in a way,” I admitted to Carolyn. “What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it ‘one bulb at a time’ through all those years? Just think what I might have been able to achieve!”

My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the day in her direct way. “Start tomorrow,” she said with the same knowing smile she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, profound wisdom!

What I Have Learned

In my 76 years, I’ve never seen anything truly great happen in a single burst. Every worthy goal, every beautiful thing built — a family raised, a skill developed, a grief endured — was accomplished through small steps, taken one at a time, for as long as it took. That is the 1% Principle, and it has become one of the truest guides of my life.

Here’s what it means in practice: rather than trying to fix or change everything at once, you focus on the best 1% the one thing most worth improving right now. What I’ve found is that real progress in that one area quietly lifts everything else around it. You don’t have to splinter your attention across every problem. Consistent, focused effort on the right 1% creates momentum that spreads.

The woman in that daffodil garden didn’t set out to create a masterpiece in a season. She just planted one bulb. Then another. For 35 years. And the mountain was transformed.

You and I can do the same. We don’t have to have started 35 years ago.
We just need to begin today.

Listening, Trusting, and Following Through Make a World of Difference

The Day of Surgery

The day of my hip surgery, September 3, after returning home, I was going up and down our two stairs, caregiving, and managing as if I had never had surgery. One week out, I canned salsa. The doctor had told me I would recover quickly because I was so active. When I asked about canning, he said I could do whatever I had energy for because my new hip was made to stand on. That’s why I was in crazy mode for the first two weeks after surgery. And it was crazy!

Reality Is No FUN! Getting Help Is

At the end of the first two weeks, reality descended. I fell into extreme fatigue and became depressed. I couldn’t shake the feelings of worry, fear, sadness, anger, resentment, powerlessness, etc. My hip began to bother me when I sat or when I first began walking after sitting. I was totally unprepared for this. It wasn’t what I was expecting after two fabulously energetic and pain-free weeks. What had happened?

Caregiving didn’t go away because I was struggling. Mom and Don still needed help with everything. My daughter helped when she could, but she works full-time, has four teens, one with severe CP. I had to keep doing what was necessary because life goes on. This was the reality of my situation, but how could I continue when I felt so unable to manage myself and my feelings?

I was desperate for answers. So, I did what I do. I prayed for help, resources, and thoughts. As I knew it would, help came. I received information from two trusted sources that let me know that depression is part of the healing process. The body uses all the energy it can to do its healing work, which leaves one depleted. Knowing this, that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that I wasn’t weak, and was in exactly the correct place, helped me cope with how I felt, until the depression and most of the hip discomfort went away in late December.

A Thought That Made A Difference

Today, I want to focus on one thought that came to me, which I immediately implemented, even though it seemed odd. Then I’ll share the amazing clarity I received as to why trusting the thought and following through made such a difference at a very challenging time.

The thought was to open the hymnal on my phone and sing 1-2 songs each evening. Really, I was living a very busy caregiving life. I had just had surgery and was struggling. I didn’t want to add something else to my already loaded plate! But I listened. It was fall and warm, so I went outdoors at sunset and sang. I couldn’t always sit, so I would stand. It lifted my spirits. It caused me to smile. I have continued this simple practice. Eventually, I couldn’t go outdoors because of the changing weather, so I would sit at my desk in the bedroom or in the bathroom before my nightly shower. The fatigue and depression, although still there, began to be more manageable.

In November, they announced the church choir would begin practicing for the Christmas program. I had quit singing three years earlier. It was too hard to take Mom and Don home, feed them, and then go back for choir. But for the two hours we were at church that day, the thought kept returning. “Mary, sing in the choir.” “Join the choir.” “Don’t forget choir.” Finally, I looked heavenward and said under my breath, “OK!!”, in a frustrated voice. I took Mom and Don home and returned to the church at 3. It was a beautiful and uplifting experience! I hadn’t realized how much letting go of my music had affected me. I had forgotten how much I loved singing.

I was given a small solo, even though I had been gone for three years. Singing a solo was on my bucket list, and here I was at 75, doing it for the first time, after a three-year hiatus. A miracle. Singing daily in the evening and on Sunday with the choir was one of the things that helped my heart shed the burdens it felt.

The Christmas program was wonderful, and I did a good job. It was fun, and I was glad I had listened to my thought. The depression had gone, and I was managing well. But it didn’t end there.

On Sunday, January 18th, they announced there would be a choir for a larger church meeting held a couple of times a year. I knew the singers in this choir would all be better at the craft than I am. I don’t read music well, so I have to memorize my part, but I felt I would have time to do that. I really enjoyed the first practice, despite being in deep water. : )

Why Did It Make A Difference?

Driving home after that first choir practice, I was pondering the whole music/singing issue. Why had it made such a difference? Was it the singing itself, the music, being with a group, what? In that moment of thought, I got a download; it filled my mind and heart. It wasn’t about the music or the singing. It wasn’t about being part of something. It was the sense that I was caring for myself because I matter. I’m worth caring for. This is exactly what I know I am doing when I shower at night. I’ve been showering at night for over 30 years. Caring for myself is what I’m doing when I schedule those phone calls, walks, and the occasional lunch that I resisted doing for three years and recently told you about.

In each of these situations: creating regular connections with other women, taking a hot shower at night, singing in the evening, joining the choir, I was intentionally caring for my heart, my mind, my emotions, my healing, not just from surgery, but from the challenges of everyday living. It was mind-blowing and mind-opening. It made so much sense.

We all find ourselves in this place, maybe not from surgery or illness, but from managing a family, a job, and life. It can feel overwhelming. And we all must learn to manage the feelings this overwhelm can generate.

I mentioned some time back the story I’ve been dealing with for over nine years, “There is no time in my life for me.” I know it’s a story, but it hasn’t been easy to dispel because my life is packed with people to care for, and I gave up a carefully built career to take it on. In this moment of clarity, after that choir practice, I understood that the things I had been led to do by my creator were designed to help me care for myself, to say in a physical way, “I love you, Mary Ann. You matter to me as much as anyone!” The activities I have added to my hectic life in the last couple of years are making a difference, a world of difference.

No matter what your situation looks like, if you ponder and think about how you can care for yourself, thoughts and resources will come. Don’t dismiss them like I did when the thought came to create a group of women I could connect with consistently. Don’t dismiss them if they seem odd, like adding choir practice or evening singing to your already packed day. Don’t dismiss them if they seem frivolous, like scheduling walks or going to lunch once every three months. LOL

Every evening, I still shower, pray for someone, put on lotion, read a few paragraphs, and spend time alone. I can usually give myself 10 to 15 minutes. : ) I still sing every evening. I have my calls, walks, and one lunch preset so they actually happen. I’m diligently working on rewriting that old story, one God-given thought and then one action at a time. I’m sending the message loud and clear to myself, 

“There’s always time for you because you matter as much as anyone!”

Our Dreams Can Come True. Watch For It!

On March 9, 2025, I shared truths that I had written when I was 62. I shared them again because from 62 to 75, they hadn’t changed. I had lived them, and they were still true. I ended the article with these words:

Our dreams can come true. We can live up to our expectations. There is a plan, and we fit perfectly into it. It may not happen in the time frame we want, but if we hold on to hope and believe in ourselves, we will win.

As I’ve shared in past articles, I wanted to be a writer as early as age 8. I wanted to be a speaker even earlier. In my late 50s and 60s, these two dreams came true. I had a book published and spoke on stages all over the country. I taught workshops and mentored other adults.

Deciding to Let Go of What Was

In 2017, a few months after my book was published, my mother, who has dementia, came to live with us. Then my husband’s health took a serious turn, and I realized I could no longer do what I had spent a lifetime dreaming about. I closed my business, stopped speaking, teaching workshops, and mentoring after almost fifteen years. I continued to write, but I did less of it. This was not an easy decision to make, but it was mine to make. After I decided how to proceed, I moved forward confident that all would be well, even if it was different from what I had planned.

Last week, I spent some time in my old office, which is now my daughter’s, cleaning out a bookshelf and a cupboard. I found dozens of testimonials from people I had worked with, taught, and mentored. They shared how what I had taught them changed their lives. I was astounded. I had forgotten the thrill of it all. How it felt to be on stage, in front of a class, or helping a parent find more peace at home. I felt somewhat let down and sad. So, I did what I do. I began to look carefully at my story, and I prayed. I wanted peace with my current life and continuing joy in what it had been.

In the ensuing days, I had amazing thoughts come to my mind, thoughts that were uplifting and beautiful. They were about other dreams I had held as a child and young adult.

My Other Dreams

When I was in 7th grade, I joined the nursing club. I wanted to be a nurse. I studied it and looked into what it would take. I held that dream for many years.

When I went to college, I decided to get a degree in Special Education and work with children who had special needs. I was one semester shy of graduating and thought I would finish after marrying. I was 40 before I could return to college, and then I had too many classes to retake. So, I got a degree in education. It seemed that I would never fulfill either of these dreams.

I Hadn’t Noticed!

I hadn’t noticed that these dreams had come to fruition in ways I never expected! Every day, I care for my husband and my mother. I dispense pills, manage medications, wipe behinds, help them dress, take them to doctor’s appointments, check oxygen levels, etc. I work with physicians, home care nurses, and physical therapists to make decisions on their care.

Recently, my husband needed his legs wrapped weekly because of serious edema, so a home health nurse was dispatched. As her time with us wound down, we switched from wraps to a special tube sock. She showed me how to use it. As she did, I saw in my mind an easier way. When she came last week, Don told her what I was doing, and she asked to see. I demonstrated, and she was delighted because it will save her time and energy with other clients. Hmmm, seems like I have gotten my chance at the nursing thing. : ) I’ve been doing it now for over eight years.

Jodie left home early Thursday, so I got my granddaughter, Maggie, ready for school and on the bus by seven a.m. She has severe cerebral palsy. I had to get up at 5:45 to manage it. I did her meds, dressed her, brushed her teeth, hooked up the tube that feeds her, and had many mini conversations. Several years ago, I was Maggie’s aide in school. I attended every day and helped her write, read, do math, etc.

Shortly after Maggie left for school, I got a text from my 20+-year-old friend who has special needs. We engaged in a 15-20-minute text thread. Then I drove my grandson to school. As I drove home, I called my 54-year-old special needs friend who was having some dental work done. I wanted to know how it went and what she had planned for the rest of the week. We had a fifteen-minute conversation. Wednesday, I had recieved a call from my 60+ year-old friend, who also has special needs. We had a lively conversation. I met each one of these women in different towns where I have lived. It seems that the desire to be involved with people with special needs has come my way. I was also reminded of other dreams I have, and hope was rekindled that I will accomplish them.

Hold on to your dreams, all of them. They all matter, those that put you on a stage and those that help you serve those you love. Life takes twists and turns, and it can feel, at times, as if we have lost what we wanted so much. But if we remain open and observant, we will see our dreams fulfilled. Maybe not in the way we expected, but fulfilled, nonetheless. This knowledge brings brightness and lightness to life when things move differently than we planned. So, keep those dreams in front of you and watch God do his work.

Don’t be surprised when he gives them to

you in ways you didn’t expect.

 

Have a blessed and growing 2026,
Mary Ann : )