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Greetings!
"I have now reigned about fifty years in victory and peace, beloved by my subjects, dreaded by my enemies, and respected by my allies. Riches and honors, power and pleasure have waited on my call, nor does any earthly blessing appear to have been wanting. In this situation I have diligently numbered the days of pure and genuine happiness which have fallen to my lot: they amount to fourteen."
This declaration of life was written in 960 AD by Abd-er-Rahman III, of Spain. Reading it this Christmas season brought on a tender and moving discussion with my husband about those days we would claim as "pure and genuine happiness" knowing we would want more than fourteen.
The day I helped deliver a baby on the Warm Springs Reservation. Tears well up as I recall welcoming that baby into the world and praying that her life would be full of love, always. Jerry recalled an early morning surprise when he let the dogs out and gasped over a sky of magenta broken with swipes of black where stars sparkled inside. I added that to my list as well, grateful that he woke me to see the aurora borealis brought to our remote ranch door. The day I got my pilot's license. The births of Jerry's children and grandchildren. We both remembered a day when we danced in the living room so grateful we could following months of recovery after our airplane accident. We added the day our friends riding in the plane with us called to say that they had a healthy baby girl who had survived the crash in utero. A moment when I just knew we were to go to that remote piece of property to make a new life.
As we added days to our list the Spanish ruler's insights continued to resonate with this wisdom: all the riches, honors, love, power and blessings rarely - if ever -gave him pure and genuine happiness. I think on that. Sometimes days that could have been full of joy - a birthday, an honor, a celebration - are marred not by the occasion but by the attitude I brought to it, upset by little things that didn't go as I planned. When I'm asked to speak at events I often begin by asking what experience attendees want to have by coming there. And then ask them to explore what obstacles they put up to keep them from those moments of wisdom, connection, nurture, joy or whatever hope they carried in with them. Occasions I hoped to be joyous disappear not by the circumstance but because I forgot to ask myself that same question, make different choices when the unexpected arrives. What experience do you want to have? "In all things, rejoice," writes the Apostle Paul to the Thessalonians. Oh, the challenge of that!
"I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people," said the angels after telling the shepherds not to fear. But for many the holidays are full of fear, anxiety, sadness, disappointment and failed hopes that overshadow the joy. I have more sad Christmas memories than of joyous ones I'm sad to say. Surely that was not the intent of the gift of the Christ child.
 I'm challenging myself this year to not let the mistakes I've made nor the losses of my life steal the possibility of a present joy. Everyday can be a day when I experience the pure happiness I knew when I helped bring a baby into the world. Each sunrise can bring unequaled happiness as though it was the aurora borealis - if I just take it in. And each moment might bring a dance even in the midst of gift wrap strewn across the floor by the dogs, all adding up so that upon my deathbed I might be able to say of the days of pure happiness: "they amounted to more than fourteen." This season especially I thank you for your faithful reading of my Story Sparks and your support for my writing life and Jerry. You are pebbles of joy radiating out into happiness. May you discover the path to more than "fourteen."
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