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"Keep your promises." I accept that advice without hesitation. It is the key to trusting relationships and personal integrity. It is also, I found recently, an element of effective writing.
This fall, I took a workshop to learn how good writers cultivate a following. One way is by keeping the promises embedded in their stories: They never leave their audiences hanging (for long).
In recent weeks, I have reflected on sharing the journey into age and declining health with our parents. I implied a promise by asking, "How Can I Help?" I reinforced the promise by suggesting that we "Get into It." Now, after returning from a visit with Lyle's family, I am challenged to keep those promises by sharing the outcome. In summary, I learned so much!
Lesson one: I learned to stay put. I wince to admit how past visits were designed for escape: walks, naps, and shopping trips; the coffee shop, the library, the mall; the laptop or a good novel. I have been restless. I have resisted sitting around. I have run from the din of dueling TVs (football in one room, news in another). I have sought to re-center in solitude.
This time it was different. From first sun to late-night news, I hung out: living room, dining room, kitchen. I watched football and sitcoms. I napped in the recliner. I played cards and Wii. I washed dishes and laundry. I asked questions that generated stories. I listened. I left the house only when others wanted to go too.
"Being present" became more than spiritual jargon; it was a concrete and powerful way of looping the family ties into a bow.
Lesson two: I learned to be truly helpful. In past Reflections, I have urged that we play to our strengths. We accomplish so much when we tap those natural talents. On the other hand, being helpful sometimes requires us to confront our weaknesses.
I don't cook with ease, skill, or joy. The last time I prepared "meat and potatoes" for dinner, I was wearing a poodle skirt! Last week, cooking was an inescapable definition of helpful, so I took it on. I pulled yellowed recipe cards out of Mom's kitchen drawer. I shopped for unfamiliar ingredients. I followed the directions. Though I floundered like a non-swimmer in deep water, everyone ate and no one got sick (whew!)
Lesson three: I learned to let go. After a married lifetime of fretting about approval, over-reacting to slights, and longing to fit in, I stopped focusing on myself. This visit wasn't, for once, about what I got or what I failed to get. It was about giving. I was able, at long last, to offer the gift of being there, without asking the price of appreciation in return.
I came home this week with a peaceful heart and simple, unadorned joy. Christmas is a story of miracles; this is the story of mine.
What about yours?
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