We Simply Cannot Always Know

(Brandi, our first dog for Richard and me. This was taken in 1980.)

We simply cannot always know how our actions and words may land for another? In this piece, I am focusing on the positive, nurturing, and life affirming moments, because I have no doubt, each of us could pen and produce books that might be in competition with, In Search of Lost Time, or Remembrance of Things Past, by Marcel Proust, with a total page count of over four thousand pages. Just a light read, and I thought, The Little Women series my sister devoured, were long!

How often when we birth something into the world, whether, it’s a poem, a blog post, a book, a podcast, we are often left wondering how it will be received? Looking for a review, a comment, even a like, if that is available, may be our only way of having something tangible for feedback.

I was engaged in a conversation with an author, who just birthed her book out into the world, and now she wonders and waits, as that is part of being human. However, what we delved into, was the process, her healing over the years, as she brought all the parts of herself to the surface, to breathe new life into, and a witnessing to as well. We agreed that the healing is hers, both in the formation and writing, and now in setting it free to land wherever it may. Trusting that the hands and hearts who are in need, will be guided to it, as that is just how offering seems to create its magic. It is not passive, yet very much resembles becoming like a light house. Casting its light in wide swaths far and wide in hopes of providing a way home.

In keeping with this notion of not always knowing, I am presenting a fascinating exercise to try with friends and family. Be bold, courageous, and inquire if there is anything that you have shared that has remained with them? Without skipping a beat, I suspect there may be surprise, delight, and even an, “I cannot believe you recall that?” One such memory came trickling in for me as I was pondering this topic. It was wintertime in Utah, and it was producing record breaking snowfall. Our snow blower sat in a million pieces in the garage, and my husband was sick with the flu in bed aching from head to toe. I was outside trying to keep up with the snow, until my five foot four frame, could no longer toss it high enough with the shovel. Two little faces of our children were nose first on the cold window pane looking quite distressed and worried.

Before I was headed back inside, cold, wet to the bone and feeling defeated with my meager efforts, I spotted a truck, heading closer to our house. A college aged young man poked his head out, and asked if I needed help with the snow removal? I had my winter beanie pulled snuggly down, and all of a sudden, we both shared an instant recognition. It was Andrew, one of my most darling red haired fourth graders, whom I adored and lovingly teased often. I asked him if I had done it too much, and without skipping a beat, he told me he had absolutely loved it. He proceeded to share that what he remembered the most was my sharing our camping stories as a family with the class. He said, “Does your dog still have her own sleeping bag?” That was Brandi, our yellow lab, and yes, she had her own powder blue mummy bag, which she claimed solely as hers as a pup when we were tent campers, which we were for years.

His take away, from our shared fourth grade experience, were my personal stories about my life outside of the classroom. This was strategic and very purposeful. I was intentionally creating a bond, nurturing a safe haven, where we spent hours learning about one another, not just what was contained within the text books and the required curriculum. Without a sense of safety, belonging, and ease, the academics could not be absorbed as readily. Once established, we worked on learning the tasks at hand, yet we enjoyed an abundance of, “Let’s talk” times which were savored. For Andrew, as a college student, that was what he desired to share with me as being his take away, and most meaningful memory of life in fourth grade.

I’m giving us all homework. Once a teacher always one, yes?! If and when you feel a nudge, inquire with your family, friends, co-workers, whomever it may be, and ask if there is something you have said or done that they can recall, which made a difference. Allow them time to sift and sort if necessary, yet have fun and remain curious with this. I engaged this practice with both my mom and dad through the years, and the priceless expressions on their faces I wish I could paint. I would endeavor try to capture their whimsical facial expressions and dancing eyes. They had no idea what I might share, and were SO pleased that it was often a dinner table conversation, or reflecting on something said at nighttime when we were reflecting, where something that was said shifted and pivoted my entire landscape.

We simply cannot always know, yet if we become the receivers of simply a few, what an ongoing gift this will create. Such are the ripple effects nestled within this infinite cosmos we inhabit together. Who could have ever imagined a yellow lab, and her cozy blue mummy bag would create such a lasting impact on the young, impressionable mind and heart of a darling fourth grader, named Andrew?

(Brandi and me in the early eighties, before the children made their arrival. Sporting my short, permed look. How we survived the 80’s, I’ll never know.) My hair almost didn’t! 😂