“Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer is too small to be made into a burden.”

That’s a quote from Corrie ten Boom. I found myself doing a little bit of reading on her tonight. She was a Dutch Christian who, with her father and other family members, helped many Jews escape the Nazi Holocaust during World War II; as a result, they were all ultimately arrested in 1944 due to an informant’s tip. Born in Amsterdam in 1892, she passed away here in Orange County, CA on her birthday in 1983. She was 91.

It’s an amazing quote to think about. Think about all this woman must have seen; one prison, two concentration camps, family that died during this time, persecution, and her release which — as she later learned — had been a clerical error.

Much of her teaching and writing focused on forgiveness, with her noting in a 1974 book that those who are able to forgive were best able to rebuild their lives.

How true this is.

She — a former prisoner — forgiving a former guard, and one of the most cruel.

Think of some of the burdens that you’re holding onto. Go ahead — we all have them. They might’ve become a little dusty over the years, but unfortunately they’re still there. They speak to us when we’re at our lowest, because they know they can get to us during those times. And they call out to us at our highest, determined to knock us off our perch.

Is it forgiveness that you owe yourself? Or someone else?

Either way, it follows that the best rebuilding can come from reconnecting — with peace. And peace is often a direct result of forgiveness.

Even after all she had experienced in life, I picture Corrie to have been a woman who tried to maintain a “water off a duck’s back” approach to life. Not that things didn’t affect her, because clearly they did — her teachings, writings, books and the movie made about her family’s experiences (The Hiding Place) are clear proof. But I imagine that she made a conscious choice to see the beauty in each day — sometimes because it may have been the only way to live to see another sunrise. I imagine that if something bothered her, she may have done a quick, split-second assessment: am I going to allow this to burden me? No? OK, then let’s move on.

The flip-side of her assessment: Am I going to allow this to burden me? Yes, I can’t shake this one…it’s fairly substantial. And I need help with it.

What do you need help with? It’s time to get rid of that something that’s been there for too long. 

We’re all worth so much more.

Tonight I am thankful for the knowledge that no man is an island, and that I can give any burden of any size to a being whose power dwarfs even the most seemingly significant burden that exists in my life.

It’s been said that the test of your calling isn’t how well you do on game day, but rather how well you do in your daily routine during the days leading up to it.

The gist?

Preparation and dedication matter.

All of the daily tasks, the paces we put ourselves through (sometimes gladly, other times not as much), the meditating, the wishing, the praying, the focusing, the sweating, the fretting — it’s all required, all necessary and it’s all worth it. Because there’s an end in sight. Someday you’ll reach it, and you’ll be proud to say you did it. All of it.

Who wants to be on their way to a goal only to come up a few feet short?

It’s only Monday, but my energy level feels like it’s at end-of-day Friday. I sneezed a few times earlier, which leads me to believe a cold is hot on my heels. Nothing sounded good for dinner (another sure sign), the house furnace is cranking and chills are visiting me every few minutes. I probably should be in bed, and actually made a beeline for it a while ago. But…really? Ditching the daily-blogging resolution after a mere 22 days? 

Nah. Couldn’t do it.

I remembered I hadn’t read my devotion for the day yet, and when I turned to its page before coming in to type out today’s post, this subject is what it was all about. Preparation. And what you do when nobody except yourself is watching.   

Tonight, I’m thankful for coming across this devotion when, quite simply, it would have been easy not to write anything this evening. It provided the helpful, guiding nudge that I needed to see another day through to completion. Here’s to tomorrow.

Happy Chinese new year’s eve.

I was doing a bit of reading earlier about the Chinese New Year (tomorrow), its corresponding celebrations and about The Year of the Dragon. I read that the dragon will bring optimism and hope for better times ahead in 2012. Associated with high energy and prosperity, the dragon is not just the only mythical creature in the zodiac, it’s also the one considered to be the most powerful of the 12 signs.

Cool — sounds like it’s going to be a vibrant year, right?

I continued reading and discovered that my birth year, 1976, was also the year of the dragon. Never one to pass up an opportunity to be entertained, I read a bit about my Chinese zodiac.

Dragons are the free spirits of the zodiac, but are prone to tension headaches because they like to take risks when working — most often solo (apparently we dragons prefer to be alone). The dragon feels that rules and regulations are for other people; restrictions blow out the creative spark that is ready to flame into life. Dragons’ generous personalities give them the ability to attract friends, but they can be rather solitary people at heart. A dragon’s self-sufficiency can mean that he or she has no need for close bonds with other people. Even though they are willing to aid when necessary, their pride can often impede them from accepting the same kind of help from others. Dragons prefer leading to being led, enjoy jobs in which they can express their creativity and, while they also give into love, they don’t give up their independence. Dragons prefer to live by their own rules, are unafraid of challenges and passionate about what they do; unfortunately, this passion and enthusiasm often leaves dragons feeling exhausted and, interestingly, unfulfilled.

A few words that are said to describe dragons are innovative, enterprising, flexible, brave, passionate, conceited, quick-tempered, unanticipated and scrutinizing.

I realize not everyone finds entertainment (that’s a key word for this post) in the zodiac. But one of the things I find interesting is that for as much or as little you may feel you have in common with “your sign,” it can still spark a thought about who you really are — the same way going to see a movie may inspire pause and personal reflection. There’s great, widespread value in entertainment.

Am I all of the above? No. Am I part? For sure — the same way I’m sure other “non-dragon” people are. It’s fun to think about; not meant to hang one’s hat on, but entertaining. And if you allow yourself to be entertained, and then allow yourself to have fun with all the things your sign says you are and implies that you aren’t, something really neat can happen: your sense of self-awareness can be heightened. If you’re not feeling one of your descriptors, you can change. Right? Easier said than done, I’m sure, and you may not even feel the need since this is all supposedly “entertainment.” But change is change, regardless of its origin.

And change can be good.  

Some say that dragons are extroverts. I wouldn’t consider myself one, but sometimes I wish I had more of that in my nature. So perhaps I can take a few tiny steps in that direction — and therein lies the value of entertainment.

Tonight I am thankful for the little things that can inspire increased self-awareness and the desire to make tiny changes that can add up to good. Here’s to a good year — whether it’s the year of your sign, a new beginning or simply the year of “you.” Make it all that you dream.

This morning as the rain fell and with coffee in hand, I enjoyed an episode of “French Food at Home” with Laura Calder.

She was making a beef-in-beer recipe, and formed a “bouquet garni” — essentially a bundle of herbs wrapped in leaves and tied with string. As she created the “garnished bouquet,” it was clear that the flavors would infuse themselves into the dish, adding a unique depth with more complexity than if only the beef and beer were simmering together. At the end of preparation, the bouquet garni would be removed and one would enjoy the prism of flavors and essences that the bundle had provided.

It’s a simple thought when thinking about the people in your life, as well. Some add such flavoring and abundance that it would be a shame to live life without them. But when stepping out on your own, or when forging your own path, you travel not alone — but also with the flavors that others have imparted upon you.

In keeping with that simple thought, today’s post is similarly short and sweet. This evening I find myself thankful those in my life who make up my bouquet garni. With their seasoning, I am far more rich than on my own.

I adore the rain.

Everyone has something that makes them feel rejuvenated. Perhaps it’s a spa day, a vacation, a good book, a great glass of wine, a sunset, a sunrise or an accomplishment; mine is the rain. I find it to be beautifully inspiring.

I’m not quite sure when my love of wet weather really took hold, but I’m guessing it’s been in the past decade or so. I seem to recall far more stormy, rainy days from my younger years, but back then they interfered with my ability to go outside and play, to ride bikes and to draw on the driveway with pastel-colored chalk. Even so, I still embraced them, generally leaning towards staying inside and consuming copious amounts of hot chocolate, painting by numbers and baking Shrinky Dinks in the oven.

These days, rainy ones are just my speed; I sometimes prefer them to those that are sun-drenched. The idea of spending hours on end watching it fall and listening to the rain masquerade as an orchestra’s percussion section is close to bliss. Add a fire in the fireplace and we’re nearing perfection status. Bonus points for Mother Nature if the rain starts on a Saturday morning shortly before I wake, acting as a stand-in for my alarm clock.

Have I mentioned I adore the rain?

One thing I find fascinating about it is the mysterious quiet that precedes the beginning of a shower. I liken it to when our bodies need to draw a long, full breath, and you reach that second where your lungs are at capacity.

And then you exhale.

It’s almost a cleansing feeling.

I stepped outside for a few moments earlier for no other reason than to behold the stillness in the air. I had been going through the house, turning off lights, when I realized how hushed the evening was — unusual for a Friday night. No barking dogs in the distance, no aircraft overhead, not even car or helicopter noise that usually attaches immediately to the night air and fills it up. Dense clouds were beginning to congregate in the night sky; all was calm, and a few stars were trying their best to be bright. But soon the cloud cover would reign.

It felt like the atmosphere was in need of a weekend, as well, and as though she was taking her long, full breath before exhaling some much-needed rain onto the southland. And the fact that this is all happening as we head into Saturday couldn’t make me happier.

Tonight I am thankful for the calming rejuvenation that the rain brings, as well as for the fresh perspective that comes along with it. Beautifully inspiring, indeed.

Time is a funny thing.

It’s something we have absolutely no control over, and yet we’re often trying in vain to slow it down and make special moments last.

Or we’re trying to speed it up to get to the next best thing, the next milestone — the next big event (which, inevitably, we’ll want to try to slow down again for).

Time will forever plug along at its own pace and, while we can plan for the trip, we’re along for the ride.

Do you ever have that feeling deep down inside of wanting so desperately to do or achieve something that you can practically taste it? You feel it’s right around the corner. You’re approaching it, but there still seems to be that infinite amount of distance yet to travel. Your heart is aching to pump harder, as though doing so will bring your dreams to fruition through its determination and rhythmic vigor.

I love this feeling. It prods me to keep on keeping on until I get there; to work through the struggles. It tells me to bust through the shell with the tiny hairline crack, as though it’s my own personal passageway just waiting to be traveled down.

But I’m also a big fan of patience. Apparently so are others, since there are a lot of formulas that patience has made its way into over time.

“Power plus patience equals great hitting,” for you baseball fans out there.

“Patience plus fun equals success,” it’s been said of teaching kindergartners.

And here’s one more:

“Preparation plus patience equals peace.” That one’s from me. I don’t know if it’s been said before, and while I’m sure there are a million and one ways to poke holes in it, here’s why it fits for moi:

There are times when I’ve done all I can do; I’m sure of that. And I have a faith that makes me believe everything happens in its own time. And if I truly believe that, which I do, it makes for a pretty good night’s sleep.

Tonight I am thankful for the keep-on-keeping-on-ness within me, and for the peace that comes from knowing that as long as I’ve done my best, the pieces will fall into place when the preparation has been completed — sort of like climbing a mountain. You know you’re going up, and while you don’t know how much longer you’ve yet to climb, you’ll know it when the mountain wants you to know it.

When you reach the summit after months of training, the peace sets in, and nearly always gives way to and reveals something that’s game-changing.

Do you ever have days where you think everything is charted out, then out of the blue you get a call that turns everything upside down?

Those days are the best. They test you; they want to see what you’re made of. And they want a good answer, free of wavering, hemming and hawing.

Think you have too many meetings? Here, have another.

Think your schedule is already as full as it can be? Nope. Think again.

Think you’ve done everything you can to prepare for whatever, for whomever, for however you think your day will go? Here, check out these pretty, fascinating, come-hither degrees for a while. There are 180 of them. Just count. They want you to look closely.

At the end of the day, all we have are our actions.

Did we do our best?

Can we say we gave it our all?

If we can’t say that we did those things, then where could we have done better? And why didn’t we do it in the first place?

Sometimes those last two questions are the most difficult to answer. We’re up against something in the moment, and we let it get the best of us.

Or sometimes we know better — know what we ought to do — but we still think that giving less than our best will somehow let us slide by.

Sometimes we’re found out. Other times we’re not.

But in our quietest of moments, we know what we’re made of. And so do those tests.

Tonight I am thankful for those tests of endurance. Not marathon-sized in scope, but those little things that keep adding up.

And up.

And up.

Until you have a mountain that is begging you to climb it.

Are you up for it?

Let’s climb.

While the knee is healing quite nicely, according to my orthopaedic surgeon earlier this morning, the wrist is now the pesky annoyance on my person. Does it ever end?

It received an injection of lidocaine and cortisone almost 14 hours ago, an experiment, of sorts, to try to identify the true issue is that hides beneath the skin (which, strangely, is related to the knee incident — a.k.a., falling down on concrete). Possible nerve damage or nerve entrapment, possible carpal tunnel, possible tendonitis. All of which sound totally, ridulously awesome. Sign me up. Didn’t see that coming when I walked in for the second knee follow-up appointment.

At any rate, the wrist is injected and way, way, waaaaaaay beyond sore, it’s in a brace, and I need to write…so this may be a short one.

The Pisco Sour. Noun. A delightful cocktail, served over ice, where the pisco is reminiscent of tequila and it’s accompanied by, among other things, sugar, an egg white, bitters and lemon juice.

After buzzing the pharmacy for some pain relief, I met a friend for cocktails (pain relief in its own right). The Pisco Sour was one of them. It smelled strongly of the lemon, had a slightly sudsy, sticky foam like the little bit left over from waves after they come ashore and the water journeys across the sand, and it was pale peach in color.

On the palate, it whispered tequila, only more refreshing. Maybe it was the sugar — or the rooty earthiness of the bitters. But one thing was sure:

It was delicious.

The presentation looked like a tumultuous ocean; the taste was smooth. It was exactly how my day turned out: chaotic at first and filled with a little rockiness (injection, anyone?), followed by productive, smooth sailing.

The Pisco Sour may seem a strange thing to give thanks for, but the clear realization it brought forth after observation and then tasting was worth every sip. Some things look to be one way, but when you venture forth and experience them with multiple senses, you find out it’s not always what you thought it was.

Cheers to liquid enlightenment.

Today was one of those days when California’s weather thought it would be funny to play a little trick, fooling its residents with sunshine when a jacket was actually more appropriate.

The way the fog rolls in off the ocean during the summer evenings just as the light begins to fade is the same way the fog rolled in today, but it started around 1 or 2pm instead, a telltale sign of a brisk night to come. Soft tufts of gray moved low and fast overhead thanks to a chilly breeze, and they gave way to the rays only when they had to. I don’t think the day made it much past 60 at its warmest, likely hovering in the high 50s for the majority.

When I lived in Michigan and Connecticut, I would often make the mistake of equating sunshine with warmth. I did the same thing today. I stepped out in a tank, cardigan, jeans and flip-flops, then was too lazy to go back inside to change when I realized I’d made the wrong choice.

The atmosphere’s indecisiveness last evening had left my car a mess, its silver paint speckled like a cheetah with charcoal spots. Had it actually decided to rain in a more steady manner, the shower might’ve been a decent stand-in for a carwash. But, alas, it didn’t.

I arrived at the carwash and the same guy who’s usually there saw me pull up. He wrote my ticket then handed it to me as I exited the car, not needing to ask me what wash and scent I wanted. We’re cool like that.

Another guy, a relative of ticket-writer-guy, was inside at the register. I passed a pot of coffee that seemed freshly brewed, paid for the wash and he handed me my claim ticket.

The coffee beckoned.

I asked him if I could pay for a small coffee right then, or if I should pour it, then bring it back to pay. He indicated the latter. My frozen toes and I shuffled over to it, poured the most gigantic small coffee I’d ever seen in my life, and we made our way back to the register.

I placed the coffee on the counter and began searching for some money; he picked up the cup then moved it to the far end. I figured I must have been at the wrong, not-for-food-purchases register or something.

“Oh, my bad,” I said, and moved down to where he had placed it, continuing to rummage in my purse for a couple of dollars.

“No,” he said, waving his hand gently. 

I looked up at him. “No?” I repeated.

“You don’t need to pay,” he explained.

“What? Why?” I asked.

“It is cold outside. And it is only coffee. Please, no money.”

To say that his kindness warmed me more than the coffee had yet been able to sounds corny beyond belief, but it was such a small act of thoughtfulness that — as I sat outside, cradling the toasty cup and watching the fog race by overhead — I wondered what other everyday things we could easily make extraordinary by gifting them to others.

Today I am thankful for the reminder that kindness can live in the smallest, most unexpected of places. While it’s only coffee to one, it’s so much more to another.

Who will you be coffee for tomorrow?

Most of the bushes in the backyard, plus a few in the front, are getting torn out tomorrow. What started as a small desire to remove a scraggly, stray, weed-like plant that found its way under the fence from my neighbor’s yard has become a full-fledged overhaul of the flower beds.

Gone will be the remnants of rosebushes which, while still clinging to a bit of life, have seen better days. Gone will be a few dense bundles of fountaingrass whose shapes have taken on as much finesse and elegance as a hippie’s Woodstock-ready coif.

It’s speculated that the rosebushes have been there for 15 years. 15 years ago, I was 20. Mid-college. Two years out of high school. I drove a turquoise Colt that a close friend of mine fondly remembers as “the teal squealer,” I weighed 30 pounds less than I do now and I consumed disproportionate amounts of Del Taco. I was in the midst of switching my major from Journalism to Advertising, and I was likely on a quest then, as I am now, for “the perfect bra” to ring in a new year. (I fully expect that I will go 15 more years without finding it.) I played a number of Jewel songs somewhat decently on guitar, tried teaching myself HTML coding (I don’t recommend this) and wrote a lot of poetry and short stories.

Today, I still eat disproportionate amounts of Del Taco (I realize cutting back may address those 30 pounds), I avoid HTML or any other coding, don’t play guitar as much, the car is different, but I’m still writing.

The landscape has certainly changed, but that old fire inside still flickers.

As with anything the key to success will be what you do with something once the seed has been planted. Water it? Ignore it? Cut it back to allow for new growth? Train its vines to climb and grow in a certain direction? Starting over on a garden after 15 years and vowing to write every night for a year are two very different things. But they both need the right amount of attention to take root. With TLC, and maybe even a little luck, perhaps there will be something that takes root, flourishes and explodes into color and wonder that I can look back on proudly.

Tonight I am thankful for makeovers and fresh starts to things that have been there for a long time. It will be interesting to see how much they grow in a year’s time.

Or 15.