Close your eyes and make a scribble. Now open them and look for the picture that is hiding there, waiting to appear. Doodle it into reality. This is a great stress reducer! It is generous to your own soul and creativity.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Doodling Meanings: Doodle Rock
http://DoodleMeanings.com where you can discover the secret meanings of your doodling! This is just an exuberant doodle for fun!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
On being invisible!
I'm Invisible by Anon.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of
response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while
I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm
thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'
Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking,
or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the
corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The
invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix
this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to
answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to
order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books
and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated
summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut
butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's
gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the
return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back
from a fabulous trip and she was going on and on about the
hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the
others all put together so well.
It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I
looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I
could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a
hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter
in it.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a
beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't
exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her
inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness
of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I
would discover what would become for me, four life-changing
truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no
record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives
for a work they would never see finished. They made great
sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their
building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw
everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to
visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a
workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was
puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time
carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof?
No one will ever see it.'
And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.
It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you,
Charlotte . I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when
no one around you does.
No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no
cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile
over.
You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now
what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction.
But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure
for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote
to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective
when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who
show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on
something that their name will never be on. The writer of the
book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be
built in our lifetime, because there are so few people willing
to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the
friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My
mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and
then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and dresses all
the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine
or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home.
And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to
add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen
if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that
the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at
the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices
of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of
response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while
I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm
thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'
Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking,
or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the
corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The
invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix
this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to
answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to
order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books
and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated
summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut
butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's
gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the
return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back
from a fabulous trip and she was going on and on about the
hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the
others all put together so well.
It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I
looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I
could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a
hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter
in it.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a
beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't
exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her
inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness
of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I
would discover what would become for me, four life-changing
truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no
record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives
for a work they would never see finished. They made great
sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their
building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw
everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to
visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a
workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was
puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time
carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof?
No one will ever see it.'
And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.
It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you,
Charlotte . I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when
no one around you does.
No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no
cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile
over.
You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now
what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction.
But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure
for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote
to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective
when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who
show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on
something that their name will never be on. The writer of the
book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be
built in our lifetime, because there are so few people willing
to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the
friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My
mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and
then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and dresses all
the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine
or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home.
And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to
add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen
if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that
the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at
the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices
of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Making plans?
Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will not die, but long after we are gone be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistence.
-Daniel Hudson Burnham
-Daniel Hudson Burnham
Monday, February 4, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
how do you use your long handled spoon?
with the Lord one day and said.
"Lord, I would like to know what
Heaven and Hell are like.
The Lord led the holy man to two
doors.
He opened one of the doors and the
holy man looked in. In the middle of
the room was a large round table. In
the middle of the table was a large pot
of stew, which smelled delicious and
made the holy man's mouth water
The people sitting around the table
were thin and sickly. They appeared to
be famished. They were holding
spoons with very long handles that
were strapped to their arms and each
found it possible to reach into the pot
of stew and take a spoonful.
But because the handle was longer
than their arms, they could not get the
spoons back into their mouths.
The holy man shuddered at the sight
of their misery and suffering.
The Lord said, "You have seen Hell.
They went to the next room and
opened the door. It was exactly the
same as the first one. There was the
large round table with the large pot of
stew which made the holy man's mouth
water. The people were equipped with
the same long -handle d spoons, but here
the people were well nourished and
plump, laughing and talking. The holy
man said, "I don't understand.
It is simple," said the Lord.
"It requires but one skill. You see
they have learned to feed each
other, while the greedy think only
of themselves."
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