I don’t quite know what cleared the decks for this spate of productivity. Perhaps the moon and stars are aligned just so. Perhaps it’s fear and panic. Perhaps it’s just that it was darned well time.  I told myself, as I have before, that as long as I can focus on my screen, I can block out the visual noise that is the clutter on my desk and behind my back. This is hard for me. I seem to have a brain that receives input all the time, from everything. How I envy people who can shut out extraneous audible and visual clutter and hone in on one thing!  I have very few good built-in filtering systems. I could never work in the closed-off graduate student section of the library because it was too quiet. I heard the scritch of every pencil, the rustle of each page-turn, the cough of the guy in the back right corner, the opening of the backpack zipper two tables behind me and to my right. Each sound was so perfect, so isolated, so intrusive.  Put me in the coffee shop, though, with all the ambient noise, but very little directional noise, and I was fine. (This was in the decades before cellphone conversations became ubiquitously intrusive.)

Whatever the source of this latest bout of focused and creative energy, I am grateful to it and for it.  I have more items on The List, of course. AND, I have these particular things well in hand. They’re not finished. Some of them will always be works in progress. They are, however, begun and begun well. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is just begin well. Not knowing the end, not having the exact result in mind before beginning, not seeing the destination through the fog, sometimes the best thing we can do is take a step. Then another.  This is not rocket science. It is, I find, something that’s easy to forget.

Several years ago, when I was driving the back roads of northern Wisconsin, I saw a doe cross the highway in front of me. I slowed down for her and saw that behind her came a very young, maybe even brand-new, fawn. The fawn was walking slowly behind his mother, on skinny wobbly legs that didn’t look like they’d been used very often. He did okay on the pavement, but when he got to the shoulder, the difference between the paved surface and the gravel and the slightly steeper grade made him lose his footing. He went splat! Completely down. Lost his legs from underneath him and splayed them out to the sides. And then he got up, wobbled some more, and followed his mom into the unknown. I wish I’d had a camera that day. And maybe I didn’t really need one. The image has stayed with me clearly.

So, for Days 14 and 15, I’m thankful for first steps. Wobbly first steps. Confident first steps. Leaping first steps. High-jump first steps. Cliff-diving first steps. For all the first steps.

Today, Day 16, is a Friday, which means a nod to the Fiber Arts Friday gang.  I finished one more scarf for the United Church of Christ Scarf Project, whose goal is to have 3000 rainbow-themed scarves knit by our General Synod (national meeting) this July in Long Beach. The scarves are to draw attention to the problem of violence in our society, particularly, but not limited to, bullying.  I’ve made five so far and am working on a sixth. That may be it for a while as I feel the urge to get something besides Red Heart between my fingers again. Here are some pics of my work so far (ends not yet woven in, don’t judge me!)

I cast on a sixth one last night which will be the same pattern and yarn as the diagonal one with the more muted tones. I’m making it a little narrower so that I get more length out of it. It’s an easy pattern to work during football games and other long-sitting events – just enough to concentrate on, but not enough complexity to lose my way.

I think it’s fascinating how the yarn pooled so differently in the two “My Garter Slipped” scarves (one on the right side of the left photo and the other in the center of the right photo).  I’m also reminded, looking at the photos, of how different the long view can be from a close-up. The Diagonal Garter Stitch Scarf (available as a free Ravelry download) on the left side of the right-hand photo is so much more watercolor-y and heather-y than it looks from close up, where you can see all the color-changing rows that don’t always seem to blend so well. From a distance, you just see color that glides and sashays smoothly across the scarf.

I think there’s a lesson in that. 

So on Day 16 of the 30 Days of Gratitude, I’m grateful for the gift of distance and perspective. May I remember this gift and use it in many more places and ways.

What are you grateful for today?

Sometimes, life gets in the way of The List. Dealing with recurrent back pain last week meant that some of the hours that could have been devoted to The List were spent on my recliner or in bed, knocked out by Tylenol with Codeine. Less pain to be sure. But also less gain.

Saturday, Day 10 of this month of gratitude, was a day with no appointments, nowhere I had to be. I had to put together the worship service, music, and sermon for Sunday. It took longer than usual because of the mental and physical distraction of the back/leg pain. Frequent breaks for stretching out, icing, and heating took my mind away from my task. That day I was grateful for the openness of my schedule that allowed me to do just what I needed to do. I was also grateful that I could give myself permission to let my housekeeping be in chaos a bit longer in order to meet that 9:00am Sunday deadline. (I admit that giving myself this kind of permission is quite often easier than perhaps it should be!)

Sunday, Day 11, I did well through the worship service and then kind of crashed during coffee hour. Driving home was a test in itself. I was grateful for low traffic on a Sunday morning. I will admit that I did not feel a lot of gratitude every time one of those lights turned red and delayed my homecoming. The rest of the day was kind of lost. I was grateful that it was the Packers bye week so I didn’t have to miss a game. I was also grateful for science, chemistry, and medicine that helped to take the pain away. And for the old standbys of ice packs and moist heat packs. Those are perhaps humdrum things to blog about. And they were what made Sunday a tolerable day.

Monday, Day 12, I saw my chiropractor’s partner since my chiro was still out of town. The difference was amazing. More cold and more heat that afternoon got me ready to go to St. Paul to see Bruce Springsteen.  The Boss. I’d never seen him in concert before. I was so grateful that I could drive an hour and a half, spend 4 hours at the concert venue (he started 50 minutes late, but played for three hours!), and drive an hour and a half home. The difference a day and an adjustment makes.  So gratitude goes out for the chiropractor.

And gratitude goes out for The Boss. The concert was an amazing event. Sure there were fans and people who loved Springsteen. And Springsteen loved us. People who knew the music better than I led the singing when Bruce just shoved the microphone at the house and said, “You guys go ahead and start this one.” He trusted the floor crowd to hold him up as he stood and did a trust-fall into their raised hands and let them crowd-surf him up to the main stage. He strutted with his guitar along the low stage apron and let them play his guitar strings and drum their hands on the guitar body. It was like communion as the crowd and the performer became one. It may have lacked the liturgy and the setting, but it was in its own way a sacred act. Beautiful. Just beautiful. So, I’m grateful that those images and that experience are now a part of my memory bank.

Tuesday, Day 13. It’s hard to choose. Great client calls today and a lovely time of re-connection with my Leadership tribe mates on our monthly tribe call.  My biggest gratitude, though, was when my dog, Tiki, put her head on my leg about 3:30 and clearly wanted something. Between the run-up to the election and the recovery therefrom, Tiki hadn’t been getting walked much lately. When I got home from the concert last night at 1:15am, I let her out of her crate and watched as she ran laps around the living room, hallway, and my bedroom like a crazy dog. This afternoon, I looked at the beautiful clear sky and the crisp, just above freezing temperature, and knew it was time to get back to the dog park. When we got there, Tiki’s favorite place, she ran and ran and ran. She found other dogs and ran with them. She ran to them across the park and then, because I wanted her to run some more, ran back to me when I called. It’s a 10-acre park. I did three laps around the outside and Tiki ran across and around it probably more laps than that. She’s been crashed out ever since.

So today, I am grateful for the dog park and the joy it brings to my dog and, through her joy, to me.

I’m taking a marvelous business-building class for solo entrepreneurs from a company called Inspired on Demand.  I love the idea of being able to find or tap into inspiration on demand. Generally, when I most need inspiration, I’m least in the headspace or position to find it. Isn’t that usually the case? The reason we need something is that we don’t have it to begin with. Now, I know that I can call on these folks or on the work they’ve given us to do and reconnect with the inspiration that comes from living out the values and purpose that I know are mine.

One of the homework assignments I’ve been working on for this teleclass is to make a vision board of what I believe my life will look like three years from now. What will I be doing? Who will I be doing it with? What will be important to me? What will my work look like? How will I balance out my work and play? What are the quotes and images that inspire me or reflect these priorities?  It’s been great fun to look through my photos, notes, and memories to find the external sources of inspiration and to look inward to find the spiritual, intellectual, and emotional sources that well up within.

There’s a picture of two hands knitting, of course. I have to have the knitting in there. That goes along with a tag that says “I knit people and purpose together.”  I love that image because I love to connect people to their purpose and watch them discover what’s possible for them. It’s such a charge for me and, I always hope, for them.

That brings me to gratitude. I really am so thankful for the work I am privileged to do as a coach. I’m grateful to the people who trust me with their journeys, their hopes and dreams, their stuck places and inner critics. I delight in the energy that comes when we start clicking and the ideas start coming or when they take in a big breath and a gulp when I’ve asked a question that lands just right and shifts their frame a bit. I’m grateful for the excitement that comes when we’ve worked to set a big, hairy, audacious goal and they meet it. So those are some of the things I’m grateful for today.

And knitting. I’m grateful for knitting — for the smooth rhythm of the motion of the needles, for the productive activity it gives me so I don’t feel like I’m completely wasting time when I’m watching fluff on TV, for the sense of accomplishment when I finish a project. The life and work I have are such that most things for work are never really done. Knitting lets me finish something. And that feels good.

Another thing I can finish is this post. So I will!

The folks at 30 Days of Thanks have started a list of bloggers, Twitterers, and others who have agreed to put gratitude front and center every day through the month of November. There are about 20 Facebook pages for “30 Days of Gratitude” and another 20 or so for “30 Days of Thankfulness”. Do a web search and you’ll find even more. It’s a good time to remember that there is always reason to give thanks.

Here’s my catch-up list.

November 1: I was grateful for a tremendous mutual support call with a new colleague and classmate in an online teleclass I’m taking. Her good humor, ideas and listening helped me move forward with some things I’ve been a bit stuck on that will be valuable to my life and coaching practice.  That evening, I was grateful to be able to be part of a process that may well change the way we think about civic engagement and participation in the community where I live. This is an area of great excitement for me.

November 2: Debbie has been cutting my hair for nearly all of the ten years since I moved back to Eau Claire. I’m grateful for her mad skillz, her always-cheerful disposition, and the fact that she makes my hair look good, even though I stopped coloring it and started letting the gray come out.

November 3: As I volunteered at Democratic Headquarters this afternoon, checking in volunteers and helping to get all the great food donations out to our canvassing staging areas, I was grateful for people who join their efforts to their passions and volunteer in our democracy’s electoral endeavors.

November 4: The tiny church I serve as pastor is facing the very difficult decision of whether to close or not and, if not, how to stay alive in some kind of a different way to be church. I am grateful for the love and compassion these folks have for each other, their incredible sense of community, and their ability to face an almost-certain loss of the church that some of their forebears helped to found with honesty, truth, and grace.

November 5: Another volunteer afternoon for the Democrats. I was grateful for the flexibility and commitment of volunteers who had signed up to make phone calls and were willing to be flexible to go out, walk some neighborhoods, and leave doorhanger cards, instead.  Also for the person who made the delicious Chicken Pot Pie Enchiladas and the beef stew.

November 6: Election Day. In addition to being a volunteer before the elections, I’m also a poll worker on Election Day. As I watched lines of college students wait to register or change their addresses and then wait in another line to vote, I was grateful for their desire to participate in our democracy.  I was grateful for the crew of people I work elections with (and we have had a LOT of elections in Wisconsin recently) who have a real commitment to making sure that things run smoothly, people get to vote, are not intimidated, and maintaining the integrity of our city’s elections. Regardless of party affiliation, and the law requires that we have approximately equal number of people who identify as Republicans and Democrats, we all work together because we believe that everyone who is eligible to vote should be able to. I’m grateful for that.

November 7:  This blog is on my business website, and there are those who would say that expressing partisan political sentiments may not be the wisest thing ever. I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. On this day after the election, I am grateful that Barack Obama will continue as my president, Tammy Baldwin will be my senator, Ron Kind will continue as my congressman, and Dana Wachs will be my assemblyman. I’m also grateful that four states voted for marriage equality, that all the politicians who took the crime of rape so lightly will not be returning to Washington, and that all kinds of issues that I believe are essential to the country I call home will go forward.

I’m also grateful that in the state of Wisconsin, which has been beset by electoral politics for nearly two years, with the recall elections and all, we will finally have a break for awhile and we can get back to ordinary idiotic commercials on TV instead of political idiotic commercials on TV.

November 8: Which brings me to today. I’m grateful that the backache I got from working at the polls is receding. I’m grateful for my good friends, who have invited me to go see the killingly funny and smart David Sedaris tonight. And I’m grateful for learning about this project.

I’ve always liked the research phase better than the writing phase of anything. I used to say it was because I was a procrastinator, and, while that’s true, it’s also because I couldn’t stop trying to find new things that might just push my idea from okay to amazing. This shouldn’t surprise me. The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator says I’m an ENFP; one of my StrengthsFinder strengths that has shown up both times I’ve taken it is Input (always collecting interesting things/ideas); my Co-Active® Leadership type is Eccentric; and I’m a Scanner, not a Diver. Eventually, though, there needs to be focus. I can’t keep all this brilliance to myself, right?

Stories from the world call to me, too. I’m deeply interested in the political climate of the country and the elections, so keeping up on those feels important. The Olympics always intrigue and move me, and I found a way to circumvent NBC’s monopoly and watch them on the BBC, which actually showed athletes from countries other than the USA, if you can imagine that. They were a welcome oasis in the midst of all the violence in the news.

There has been so much violence lately. Big violence. Large-scale violence. Hate-filled violence. The movie theater in Aurora, Colorado. The Sikh Temple in Oak Brook, Wisconsin. Shootings near Texas A&M. The Empire State Building today. There are more.

And that doesn’t even touch the violence we live with on a daily basis with war in Afghanistan, domestic violence, rape, bullying, gay-bashing, and so many more violent expressions. It’s easy to look at all that and spiral into despair and hopelessness. Can we change? Will we change? What will it take?

I know the answer is not as simple as “it will take knitting.” Heaven only knows, I wish it were. Some of my fellow church members in the United Church of Christ have a vision, though. I’ve written about The Scarf Project before on previous Fiber Arts Friday posts, and I’ll probably do so again. It’s why I’m still knitting scarves out of Red Heart yarn in this bright rainbow colorway, even though I really don’t like the yarn or the color. I’ve made two so far, and I’m on my third. I have one more skein of yarn left; one more scarf. We hope to have 3000 of them so that the delegates and visitors to our General Synod meeting in Long Beach, California next summer can share and wear them to draw attention to the hugely destructive personal and societal force that violence of any kind always is.

We accept violence too easily. We pour out our shock and outrage over the obvious acts, while turning our jaded eyes and calloused hearts to smaller violent occurrences in the speech or actions of others. I confess that I watch television shows and movies that are replete with explosions, gunfire, and dead bodies. Sure, I cheer for the good guys and I even experience some kind of catharsis when they solve the problem of the bad guys’ violent acts with violence of their own.

I also, usually against my better judgment, read comments on articles online. People very often say vile things under the cloak of anonymity. It’s a kind of bullying toward a target they don’t even know. It is a violent act, and it is accepted and built-upon by many others.

I know there has to be a different way to be. I know there are other perspectives to find. I’m a coach — finding new perspectives is one of my stocks-in-trade! That’s part of the stew I’m making as I stare out the window, read another article or book, take Tiki to the dog park, or knit a rainbow-colored scarf to help someone else begin to become aware of a new angle, a new approach, and new way to recognize the violence all around us and begin to find a way to stand for transformation and hope, for justice and peace.

Sue Orfield, playing with purpose

I saw the Sue Orfield Band for the first time last August at Tuesday Night Blues at the Owen Park Bandshell in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.   I was blown away by this amazing blues-jazz-rock band (depending on who’s describing it), fronted by a female sax player.  How many of those can there be?  I knew I needed to find out more about this woman who was so clearly playing on purpose.

One day in fifth grade as Sue Orfield rode the bus to school in Menomonie, Wisconsin,  she heard something making beautiful music on the radio. She had no idea what the instrument was, but she knew she wanted to play it. When she asked her brother if he knew what it was, he told her it was a saxophone and a big one, at that.

She’d been playing piano since she asked her parents for piano lessons in first grade. Some parents would have thought she was too young or wouldn’t practice. Not hers. She had the kind of parents who really wanted to support whatever their kids wanted to do, in first grade or in life.  She started lessons and loved to practice and play.  And then she heard that saxophone. She marched into the band room and said “I want to play the saxophone.”  She had no idea what it even looked like, but it had called her.  She started off on a full-sized tenor sax and never looked back.  She was born to play sax.

She admits to some doubts in high school, having noticed that “Pretty much everyone I liked to listen to at that point in life were ‘black and men and dead.’ I was a living white woman, and it didn’t take me very long to decide those were unimportant things. Of course I can.  I can do this. I never really questioned it.”

It wasn’t until she went off to college at Lawrence University and was around other people who were like her that she decided to make her life as a musician, though.  After she earned bachelor’s degrees in music and math, she moved to Seattle, worked a bunch of support jobs, and then decided to be a full-time musician, teaching individual students and performing around the area.

When I asked her about her life purpose, she said simply and sincerely, “I believe my life purpose is to play music for the sake of the joy that it brings to me and others. My coming back to Wisconsin sent me back down a more spiritual path.  I started over here eight years ago, when no one knew who I was.  It felt like an amazing second chance, and it’s been phenomenal.  I now always ask the question, ‘Is this the right thing to be doing?’  I think that my life purpose has grown.  I’ve never questioned that I was supposed to be playing music. But it has grown.  I think it’s about the joy.  Sometimes I wondered if that’s enough. I’ve never really been one to use my art for political reasons or for others’ agendas.  It’s about the joy for me.  I play when I can.  I give my music away when I feel like it’s the right thing to do, which is all the time.”

Last night, The Sue Orfield Band opened this summer’s Tuesday Night Blues series.  I watched Sue onstage and, though there were no lights at this outdoor concert other than those that illuminated the bandshell, it seemed as though she had a follow-spot on her all night.  Even when it was another band member’s time to shine, as each one did throughout the evening, Sue’s presence filled the stage and drew the eye.  Her purpose, to create and give joy through music, could not have been more evident.  And when she played, there was no standing still.  She dances with the sax as the music pours out.  Whether she’s channeling her “Inner Pippi” with a melody that’s pure fun or letting her soul and compassion pour forth in “Fight the Good Fight,” which she dedicates to those fighting cancer, there is joy in the playing and joy in the gift.

Whether she’s talking about the amazing experience of flow that happens onstage when the musicians are in perfect connection with each other and with their music and the audience is in perfect connection with them or about the need for more of that connection in the world, Sue is vitally present in the moment, engaged and filled with tremendous heart.  And whether she’s playing the saxophone with all her being or playing her part in life and the world as a bringer of joy, Sue Orfield is playing on purpose.

Talk about the “joy and power of living on purpose”!  Wow.

“You’re here to love.”

Margaret Trost and some of the children from the What If? Foundation food program.

The words came in a whisper to Margaret Trost as she sat in a pew at St. Clare’s Church in the Ti Plas Kazo neighborhood of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. She stared at the back-wall’s painting of Jesus that her brother had created on a previous visit, disheartened because all her efforts seemed insufficient to fill the ever-present needs of the people she was with and asking “Why am I here?” That day she’d seen a man dead and abandoned in the street, watched helplessly as the food program she had founded ran out of food with hungry children still in line, and become overwhelmed with the needs of these people in the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere. The words bubbled up inside her with certainty and conviction: “You’re here to love.”

When asked what she believes her life purpose is, Margaret now simply says, “I’m here to love.” She lives that out every day in her work on behalf of the people of Haiti.

On a warm September evening in 1998, when she was 34 years old, Margaret Trost sat on the front porch of their home with her husband. They talked and watched the sunset. Some unknown allergen triggered an asthma attack in her husband, and five minutes later he was dead. Devastated and numb, she stumbled through the first few months of young widowhood, taking care of her son and trying to find meaning in her husband’s death. She looked for “signs” and found them all over the place. She prayed, felt reassured of God’s presence, and still suffered.

Eighteen months later, Bryan Sirchio, a musician and minister in Wisconsin, invited her to go on a trip of “reverse mission” to Haiti. He’d been traveling to Haiti for several years, working to promote justice for Haitians and raising awareness of their poverty-stricken condition back home as he traveled about doing concerts, retreats, and worship services. It was called a trip of “reverse mission” because it was meant to bring about transformation in the lives of the participants, awakening them to the needs of the desperately poor people in Haiti by volunteering in hospitals and other organizations and teaching them about Haitian history, politics, and economics with the help of several speakers in the evening.

New, and already ripped and leaking, tent canopy for the nutrition program.

Margaret tells the whole story very movingly in her book On That Day, Everybody Ate: One Woman’s Story of Hope and Possibility in Haiti. Transformed by her experience and her meeting with Father Gerry Jean-Juste at St. Clare’s Church in Port-au-Prince, she heard his vision of a food program that would feed the children of St. Clare’s. She caught the vision and knew she had a new purpose. Upon her return home, she spoke to her parents about Fr. Gerry’s hopes and dreams. Her parents had raised her with a personal foundation in compassion and social justice as full expressions of the Christian faith from the time she was a child. Within a week, her father, the Rev. Dr. Frederick Trost, then the Minister and President of the Wisconsin Conference United Church of Christ, called her to say that a check for $5000 that the Conference had sent to a food pantry had just been returned because the food pantry had closed. Since it was designated for food, it could be used for a food program in Haiti. They sent the check. Within just a few weeks, Fr. Gerry wrote back to say that they were already feeding 200 children every Sunday and hoped to expand to 500. Within two months of her first visit to Haiti, Margaret had found a new expression of purpose.

The food program continues to run in Ti Plas Kazo. Her motto became the Haitian expression Fr. Gerry taught her: “Piti piti na rive. (Little by little we arrive)” In 2001, Margaret formed the What If? Foundation to provide more structure to the work of raising money to support it. For many years, she was the president, secretary, fundraiser, volunteer coordinator, spokesperson, thank-you letter writer, and everything else. The program has survived a coup d’etat, a hurricane, and Haiti’s devastating earthquake in January, 2010. In fact, when the earthquake hit, the food program funded by the What If? Foundation was able, through contacts and resources they’d put in place over the years, to get food to people faster and better than many other groups. They served thousands of meals a day in the aftermath of the earthquake, totaling about 250,000 meals in all of 2010. The program was and is a constant sign of hope. Today, the What If? Foundation is the sole source of funding for up to 5,500 meals a week (operating daily now, instead of only on Sundays), over 200 school scholarships, an after school program for 240 youth, and a summer camp for 550 children.  Piti piti na rive, indeed.

The food program's meals are now served under this canopy. The holes make it a rather wet experience now that the rainy season has come.

Things change. Fr. Gerry, the big-hearted priest with the expansive vision and the deep concern for the poor, succumbed to leukemia in 2009. The new priest does not share Fr. Gerry’s vision and has evicted the food program from the St. Clare’s rectory. They continue to function, currently serving 5,500 meals a week under this leaky tent canopy from an open kitchen on the side of a house.  Their commitment to serve the Ti Plas Kazo neighborhood is unwavering.  You can read Margaret’s report from her visit in early May 2012 here.

Now Margaret Trost has a new task, a new undertaking. Her role with the foundation is changing a bit, and her new project is to raise $700,000 for a permanent building that will house the food program. It’s a new trail for her to blaze, a new way to focus her work. Soliciting major gifts is different than the kind of fundraising she has done for the foundation. It will call forth new learning and require new skills. Her purpose continues to move her, keeping her focused on bringing her vision to fruition. That’s the joy and power of living on purpose.

And of loving on purpose.

—————-

For more information about Margaret’s work in Haiti or to make a tax-deductible donation, visit the What If? Foundation website and read her book, On That Day, Everybody Ate: One Woman’s Story of Hope and Possibility in Haiti

For more information on finding and living your own life purpose, schedule a no-obligation sample coaching session using the scheduler in the right-hand column.

Tiki's new sock is on her back right foot. It stayed there just long enough to take the picture.

I went out one day to see a beautiful year-old black lab. He about took my arm off when we walked and I realized he was too much dog for me at this point in my life.  They let me go back into the kennel and get to know the other dogs.  Two had come in that weren’t on the website yet, an adorable pug and the little girl on the right.  They say she’s Cairn Terrier mixed with who-knows-what.  The vet thinks maybe beagle because she so long-bodied.  I think there’s a little black lab in her face.  The shelter had named her “Felicity.”  She captured my heart.  She came home with me two days later.  She hadn’t been answering to “Felicity,” so I was free to rename her.  A Facebook dog-naming contest yielded many fine and not-so-fine-but-funny suggestions.  ”Tiki” won the day.

She’s a wonderful, cuddly, affectionate and — according to her initial vet checkup — remarkably healthy dog, considering she was an unclaimed stray.  But one day, I noticed that she was licking and biting her feet a lot, and my Canine Advisory Council on another online forum recommended another vet visit. We left with antibiotics and ointments and shampoos to combat pododermatitis.

"I do not like the Cone of Shame."

The vet suggested I keep her from licking her foot, maybe by putting a baby sock on it.  If worse came to worst, he said, try the Cone of Shame. She’s been pretty good about not licking her foot, especially when I make her stop, but I decided to try a sock just in case.  Not wanting to go out to buy baby socks, I turned to the yarn stash.  I spent last night knitting her a little dog booty.   Since then, she has been willing to wear it for approximately two minutes, one of which was patiently waiting for me to take the picture of her wearing it.

It’s a good excuse to practice detachment from outcome.  I knit because I like the process of knitting.  I like having something to do while I watch TV, sit in meetings, or listen to music.  The motions are soothing, the fiber feels good, and I can occasionally point to a finished product and say, “Look!  I made that!”   Sometimes people use the knitted objects I give them; sometimes they probably don’t.  While I love to delight others with gifts they’re going to love, I don’t always hit the mark.  Not everyone who has received the fruits of my knitting labor has adored them.  I knew there was a far better than even chance that Tiki would scorn my gift.  (She probably also resented the knitting process itself since it takes my attention away from her, but I digress.)  I made the sock anyway.  I made it because I wanted to try it.  I made it because it felt good to try to help my adorable new housemate.  I didn’t get the first-choice outcome I desired:  she did not like the sock.  And, I still got all kinds of great outcomes.

If there’s a lesson in this, that’s it.  There’s always something more.  If I don’t get what I think I’m supposed to get out of something, I’ll still get something out of everything.  It’s a choice I can make.  If I think I’m only supposed to get one thing, in this case a dog who would wear this sock and stop licking her wound, I’m going to be disappointed if I don’t get that.  That’s scarcity thinking.

Finding the good things I did get out of it?  That’s abundance thinking.  I’d rather live with abundance than scarcity, any day.

"My Garter Slipped" Scarf

In other knitting news, I started a scarf for the UCC Scarf Project with the Red Heart that was requested.  I think I’d still rather be working in the colorway that was actually requested, Primary, but I couldn’t find that one.  This one is a little too “in your face” for me, but I do love the way the colors are pooling with this slipped-stitch pattern.  It makes the relatively short repeats seem longer.

I’m learning from this project, too.  There’s a lesson here for me in staying open to an experience even though I don’t really like much about how it starts. I don’t like the feel of this yarn, and I’m not crazy about the colorway.  And, as I knit, I know there is a greater purpose.  These scarves will be collected and taken to the General Synod (national meeting) of the United Church of Christ next July, where they will be part of an initiative to raise awareness about violence in its many forms.  As I knit this scarf, in its rainbow of colors, I find myself praying for peace and for freedom from violence for all those who are so affected by it.

Knitting is often a gateway to meditation for me.  When I’m knitting for someone else, they are present in my thoughts and in my whole self in a different way than usual.  My mind visualizes them, my heart opens to them, my finger fly for them, and beauty begins to emerge.  It turns out that I am more committed to all of that than to my yarn aesthetics.

That about wraps up this Fiber Arts Friday.

Thanks to all the kind Fiber Arts Friday bloggers who welcomed me so warmly last week on my first FAF effort!

Right now, I have some confusion in my knitting life.  Tucked in various corners of my house are a couple of abandoned knitting projects, one in repair, one that feels stuck, one ready to start, and a stash of patterns and yarn waiting to be matched up.  I have a gallery of finished projects, most of which I’ve said goodbye to and sent on their way to the people for whom I made them.

It’s a metaphor for my life, I think.  I’m always running in a few directions at once.  There are always so many possibilities, so many interesting and creative things to do.  In my work life, which is the primary focus of this blog, I have my wonderful coaching clients, who give me the privilege of walking through the most interesting and “juicy” times of their lives as they work on discovering who they are, who they are becoming, what they want, and how they’re going to turn those desires into realities.  I also get to work with some amazing people with whom I co-create workshops, materials and other events designed to help develop people’s leadership in all parts of their lives.  I’m exploring how to become more engaged in my community through a couple of different initiatives in order to bring about the change I want to see in the world.  It’s fun and exciting and sometimes a little daunting.

What I haven’t been doing enough of lately is knitting.   I’ve been missing the rhythm of the needles, the fiber slipping through my fingers, the ability to start and finish something, take a picture of it, and know I’d accomplished something.

Cable Mittens from 101 Designer One-Skein Wonders in Malabrigo worsted

I got stuck on my left mitten.  The right mitten went fine.  I got almost all of it done during a five-day conference last June.  The left mitten?  Not so much.  You can see it in the picture.  I got the cuff done and I’m right up to where I need to start shaping the thumb gusset.  I changed the instructions to accommodate a different way of dividing the stitches on the needles (magic loop instead of DPNs, for the knitters among you), and now I don’t know how to adjust the instructions for what I’m doing.  So I just stopped.

How often do we do something like this?  Get part way through something, get stuck on it, and just stop.  I’ve done it more than once.  When I was talking to a friend today, though, I realized I could put in a “rescue line.”  In knitting, if you thread a piece of yarn through the loops you’re working on, it kind of marks your place and you can rip back to it if you make a mistake without worrying about ripping out the whole item.   It’s a marvelous thing that lets you go ahead and make mistakes.  It’s amazing permission to fail.  Permission to fail is always permission to learn.

How great would it be if we knew we had a rescue line in life?  We’d have something to tether us so that we could go ahead and risk big, forge ahead with something we don’t know how to do, do it as well as we can figure it out, and if we needed to, rip back to our starting point and try again.  No judgment, no beating oneself up, no need to fear anything.   We could really follow Yoda’s advice to Luke Skywalker when he said he’d try:  ”Do, or do not.  There is no try.”

The truth is, of course, that we have rescue lines all around us if we just look for them — friends, family, colleagues, community members come to mind immediately.  Those relationships, if they are truly supportive, can help keep us from falling too far when we’ve gone out into unfamiliar territory.  Our values provide an important structure and landing pad.  Remembering our life purpose, however we have defined it, re-orients us when we try and fail.  These are just a few of the rescue lines that are available to us, a few of the things that help us finish up our unfinished business.

Another lesson I’ve been learning from knitting this week is about creating something from less-than-desirable beginnings.  I’m in a group that is knitting scarves to raise awareness about violence among the attendees of the next General Synod of the United Church of Christ in July 2013.  We were asked to use Red Heart Super Saver yarn in a particular colorway.  I couldn’t find the desired colorway, so I bought something close and trust it will do.  It’s the fiber I’m not crazy about.  I don’t love the way it feels, and I’m not crazy about the colors (think primary colors on steroids).

Yarn for UCC Scarf Project

It’s for a good cause, though.  It’s for something bigger than my desires.  It’s also inexpensive and lets a lot of people participate.  And it washes easily.  I’m going to choose to let those practical reasons trump my personal preferences and start looking for the stitch patterns that will show off the brilliance of all those primary colors.  Wheeeeeee!!!

I’m eagerly awaiting learning what this project will teach me.

Defeat lived at the other end of the snow scoop I had borrowed from my next-door neighbor. Last night’s snow  was only about 6″ deep, but it was heavy. Really heavy. Back-breakingly heavy. Heart-attack heavy. I started with a path down the middle of the driveway, then got as far as the photo shows.

This is the first year since 1992 that I’ve shoveled snow at all. I compressed a couple of vertebrae in a car accident that winter. From that time on, I either found a neighbor kid who would shovel for me or lived in a parsonage where the church took care of it. The same was true with lawn care.

A couple of years ago, I began a diet and exercise program, lost a lot of weight, gained a lot of strength and drastically improved my fitness level. Mowing my own lawn and shoveling my own snow are victories for me.  I don’t always like doing them, but I rejoice in the fact that I can do them. I try to mow and shovel with gratitude for the way my body has responded to better care.

Not today, though. Today, the snow won. Today I was defeated.

So I had to exercise a different muscle. I had to stretch and strengthen my “asking for help” muscle. My neighbor across the street was shoveling and I yelled that this was the time I wished for a snowblower. She said, “We have one, but my husband thinks we need to have five feet of snow before he’ll fire it up.” I suggested she should let him know that this was five feet of snow, just all packed down!  She laughed and said she was going to tell him to fire it up when he got home and then come over and do my driveway.

When I returned the snow scoop to my other neighbor and admitted my defeat, he said he was going to play with his new snowblower after work and if my driveway still needed to be cleared, he’d do it for me.

I am constantly reminded of people’s good hearts and generosity, and of how much they truly want to help and give to others.

Why, then, is it so hard to ask for help?

It’s difficult for me to just say, “Can you come over with your snowblower and clear my driveway?”  I’m supposed to be self-sufficient, right?  And if I can’t do it, I should probably hire someone to do it for me, right?  It just seems so much easier to contract with someone to do something than it is to ask them to do it as a favor.  I’m so much better at helping than I am at asking for it.  I’m pretty good at accepting it if it’s offered, but asking for it directly, honestly, and not passive-aggressively is tough.  Like many people, I know how to drop hints until someone offers to help, but that’s not really the same thing as just plain asking.  I’m great at encouraging clients to ask for help; I’m just not always so good at taking my own medicine.

Asking for help shows my vulnerability.  It says to people that I can’t actually do everything in the world all by myself.  It’s easy to think of that as weakness.  It’s not.  It’s real.  I can’t do everything in the world all by myself.  Neither can you.  Neither can anyone.  I can, however, do some of it.  And my “some” may be different than your “some.”  And your “some” will be different than another person’s.  Joining together at our vulnerable places makes us all stronger.

People love to give.  Today, I’m going to let them.

How will you let someone give to you today?

Think about it and answer in the comments.