How many times in my life have I heard someone say, “Don’t sweat the small stuff?” Usually it’s meant to comfort me when I feel anxious about something that appears to be trivial to another or offered as an excuse or permission to fail to meet some expectation not shared by the person offering the solace. And there are scores of books written about not sweating the small stuff. You can purchase wall plaques, pendants, caps, key fobs, T-shirts, etc., all emblazoned with the phrase.
There seems to be a universal assumption that little things don’t matter. That unless something has monetary or political or social significance, it is not worthy of our time. But I think that little things do matter. So I will continue to sweat the small stuff.
After all, if the best things in life come in small packages then why not give them their proper attention and respect? The idiom, “The devil is in the details” implies that there is something hidden in the details; something that might seem simple at a first but will reveal itself to be more than expected.
I prefer the phrase “God is in the details”. The little things. Watching glimmering snowflakes cascading down from the sky. Taking a walk on a crisp fall day. The sweet smell of a summer rain. That first cup of coffee in the morning. A favorite book. Resting under a shady tree. Hearing a child’s laughter. Receiving a friendly smile. Or a soft touch. Or a kind word. Simple things perhaps but hidden inside each of these is comfort, joy and love. And I believe God is there, too.
So I’m sweating the small stuff. I will take the time to appreciate the details. I will hold the door for you. I will carry your load if you let me. I will set the table properly. I will use good penmanship. I will clean my house and mow my lawn. I will drive courteously. I will try to be a good citizen; a good neighbor; a good friend. I will say thank you and please and you’re welcome.
But more importantly I will say I love you. And I will say it again. And again. I want the gifts that I give to be wrapped literally and figuratively in all the beauty that I can muster. The gifts that I have to share may not be significant or of any financial value. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, my gifts are all just small stuff. But I will sweat them out. Anything less would have no meaning…
Peace,
Denis
I am a patriot. But sadly I’m afraid that patriotism has come to represent a pretty narrow political view by some. I don’t believe that God should bless America anymore than God should and does bless all nations. And yet I remain a patriot. To me this is the beauty of being an American. We are a pluralistic nation. We are richly diverse. We can disagree with one another. We can openly oppose the political views of elected officials and vote them out of office. We can peacefully assemble. We can protest. We have the right to freedom of speech and freedom of information.
When I was a boy times were simpler (or maybe our parents were naïve). But it seemed that we had lots of freedom and at least we felt safe. Certainly parents then didn’t have the fears that parents do today. We swam in creeks. We road our bikes EVERYWHERE. We drank from the garden hose and peed in the backyard. We played in open fields. We collected soda bottles and returned them to the A&P for the 2¢ deposit. My friends and I would save enough of the deposit money to buy a watermelon (the kind with seeds – the seedless ones hadn’t been invented yet) and we would cut it open on a summer day and gorge ourselves and spit the seeds on the ground. Perhaps that’s why summer makes me so happy. I can relive some of my youth with my grandkids. We can play ball in the backyard and eat watermelon and splash around in a wading pool.
A week or so ago the first egg hatched, followed by two more the following day. The fourth egg never hatched. I guess, such is nature. At first the three baby birds were just all eyes and beaks and fluff. Always with their necks outstretched, waiting for momma bird to deliver some sustenance. Momma bird would fly from rooftop to tree to ground and back and then do it all over again and again. She would pull worms from the ground and return to the nest only to fly away again in constant pursuit of food for her young.
Yesterday as I was looking into the nest, two of the babies jumped out! Then on to a branch and then onto the ground. Momma cardinal became hysterical. The squawking and flapping and flying around was startling to say the least. It was as if she was sounding an alarm. And indeed she had. Soon daddy cardinal was on the scene. Both appeared to be searching for their timid youngsters who had taken shelter in the rose and holly bushes in our front garden. They were like tiny sentries on guard. Desperately struggling to protect their young from what might lie ahead. This morning the nest was empty save for the un-hatched egg. The fledglings have officially “flown the coop”.
Now we have five grandchildren aged 12 to 1. Our beautiful baby Gwen turns one year old today. She’ll have her own “fledgling moments” soon enough as will her sisters and her cousins. I just hope I’m around to squawk and flap my wings as needed when the time comes.
But manners without kindness seem artificial and insincere. Think: Eddie Haskell or Nellie Olson. Hideous creatures who spoke sweetly but never lovingly. Saying “may I please” and “thank you” are hollow gestures if there is no true appreciation or respect being offered.
My favorite coffee cup was recently broken by the cleaning crew in my office. The appropriate apology and offer of replacement was extended but somehow it doesn’t seem enough. They’ll never be able to replace a 20 year-old Denny’s® cup that my sister gave me. I’m afraid my coffee will never quite taste the same. That cup gave me comfort and a sense of connection.
Growing up with a mother who is half French meant that we were treated to dessert with every meal – cakes, pies, cream puffs, cookies, brownies, puddings, whether it was deserved or not. What lucky kids we were! Sweet, rich, delicious, fattening desserts were just part of our life. Eating dinner (or lunch) was really just an exercise in getting to the reward of dessert. It wasn’t until I was nearly grown before I realized that our family was unique. Sadly not everyone had homemade desserts with each and every meal. Ever sadder, some folks didn’t even have store-bought dessert! Why not??? I still can’t understand nor explain that anomaly.
Nine years ago the most wonderful thing happened. My granddaughter Anna entered this world and captured my heart. Nothing has ever been the same since.
I’d like to make sense of this world. I’d like to make sense of this life. I’d like to impart some wisdom to those around me that might actually improve this world and their lives.
Today in addition to the professed Sisters, a group lay people who are “Partners in Mission” have joined to continue to bring reconciliation to our world. I’m honored to be a part of this mission. 
Journeying & Journaling 