The Saturday Journal: Happy

There's a worn path in my back yard--it's still there. I can't seem to walk any other way. It leads out to my field beside my house--the field where the neighbor kids and my Daddy would meet up in the evenings or on Sunday afternoons and play a highly competitive game of baseball. The bases are gone--there's a couple of trees still standing.

A few apple trees that feed the deer adorn the field--along with sunflowers and baby grapevines and a row of lavender bouncing in the wind--waiting for next spring to bloom for the first time. My grandparents used part of this field as their garden--I remember it well.

I wore out this path going back and forth to check the chickens in my little coop. The chickens aren't there anymore--the coop's gone and I miss them dearly--not so much the coop--but my chickens. You see, I was hurt and I made a hasty decision--the wrong decision. I sold the coop and what chickens I had left.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon and I let the girls out of their coop--they had been out several times before. They were so content in the grass--the flowers--pecking around for worms and bugs. I had to leave the house for just a little while--I wasn't going to be gone long.

And when I came home, my hens were scattered in my front and back yard--it looked like a massacre--in broad daylight. One of my neighbors brought one of my girls to me--they found one in their yard. They offered to bury her for me. I'll never forget their kindness. They don't live there any more. I miss them.

A few of my chickens did survive--made it back to the safety of the coop. It was my fault. It was the attacker's fault. And it weighed heavy on me. Those chickens brought me a lot of joy and I believe deep down they were happy too.

I would love to get more chickens one day--try again. However, I keep allowing that one hard thing--a worry I believe will happen again--steal my joy.

I have heard this statement more than once from others--from my own lips--"I've always wanted to do that, but....." We tend to do that--more times than we want to admit, don't we? Allowing those "buts" to hinder us--a past disappointment or two-- self-doubt--trials--circumstances, or someone else's opinion--the list goes on.

A few weeks back my granddaughter who is a dancer--she had these new pointe shoes. And the shoes needed ribbons and elastic--custom fitted--especially for her. So we watched these videos and cut and measured and I messaged my niece who does this sort of thing for her girls at her dance studio--asking for advice. And after a few hours, frustration set in for both of me and my granddaughter, along with being tired.

I said, "I'll take the shoes home with me--watch the video again--later when I'm not so tired and and I'll be back tomorrow--same time." And as I was cleaning up--gathering up our sewing supplies she walked back into the kitchen with tears in her eyes and handed me a note--written on a napkin, "To: Granna, my dreams are crushed. I want to be a pointe dancer and now I can't!"

I read the note and then scrunched it into a ball and crammed it into my pocket. I gave her a hug and said, "It's just a pair of shoes--It's not the shoes that will stop your dream. We can do this. And oh yeah, I'm throwing this note away."

Honestly my granddaughter and I were stressing over it too much. Letting something simple get in the way of her happy--her purpose. It took us a few more hours--a little each day and we got it done! She did it! She did most of the sewing!

And the note, I didn't throw it in the trash. I'm keeping it to show her one day--as a reminder that dreams don't depend on the perfection of the seams.

I was spending the day with my grandson and I tell him we are going to a special place for lunch--a restaurant he had never been before. We walk in and find our table. He is smiling--his head on a swivel--turning in his chair as he looks at all the murals and artwork on the walls-- NASCAR and baseball photos--local scenes of Wilkesboro and North Wilkesboro. He looks at me--still smiling and I say, "It's pretty cool in here isn't it." And he replies, "I feel happiness in here. A lot of people are happy."

And me, sitting there in this diner thinking, I've been here hundreds of times. And today, I'm really seeing it for the first time and it will never be the same.

It was miserably hot on this early morning and I decided to go and play pickleball with the morning group--I hadn't been in a while. The "numbers group" is what I call them. Each player receives a number and you are paired up with other numbered people and play for as long as you want to play. And there he sat--quiet and humble--patiently waiting for his number to be called. I was surprised to see him there. I believe many of us were.

This gentleman--he's battling cancer. And he's been through test after test--procedures--radiation and chemo. And just this week had major surgery and following his surgery is a long road of recovery to come. I ask you--please pray for him.

And on this morning in the blistering heat--there he was--playing--an inspiration for all of us to see--shining as a beacon of strength and courage--still choosing hope--still choosing happy.

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All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.