writing

The Gift Exchange

| aeporterfield

Beth gathered up her belongings and hopped off the bus. She was loaded down with parcels, but she managed not to drop anything. The ride to school had been agonizingly long. Didn’t the driver realize how special today was? Beth ran up the steps into the ancient redbrick building that was her elementary school and made her way to her classroom.  Today was the day of the class Christmas party!

Inside the classroom was magical. A Christmas tree stood in one corner, lit up and decorated with ornaments the children had made. Beneath the tree lay the presents the students had brought for the gift exchange. Pushed to one side of the room, under a row of frosted windows, was a table laid out with all sorts of delicious cookies and candies. The room mothers had gone all out for the occasion, and Beth couldn’t wait for the festivities to begin. She placed her gift under the tree and walked back to the cloakroom to hang up her coat and hat. The room bustled with the excited chatter of the first and second graders.

Beth found her seat and listened attentively as her teacher Mrs. Bryant welcomed the children and laid out the plans for the day. First would be crafts, then games, a special snack, and finally the gift exchange. Beth eyed the gaily wrapped packages under the tree and wondered how she could possibly wait that long. What wonderful treasures were contained within the layers of paper and tape? If Mrs. Bryant was still talking Beth couldn’t hear her. She was transfixed by the sparkling tree and the piles of presents underneath, each package full of limitless possibilities. She was imagining picking each one up and shaking it when she was snapped back to reality by a room mother slapping an angel cut out on her desk. Craft time.

The next several minutes were a blur of glitter and glue. They were making angel tree toppers with photos of themselves for the faces. Wouldn’t their parents love these? So adorable. Beth stole another glance at the gift pile as she crossed craft time off of her mental checklist. Next came games, then snack, then the gift exchange. As the adults arranged the room for a game of musical chairs, some children talked excitedly of Santa, others complained of empty bellies. Even with all of the excitement, the time was passing much too slowly.

Game time. Beth took her seat and listened for the music. Alvin and the Chipmunks. She walked lazily around the circle, barely making it into a chair when the music stopped. She wasn’t so lucky the second time. No matter. She found that while everyone was distracted by the game, if she was very quiet she could slowly inch over to the Christmas tree. She scooted on her bottom until she sat right beside the presents. There were two piles, one for boy gifts, the other for girl gifts. She looked the boys’ gifts over. That one was clearly a football. This one was wrapped in Garfield wrapping paper. Kevin must’ve brought this one. Here was one wrapped in the funny papers. Beth felt sorry for whomever picked that one. She was trying to scoot over to the girls’ pile when she was startled by loud cheering. The game was over, Jennifer had won. The prize was one of those books of Lifesavers candies. Lucky Jennifer. Beth crossed game time off her list and made her way back to her seat for snack time.

The room mothers passed out snacks amidst a cacophony of jabbering children and Christmas music. Beth admired the treats on her plate. Cookies iced to look like snowmen, fluffy white divinity, nutty fudge… There was even a black licorice stick in her kool-aid.  She didn’t really like licorice, but it did make her drink more festive. Beth stirred her drink, all the while glancing covertly at the gift piles. She hadn’t gotten to properly investigate the girls’ presents. She licked absently at the icing on her cookie while appraising the gifts. Which one would she pick? That one was too small. That one looked like a monkey had wrapped it. There was her own gift, a fashion doll with long blonde hair and high heels. She knew someone would love that one. There were so many to choose from! How could she possibly know which one was best? She needed to get her hands on them. It wouldn’t be long now…

As the room mothers cleared away the children’s plates and cups, Mrs. Bryant explained the rules of the gift exchange.  The children’s names had been placed in a cup. When your name was drawn, you could go and choose a gift from the appropriate pile. You would take the gift back to your seat, and you absolutely WOULD NOT TOUCH IT until all of the gifts had been chosen. Everyone would open their gifts at the same time. Beth waited impatiently as one by one her friends were called upon to choose their presents. Kevin chose the football. Samantha chose the gift Beth had brought. Becky chose the one that looked like a monkey had wrapped it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Bryant pulled Beth’s name from the cup. Yes! Beth walked up the aisle to the tree and gazed upon the bounty underneath. She picked up one and gave it a little squeeze. It felt like a purse. She already had a purse. She put that one down and picked up another. She wrapped her hands around it and felt the contours of the package. This one felt like a pony. She had a collection of ponies at home. As she lay the pony down her eyes fell upon her prize. This was definitely the one. A rectangular package wrapped in pristine white tissue paper, topped off with a curly red ribbon. Beth picked up the present. It was a decent size, and heavy. It felt good in her hands. As she walked back to her seat with her treasure, her friend Kelly waved her down and excitedly mouthed the words, “I brought that one!” This just kept getting better and better…

Beth waited at her desk with her prize, fingering the curly red ribbon, until all of the presents had been chosen and Mrs. Bryant gave them permission to open their gifts. Instantly the room exploded with the joyous sounds of ripping paper and excited squeals of the boys and girls as they opened their cars and motorcycles, their baby dolls and ponies. Beth tore at the wrappings on her gift. Why won’t this stupid ribbon come off already?! Finally, after reducing the paper to shreds, Beth beheld her long awaited treasure…a stack of Little Golden Books about Jesus.

Wait. What?

Books? Was this a joke? Beth searched through what was left of the wrapping paper to see if maybe she had missed something, anything. Scratch and sniff stickers, coloring pages, anything. But there was nothing. Nothing but the Jesus books. This couldn’t be happening.

Beth looked around her at all the children enjoying their gifts. The boys racing their cars along the floor, the girls brushing their dolls’ hair. She looked over at Kelly and smiled weakly. Kelly had chosen the purse. The purse had been full of make up. Beth felt the tears stinging her eyes as she looked down at her books. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She picked up the book on top and stared at it. Her cheeks flushed hot with shame. She was supposed to love Jesus. After all, Christmas was Jesus’ birthday. Great. Not only did she not like her gift, she was going to Hell because of it. She looked over at Kelly again. Kelly was putting on sparkly lip gloss, completely oblivious to the fact that Beth was going to Hell. How could this be? Beth bowed her head and said a solemn prayer of apology to God and Jesus for not liking the gift. She hoped it was enough to save her soul. She then abandoned her gift and went searching for someone to share their toys with her.

Beth learned a very important lesson that day. Don’t be fooled by pretty wrappings, it is indeed what’s inside that counts. And she vowed she would never give a child a book for Christmas. Not ever.

 

The End

 

 

Gratitude

| aeporterfield

(If you didn’t know, I have a thing for acrostics.)

Giving thanks can

Radically increase

Abundance.

Thankful hearts

Inspire

Thoughtful gestures.

Understand this- if you

Desire peace,

Exude gratitude.

Gratitude is my umbrella in the rain, my shelter in the storm. Gratitude and compassion bring me back to center, remind me of what is important, and lift me out of despair.

I’ll count my blessings every day, and every day I’ll have more blessings to count.

Earthworms

| aeporterfield

** This is a repost from last June on my old blog. Thought I’d share it for a new audience. It’s quite appropriate with all the rain and mud we’ve been having lately.

I recently began an early morning walking routine. Up every morning at the crack of dawn, tennis shoes on, earbuds in, walking, walking, walking.  This has become my favorite time of the day. The solitude, the calm before the kids wake up, the fresh morning air… I love it.  My route is always the same. I have a 2.5 mile loop mapped out from my house, up the street, around the corner and back.  The view doesn’t change, really. I do enjoy the stretch of sidewalk beside the park, densely wooded with sunlight peeking through the trees. I like to smell the dirt and the cool, damp air. I would brave the trails through the forest, but one time one of my neighbors told me he saw bear scat back there and even though he was probably full of shit, I don’t play with bears. So I stick to the sidewalk.

While the sidewalk is happily bear-free, walking here can be very monotonous. Verging on boring, really, so I do little things to occupy my mind. I like to write haiku, so I’ll make up little verses about the things I see. For example,

Black widow spider

finish spinning your egg sac

I will walk away

or this one

turtle head peeping

come out of your shell for me

let me see your face

But mostly what I see are dried up crusty earthworms.

June was an exceptionally rainy month, and many earthworms were washed up onto the sidewalk to die, their bodies littering the path. I see them every day, and after a while I became sort of fixated on them. I think the weird combination of tramping on earthworm remains and reading a bunch of Shel Silverstein books with my kids is what inspired this piece.

Earthworms

by Amy Porterfield  🙂

It’s always the same

each time that it rains

the sidewalks are littered

with earthworm remains.

The life of an earthworm

is simple at best,

munching the soil

never stopping to rest.

But often it happens

when the rain comes down,

the worms come up

fearing they’ll drown.

Wriggling to the sidewalk

to catch their breath

completely unaware

of their looming death.

But here comes the sun,

ready or not!

Sighs weary Earthworm,

“My, but it’s hot!”

This photo has nothing to do with the story.
Either does this one.

Snow Day

| aeporterfield

Sleeping sweetly, snuggled down

wrapped in blankets, safe and sound

through the window sunshine peeks

house is quiet, mommy sneaks

to ready coats and hats and gloves

and breakfast for her little loves

Outside the world is dressed in white

soft as clouds and sparkling bright

lying in wait, the coming day

brings lots of fun and snowy play

make a snowball, then another

throw them at your older brother

Grab a sled and climb the hill

roll and tumble, slip and spill

build a snowman, dress him up

pour hot chocolate in a cup

come inside, put on dry clothes

warm up frozen hands and toes

read a book on Mama’s lap

stretch and yawn and take a nap

wake up, bundle up, and then

go out and do it all again.

© Amy Porterfield 2015

Be happy and do good

| aeporterfield

One of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to write more. I was going to write every day for at least 30 minutes, and I was going to publish to a blog weekly, or at least bi-weekly. Definitely I could blog monthly. I don’t know why I resolved to do this, and I don’t know what to write about. But I said I would so I will. So today I thought I would tell you a story.

I wouldn’t call myself a religious person.  I didn’t grow up in church, which I don’t think is necessarily a bad thing, because what I know of God I know from personal experience. I’ve read some books, talked with different people, watched some television programs, and filled in the blanks with some ideas of my own. I definitely believe in God (the universe, Source, intention, whatever you call it, to me it is God), and I do believe that He will throw you a bone occasionally, and I appreciate that very much. So that’s what this story is about.

Every year around late January/early February I go through an existential crisis. The passing of another year… Have I achieved my goals? I never really made any goals. Am I just so jaded now that I don’t even set goals anymore? I feel as if I’m just going through the motions of life.

And every year about this time I have the same prayer, “God please help me! I don’t know what to do with my life!”  It’s pretty vague and non-specific, I know. But I also know that it is heard, and this story tells how I know.

So I’ll get on with it already.

The day of this epiphany was pretty nondescript. A chilly, overcast February day. I had my children, the oldest aged three and the baby three months, bundled into the car headed to my mom’s house for dinner. We stopped at a gas station, and as we pulled in I saw a lady just kind of wandering around the parking lot.  She was an older lady, african-american, dressed in all black except the collar of her dress was white. It looked to me like a priest’s collar, so I surmised that this was some kind of religious outfit. (Please pardon my lack of knowledge of religious rituals and outfits. I already told you I was a heathen.) Anyway, I took note of her, then dismissed her and got to the business of pumping my gas. That’s when she snuck up on me.

I’m standing at the gas pump, and this woman approaches me. I think she’s about to ask me for money, which I don’t have, so I try to avoid making eye contact. Then she speaks. “I know you don’t know me, but will you take me to church?”

Immediately I’m torn. I have my children in the car. I know that it is not a wise idea to pick up strangers, but I also had the feeling that if I was to go to hell for anything I’ve ever done, it would be for not taking this little old woman to church. Somewhat reluctantly I agreed and she got in the car. She started talking as soon as she got in, and didn’t stop. At all. Until she got out.

“You know, God told me to ask you.” That explains how she ended up in my car.  She went on to tell me how her friend was supposed to meet her at the gas station, but she hadn’t been able to reach her, so that’s why she needed a ride. She was such a prolific talker I can’t even remember everything she talked about, but I know that some of her words were meant just for me. Because out of the flood of words spilling out of her mouth, these bits of wisdom floated to the top, and they have stuck with me ever since.

“You know, that’s when people get in trouble, when they think they know better than God what they should do. Just be happy and do good where you are, and God’ll move you.”

That was it. That was the answer to my prayer. Just be happy and do good where you are.

We arrived at her church, we said good bye and she got out of the car.  I drove on to my mom’s house contemplating all that she had said and what it meant for me.  Get your ego out of the way. Stop worrying so much. Just be happy and do good where you are and God’ll move you. So simple, and yet so profound.

This chance meeting took place four years ago, but her advice still resonates with me. Whenever I have my little crises I remember her words. Whenever I’m struggling I tell myself, “Just be happy and do good.”, and somehow everything falls into place. It reminds me of the quote by Thich Nhat Hanh, “There is no way to happiness, happiness is the way.”  It is a universal truth.

Hopefully if you’re reading this, her words will be helpful to you, too, wherever you are along your spiritual path.