I don’t remember ever having a more wonderful Christmas Eve and Christmas Day than this year! Both made my personal hall of fame of memories. More than just being recent, they were meaningful and touching. Time with my wife and children was exquisite, the best ever. Christmas Eve, however, was different from any other for a few reasons. The difference was in how the day started and ended, and that seemed to set the stage for everything else.
The traditional Christmas Eve for the McConkies has always involved a full-itinerary-procession to visit the homes of various extended family. Circumstances being different this year, we found ourselves looking at a day without any of our usual plans. So instead, we welcomed some close family friends of ours into our home to exchange some gifts in the morning. What a blessing!
The first exchange was an enjoyable conversation. It was gift enough, yet other presents were given too – packages wrapped in festive paper, carefully tied with beautiful ribbon. The presents could have been anything, a tissue box for that matter, and it would have meant a lot to me. Just as much as the contents inside the wrapping, it was the ribbon that stood out. Without any words, the ribbon, the attention to detail, and the way it was tied, all seemed to say, “Thank you for being my friend.” I could tell the gift meant a lot before it was opened. It was beautiful. I was deeply grateful for the expression of the gift, as well as the gifts given without any wrappings.
That night, following a newly begun tradition of Christmas Eve dinner at home, we were visited by some guests that we hadn’t expected. I was doing my best to uphold my Dad’s long-held tradition of wrapping final presents on Christmas Eve when I was interrupted by my daughter’s observation that we had carolers. I went to the front door, preceded by my family, and watched as a crowd of friends stood around our porch singing Christmas carols to us. These were not just any voices, mind you. It was the combined voices of nearly forty Samoans singing from their hearts. If you have not heard a Polynesian choir before, you have not yet been to heaven. For a moment, I stood in heaven and began to cry. Tears streamed down my face as I looked into the eyes of my friends. There was so much warmth in their music. I felt their friendship, and the value they placed on it.
Again and again I thought of a line from one of my favorite Christmas songs. “Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more.” Oh, how I wish I could gather around each of my family and friends who are dear to me so they could feel what I felt that Christmas Eve.
In both instances, there were no strings attached to the gifts, not unless you count the carefully tied ribbon that said much without any words. Each gift was given straight from the heart without expectation of anything in return. If anything was tied, it was my heart knit to the givers of the gift. When presents are presented with love, they stop being things and become memories and meaning. Those are the gifts I value most.
This year, as my own personal prayers have been answered, I have recognized these beautiful gifts as joint gifts from God. I thank Him for the family and friends he has given me. I thank Him for their love and kindness. Every gift that is given without strings or conditions, regardless of the giver, seems to more closely tie the giver and the receiver with the most beautiful ribbon.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
There Will Your Heart Be Also
Fingering crisp pages lined with fine salt,
The residual of warm ocean air and contemplation,
I look at the sketches drawn in my margins,
Of seashells and conclusions,
Each passage cradling sacred meaning.
The leather-cracked cover worn at the edges,
Feels rich with warmth burnished by hands.
Oils from touch layer on pages,
As time and trial repeatedly evidence
The enduring strength of powerful words.
Thoughts of true friends turn into my own,
Those both present and epochs before.
I read between lines, and write alongside them,
As similar feelings
Leave markings inside my book.
The sharpest impressions that prick my heart
Stitch it together when housed within.
The needle that sews inside my compass
Reveals true north,
Scripture expressed, through choice and action.
Firm in my grip I clench a rare pearl
Protected by pages and salt that I savor.
So close to my heart, I’m willing to give
My most prized possession.
A book. A prophet. My friend.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
The residual of warm ocean air and contemplation,
I look at the sketches drawn in my margins,
Of seashells and conclusions,
Each passage cradling sacred meaning.
The leather-cracked cover worn at the edges,
Feels rich with warmth burnished by hands.
Oils from touch layer on pages,
As time and trial repeatedly evidence
The enduring strength of powerful words.
Thoughts of true friends turn into my own,
Those both present and epochs before.
I read between lines, and write alongside them,
As similar feelings
Leave markings inside my book.
The sharpest impressions that prick my heart
Stitch it together when housed within.
The needle that sews inside my compass
Reveals true north,
Scripture expressed, through choice and action.
Firm in my grip I clench a rare pearl
Protected by pages and salt that I savor.
So close to my heart, I’m willing to give
My most prized possession.
A book. A prophet. My friend.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Good Intentions, Side Effects, and What to Do with Them
Let me tell you about a personal awkward moment. I think I may have done some harm this week. Deep sigh. I really hope it’s not lasting. But you can imagine my frustration when I learned I had hurt the feelings of someone I care about. My intentions were good, but there were less than desirable side effects that followed my actions.
Reflecting on the last several days brought a second instance to mind. That troubled me. This isn’t the kind of thing I want to become a recurring theme. Then again, perhaps I’m better at creating side effects than I thought.
With the door wide open to my acknowledged faults, I wondered if there were other people I had affected inadvertently. My desire to know seemed to be an open invitation for examples from my memory. The unwelcomed intrusions did more than visit on the porch. They walked in the front door of my mind and brought company.
I sat in thought and began to count. One, two, five, eight…. While some examples were quite small, I recognized that a number of my choices this week had made someone else unhappy. Quickly feeling that the place where I house my thoughts was getting crowded, I closed the door on the line of applicants with comments for my suggestion box. One week’s time seemed like plenty to deal with.
The painful difficulty was that the examples were not anonymous strangers. They were people who are close to me – a brother, a friend, another friend, my wife, my daughter, and the list went on. Each one of them is a person I love very much.
As I considered my circumstance, I thought about a young Jesus who found himself in the middle of a similar predicament. At the age of twelve, he was found by his parents sitting in the temple with men who were listening to him and asking him questions. Mary and Joseph were distraught because they looked for Jesus for three days before finding him. When they asked him why he had dealt with them that way, he responded, “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” (Luke 2:45-49) He intended to do good, and yet at the same time hurt those who were closest to him, causing them concern.
Less desirable side effects that follow good choices are not uncommon. While I may perceive a choice to be good, someone else may not. Choosing to have more family time may mean less of a favorite pastime for another family member. A decision to save money for a vacation may mean that some other budget gets cut. While discouraging to admit, I think this is just one of the many dilemmas we face as mortals. It’s hard to live without making a mess.
I don’t like negative side effects that smolder in the glow of hot embers. I would much rather repair the emotional distance and close the gap before it has the chance to experience continental drift. This often requires a change of perspective. While pondering how to mitigate the effects of my intentions this week, I remembered a significant conversation with my wife last summer. The outcome of that memory is what we refer to as the 1700 North principle. That happened to be our location when we made an important discovery.
Liz and I had gone for a morning walk and began to discuss a difference of opinion we shared. We simply didn’t agree. In spite of a beautiful sunrise, it felt like the day might be drawing to a close. I felt frustrated and so did she.
Our conversation more closely resembled a familiar tennis match. While we could see the thin net that divided us, and we anticipated where the ball would fall next, we didn’t quite see each other. The score was tied, but neither of us wanted to win at the defeat of the other. We just wanted to end the game. It was time for a different strategy.
You know, it’s hard to return a volley if both players are on the same side of the net. That’s a move that doesn’t make much sense if you like tennis. We found the strategy helps a lot when you care about a person more than you care about the game.
My next move started by admitting my faults and acknowledging how my choices affected my wife. That wasn’t easy to say out loud, but it felt necessary. With my guard down, it was easier for her to drop hers. Next, I expressed my intent in what I had hoped to accomplish, and I asked for forgiveness. Then I listened. I listened as she did the same thing, and the morning became much more enjoyable.
Each of us took down the fences we had built around our perceptions. For the first time that morning we considered each other’s feelings. That seemed to be the key to ending the game, and it worked. We didn’t change each other’s minds, but we figured out a simple way to navigate less desirable side effects from decisions we each thought were good. We worked through it.
The 1700 North principle has been very helpful to me when I find I’ve hurt someone’s feelings. As hard as it was, and as simple as it sounds, seeing was a matter of choice. I may not always be able to control how my decisions affect another person, but I can choose to reduce the gap by changing my vantage point. If I am going to have a recurring theme at the end of the week, I would rather be consistent in considering the feelings of others from the same side of the net.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
Reflecting on the last several days brought a second instance to mind. That troubled me. This isn’t the kind of thing I want to become a recurring theme. Then again, perhaps I’m better at creating side effects than I thought.
With the door wide open to my acknowledged faults, I wondered if there were other people I had affected inadvertently. My desire to know seemed to be an open invitation for examples from my memory. The unwelcomed intrusions did more than visit on the porch. They walked in the front door of my mind and brought company.
I sat in thought and began to count. One, two, five, eight…. While some examples were quite small, I recognized that a number of my choices this week had made someone else unhappy. Quickly feeling that the place where I house my thoughts was getting crowded, I closed the door on the line of applicants with comments for my suggestion box. One week’s time seemed like plenty to deal with.
The painful difficulty was that the examples were not anonymous strangers. They were people who are close to me – a brother, a friend, another friend, my wife, my daughter, and the list went on. Each one of them is a person I love very much.
As I considered my circumstance, I thought about a young Jesus who found himself in the middle of a similar predicament. At the age of twelve, he was found by his parents sitting in the temple with men who were listening to him and asking him questions. Mary and Joseph were distraught because they looked for Jesus for three days before finding him. When they asked him why he had dealt with them that way, he responded, “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” (Luke 2:45-49) He intended to do good, and yet at the same time hurt those who were closest to him, causing them concern.
Less desirable side effects that follow good choices are not uncommon. While I may perceive a choice to be good, someone else may not. Choosing to have more family time may mean less of a favorite pastime for another family member. A decision to save money for a vacation may mean that some other budget gets cut. While discouraging to admit, I think this is just one of the many dilemmas we face as mortals. It’s hard to live without making a mess.
I don’t like negative side effects that smolder in the glow of hot embers. I would much rather repair the emotional distance and close the gap before it has the chance to experience continental drift. This often requires a change of perspective. While pondering how to mitigate the effects of my intentions this week, I remembered a significant conversation with my wife last summer. The outcome of that memory is what we refer to as the 1700 North principle. That happened to be our location when we made an important discovery.
Liz and I had gone for a morning walk and began to discuss a difference of opinion we shared. We simply didn’t agree. In spite of a beautiful sunrise, it felt like the day might be drawing to a close. I felt frustrated and so did she.
Our conversation more closely resembled a familiar tennis match. While we could see the thin net that divided us, and we anticipated where the ball would fall next, we didn’t quite see each other. The score was tied, but neither of us wanted to win at the defeat of the other. We just wanted to end the game. It was time for a different strategy.
You know, it’s hard to return a volley if both players are on the same side of the net. That’s a move that doesn’t make much sense if you like tennis. We found the strategy helps a lot when you care about a person more than you care about the game.
My next move started by admitting my faults and acknowledging how my choices affected my wife. That wasn’t easy to say out loud, but it felt necessary. With my guard down, it was easier for her to drop hers. Next, I expressed my intent in what I had hoped to accomplish, and I asked for forgiveness. Then I listened. I listened as she did the same thing, and the morning became much more enjoyable.
Each of us took down the fences we had built around our perceptions. For the first time that morning we considered each other’s feelings. That seemed to be the key to ending the game, and it worked. We didn’t change each other’s minds, but we figured out a simple way to navigate less desirable side effects from decisions we each thought were good. We worked through it.
The 1700 North principle has been very helpful to me when I find I’ve hurt someone’s feelings. As hard as it was, and as simple as it sounds, seeing was a matter of choice. I may not always be able to control how my decisions affect another person, but I can choose to reduce the gap by changing my vantage point. If I am going to have a recurring theme at the end of the week, I would rather be consistent in considering the feelings of others from the same side of the net.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
Sunday, December 5, 2010
My Pile
Beside me on my desk sits a pile of curious things – a journal, a sketchbook, a letter, and a handheld technological device that I almost always refer to as my phone. Each item is curious for a different but meaningful reason. All of them have one thing in common.
I pulled the journal off the shelf this morning trying to remember the specifics of a vivid memory. The occasion was Christmas Eve a few years before I was married. After an evening spent with my family, a friend of mine stopped by to wish me a Merry Christmas. She and I talked for a while, and then together we delivered a few presents to some of our friends. I returned home to finish writing the last of some homemade Christmas cards I intended to deliver before Christmas Day. Time was running out. When another friend discovered I was up late and intended to make over 45 stops that night, he offered to keep me company on my route. I was glad to have him aboard.
We started just after midnight and so did the snow. It was a beautiful storm! I don’t remember ever being out so late on a Christmas Eve before, especially not while Santa was making deliveries of his own. As you might imagine, the roads were almost empty. The streets were quiet, and the snow was white and fresh with hardly a track besides mine. Because of the storm, it took much longer to deliver my cards – five hours, in fact – but it has remained one of my favorite Christmas memories. Having a friend made all the difference.
Second in my pile, my sketchbook is a journal of a different sort. Its pages capture ink drawings of things I find meaningful or memorable. Instead of being reluctant hostages, the willing memories become my friends and remind me of where we have been. I like using ink because there is a certain feeling of permanence, a lastingness that is beautiful to imagine.
The first drawing in my present sketchbook depicts the pipe organ in the historic Assembly Hall on Temple Square. The occasion of this sketch was a concert my wife and I attended with some friends of ours this last summer. While listening to the performance, we recalled one of our first dates – a holiday season Christmas concert where we sat on a pew not far from where we were that night. The flavor of that memory was discovering how much we liked each other. Fortunate for me she liked my sense of humor. I liked her smile. At the time, I had this secret wish that I could meet a girl, date her over Christmas, and then get married. Well, I’m grateful to report that particular wish worked out for the best.
Loosely placed in my sketchbook are a collection of other related things, such as handwritten napkins, yellow Post-it reminders, ticket stubs, and notes of things I have thought. Since I often take my black, hardcover sketchbook with me wherever I go, it often acts as the repository of other related memories. It becomes the wallet of my thoughts.
The letter in my pile, mentioned above, was an item I happened to discover inside my sketchbook. I believe it was carefully placed by a friend at a time when I needed it most. Written on a pad of business stationary, the note simply said, “Thanks for being my friend! Always.” That simple phrase instantly connected me to experiences I had shared with my friend which were less recent. Like a deep sea expedition to recover a sunken ship, the life boat started tugging treasured moments until they surfaced above the ocean. Somehow, the brief letter managed to tie together a number of memories and make them fresh.
Lastly, at the top of my pile, sits my phone. Different from the journal, the sketchbook, and the letter, it seems to connect me more with the present. My children may not, but I still remember when a phone was used for making phone calls. Now, I think I use my phone more for texting and sending email. We live in a time where there seems to be a need to stay connected constantly. Why? I’m not sure yet, but I’ll confess to feeling something like Christmas morning when my phone vibrates and I have just received a message from someone I care about. I value that feeling. I can be far away from home, and then suddenly feel like I am much closer because of that connection.
Each object in my pile represents the thing I value more than anything else – relationships. There are very important people in my life. I find I am much happier when I stay close to them. Without the people, my journal would be flat, and the permanence of an ink sketch would be insignificant. This Christmas, I hope to refresh my focus on people instead of stuff. I like piles. It’s the piles of memories I have acquired with family and friends that I cherish most.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
I pulled the journal off the shelf this morning trying to remember the specifics of a vivid memory. The occasion was Christmas Eve a few years before I was married. After an evening spent with my family, a friend of mine stopped by to wish me a Merry Christmas. She and I talked for a while, and then together we delivered a few presents to some of our friends. I returned home to finish writing the last of some homemade Christmas cards I intended to deliver before Christmas Day. Time was running out. When another friend discovered I was up late and intended to make over 45 stops that night, he offered to keep me company on my route. I was glad to have him aboard.
We started just after midnight and so did the snow. It was a beautiful storm! I don’t remember ever being out so late on a Christmas Eve before, especially not while Santa was making deliveries of his own. As you might imagine, the roads were almost empty. The streets were quiet, and the snow was white and fresh with hardly a track besides mine. Because of the storm, it took much longer to deliver my cards – five hours, in fact – but it has remained one of my favorite Christmas memories. Having a friend made all the difference.
Second in my pile, my sketchbook is a journal of a different sort. Its pages capture ink drawings of things I find meaningful or memorable. Instead of being reluctant hostages, the willing memories become my friends and remind me of where we have been. I like using ink because there is a certain feeling of permanence, a lastingness that is beautiful to imagine.
The first drawing in my present sketchbook depicts the pipe organ in the historic Assembly Hall on Temple Square. The occasion of this sketch was a concert my wife and I attended with some friends of ours this last summer. While listening to the performance, we recalled one of our first dates – a holiday season Christmas concert where we sat on a pew not far from where we were that night. The flavor of that memory was discovering how much we liked each other. Fortunate for me she liked my sense of humor. I liked her smile. At the time, I had this secret wish that I could meet a girl, date her over Christmas, and then get married. Well, I’m grateful to report that particular wish worked out for the best.
Loosely placed in my sketchbook are a collection of other related things, such as handwritten napkins, yellow Post-it reminders, ticket stubs, and notes of things I have thought. Since I often take my black, hardcover sketchbook with me wherever I go, it often acts as the repository of other related memories. It becomes the wallet of my thoughts.
The letter in my pile, mentioned above, was an item I happened to discover inside my sketchbook. I believe it was carefully placed by a friend at a time when I needed it most. Written on a pad of business stationary, the note simply said, “Thanks for being my friend! Always.” That simple phrase instantly connected me to experiences I had shared with my friend which were less recent. Like a deep sea expedition to recover a sunken ship, the life boat started tugging treasured moments until they surfaced above the ocean. Somehow, the brief letter managed to tie together a number of memories and make them fresh.
Lastly, at the top of my pile, sits my phone. Different from the journal, the sketchbook, and the letter, it seems to connect me more with the present. My children may not, but I still remember when a phone was used for making phone calls. Now, I think I use my phone more for texting and sending email. We live in a time where there seems to be a need to stay connected constantly. Why? I’m not sure yet, but I’ll confess to feeling something like Christmas morning when my phone vibrates and I have just received a message from someone I care about. I value that feeling. I can be far away from home, and then suddenly feel like I am much closer because of that connection.
Each object in my pile represents the thing I value more than anything else – relationships. There are very important people in my life. I find I am much happier when I stay close to them. Without the people, my journal would be flat, and the permanence of an ink sketch would be insignificant. This Christmas, I hope to refresh my focus on people instead of stuff. I like piles. It’s the piles of memories I have acquired with family and friends that I cherish most.
http://saltypockets.blogspot.com/
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