Conspiracy of Love

Blessed is the season,

which engages the whole world

in a conspiracy of love. 

~Hamilton Wright Mabie

Can you feel it—the warm fuzzy glow of good cheer building from the first turkey dinner, jingle-belled advertisement and beautifully wrapped vision of holiday bliss, and reaching a crescendo as we join our families and friends to celebrate the season?  Giddy with the holiday spirit, we’re just a little more kind and a little more forgiving as we move through the days filled with anticipation of . . .

Of what?  What are we looking forward to?  What are we expecting?  What do we really want? 

Kids seem to know with surprising clarity.  “I want an American Girl doll!” “I want a new bike!” “I want chocolate chip cookies!” “I WANT MY MOMMY!”  But how many of these wants are truly needs?  Do they even recognize the difference?  Rarely.  In watching kids flit from one toy to the next we see right through their fly-by-night passions, reaching for this and grabbing for that. 

We forget that adults are not so different, except that we use these long, detailed explanations to rationalize our dubious choices, cleverly disguising the pretenses of our decisions even from ourselves sometimes.  We reach for this and long for that then reach for something else.  Sometimes we get what we want.  And sometimes we reach for what we think we really want only to get it and later discover that it wasn’t so great after all.  Maybe things have changed since we began wanting what we want and we find that it’s no longer relevant when it arrives.  And sometimes when we don’t get what we want it makes us want it even more; an unrequited passion not so easily extinguished.  But how much of what we say we want do we truly need?

Perhaps at the root of every desire is a basic longing—to connect, to love, to be at peace; the hunt for comfort and joy.  Remember this as you move through Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, and look for ways to connect with the root of your longing.   

Try this: 

1. Volunteer!  Get out of yourself and give back to your community!  As Rumi says, there are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

2. Keep it real!  No holiday is perfect and few celebrations rarely resemble the cozy gatherings depicted in commercials and our favorite programs on television.  If your family dynamic has changed or tradition is too hard to satisfy, don’t be afraid to do things a little different each year! Get rid of the pressure!

3. Take some time for yourself!  Give the gift of your presence.  You can’t be there for others in any real way if you’re not there for yourself so slow down, take a nap, read a book, get a massage, and take some time to reflect on where you’ve been, where you’re going and what you’re thankful for.

4. Remember what’s important.  It’s easy to lose sight of why we’re doing what we’re doing when we’re so busy baking and buying and wrapping and coming and going.  Take some time to connect with the real reason for the season.

Succumb to the conspiracy of love and you just might find that what you’re looking for has been with you all along.

P.S.  Thanks for sharing the quote Mom!

Beautiful Dreamer

Dreams are illustrations from the book

your soul is writing about you.

~ Marsha Norman

Dreamweaver © 2008 by Melissa Johnson.

Once while traveling in Brazil, I was approached by an elderly woman in the town of Ipanema. She grabbed my arm and began wrapping my wrist with a pink ribbon inscribed in Portuguese. I had no clue what the words meant, but I couldn’t ignore her urgency. She looked deep into my eyes and spoke in hurried, exaggerated tones, demanding something of me.

Sensing my confusion, a local bystander explained that the woman wanted me to make a wish. I love a good wish! So I closed my eyes and silently wished with all my might that the vision I held of my best life would come true.

She tied a knot in the pink bracelet, urging me to make a second wish, then a third. Each time she tied another knot in the wrist band, I closed my eyes, trying desperately to think of a different wish so as to maximize my wish potential, but all I could summon was a repeated prayer that my greatest dreams would come true.

After tying three knots, the wish-granting lady rambled some long, deliberate admonition, and in a flash she was gone. Again, my benevolent bystander translated her warning: I was not to take off the ribbon. It must come off on its own. If I removed it myself, my wishes would not come true and I would have bad luck. He also told me that the last time a similar band had been tied around his wrist it took more than two years for the ribbon to wear thin and fall off on its own. Great! Two years, I thought. This neon, hot pink thing clashes with most of my wardrobe.

Then one night about a month later, while lounging around the fire with some friends, my pink wrist-band became the topic of conversation. They wanted to know why I was wearing it and what it meant. I told them the story and, though not one for superstition, I joked about how I dared not remove the bracelet lest I destroy my wish.

One of the guys appeared to be napping throughout this conversation; however, when I finished my story, he jumped from his chair in one swift movement—grabbing a knife from the kitchen counter in one hand and my wristband in the other—and cut the damned thing off! But what happened next astounded me even more: Defiantly, he shoved the ribbon in his mouth, chewed on it for a minute, spit it out, and then dropped it down his pants. Then he flopped back down in his chair to resume his nap, mumbling something about “stupid visions” and “bad luck.”

Keep away from people who try to

belittle your ambitions.

Small people always do that,

but the really great make you feel

that you, too, can become great.

~Mark Twain

It was all very dramatic. And all I could do was watch in horrified amazement as my sincere wish to fulfill my highest vision was chewed on, spit out, and shoved down this guy’s pants. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But I vowed then and there that I would never let someone destroy the vision I held for my life—literally or metaphorically—and I promised myself to be more discerning when choosing my friends.

The moral of the story:  Your dreams are your own. Safeguard them and never surrender your vision to the reckless disregard of others.

Points to Ponder:

As we move deeper into this new decade, into this new year, and into another month of possibility, ask yourself:

1.  Have I been true to my goals and dreams? Do I even know what they are?

2.  Is it possible that the comments or opinions of others have jaded the vision I hold for my life, or my belief in what is possible?

3.  Have I denied some aspect of myself that longs for expression?

4.  What can I do today, no matter how small, that will move me one step closer to the fulfillment of my dreams?

Remember, your greatest desires plant seeds of thought deep within your mind that, when cultivated by the imagination and nurtured with unwavering belief, grow the vision of your soul. Open your eyes. See with unlimited vision. Free your mind. Do one thing every day that supports your desires. Be willing to correct your course as you learn new information and move through obstacles.  And watch as your garden grows.

By Melissa Johnson

A Season of Enchantment

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack, a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.  That's how the light gets in.

~Leonard Cohen

The orderly wheeled the boy into the playroom on the 7th floor, just as he always did after dinner but before the nurse came to give him his medicine; this was his favorite time of the day.

“Well, hello there handsome. Come on in. I’ve been waiting for you . . .” She smiled, standing by the art table with her hands on her hips. “What’s new with you?”

He blushed, bright red. At 16, he was showing signs of his manhood—small patches of hair growing on either side of his chin—and his voice seemed to get a little deeper each time she saw him.

“Hello Miss V… Doc says I get to go home tomorrow, just in time for Christmas—“

“Oh Jack, that’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands in delight, and then suddenly frowned. “I’m sure gonna’ miss you when you’re gone . . .”

“Don’t be sad Miss V, you know I can’t stay away for long. . .” he said with a seriousness that broke her heart. Forty-two days, that’s how long he had been there this time—his sixth hospitalization this year—at first for a spinal fusion, and then for pneumonia like so many times before. But it was the cerebral palsy that kept him confined to his chair, unable to use his arms and legs.

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the drool forming in the corners of his mouth. “Hey, we’ve got some great new art projects tonight,” she said. “We can make a snowman . . . or a reindeer . . . oh, look . . . we could paint one of these ceramic angels or a Santa to hang on your tree . . . What do you feel like doing?”

“Ummm . . .” he contemplated his choices while scanning the room with his eyes. “Can we paint an angel for my mom? ‘Cause she’s an angel to me . . .”

“Of course we can, Jack . . . and then we can wrap it up and tie a ribbon around it, like this—” she said, holding up a cellophane bag with snowflakes on it, and a dark red ribbon for decoration.

“Yeah, let’s do that!” He smiled, eager to get started. Together they collected all of the supplies from the art cabinet that they would need to create his angelic vision—paint, brushes, a cup of water to rinse things off, a hand-towel and a bunch of newspapers to cover the table with. And as she prepared their workspace, she listened to him talking with the other children.

“Hi Lauren, how are you feeling today?” He asked, listening intently to her reply. And then to Kevin, “Did you beat your dad at foosball last night? I knew you would!” He laughed. And as Jenny’s mom prepared to wheel her back to her room for bed, Jack called after her, “That sure was a brave thing you did yesterday—donating your bone marrow like that. You’re a hero! Get some sleep tonight.”

Miss V felt a lump forming in the back of her throat as she fought back tears. She did that a lot lately, swell up with emotion and cry. It had been a tough year for her in so many ways, and she knew that her problems paled in comparison to the limitations of Jack’s life. Still, something about his tenderness and concern for the others hit her hard. She felt a little guilty for bemoaning her fate, and she swore to herself that she wouldn’t cry in front of the children. She just couldn’t. She was supposed to be there to help them—that’s what volunteers do—not melt into a puddle of tears in the middle of the playroom.

“Miss V—are you ready?” Jack interrupted her thoughts, now that he was settled in at the table.

“You betcha!” She smiled, blinking back her tears. “What color shall we paint with first?”

“Purple for the angel’s robe . . . and then maybe some blue,” he said, exercising his artistic freedom.

For the next half-hour they sat together, talking and laughing quietly, as she painted the ceramic angel and he directed her hand. Occasionally she would lift the angel into the air for his inspection, since he couldn’t move his head, and he didn’t hesitate to tell her when she had painted out of the lines or missed a spot.

“Sorry, sorry . . . I do that sometimes . . .” she said, laughing at his sudden bossiness.

“You have a beautiful smile, Miss V. You should smile all the time—“

Now it was her turn to blush. She had always been so good at looking after others, complimenting them, making them feel special, but his simple acknowledgement caught her off guard.

“Thank you, Jack. Nobody ever said a nicer thing—“

“Well I like you, Miss V. You talk to me like normal—when we’re sitting here like this—and I almost forget about my . . . condition. I swear it's the greatest gift ever!”

“You’re a good guy, Jack—wise beyond your years— and I like talking with you, too. . .” she said, clearing her throat as she blinked back more tears. “Speaking of gifts—what’s Santa going to bring you for Christmas this year?”

“Miss V,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper so the littlest ones wouldn't hear. “Don’t you think I’m too old for Santa?”

“Well of course not, Jack!” She teased. “Santa’s all about granting wishes . . . Surely there’s something you want special this year?”

Jack got real quiet like he does when he’s thinking hard about something. Then after a time he said, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Nothing?” She asked, shaking her head in disbelief because she had never heard of a kid who didn’t want something for Christmas.

He sat quietly before he spoke. “Well, sure, there are things I want but I know I’ll never get them, so I just try not to think about it—what I don’t have.”

“What kind of things, Jack?”

“Like walking.  I would love to get up out of this chair and walk—run—as far and fast as I can. I would love to paint that angel myself. Every time I see my dog I want to throw the ball to him and rub his head—he really likes it when my brother does that. And I want to hug my mom because she always does such nice things for me. I want to shake my dad’s hand like a man . . . and play video games with my little brother.  I want to hold a book and turn the pages, one by one, as I read them. I want to go to the bathroom by myself without that guy having to help me—“ he whispered, rolling his eyes toward the orderly sitting in the corner chair. “And . . .”

“And what Jack?”

“I can’t tell you.” He whispered, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

“Sure you can—“

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” she said, making a cross in the air above her heart.

“I want to kiss a girl—“ he whispered.

“That’s not funny at all, Jack. In fact, it’s one of the most natural desires in the world—“

“And I want to fall in love with her . . . and I want her to love me back.”

Overwhelmed with irony, she didn’t even try to hold back her tears for she understood his greatest loss—she felt it—the loss of freedom and choice. As for love, well, she wanted the same thing and she told him so. Sure, she had had some great boyfriends and some success in her life, but the one thing she wanted most of all—the one thing that money could not buy—was true love. She thought her heart might explode into a thousand little pieces with the longing he expressed. She knew it well. And she put down her paint brush and hugged him tight in his chair.

“We’re not so different, Jack—you and me—the heart wants what it wants.  But love is alive and well in both of us and we must never give up.”

“What do you mean, Miss V?”

“Well, you know how you talk with the other children and ask them how they’re doing—how they’re feeling?”

“Yes—“

“. . . and the way that you smile and laugh even though there are things about your life that you might want to be different?”

“Yes—“

“. . . and the way that you feel about your mom and dad and your little brother?”

“Yes—“

“Well, that is love in its purest form. It’s a bright light, Jack, and it shines in you—”

“And it shines in you too, Miss V—like the way you help the children here at the hospital. . .”

“Exactly,” she said, and they smiled at each other. “We must never let our lights go out. We must never stop loving, even if others don't love us back.”

By then, the ceramic angel was finished—nearly dry—and she pulled some ribbon through the hole at the top so that he could hang it on the tree. She held it in the air for one final inspection. They agreed—it was good.

The orderly stood and moved toward the table. “We should probably get going Jack. It’s time for your meds.”

“Wait . . .” Miss V said, pointing to the bright light coming from the window across the room. “Before you go, let’s make a wish on the Christmas star . . . what do you say, Jack?”

His eyes danced with possibility.  “Do you think wishes really can come true, Miss V?”

“Yes, Jack, I do. Maybe not exactly as we wish them, or in the timeframe that we would like for them to come true . . . and I think sometimes we may get something that we didn’t wish for but that ends up being better for us in the long run . . . but, yes—I do believe that wishes can come true . . . especially when they come from your heart . . . especially at Christmastime. After all, it's the season of magic and miracles,” she winked, and she kissed him on the cheek before bending down to unlock the brakes on his wheelchair.

Then together they moved toward the light.

By Melissa Johnson

__________________________

*This story was inspired by my little friends at Children's Hospital in Denver, Colorado.  To find out how you can make cash or in-kind donations of toys or art supplies, please visit their web site at http://www.thechildrenshospital.org/.   Happy Holidays!