Is there a memory from your childhood that sneaks up like a shadow? “Ain’t it funny how a melody sounds like a memory.” ~Eric Church My grandmother left me her recipes.

My grandmother’s recipe box.

My grandmother was a farmer’s wife, mother to seven, grandmother to 21. She was no-nonsense, practical, with lists to put order to the chaos and a vegetable garden bigger than my entire backyard. She made her own everything. They never had a lot, but always enough to share with a stranger in need.

Row after row of rising white manna spread out on the baking board, filling our hearts with smells that made that 3rd generation farmhouse a home. Cinnamon buns, dinner rolls, more bread than seemed possible to eat. Basted with egg whites to brown the tops. We always ate the crusts. And every week she made more.

She hid gingersnaps in the cupboard by the door in the old cookie jar. You could have as many as you wanted. She’d wag her finger, “Now, don’t you spoil your dinner.” Those cookies could break teeth, but the thought of sneaking a treat before dinner made Grandma a secret ally, an accomplice. Why is it the forbidden treats taste the best?

And I always ate my supper.

She knew everyone’s favorite dessert and always had it on hand from tarts, to squares to cookies. With apple squares for this group, and date squares for that crowd.

“Fetch me that recipe — the one your mother gave me.” I’d finger through each card stained with shortening and sugar, the corners curled from use. In the recipe box that Grandpa made her. “Now, your Grandfather made that, so be careful with it.” That box was built to survive the zombie apocalypse, but it was handled with care out of love for the hands that made it.

When she wrote a letter, she shared about everyone else but rarely about herself. Those recipe cards with her familiar handwriting are like a personal letter from the grave. Warming my heart. The apple squares that Gary likes. The marshmallow squares for Lisa. I smile at the chocolate cake recipe from Helen (I don’t know who) that says, ‘fill the white bowl with flour to your first knuckle.’

Still haven’t figured that one out. I don’t think she ever did either.

“What can I get you” goodness pulled from the freezer whenever anyone came to visit. In her handwriting I see the love for her family and the wonder of a child who wanted to grow up and be just like her. That box doesn’t hold recipes — it holds memories.

“Why would you want that?” She asked me when making out her will. It’s old, she said.

But I knew what I was asking for.

So I got her recipe box — the one that Grandpa made. It sits on the counter where I make meals and school lunches. The recipe box filled with her at the counter stirring cookie batter, at the stove making tarts, over the bread board kneading dough. The recipe box that reminds me it’s better to listen than to talk, to laugh even when you hurt, that a good list can put everything to rights, and buttered toast cut in four makes every tummy ache feel better.

On my counter where I work every day, sits my grandmother’s recipe box. Alongside her recipes I’ve added a few of my own. She’d shake her head at me for being so sentimental. It’s just a box, she’d say, and we’d both know she was lying.

Ain’t if funny how a recipe feels like a memory?

Is there a keepsake that holds a lot of memories? Is there a specific memory from your childhood that always makes you feel loved?
Lisa

I blog when I have something to say, not on a set schedule. Save time and have new posts conveniently arrive in your inbox by subscribing using the box below. I would love to meet and chat, find me on Facebook here.

What kind of person do you want to be? I’m not talking about a career, or a bucket list. What kind of person do you want to be, and do you have a plan on how to achieve that goal? Have you considered meeting with a personal mentor?

This post is a continuation of 5 Traits of Teachable People.

There’s lots online about finding a professional mentor, someone further up the ladder in your workplace or profession who gives advice and shares wisdom. A personal mentor is like that, only you focus on issues of personal growth.The Bible points to three men as an example of this relationship: Paul, Barnabas, and Timothy. If we each consider ourselves as a Barnabas, then we each need to seek out a Paul – a wiser, more experienced individual further down life’s path. And a Timothy, someone less experienced, perhaps younger, to share your experiences with. If you can do this, it’s a very effective way to keep yourself grounded, humble, and growing as an individual.

I’ve had the opportunity to have three different women intentionally mentor me over the years – Marilyn, Christina, and Cathy. These women are dear friends and their influence, wisdom, and perspective has been absolutely invaluable to me.

All these women approached the idea of mentoring very differently. Marilyn was very structured. There were lessons and readings and questions, lots of questions. Christina was very informal – whatever I was struggling with, whatever was on my heart. Cathy is closer to the middle. We pick a book to read through together and discuss what we’ve read over lunch. It doesn’t matter what the format is. Much of my mentoring with Christina took place over the phone because I had moved.

The first step is to know what you want from a mentor relationship. How do you know if the relationship is working if you don’t know what you want from it? How can someone decide if they want to be your mentor if they don’t know what kind of time commitment or emotional involvement you’re asking for.

1. Look first to those you already know well. I’ve never approached a stranger or acquaintance to mentor me. The women who have mentored me were women I’d had the opportunity to know in other parts of my life – work, volunteer work, church, etc. I saw how they conducted themselves publicly and privately, how they treated their spouses, their children, their friends. I saw how their worldview influenced how they lived their lives, loved others.

2. Look for someone who possess traits you desire for yourself. All of the women I’ve considered as a mentor (and I don’t ask everyone who I think might be a good fit) were confident, self-assured, and humble. They possessed character traits I wanted to focus on developing in myself in that season of my life whether it was insight, empathy, nurturing, etc. These women are rock-solid, their marriages continue to be stable. Don’t approach someone who you know is already dealing with a difficult situation.

3. Look for someone you can trust. The nature of a personal mentor/mentee relationship requires mounds of trust and respect. This is someone you must be comfortable sharing your deepest emotions with, a person you can trust with your fears and secrets. This must be someone whose advice you would listen to, whose opinions and critiques can be taken in a spirit of love.

4. Look for someone who will tell you the truth – even if you don’t like it. What’s the point in having a personal mentor if they won’t share their wisdom or experiences with you? This is the whole point. You share something you’re struggling with, and a mentor will lean in and point out your flawed thinking, your weak spots. They’re not a counselor or a therapist, it’s not their job to tell you what you must do. They come alongside you and offer the wisdom of their experience. “Have you considered this…” “So, what you’re really saying is…”

5. A personal mentor MUST be a member of the same sex. I would never approach a guy to be a personal mentor and not because a man couldn’t do the job, or offer valuable perspective or insights. There are some experiences that are unique to each sex, first of all. Second, for those who are already married entering into a relationship of this sort with a member of the opposite sex is a recipe for disaster. Why tempt trouble?

Have you ever considered having a personal mentor? Is this something that might work for you? What steps do you take to grow personally, to become the kind of person you want to be?

Lisa

I blog when I have something to say, not on a set schedule. Save time and have new posts conveniently arrive in your inbox by subscribing using the box below. I would love to meet and chat, find me on Facebook here.

Ever fallen victim to the grass is greener syndrome? Ever felt stuck or trapped or just not happy on your own side of the fence, and gone looking into other yards for the answer? Has jumping the fence ever helped?

A few years ago, hubs and I went through a pretty rocky time. It didn’t seem to matter who I talked to, I wasn’t doing the right thing, wasn’t doing enough. I should stay, I should leave, I shouldn’t care so much, I should care a whole lot more… Add that to what I was telling myself and it got bad. I was tired. And hurting. And I just wanted to stop feeling. I wanted different, whatever that looked like and I was willing to settle for short-term easy instead of long-term health to fix the here and now.

Photo by Kelly Yeld via Stock.xchng

I would watch my divorced friends and see all the good things in their lives. They had struggles like everyone else – sure, but I sensed in them a strength, an independence that I craved. That independence was the key to fixing the here and now. And it seemed to me that, even though my friends struggled, they had everything that would make me happy.

I was convinced the grass is greener on the other side.

In Justin Bieber’s song “As Long As You Love Me,” there’s a line: “The grass ain’t greener on the other side, it’s greener where you water it.”

Staying seemed to me like the more difficult path at the time, but that’s the path I ultimately chose. I already had one leg over the fence, but committed myself to the adventure and turned my eyes away from the friends who ‘had it all.’ Instead, I focused on improving my side of the fence. Was it easy? Uh – hell no. It was the most difficult and heart-rending decision I’ve ever made. But in deciding to stop envying the grass across the fence, and choosing instead to water the grass under my feet, things got better.

I love gardening and each spring my garden teaches me a new lesson in patience. Beautiful gardens don’t happen by accident. They’re planned, weeded, pruned back, fertilized, watered, and tended regularly. This was the intentional, day by day, season after season, through drought, storms and insects, care and attention my marriage required.

Is my marriage perfect? lol No way. But it’s a whole lot better, and I am beginning to see the fruits of that hard work. I can look over the fence and see lots of other yards with better gardens, weed-free lawns, and trellises full of blossoms that took years to mature. But now I see this fence gazing/yearning/envy as laziness.

That sounds harsh doesn’t it? It takes years and years of intentional effort and work to grow a beautiful garden (or a marriage or most anything else worth pursuing), and wouldn’t we all like to skip the work and just enjoy the rewards? But it doesn’t work that way. You reap what you sow.

This is a hard lesson I’m still learning. Part of me is hardwired for the easy path, the shortcut, the work around. Truth is, the lesson is in the day to day living that’s just plain old hard. The growing is in the commitment to see something through, to be content with what you have, and see the blessings you already possess instead of wishing for what you don’t have.

Do you agree with the Bieber quote? Ever taken the harder path and found a reward in it? Do you struggle with patience?

Lisa

I blog when I have something to say, not on a set schedule. Save time and have new posts conveniently arrive in your inbox by subscribing using the box below. I would love to meet and chat, find me on Facebook here.