Devoted to Devotions

For the better part of 15 years, maybe closer to 20, I've been writing devotions for various organizations.

In fact, I'm writing more devotions today than I ever did. And that's partly because I'm a freelancer for one of the oldest devotional publications out there (Guideposts) and also because I write devotions without a place for them to go. 

All the time. Because I love them. 

Devotions are essentially short stories that pack a (spiritual) punch.

With my myriad of writings from articles, blog posts, books, and short stories, I've found that writing devotions is one of the best ways to keep my writing skills up. Why? Because, as a writer, being clear and concise - and being able to tell a story - are the key tenets to being a good writer.

Devotions do that for me. If I can't say it in 400 words or less, then the excess needs to go.

Having said all that, here's the reason I'm blabbing on about devotions: I decided (as of yesterday) to let my devotions out to the world. I started a Substack account (which is like a blog) and am posting my devotions there.

It's just me posting some organized paragraphs about the little snippets of God I uncover in my day-to-day life. Instead of hiding them in my computer, I now have a place to showcase them. 

If you're a God-follower, then hey, maybe this is something you want. Or need. A quick two-minute read before you start the day, or one to relax with at the end of the day.

If you're not a God-follower, this may still be a place for you to land at the end of the day. It's a glimpse into my life as a middle-aged woman, a mom, a wife, and a glimpse into the God I've put in the center of my universe.

If you're in the market for a little spiritual uplifting - one that is free - then head on over to my Substack account, called Olive Finch Devotions. I plan on posting three days a week.

I also plan on offering a daily devotion with a paid subscription (about $5 a month) but that's a little way down the road. I'd just like to give others something that I could've used years ago.

Short, simple, relevant, Christ-centered devotions.

I can hear you asking, "Why the name Olive Finch?" Well, head on over to my Substack and find out for yourself.

If this isn't for you, no problem. I wanted to tell you about my latest endeavor. If you are interested, I would love to have you as a subscriber.  And if you like it, tell your friends about it. Share the devotions. Tell others about the Goodness out there.

If there is anything I've written that is worth anything in this world, it would be these devotions. And I'm glad I've finally decided to do something about it.

-Heather

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Feeling a Little Squirrely

I took a nice little walk around my neighborhood last week.

Here in California, a winter afternoon gets up to the “frigid” lower 60s, even in the middle of January. So, with the sun out, my work done for the day, and the fact that I was feeling a little squirrely having been holed up in my house for most of the day, I went out for a little jaunt.

I headed down the usual route, taking the simple circuitous route around my entire neighborhood, and noted the deep blue hue of our winter sky. Birds chattered, neighbors waved hello, and our ubiquitous squirrels ran the neighborhood like the little hoodlums that they are.

As I walked the loop, I watched a squirrel cross from one side of the sidewalk, stop in the middle of my neighborhood road, and stand on his hind legs—just like in a funny insurance commercial, I had seen years ago. 

I would venture to say most people think squirrels are on the annoying side of things. While they’re cute and small and scurry around the trees like ants on a picnic, there’s an element to them that can be frustrating.

Take this incident on the road in my neighborhood, for example. While it’s true that there were no oncoming cars, my street was quiet, and it had been the most opportune time to cross the road, it was still a tad exciting to watch a squirrel cross the road knowing full well they like to fidget and play chicken with every passing car.

This could have been the squirrel's last day. Or, it could have been like most days of its life, and one of fun frivolity, giving gest at every passing car, knowing we humans care about their lives just enough to swerve away from them as we drive by, lest we flatten them.

It’s also no secret, at least in my neighborhood, that we have hundreds of these squirrels. To the point that if one went missing, we probably wouldn’t notice. We’re so used to having them everywhere, over every tree, and on every roof, that we almost don’t see them anymore.

And yet surely, if I thought about it, I would classify these little animals as built-in pets. They run free in my backyard, traipsing across the back fence at record speed, playing with each other at a game of chase - a hundred times a day - with their friends, and even drinking water from my pool.

And don’t get me started on their food binges. With lime, orange, mandarin, peach, pear, and apple trees all within my yard and my neighbors’ yards, they gorge themselves on our fruit year-round, leaving the rinds behind as the only evidence of their feasting. 

These built-in pets (or is it pests) are just assumed to be a part of every household, and we share these pets with our neighbors, even if we don’t think of them as pets because they’re so common and are never missing from our daily view.

Our squirrels rarely go missing. In fact, our prodigious squirrels are hardy. So much so that even our natural wildlife – such as mountain lions and coyotes – take no pleasure in hunting these little ones down. Essentially, our squirrels have no predators and because of that have populated our neighborhood with seemingly a thousand of their fine western gray squirrel relatives.

Regardless of their lack of predators, this day I watched one frolic into the street, look at me, think about crossing to the other side, and then go for it. I saw him lean back and think about the meaning of life in the middle of the road. But, I looked away as soon as he headed toward the house in front of him. If you’ve seen one squirrel, you’ve seen them all.

Or so I thought. 

Most likely, he was headed to the grapefruit tree I just walked past. Or perhaps a cousin was calling him for a rousing game of hide and seek. Whatever his reason for crossing, I forgot about the little imp, glad I didn’t have to witness his fatal demise from a passing car, and went on my way until I noticed him headed for a sunny driveway. 

He scampered up the drive, headed straight for a corner where the garage door butted up against a support beam. He began to sniff the corner. For a moment, he had a distinct dog-like appearance. What was he sniffing? Squirrels have decent noses. Or so it’s implied. It’s why my garden has constant digging and re-digging of holes as my backyard squirrels try to find the nuts they buried in the fall.

This garage faced the southwest and the sun was setting in that direction in a few hours. Most of the warmth of the day radiated at that spot. The squirrel continued to sniff out the corner as if he was ensuring its safety. And then, in dismay, I watched him burrow up against the corner and garage door, tuck his legs in, and pull his tail over his eyes.

The squirrel was taking a nap. In the sun. In front of a garage.

I’d never seen this activity before and it made me rethink squirrels' appeal. Suddenly, my previous view of the raucous annoying creatures had shifted. These little things were adorable! Especially when there was a fluffy tail over their eyes. 

I snapped a photo of him on my phone (it was too far away and blurry, otherwise I would show it here) and shook my head. Though still annoying, I could let go of my resentment over them eating the fruit off my trees. How could I be upset at these cute built-in pets that cavorted all over the neighborhood?

After that walk, I sat outside in the sun in my backyard-- the same sun that the squirrel was resting in, too, at the same time. I’d learned two things on that walk: One, I’d been ignorant about squirrels my whole life, and two: when life is busy, slow down.

Take a lesson from the squirrels (a nut of wisdom, if you will): settle down in the sun and take a nap.

-Heather

Empty Nesting 101

Change is a tough thing. 

Most of the time, I tend to view change as a problem. It's as if something, someone, or some force went in, and changed my life without my permission, and now I have to deal with the fallout because - as we all have come to believe - change isn't a good thing.

But what if I viewed change as a good challenge? What if I viewed relationships and big shifting events as God telling me my life needs to go in a new direction? And if I'm looking at it with the right vision, Maybe this is exactly what I need?

My youngest son just flew the coop. I am in full "empty nest" mode. His room is empty, completely devoid of all the things that made this room his, and I'm not cool with it, to be honest. 

There should be a required class that all parents of older teens have to take (before the kid leaves) called Empty Nesting 101 to prepare the parents for the hollowness that follows them around the house. It's brutal. For years, we've known this day would come and yet somehow I still feel like I was abandoned.

There would be lessons in the syllabus that explained how to navigate Costco (now that you don't have extra mouths to feed). How not to hyperventilate that the washing machine is mostly empty every day, since you don't do their laundry. How to remain calm knowing that the bathroom you cleaned one day will stay clean for the rest of the week (or maybe longer if you have boys). 

Everything is different and it will look foreign for a long time. There might even be equations to memorize like, "For every seven years of parenting, it will take six months to undo your normal way of doing everything around the house. How do you solve for 18 years and two months?"

Right now, these days just after he moved, is not the most pleasant of experiences. My kids no longer need me like they used to and that's a shock for any parent. Of course, this is life; we raise our kids to become free, strong, and crazy good people, yet it still hurts to let them go. 

There is nothing good about this change; it feels like I'm getting fired from being a mom, something I've done for almost 24 years.

But, I'm going to be fine.

If I didn't experience change I would never change anything, right? I would settle in my ways and never learn anything new, do anything new, extract the things that don't belong, and keep further settling myself into the comfortable armchair of life.

I know this is true for me. It's why when several good friends moved away, it forced me to make new friends. I probably wouldn't have done this if my friends hadn't left. Why would I? I wouldn't have thought I needed to.

But I really did. All of the changes in my life were needed now that I look back on them.

Just as health issues forced me to change my eating habits, my children leaving the nest shows me new areas I can focus on. Whether that's writing a book I promised myself twenty years ago, working more on my health, or doing the creative things I've been longing to do. 

New areas to work on means refocusing my life's direction and continuing on in the slow living I desire for my life. This is change. But gosh, when I look at it that way, maybe I'll be able to hand it after all?

So, while I may not wish this "empty nesting" change, there's nothing I can do to put it back the way it was. Instead, I will meet this challenge with happiness (even if that is not quite there yet), and find new ways to live my life. (Besides, I can text and FaceTime them. No son can get away from his mother that easily, ha!)

Empty nesting is not for the faint of heart, and right about now, I feel like those "benefits" of change I just talked about are dismal. Even if Empty Nesting 101 had been available, I probably would've failed. I would have cried through the entire class, and never completed the given exercises like, "If you have 100 dollars and zero kids ask for zero dollars, how much do you have left?"

But millions of us parents go through this. They survived, and I will survive, and it will become a new normal.

Having said that, I sure can't wait to see my kids again.

Oh (dear!), Christmas Tree

I don't know what it is, but this is the first year I don't feel pressured to do anything quickly for Christmas. Perhaps it was my own self-imposed wishes over the last Christmases to do things just right, to get the Christmas cards out early, and to get the tree up before Thanksgiving.

Perhaps it's because both my boys will be flying the coop within about three months of each other and I don't feel the urge to make things perfect or the same. Because, in a few short months, that "norm" will come to a screeching halt.

You might want to check in on me when that happens. I realize all parents go through this. But, after losing my beloved dog last year, and then both my boys this coming new year, well, let's just say I'll feel alone in the family department unlike anything I've ever felt.

A friend of mine just wrote about this same thing. It's like we've transitioned to a different phase of life, and, to be honest, I hope I never go back to the old way. I'm done striving.

This year, as far as Christmas goals, has been the opposite of every one of those previous tenets of my life. And I'm so glad it's different. Because my time isn't as pressed as it has been (working several jobs and keeping track of the kids and our lives), my need to get things done has altered. It can't help but change.

Christmas cards? Well, you'll be lucky to get them by Christmas, to be honest. I've sent out a few to family, but that's it. Sorry about that (but not really.)

Christmas gifts? Normally, I've purchased and wrapped all of them by December 1st. I realize this is over-the-top and excessively perfectionistic, but when work and family collide with the holiday, there are too many things to do to sit by and let it pile up. Such is the life of a working mom. So, I always felt like I had to stay on top of things just to survive.

This year, I just finished buying the gifts and again, I'll be lucky if I get them all wrapped by the 23rd. I'm not feeling the calling to do that anymore.

Christmas tree? For the last decade or so, the tree comes out right after my youngest boy's birthday, the 16th of November. Because one month of the Christmas tree is too short. This year? We just got it. Perhaps this is a new normal for me now.

Speaking of Christmas trees, we purchased a permit to chop down our trees on land that needs a little deforestation. But because we here in Northern California have had so many wildfires, the land available to do the chopping has reduced significantly.

If you squint, she doesn't look too bad.

We were relegated to a small portion of land to choose from and when it comes to those sorts of confinements, you get what you get. Because of that, our tree is the most Charlie Brownest of all Christmas trees we've ever had. And you know what? I love it. She's still a beauty. She's a tad waifish, but all the same, she's beautiful. For $10, I have nothing to complain about.

This year is a different Christmas but different is also good. It's not always welcomed, but it is good because it forces us to grow, change, and evolve for the better. Next Christmas is going to be even more foreign than this one without my boys at home.

I've slowed down my Christmas living this year and am enjoying every second I have with family. I'm doing it all with a slightly anorexic tree, late Christmas cards, and no presents under the tree (yet), but man, does it sure feel good.

It's going to be the best Christmas yet. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas... one as gentle and slow as it needs to be. ♥

The Lost Art of Conversation

Back in the days of yonder, say 1899 in late June, the Saturday Evening Post printed an article about the "lost art of conversation." You can read it for yourself. 

Why was this such a problem for the fine folks of a century that was nearly turning 1900? 

It all had to do with reading. Yes, reading. As in, too much reading was causing people to not talk to one another.

It strikes me funny that reading was the problem behind their lack of conversation. Yet, I can see how this could be thought of as detrimental to society. Because what else could stop a conversation? Before books, there was nothing one could do if they were bored that would mentally remove them from the room.

I suppose women had their sewing, but they probably talked while they sewed. And it's why quilting groups are popular, even today. You get together to create something beautiful but you also get to talk, conversate, laugh, and enjoy each other's company at the same time.

As the writer of the 1899 article said, "The very act of reading is unsocial. It is a kind of melancholy barbarism. If you look about you in a railway station, in a streetcar or a 'bus, you will observe that everyone is reading.... Conversation is in a way of becoming a lost art.... We have such a precious deal of reading to do that conversation is out of the question."

Reading books, on a train (the nerve!) stopped the conversation. Reading was a way for one to turn into oneself, an escapism into a world of one's own, where the need for talk wasn't necessary. In fact, it was discouraged. How could one read and talk at the same time? 

Today, we can only hope that people are reading. Because, while reading has declined, that's not our biggest problem now. If the writer of this article could have only seen how little reading we actually do anymore, he would've scrapped the article altogether.

We not only don't read anymore but are instead on our phones. The reading "problem" of 100 years ago is a problem I wish we had. We scroll, text, and email, instead and we do it all day long. Can you imagine going to an airport and seeing everyone with a book instead of a phone? 

I just got back from visiting some wonderful friends who have since moved to Florida since I last saw them. It was a wonderful time of much talking and laughing. What happened to our phones? Well, I can tell you that other than the random email, or text, or other than some necessary business communication, we weren't on our phones. At all.

All four of us, for the better part of four days, were lost in the art of actual conversation.

We also did this a couple years earlier with another set of friends in Idaho. Three days of talk and laughter and amazing conversation. It was energizing and life-giving, and because of both of these trips, I understood the force behind the concept of this article. He understood that community and conversation, that communication and connection with each other is where we thrive and grow. It makes us well.

In the context of all things, I sincerely wish more people read. Having a face in a book is leaps better than having a face in the phone (unless you're reading a book on an e-reader.)

So now that I'm back home, with the option to scroll mindlessly wherever I go, I want to change that. When I take a walk by myself, the phone stays in my pocket. How many times have I walked by someone after the fact, and realized I had my nose to the phone and didn't even see them? So rude, so pointless, and so very selfish. How much am I missing around me all because I can't sit still for a few minutes without my phone entertaining me?

If you've actually taken a moment, to get off your phone in an airport, it's astonishing to see all the heads looking down into their hand while they wait for their flight to arrive. Most are not reading a book. They are all watching something on that little screen. Every man, woman, and child.

The average person spends 4.5 hours on their phone every day and younger folks, up to 6 hours. This means, conservatively, that most of us, if we stay on this horrible trajectory of time-wasting, will in fifty years have spent 9.5 years scrolling.

All I can think about is what books aren't being written because young people are scrolling? What art isn't being drawn, sculpted, or painted? What music isn't being composed? What major scientific discovery is waiting to be unearthed but hasn't yet because little Johnny is watching YouTube videos?

We are wasting away; we are becoming the most unproductive society; we have lost all creativity. And I don't want to be a part of the demise of us.

So, I have a list where I can interact more and scroll less.

• At the gas station - don't whip out the phone, look at the people around me, and maybe, I know this might be hard for some, but maybe smile.
• In the grocery store line - talk to someone next to me.
• At the post office line - talk to someone next to me.
• At the airport - talk to someone sitting next to me.
• Cooking a meal - leave the phone alone! Don't cook eggs and scroll at the same time - I will burn those eggs. Mmm. Yummy.
• At home - lessen my screen time. Use my time to create, make, become, and discover.
• At the shops I frequent, with a line out the door just to check out - check the email once and then watch the other customers, look for spare change on the floor, and be available in case someone needs my help with something. (I get lots of people asking me their opinion of what they're buying once we're in line - they tend not to ask if I'm on my phone. Interesting, huh?)

Yes, this means an introvert like myself has to talk more. But, I don't need to give up the phone entirely. Instead, maybe give it a rest for five to ten minutes. Look where you're standing; look at the people near you; look at the way the sun is setting out the window while you wait to pick up your dinner.

We'll always have technology, but we can choose to not let it rule our social lives. We can put that phone where it belongs: away. The phone is a slim box of metal and plastic that doesn't need to be at my face for me to function well. (I know, young people will  be amazed at this, but it's true.) 

If you still need your phone, fine. I get it, we all do to some degree because that's how our society is now wired. But, we can surely do something about the time spent on it. Instead of 4.5 hours per day, lessen it to 3.5. Then work your way down to 2.5 hours. Put timers on your phone. Something. Anything.

I venture to say that we should read more, scroll less, and more importantly, find people whom we can see face to face. Let's have those conversations, let's forget about our phones, let's talk and discuss and have a conversation that needs to happen.

Today, the lost art of conversation isn't due to reading books, but instead due to smartphones and tablets. Let's bring the conversation back and hopefully with it, we will bring back the tenets of slow living and re-infuse true creativity - from books to art to science to cooking - back into our lives so we can give an honest account of our lives one day.

I don't know about you, but I sure have no plausible excuse for 9.5 years of scrolling when I meet God one day. That's 9.5 years wasted and gone.

If there's anything I got out of my trip to Florida (and watching everyone at airports on their phone) it's this: Less phone, more conversation.  That's it.

We can do this.

Dictionary No More

Do you ever hold onto something that you might need? Something that may be a perfect fix for when you're in a jam? That twisty tie that closes something else in need of closing; that cable you knew you needed to keep because a different electronic needs it.

That one pair of jeans you were sure you were going to get back into.

We're all guilty of this ubiquitous idea that we're doing the right thing by holding onto something "we may need in the future." It's frugal, it's smart, and it's rational thinking - because hey, how many times have we gotten rid of something we should've kept, right?

RIP, my dictionary

As a self-proclaimed minimalist, an ideology I've been holding tight to for the last seven years or so, this goes against my current philosophy. Yes, it's good to hold on to certain things in the household I know I will use. Like the plastic bags I need for cleaning out or taking out the garbage - despite the ban, again, that our state will be imposing - I use them, need them, and when I get one, I proceed to stuff it in the plastic bag drawer in our kitchen. These plastic bags will be used. I can guarantee you that.

But, how many plastic containers do I need to hold on to? Leftovers can be put in glass dishes to refrigerate. How many boxes do I need to hold onto to recycle? (I do use boxes all the time for shipping, but surely not all of them).

And here is my most recent example of holding onto something I will never use again: the dictionary.

For twenty-five years, I've lugged this thing around from home to home, knowing - without a doubt - I would use it. And in the early 2000s, used it I did. I used it to write my master's thesis on the veracity of the book of Esther for my Humanities degree (with an emphasis on Literature, thank you very much). I used it as I began to write freelance for my burgeoning career. I used it when an author bushwhacked me with a word I'd never heard of. 

Which was constant.

This may be a throwback to my Gen-X ways (we didn't have smartphones, which means we didn't have dictionary apps on our non-existent smartphones), but, why was I holding onto this book? Why did I insist that this five-pound work of art was necessary anymore?

Language is a beautiful thing. A larger vocabulary helps us to communicate how we feel. But my youth, which is no longer an active participant in my life, insisted I keep it even when I didn't need it.

I took it out of my bookshelf just a few weeks ago and told my husband I was going to donate it. Truthfully, I should've recycled it. Except for a few teachers or professors - or vintage lovers, like myself - no one will buy this from the local thrift store. It will sit in obscurity, fading away into the background of modern life.

I knew it was time to get rid of it when I realized I hadn't used it in over a decade. While this is a bit sad, it also isn't. The dictionary is in my e-reader so if I want to look up a word, all I have to do is tap on the word. It saves me minutes. The dictionary is also an app on my phone. What used to take a minute to plow through in book form, now takes seconds on the tap of a phone. Yet, for a book lover like myself, letting go of the dictionary feels like I'm committing a crime; surrendering my baby, if you will.

But, time is of the essence, after all. Or, that's what they say.

I realize getting rid of a dictionary is the opposite of slow living. But, alas, hear me out. When you're reading a great book, and the tension is thick, and the protagonist is about to find out the meaning of their existence and I have to stop to look up a word, having the handy dandy dictionary app allows me to slow my reading speed for a few seconds rather than a few minutes.

And for every voracious reader, this is of the utmost importance. I need to know what happens now.

While the physical dictionary is a mass of fond memories for me, it's not like I won't use the dictionary at all. It isn't obsolete. Rather, I've just found a newer - and better, I might add - way to look up those obfuscating words that render a reader stupefied. 

While everything changes, and while I'm not used to the blank spot in my bookshelf without it, this book of words has helped me learn everything I've needed to learn about my basic lexicological education. 

If you have one of these on your shelves, it's okay. Don't feel bad. You can let go if you want to. I held onto it even though I hadn't used it in years. Sentimental reasoning is a fine reason to keep items we don't use. It's not logical, but it's why we do what we do.

Here's the moral of the story: If you haven't used an item in over a decade, odds are good you don't need it.

Dictionary, my book of all books, I will miss you. But, I'll see you online. And while I can't use you as a weight-lifting component anymore, the weight of your influence will always be with me. 

 

Always a Work in Progress

My youngest son, who isn't that young (he'll be 18 in two months) came to me just a few days ago and said something profound. He said: "I'm not really naturally good at anything."

Of course, I did my motherly return of "Oh son, of course you are," and reminded him of how good he was at a lot of things. But, what he was really saying was this: "It takes a lot of work to do something better than average."

I actually congratulated him on becoming an adult right then. I had to point out to him that at the young - but maturing - age of nearly 18, he's realized he doesn't know everything.

A lot of great stories in this book.

In fact, if I was reading him right, he was actually telling me he didn't know much at all. Which is huge. This is practically like clouds parting and the sun coming out huge. He was finally - finally, after years of him telling me (and not telling me) that he "knows" everything, as most young boys do - understanding what life was all about.

Life is unfair and life is hard. And in the end, we're going to be average or below average in many things. 

I told him our goal is to do the best we can and continue to improve - even if it is in minute amounts - on all we do, learn, see, have, and become. 

I told him I didn't know how to do anything great either. I've been writing professionally for over twenty years and I am still learning how to write. I'll never have it all figured out. I don't even know who I am and what I like, most days. 

When I hear someone say, "The older I get the more I realize I don't know anything," I hear it as the mark of maturity, which is essentially where my son is at. It means he is ready to learn. He understands humility. He has the chance to transform - through a lifetime - into the person he needs to be because he doesn't think he has it all figured out.

Guidepost's latest book, Transformed by His Grace, took a story of mine and it just came out. Last week, I received my author copies.

My story is about a chance meeting with a friend whom I never would've chosen to have as a friend had I not been open-minded about it. Today, years later, we're still friends. We're unlikely friends with different backgrounds, but great friends nonetheless.

I know nothing about everything, apparently. I can't even pick out friends that would be a good fit for me. God has to intervene! 

A friend whom I would've walked right by because she wasn't like me ended up being a much-needed part of my life. I am a better person because of this chance meeting. 

But after decades of writing (also called rejection), I'm finally getting a steady stream of published works. It's been an arduous journey, but it is worth the time it takes to learn something and learn it well.

I told my son that I am still learning how to do everything. I'm not naturally talented at the things I want to do, and most people aren't. 

All of that talent takes time to acquire. And for me and my writing, I'm still acquiring it. Sure, I'm getting published but most days, particularly when I'm working on my longer stories, I shake my head and wonder how it's possible to be such a bad writer.

Being open to rejection, being open to doing things wrong, and being open to correction are all attributes of a great person. Because if we can keep going despite those things, we are malleable which means there's room for growth.

But, I don't like it. Any of it. It's painful, embarrassing, demoralizing, and humbling. But knowing I can slog through the hum-drum of life, forging through the forests of average to get to the place of above-average, keeps me going down the path that's laid out before me.

I am a constant work in progress and that's the place I probably will be in for the rest of my life. But being willing to change - and allowing for constant transformation - keeps me both human and hopefully, a better human.

That is all I'm trying to tell my son and it's a beautiful thing to see he finally understands it.