On Sundays at my house, growing up in Southeast Idaho, my mom, a small, thin woman with light skin but dark eyes and short dark hair, would get out of bed at 5:00 a.m. (sleeping in, compared to the rest of the week for her). At that hour she prepared roast and potatoes for Sunday dinner - not a big surprise when you have dairy cows and potato fields, but a luxury we were not allowed to take for granted. After three hours of church, and before the cows had to be milked again, I would sit around the dark wood table on big wooden chairs with my two sisters, my brother, and mom. My dad at the head of the tables would ask each of us, in turn, what we learned at church that day. It was at those times that he often attempted to impart words of fatherly wisdom to his progeny.
1. - [ ] One day as we sat around that table in the house on bend in the road, with the rust colored linoleum beneath our feet, he told of a small swallow he saw earlier that week ferociously defending her nest from a red-tailed hawk. I stared out the big dining room window across the field with hay laying in neat rows. I lost track of the story as I watched birds of all sizes discovering rodents, bugs, and other feasts newly exposed by the freshly cut crop. His story complete, he paused. The quiet pulled me from my daydream. I had missed the point of the tale. I suppose the moral of that particular story was less important than what he shared next. He looked passed me sitting at the foot of the table across from him, passed the golden Formica countertops behind me, passed the classic gold refrigerator of that late 70s home, through the door, through the carport, and out into the pastures beyond. Then he encouraged us all to look for life lessons in everyday things. It seemed pretty simple for such dramatic effect. Intrigued, and always looking to please or impress my father.
- [ ] I watched for months but saw nothing. I tried to come up with things at random… This banana peel is like when you… get… old… or… brown spots… that… or… even throw it away... I got nothing. I figured I just didn’t see things the way my dad did. Discouraged, I almost gave up entirely. Then one night I went to see a symphony and concert at the Assembly Hall in Salt Lake City. Despite growing up on a small rural farm, my parents felt it important for us to be exposed to culture and the arts. Most of the events we attended were free, but culture building none-the-less. As I sat in that old historic building the stain glass windows impressed me. In the light of the sunset, with the music as a backdrop, the windows came alive for me. My attention turned to the program for enough time that when I recalled the windows again and looked back, the sun had set and the window were dark and dull. I thought how love and kindness shining through us makes us bright, happy, and attractive like the sun shining through those windows, but if that light goes dim, and we become selfish and self-centered, our countenance is dulled. In honesty, I do not now recall the exact analogy I made as a teenager looking out a darkened stained glass window, but I remember the elation I felt as the comparison came alive for me. I had done it. I found a life lesson in a mundane, ordinary, everyday thing. I continue to draw life lessons from everyday events. That is the majority of what you will read in this book; life events, underscored by lessons learned, sometimes validated by other authors and professionals. Like Aesop and his famous fables, I feel compelled to point out the moral I extrapolate from these stories and experiences. There are, of course, innumerable potential parallels and lessons to be learned. Please do not constrain yourself by my limited experience and imagination. The point and intent is that these events might inspire, encourage, motivate, or resonate in some way, whatever that is for you. I also encourage readers to