When All Else Fails, Bring Chocolate

Sometimes I find myself having to attend meetings I don't want to attend with people I don't know.  Sometimes I have to enter into hostile classroom settings with students who scowl about grades or class assignments.  Sometimes I find myself at odds with a neighbor.

As I prepare for a meeting today, I turn to Proverbs 18.  Here, the wise man says, "A gift opens the way and ushers the giver into the presence of the great." Some translations say a gift enlarges the way of the giver.  Others claim the gift opens closed doors and connects you to people. 

I know what I need to do.

I buy chocolate.  Really good chocolate.  I enter the room with an armload of it.  "I brought chocolate!" I exclaim.  The gift never fails in classrooms, meetings, and even between friends with hurt feelings.  You stand on the doorstep, ring the doorbell, and just hand over the chocolate. 

I remember the story of a little girl who had her first fight with her best friend.  Days pass.  Finally, one of them sulks over, still mad, knocks on the door and says, "My mom wants to know if you want some chocolate."

The other girl, angry and frowning says, "Of course I do."  She then smiles and says, "Come in and let's play."

When all else fails and you don't know what to do, bring chocolate.

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Have you experienced the power of giving a gift to enlarge your way?

Would You Give Like This?

I'm speaking with a lovely woman at a dinner party.  I just love her flair; right down to her shoes, this woman has style.  I find myself complimenting her beautiful jewelry and wondering what it feels like to be that put together.

She's from Texas. (The rest of us can try, but we won't ever be as stylish as a Texan woman.) 

I look down at my drab clothing:  black, professional, and profoundly boring.  Nevertheless, I enjoy myself and take great delight in the company of my new friend.  As the evening comes to an end, I'm talking to another group of people, and I feel something cool and heavy close against my shoulders from behind me.  Before I can turn around, my Texan friend has clasped her necklace around my neck. 

"It's for you!  I have so many baubles, and these are perfect for you!"

"Oh, I can't accept these," I say, absolutely astonished that anyone would remove their own necklace and put it around my neck.

"Oh yes, they are just baubles, and they are for you!"  (I now know one never argues with a Texan woman with baubles.)

I'm still stunned by the gesture.  Have you ever heard of such a thing? Later, I tell my daughters that a lovely woman at a dinner party gave me her necklace and insisted I keep it.

"That's the nicest thing," my oldest says.  I can see her mind wondering if she could part with her own jewelry.  

I want to be the kind of woman that removes her own necklace because another woman might enjoy it.  Might I see my possessions as just baubles to pass around?

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Journal:  Would you ever do something like this at a party?  Could you graciously either give or receive such a gesture?

This Looks Like You

My friend (who really is so close she's like my sister) stops by this morning before the walk to school and hands me a beautiful new purse.

"This looks like you," she says.

But it's not my birthday!  It's not Christmas!

I immediately put it on my shoulder.  Two neighbors announce they have "purse envy." Nobody has ever said that to me before.  I'm not the kind of girl who goes shopping for purses.   I still use the brown purse my father bought me for my 16th birthday.  Yes, my handbags are over 20 years old. 

But not anymore.  I have a new bright and whimsical purse.  I have a new purse because I have a friend who gives me things that "look like me."

Living with flair means being that kind of friend.  I want to be a better gift giver.  I want to find little treasures that could delight someone the way I was this morning at 8:00 AM. 

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Journal:  When was the last time you gave a gift to someone?

The Worst Gift-Giver

I'm a horrible gift-giver.  It takes me forever to think about what would delight another person, and so I abandon the task altogether.   Other folks present beautiful, timely, unexpected gifts to their friends just because they saw something and thought to themselves, "My friend would love this." 

I wish I were a better gift-giver!  I think of the kinds of "good gifts" God rains down--often beautiful, timely, and unexpected blessings.  I want to learn how to reflect that goodness to others. 

Yesterday, a former student of mine asks if I'll meet her on campus because she has a little gift for me.  Nothing special, she tells me.

When she arrives with some other students, she pushes across the table a jar of Coconut Satin and Silk Lotion from a little company called Soaps and Such out in Auburn, New York.  Over her holiday break, she figured out how to find some for me. 

"It's the smell you always commented on--the lotion smell you said you loved," she says, smiling. "You can't buy it anywhere but from this one place.  It's homemade."  

I open the jar and smell the coconut lotion that transports me to a tropical paradise. We all pass it around and lather our hands with it.

Last year, as I walked by this student's desk to return her papers, I would linger and say, "What is that smell?  It smells just like coconut!  I wish I smelled like that all day."

I'd be writing on the chalkboard, and I'd start craving coconut cake.   

It was her Coconut Satin and Silk Lotion.

That was six months ago.  

The student observes the tiniest detail and remembers.   It wasn't a particularly expensive gift.  It wasn't large or even wrapped.  But it changed my whole day. 

These sorts of gifts challenge me to observe and remember so I can bless others.  I don't know what I loved more:  the gift or the fact that she remembered I like the smell of coconut.

Living with flair means I observe, remember, and bless others with tiny gifts. 


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Journal Question:   Sometimes I experience little blessings all day that show me God is watching and knows all the things I love.  As I learn to reflect God's love, am I watching closely what tiny, simple things others love so I might give a gift to bless them?

A Christmas Gift to Yourself

I'm sitting around a table with other couples, all in their 30's and 40's.  As we talk about the different activities we're encouraging our children to try--voice lessons, dance, musical instruments, acting--one mother suddenly announces how much she wishes she could take ballet lessons. 

"Why don't you!?" we all exclaim just as another mother confesses her desire to learn ballet.  And then, the whole table erupts in a discussion of the classes we wish we were taking.  We go around the room and answer the question: "What class do you secretly wish you could take?" 

Painting, photography, guitar, voice, history, Spanish, piano. . . the list goes on as we share the things we still--even at our age--want to learn and do.  But is it too late?  I had just finished reading a chapter about neuroscience and the importance of novelty for brain health.  Novelty--fresh ideas, fresh experiences, fresh activities--strengthens the brain as it ages.

It's not too late.  It's never too late. 

We commit to it as a group, encouraging one another in our desires.  The gift we might give ourselves this Christmas for 2011 is novelty.  Then, by Christmas of next year, we'll have another interest to pursue.

Living with flair means I give myself the gift of novelty.  Who cares if you're the oldest ballerina in the room or if your arthritic fingers hesitate over the piano keys?   You'll inspire the rest of us with your courage, your enthusiasm, and your flair.  Is there something you secretly wish you could learn?  I'd love to hear it! 

Your Most Memorable Act

Last year, my daughter's teacher asked me to provide some healthy Halloween treats for the 2nd grade party.  Everyone knows how terrible I am at anything involving baking, crafts, or decorating.  I try, but when it comes right down to it, I'm just not good at these things.

Halloween Boo Platter

I am good at words, though.  And I recalled the wisdom of my friend in Texas who says firmly, "Heather, God gave these children to you.  You are the perfect parent for them.  Your gifts are perfectly matched to their needs."  So this time last year, I arrange some vegetables in the shape of the word, "Boo."  I have no idea what I am doing.  I take some foil, make a pattern, and fill it in with vegetables.  That's about as crafty as I get.

The Boo Platter

Despite my anxiety about this platter (was it cute? would the children love it?), I bring it to the school party.  My daughter beams.  Children come over to read the word, and they laugh and eat vegetables because they are in the shape of a word.   It isn't even that beautiful as you can see by this photo. (Feel free to comment to make me feel better about this). 

Story over.  A year goes by.

This week, my daughter bursts from the school doors and calls out, "Mom, I signed you up to make treats for the Halloween party.  Everyone wants the Boo Platter!  Let's make another Boo Platter!"  She's holding my hand, staring up into my face, and talking about this Boo Platter like it's become a public school legend.  

I wake up this morning and arrange the foil in the shape of a word.  It might be the most important thing I do today, the thing that matters as the years go by.  God made me a certain way, and when I act out of that authentic self, I leave a beautiful mark.  A simple embellishment--in my style--to a platter created a memory--a tradition--that children remembered and needed.   These small acts that I think make no mark, that make no difference, that seem silly and awkward and out of place, actually embed themselves in neighborhood memory. 

Living with flair means pressing on in small embellishments that flow from my personality that help shape a family and a community. Sure, some other parents made more creative and impressive things, but what my children remembered and love was a word.  Because that's me.