A quote can change your life.
It changed mine.
I sat at my office desk working on much neglected tasks. The time slipped by quickly and before I knew it, the computer clock blared an alarming 11pm. Still, I continued to plug away while I sipped Starbucks, snacked on cookies, and blared Lily Allen. The night was uneventful.
Then, it happened.
Like most bad events, they sneak up on us when we least expect them. They are like the monsters that lay dormant under our beds as children, except as adults they find a better hiding spot--your heart.
My bad event? I'd stumbled upon a bit of information via social media. An innocent piece of info that most people would disregard, ignore, slide past with their finger, and never think of again.
But not my heart. It told me a different story. Because the heart doesn't offer us rational thoughts, common sense, or moments of clarity; instead it cracks open as wide as the Grand Canyon and swallows us up like a vicious creature from another world.
My heart. Though I tried to fight the sadness brewing inside, it bubbled up and burst forth from my soul, spilling tears onto my keyboard. I felt cracked open, like a week old Easter egg that had been left hidden behind an innocuous place, abandoned and left behind.
Forgotten.
I only knew one solution, so I prayed: "God, I feel so shattered, torn, broken. Help me."
Shattered. Such an appropriate word for my inner turmoil.
No sooner did I say, "Amen" did my sweater get stuck on something on my desk. A small, heavily glittered Eiffel Tower that had been gifted to me from my Secret Santa. The force of me yanking my sweater made the small statue fall on my desk, cascading an enormous amount of glitter over my keyboard, clothing, and floor.
I cursed. But, only for a moment.
For my eyes caught the most beautiful sight. Pieces of the glitter had mixed with some of my tears. Fragments of my sorrow, mixed with the shimmering glitter, seemed to speak to my soul. An answer from God. Within seconds I had the loveliest quote in my mind. The words so simple, yet so profound.
She transformed her broken pieces
and turned them into glitter.
In ten mere words, I was changed. The quote made me smile. Instantly I was reminded I'd survived some horrific events in my life and made it out a better, more whole person. I'd turned things meant to harm me into beauty. I'd turned pain into love. I'd turned hopelessness into victory. I'd turned lack into wealth. I'd turned a broken heart into faith.
I had transformed my shattered pieces into glitter. And, if I can do it.
So can you.
-C.S. Stuart
How a Quote Can Change Your Life
December 16, 2017
For better or worse, our interactions with others change us.
On this day, a man changed me.
The Soccer Dad.
He entered my office boisterous, smiling, and full of energy. He'd brought his son in for a consultation for orthodontic braces. He was kind, and in my industry, that already gives him a thumbs up.
But when we got into their family schedule, we faced an obstacle in finding any availability. Again, I had no idea I was about to be transformed with a small exchange of words.
"Sorry about the crazy schedule," The Dad apologized. "He's got soccer practice and I'm his coach."
"I played soccer for six years," I said. "Did you play soccer growing up too?"
"Oh, no, I was more of a football and baseball guy," He answered. "But when he took an interest in soccer a few years ago, I decided to join a men's league so I could grasp what the training and game was all about. This way I could really coach him correctly."
"Wow," I answered, smiling. "That's dedication."
"Well, he's only got one dad--me--so, I figured I better make the most of my time with him," He answered.
Boom.
There it was.
He's only got one dad.
I think my voice might have cracked in the ensuing conversation and scheduling him. My heart sank a little in my chest. As we parted, he shook my hand and I watched him put his arm around his son and walk out the door.
I sat at my desk and thought about the negative connotation that is sometimes associated with dads (and moms) who stand by the sidelines cheering their children on through sports. Some more wildly than others, but, nonetheless, they are there supporting their children. I've never understood the negative side to the argument--even if the parent is being belligerent.
There they stand.
Fathers proud of their children.
But, I guess that comes from my side of the story. I was the girl who played soccer with no father at my sidelines. I had no cheering squad. I walked myself to practice each night and walked myself home. I got myself to games and made sure I showed up on time. I had no one telling me to show up, guiding my game, or kicking a soccer ball on the weekends, heck, I didn't even have a ride. I remember once making the winning goal, a lucky kick, I might add. My entire team rushed to my side, the coach giving me a triumphant high-five and still I walked home that day, alone.
[Though, I might add, I was being raised by a single mother who worked her butt off to provide for us, or else, I believe she would've showed up to more games.]
I'd settle for any dad showing up to my games.
The Soccer Dad.
He reminded me of two very important facts.
#1 I am the independent, successful, and solid woman I am today because I had no father to push me. I had to push myself.
#2 There are still amazing fathers out there (I'm married to one of them!) who take the task of fathering and raise it to another level.
So, to you, soccer dad, I cheer you and all parents like you. Keep showing up. Keep cheering your kids on. Keep smiling. Keep being on the sidelines of their lives, either in sports or in education or in music or in whatever life throws at them.
They need you.
Thanks for the reminder, Soccer Dad.
What I Learned From a Soccer Dad
December 11, 2017
The woman lying in the hospice bed before me was a shadow of the former woman I knew.
A great woman.
My grandmother.
Parkinson's disease had robbed her of so many of her former abilities. I'd always known her as the organizer, the encourager, the cook, the hugger, the baker, and the traveler.
Ah, the Traveler.
It was my grandmother's stories of visiting Europe which planted the seeds into my thirteen-year-old mind the possibilities of my own adventures to the other side of the globe. When my grandmother visited Europe, it felt as if she'd accomplished the impossible, as if she'd single-handedly landed a seat on a rocket ship. Europe seemed too distant, so unreal, so other worldly to me; yet, my grandmother had shattered the invisible barrier of disbelief I had placed on our family. She had done the impossible. She became a world traveler.
When she returned, she told of the delicacies of France, the beauty of the art, the rain-kissed travertine streets, and the hospitable people of Spain and France. As the years turned into decades, she never missed an opportunity to share a new story with me about her travels abroad. And, always the eager listener, I would listen to her with wide-eyed enthusiasm.
On my last visit with her at hospice, I sat by her side and told her stories about the family. Her eyes would open and her lips would part into smiles. Parkinson's Disease is a brutal attacker of life and dignity. Being a witness to my grandmother's inability to get up and do as she pleased pierced the deepest parts of my heart. It literally ached for her.
"Grandma, I ran into your friend, Patty, today," I said. "She said to tell you hello."
My Grandmother's eyes opened wide with the mention of her friend's name. This particular friend, Patty, had taken my grandmother on many adventures. The friendship of two older women, traveling, laughing, and drinking wine, made me happy to think of my grandmother's last years were filled with such love and joy.
"Isn't Patty the friend you didn't go to Hawaii with?" I asked.
My Grandmother blinked her eyes slowly, her smile faded, and her head slowly nodded.
"Why didn't you go to Hawaii?" I asked.
My Grandmother stared straight up, as if her thoughts drifted to the ceiling. I figured she didn't hear me, so I left the matter alone. But, a few moments later, a grunting sound came from her fragile body.
She was trying to speak, a labor intensive action for her.
I leaned in close and said, "What are you trying to say?"
Then, with a fierceness I hadn't seen yet, she slowly said, "Always...take...the...trip."
"Always take the trip?" I asked. "Oh, you wish you'd gone to Hawaii?"
She again repeated," Always...take...the...trip...you."
Then I understood what she was telling me. Tears filled my eyes. It was her parting wisdom to me.
Always take the trip.
Four words filled with the wisdom of a dying woman. I understood exactly what she meant. She was telling me to never regret anything in this life. To take the trips I was invited on, not only to Europe or Hawaii, but on the daily trips I'm asked to take. Maybe a friend wants to go to coffee and a movie. Maybe my daughter wants to go shopping and eat at a cafe. Maybe my sister wants to have breakfast and laugh at old stories. My Grandmother's four words hit me as if I'd jumped into a cold lake in December--don't have any regrets.
So, I booked my trip to Italy and Paris. I had no fear, nor anxiety on my trip abroad. As I stood and looked up at the Eiffel Tower, I pictured my grandmother standing besides me. When I looked up at the Sistine Chapel, with tears in my eyes, I pictured her holding my hand smiling. And, when I walked into The Louvre, I pictured her by my side telling me to hurry up we had lots to see.
Her four words removed all fear from my life.
Have no regrets.
Always...Take...The...Trip.
-carol stuart
Why You Should Always Take The Trip
December 7, 2017
A few years ago, a conversation with a friend changed my life. She'd just been fired from her job of over two decades, yet she seemed filled with peace.
"Wow. You sure are handling this really good," I said.
"You should've seen me a few days ago," She answered. "I was a wreck."
"What changed?" I asked.
"I learned long ago to live by a rule I've given myself when hard times come knocking. I give myself one day to be mad, one day to be sad, and then I move on," She said. "It's worked for me."
It was such great advice. I wrote it down in my journal for when I would need such pearls of wisdom. Ironically, it wasn't but a week later that I actually implemented her advice. I found only one flaw in her thinking--it needed two more additions. So, with a few modifications and some word play, I created the perfect motto for troubled times: be mad, be sad, be forgiving, be glad.
I added the "Be Glad" portion because I needed a reminder to welcome joy back into my life after going through a difficult time. Happy is a state of mind and I wanted a reminder to embrace its presence in my life.
Now when a difficult situation presents itself to me, I'm armed with this lovely motto to help me find my way back. I've found utilizing this motto gives me the freedom to feel the real emotions behind the pain, creating a breeding ground for authenticity. If I'm mad, I'm mad. If I'm sad, I'm sad.
But, with a gentle nudge I am also reminded to leave the land of martyrdom and self pity and move to higher ground. Forgiveness. Not an easy thing to do, especially in one day. And, honestly, sometimes it's just me sitting in my car saying aloud, "I forgive you (fill in the blank)."
And, then, like getting into your blankets after a long day, I welcome gladness and joy back into my life.
Best advice I've ever received (with my small additions, of course).
Be Mad.
Be Sad.
Be Forgiving.
Be Glad.
-carol stuart
The Best Advice During Troubled Times
December 5, 2017
Trying to find the perfect gift for your boss? This year we wanted to be a little extra (and show him how awesome he is!) so we concocted a plan to celebrate the 12 Days of Christmas for him.
Here's how it works: 12 random gifts are left on his desk (anonymously) from his elves. Hint: You can do all 12 days in a row, double up gifts, or space them out.
We kicked off the event with a gift and a card explaining the rules to him.
Then, we started Day #1 with his first gift--Star Wars Socks! :)
I'm not going to write any of the other gifts because we are still in the process of leaving them, but let me give you some great ideas below:
* Favorite Candy Bar
* $5 Gift Card for Starbucks or Jamba Juice
* Socks
* Homemade Treat
* Gag gifts
* Stocking w/candy
* Book
* Ornament
* Favorite Soda
* Cookies
* Toothbrush
* Razor
* Deodorant
* Mugs
You can even take this one step further and make it a themed 12 Days of Christmas! You could do a Star Wars theme, 80's theme, Grumpy Cat theme, Meme theme, the list could go on and on. Make this your own and have fun with it. I know we are having fun leaving gifts for our boss. It's a small way to show gratitude for one great boss!
12 Days of Christmas Gift Ideas for Your Boss
December 4, 2017
The line arched halfway through the terminal, winding through people from all walks of life. We all spoke different languages, came from different countries, and likely had different life experiences, but we were all standing in the security line at The Milan Milapense Airport preparing for departure.
I was not worried about my own flight, instead my eye had been captured by one person.
The woman.
The lady.
The mother.
Probably in her early fifties, she popped out to me because she was standing next to a young couple in front of us. It was obvious from the start that she was accompanying her daughter and son-in-law to the security check point. She would talk with her daughter, fix a stray hair, hug her, give her advice (though they didn't speak English, so I'm speculating here), and every so often she'd just stare at her daughter's face.
I know the look. I've given it several times to my children.
It's a look that conveys one thought: "Does this child know how much I love them?"
It's the look a mother gives when we are trying to soak up every single moment with our child. We want to memorize their faces and gestures, their small smile lines and wrinkled noses. We want to remember their boisterous laughs, silly nuances, and their unique way of laughing so hard they cry.
This mother stayed in line with her daughter and son-in-law for almost an hour until we hit a point of no return, where only a plane ticket could get you past the checkpoint and give you admittance to the departure gates. The mother, with a trembling chin, shaking hands, and a forced smile, hugged her daughter in a tender embrace and kissed her cheek.
She watched her daughter walk down the long corridor to slowly disappear into the maze of people.
As the line shifted, we were redirected to a glass barrier that allowed us to see the front of the line. It was there, almost an hour later, I saw this mother standing in the same spot I'd seen her last. Staring into the distance, feet planted, face firm, immovable, with a single tear falling from her face.
I quickly took a picture of her.
I had to capture it.
The look.
As mothers we are called to bring our beautiful child into the world where we nestle them in our bosom, drown them in kisses, and soak up their sweet baby smell. Then they turn into toddlers with little dimpled faces, small pudgy hands, inquisitive eyes, and sloppy kisses. Before we know it they are in elementary school with projects due, boys hitting them, bringing snacks for parties, best friends, and boy scouts. Then we blink and they are in junior high. Soon it is choir practice, homework, mean teachers, spirit day, friend fights, school plays, and makeup. Then we wake up one day and they are in high school. Our lives become consumed with band practice, football, dates, breakups, crying, laughing, late nights, grounding, awful days, slamming doors and long talks. Then they graduate. Leaving the nest. Going to college. Getting married.
Like this mother, we stand resolute. We understand the nobility and heartache of this woman, this mother. The picture needs no words. No caption. She is sending her love down the corridors of the Milano MXP airport towards her daughter. I don't have to guess what she's thinking. I've thought it myself. All mother have had these same thoughts.
Will my love carry her through this life? Will she wake up in the midst of life and the tremors it will bring and say to herself, my mother loves me, therefore, I can do this? Will my love be enough to take my son through the trials of life? Will my love be enough when the bills come knocking and the world seems topsy-turvey? Will my child know that there is no distance between us that is too great for my love?
I don't know the answer. But like this mother, I stand firm in my love for my children. I stand with my feet planted, praying, wishing, and sending my love out to them.
Such is the love of a mother.
Such is the love of this mother.
Such is the love, I hope, my children feel from me as their mother.
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