| Commentary and Philosophy Non-Fiction posted November 1, 2008 |
  |
Release Those Things You Can't control
A Tiny Green Frog
by Annmuma
Contest Winner
The picture is one Randall took of my FROG sitting on top of my computer
Finding contentment in a world of discontent is a never ending search. For me, the pursuit of satisfaction with my life has taken many twists and turns. Still today, I temporarily lose my footing and flounder about much as a sailor who has fallen from his ship. My life preserver consists of the little things, the small happenings, the old memories and life's lessons learned long ago.
I invite you to share with me a brief look at what constitutes contentment to me and to view the sometimes rocky road I've traveled to reach my destination.
****
"Ann, Bob Mathers is here." The receptionist interrupted my concentration.
"Who?"
"The Litchfield Company rep."
"What is he doing here? It's Monday morning. You know I don't see reps on Mondays."
"He said he had an appointment, that he made it directly with you."
"Well, he didn't and I'm .... uh-oh, it's on my calendar. I just don't have time today."
"What do you want me to tell him?" Alice stood her ground with no intention of coming to my rescue!
"Oh, for God's sake, Alice, just show him in. I'll give him five minutes and that's it."
"Hey, Ann. Guess you forgot about talking to me last week." Bob laughed as we shook hands. "These walls are thin. That five minutes will be enough for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Bob. I've just got so much to do this morning, and I never, ever make Monday morning appointments with anyone. Well, I guess I do, sometimes."
We both chuckled as I suggested he have a seat.
"No. I know you really are busy, and to tell the truth, we have a new agent I wanted to see this morning. He said he would be in the office only until ten. I'll give him a call and let you off the hook."
Bob dug around in his briefcase to get the flyers, brochures and gimme pens he routinely passed out to agents.
"Here you go. Just keep that business coming, and if you need anything, give me a call."
We shook hands again, and as he turned to leave, he reached into his pocket.
"Oh, Ann, I'd like you to have this."
He held out a tiny, green, plastic frog.
"What is it?"
"It's a plastic frog!" He grinned one of those "gotcha" smiles.
"I can see that!"
"I carry one of these in my pocket at all times as a reminder that I'm not in charge."
"Yeah?" I reached for the dimestore trinket. "Bob, you might want to take a minute for a cup of coffee to clear your head."
He smiled again. "I'm serious about this. F-R-O-G. When it gets hectic or I'm in a jam, I reach for my frog. Fully rely on God. Chintzy, isn't it? But it works for me."
He left, and I set that frog on top of my computer. It sits there still today, and that scene took place eight or more years ago. I must have glanced at that little piece of green plastic thousands of times over the years, and it never fails to restore peace in my heart.
It works as a redirection device for me, a reminder of what is and isn't important, and what I can and cannot control. It keeps me centered when the world is askew. A plastic frog that I got because I made a scheduling error "hops" to my rescue on a regular basis to restore peace and contentment.
****
Peace and contentment are both elusive and readily at hand for me. Sometimes I'm at my wits' end, and I'll get an e-mail from someone, maybe a silly little something that makes me smile. I'm re-centered. Other times, a rainbow or a walk, some glimpse of Mother Nature at her best restores contentment in my mind. One day last week, I happened on a photo that reminded me life goes on, with or without my angst. I can get on board and share the good stuff, or I can stand at the side and complain about my misfortunes.
Contentment comes from deep inside. Much like happiness, one doesn't find it with or get it from someone else. It is self-contained, yet connected to so much more. All of us are born with a seed that can, properly nurtured, grow into contentment. Being loved for who we are at the earliest of ages is the first fertilizer and root stimulator we need. I learned at an early age that dreams must be tethered with thankfulness and appreciation of the blessings I enjoy. Demons of despair fought for my soul when I was a very young child. At times, I became so depressed, I was physically ill. My mother recognized my symptoms as a cry for help in fostering contentment and peace in my young life.
****
"Mama, I've got the blues in my stomach."
"What's the matter, Olevia?"
"I don't want you to be sick. Why doesn't God make you well? I pray and I beg, but nothing happens. I try to be good. Why doesn't God care?"
"God loves you and He loves me."
"I don't believe you. If God loved us, he would make you well. I'm sick on my stomach, Mama."
"I tell you what. Why don't you get your Big Chief Tablet."
"I don't want my Big Chief Tablet! I want you to be well. I want to be happy."
"Get the tablet, Honey."
Knowing it was useless to argue, I retrieved the tablet from the desk drawer, and she handed me a freshly sharpened pencil.
"Okay, pick a page and write down everything you have to be happy about."
"I'm too sad, Mama. I can't think of anything to be happy about. I think I'm sick."
"What about watermelons? Are you happy we had watermelon last night?"
I don't know what it is about growing up in the South, but my experience is that watermelons make Southerners happy. Without warning during the watermelon season, my mom would wake me up in the middle of night. Together we would go into the watermelon patch for a midnight snack. We would shop together in the moonlight, thumping melon after melon. Once the perfect one was chosen, Mama would crack it open, and we'd eat the heart out of it. All the time we were eating, Mama would be telling me some story about when she was a little girl. These nighttime adventures were major treats and remembering one never failed to lighten my mood.
"Yes, I'm happy about watermelons."
"Okay, then that's a good place to start. This side of the paper is for all the things that make you happy. When you finish, we'll work on the other side."
I began to write, slowly at first and then with more enthusiasm as the fog lifted from my heart. Mama was a tough taskmaster when it came to completing that Big Chief Tablet page. Every inch had to have something on it. Once I had finished my writing, she would sit down beside me to discuss the results.
"What's this?"
"That's 'Grunt'. I love my dog."
"What about this? Does that say 'Mrs. Curry'? Why are you happy about her?"
"She lets me drink coffee with her. Yesterday, she even let me pick a bunch of gardenias from her bush. I like Mrs. Curry."
"Violets? Does this say 'violets'?"
"Yes, I like going down the railroad tracks to that tree close to the trestle. I like picking violets there and watching the woodpecker. See, I wrote 'woodpecker' over there."
"Yes, I see."
And so it would go as we talked about every item I had listed. Sometimes, we would talk for an hour or more. With every minute, my heart became lighter and the queasiness lessened. By the time we finished the front of the paper, both of us were upbeat, teasing and laughing.
"Okay. Now that's done. Let's turn this paper over to list all the things you are sad about."
"I'm not sad anymore."
****
My mother watered and nurtured my seeds of contentment by teaching me to recognize the things in my world that satisfied the soul of a young child. As I grew older, I searched for more substantial proof that my life was worth living. Because I grew up in a Christian home, I spent a lot of time reading my Bible, looking for answers to all the "whys" in my life. Just recently, my husband and I were talking about our spiritual journeys, or maybe I was talking about mine, and he listened.
We had actually brought out my Bible to answer some clue in the New York Times Crossword, and it occurred to me how my Bibles have changed over the years. As a teenager, I was big on underlining in red ink all the verses I thought most appropriate to me. As a young adult, I switched to a highlighter and bought a new Bible. Different verses now caught my attention, and I heard different messages. About twenty-five years ago, I bought a large print version, and I no longer write in my Bible. In fact, I rarely read it at all now, though I keep it next to my bed. Much like that little, green frog, I now just glance at it and feel the tension disappear.
I've added more religious reading to my search for spiritual peace. In addition to Christian based works, I am interested in Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, and Jewish writings. I've discovered there is more common ground among the world's faiths than disparity. That knowledge comforts me and adds to my personal contentment. I believe someday the world will emphasize love and tolerance over my-way's-better-than-yours approaches to solving its problems.
My children often tease me by suggesting that I live in "Annland," a fictional place where everyone wears rose-colored glasses, and no one is ever worth giving up on. They may be right, but I know it to be a land of contentment and a haven where I recognize I'm not expected to do more than whatever is right in front of me on any given day. I cannot fail as long as I search for the string to follow through the maze, and I have no doubt I'm always exactly where I should be.
Life is endless, and this earthly existence is a mere parenthesis in a never ending quest for knowledge and growth toward a more perfect love and intelligence. I've learned that sorrows are offset by blessings, that hurts are medicated by friends' presence and death is not real.
I'm satisfied with my journey, and that is contentment.
Finding contentment in a world of discontent is a never ending search. For me, the pursuit of satisfaction with my life has taken many twists and turns. Still today, I temporarily lose my footing and flounder about much as a sailor who has fallen from his ship. My life preserver consists of the little things, the small happenings, the old memories and life's lessons learned long ago.
I invite you to share with me a brief look at what constitutes contentment to me and to view the sometimes rocky road I've traveled to reach my destination.
****
"Ann, Bob Mathers is here." The receptionist interrupted my concentration.
"Who?"
"The Litchfield Company rep."
"What is he doing here? It's Monday morning. You know I don't see reps on Mondays."
"He said he had an appointment, that he made it directly with you."
"Well, he didn't and I'm .... uh-oh, it's on my calendar. I just don't have time today."
"What do you want me to tell him?" Alice stood her ground with no intention of coming to my rescue!
"Oh, for God's sake, Alice, just show him in. I'll give him five minutes and that's it."
"Hey, Ann. Guess you forgot about talking to me last week." Bob laughed as we shook hands. "These walls are thin. That five minutes will be enough for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Bob. I've just got so much to do this morning, and I never, ever make Monday morning appointments with anyone. Well, I guess I do, sometimes."
We both chuckled as I suggested he have a seat.
"No. I know you really are busy, and to tell the truth, we have a new agent I wanted to see this morning. He said he would be in the office only until ten. I'll give him a call and let you off the hook."
Bob dug around in his briefcase to get the flyers, brochures and gimme pens he routinely passed out to agents.
"Here you go. Just keep that business coming, and if you need anything, give me a call."
We shook hands again, and as he turned to leave, he reached into his pocket.
"Oh, Ann, I'd like you to have this."
He held out a tiny, green, plastic frog.
"What is it?"
"It's a plastic frog!" He grinned one of those "gotcha" smiles.
"I can see that!"
"I carry one of these in my pocket at all times as a reminder that I'm not in charge."
"Yeah?" I reached for the dimestore trinket. "Bob, you might want to take a minute for a cup of coffee to clear your head."
He smiled again. "I'm serious about this. F-R-O-G. When it gets hectic or I'm in a jam, I reach for my frog. Fully rely on God. Chintzy, isn't it? But it works for me."
He left, and I set that frog on top of my computer. It sits there still today, and that scene took place eight or more years ago. I must have glanced at that little piece of green plastic thousands of times over the years, and it never fails to restore peace in my heart.
It works as a redirection device for me, a reminder of what is and isn't important, and what I can and cannot control. It keeps me centered when the world is askew. A plastic frog that I got because I made a scheduling error "hops" to my rescue on a regular basis to restore peace and contentment.
****
Peace and contentment are both elusive and readily at hand for me. Sometimes I'm at my wits' end, and I'll get an e-mail from someone, maybe a silly little something that makes me smile. I'm re-centered. Other times, a rainbow or a walk, some glimpse of Mother Nature at her best restores contentment in my mind. One day last week, I happened on a photo that reminded me life goes on, with or without my angst. I can get on board and share the good stuff, or I can stand at the side and complain about my misfortunes.
Contentment comes from deep inside. Much like happiness, one doesn't find it with or get it from someone else. It is self-contained, yet connected to so much more. All of us are born with a seed that can, properly nurtured, grow into contentment. Being loved for who we are at the earliest of ages is the first fertilizer and root stimulator we need. I learned at an early age that dreams must be tethered with thankfulness and appreciation of the blessings I enjoy. Demons of despair fought for my soul when I was a very young child. At times, I became so depressed, I was physically ill. My mother recognized my symptoms as a cry for help in fostering contentment and peace in my young life.
****
"Mama, I've got the blues in my stomach."
"What's the matter, Olevia?"
"I don't want you to be sick. Why doesn't God make you well? I pray and I beg, but nothing happens. I try to be good. Why doesn't God care?"
"God loves you and He loves me."
"I don't believe you. If God loved us, he would make you well. I'm sick on my stomach, Mama."
"I tell you what. Why don't you get your Big Chief Tablet."
"I don't want my Big Chief Tablet! I want you to be well. I want to be happy."
"Get the tablet, Honey."
Knowing it was useless to argue, I retrieved the tablet from the desk drawer, and she handed me a freshly sharpened pencil.
"Okay, pick a page and write down everything you have to be happy about."
"I'm too sad, Mama. I can't think of anything to be happy about. I think I'm sick."
"What about watermelons? Are you happy we had watermelon last night?"
I don't know what it is about growing up in the South, but my experience is that watermelons make Southerners happy. Without warning during the watermelon season, my mom would wake me up in the middle of night. Together we would go into the watermelon patch for a midnight snack. We would shop together in the moonlight, thumping melon after melon. Once the perfect one was chosen, Mama would crack it open, and we'd eat the heart out of it. All the time we were eating, Mama would be telling me some story about when she was a little girl. These nighttime adventures were major treats and remembering one never failed to lighten my mood.
"Yes, I'm happy about watermelons."
"Okay, then that's a good place to start. This side of the paper is for all the things that make you happy. When you finish, we'll work on the other side."
I began to write, slowly at first and then with more enthusiasm as the fog lifted from my heart. Mama was a tough taskmaster when it came to completing that Big Chief Tablet page. Every inch had to have something on it. Once I had finished my writing, she would sit down beside me to discuss the results.
"What's this?"
"That's 'Grunt'. I love my dog."
"What about this? Does that say 'Mrs. Curry'? Why are you happy about her?"
"She lets me drink coffee with her. Yesterday, she even let me pick a bunch of gardenias from her bush. I like Mrs. Curry."
"Violets? Does this say 'violets'?"
"Yes, I like going down the railroad tracks to that tree close to the trestle. I like picking violets there and watching the woodpecker. See, I wrote 'woodpecker' over there."
"Yes, I see."
And so it would go as we talked about every item I had listed. Sometimes, we would talk for an hour or more. With every minute, my heart became lighter and the queasiness lessened. By the time we finished the front of the paper, both of us were upbeat, teasing and laughing.
"Okay. Now that's done. Let's turn this paper over to list all the things you are sad about."
"I'm not sad anymore."
****
My mother watered and nurtured my seeds of contentment by teaching me to recognize the things in my world that satisfied the soul of a young child. As I grew older, I searched for more substantial proof that my life was worth living. Because I grew up in a Christian home, I spent a lot of time reading my Bible, looking for answers to all the "whys" in my life. Just recently, my husband and I were talking about our spiritual journeys, or maybe I was talking about mine, and he listened.
We had actually brought out my Bible to answer some clue in the New York Times Crossword, and it occurred to me how my Bibles have changed over the years. As a teenager, I was big on underlining in red ink all the verses I thought most appropriate to me. As a young adult, I switched to a highlighter and bought a new Bible. Different verses now caught my attention, and I heard different messages. About twenty-five years ago, I bought a large print version, and I no longer write in my Bible. In fact, I rarely read it at all now, though I keep it next to my bed. Much like that little, green frog, I now just glance at it and feel the tension disappear.
I've added more religious reading to my search for spiritual peace. In addition to Christian based works, I am interested in Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, and Jewish writings. I've discovered there is more common ground among the world's faiths than disparity. That knowledge comforts me and adds to my personal contentment. I believe someday the world will emphasize love and tolerance over my-way's-better-than-yours approaches to solving its problems.
My children often tease me by suggesting that I live in "Annland," a fictional place where everyone wears rose-colored glasses, and no one is ever worth giving up on. They may be right, but I know it to be a land of contentment and a haven where I recognize I'm not expected to do more than whatever is right in front of me on any given day. I cannot fail as long as I search for the string to follow through the maze, and I have no doubt I'm always exactly where I should be.
Life is endless, and this earthly existence is a mere parenthesis in a never ending quest for knowledge and growth toward a more perfect love and intelligence. I've learned that sorrows are offset by blessings, that hurts are medicated by friends' presence and death is not real.
I'm satisfied with my journey, and that is contentment.
I invite you to share with me a brief look at what constitutes contentment to me and to view the sometimes rocky road I've traveled to reach my destination.
****
"Ann, Bob Mathers is here." The receptionist interrupted my concentration.
"Who?"
"The Litchfield Company rep."
"What is he doing here? It's Monday morning. You know I don't see reps on Mondays."
"He said he had an appointment, that he made it directly with you."
"Well, he didn't and I'm .... uh-oh, it's on my calendar. I just don't have time today."
"What do you want me to tell him?" Alice stood her ground with no intention of coming to my rescue!
"Oh, for God's sake, Alice, just show him in. I'll give him five minutes and that's it."
"Hey, Ann. Guess you forgot about talking to me last week." Bob laughed as we shook hands. "These walls are thin. That five minutes will be enough for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Bob. I've just got so much to do this morning, and I never, ever make Monday morning appointments with anyone. Well, I guess I do, sometimes."
We both chuckled as I suggested he have a seat.
"No. I know you really are busy, and to tell the truth, we have a new agent I wanted to see this morning. He said he would be in the office only until ten. I'll give him a call and let you off the hook."
Bob dug around in his briefcase to get the flyers, brochures and gimme pens he routinely passed out to agents.
"Here you go. Just keep that business coming, and if you need anything, give me a call."
We shook hands again, and as he turned to leave, he reached into his pocket.
"Oh, Ann, I'd like you to have this."
He held out a tiny, green, plastic frog.
"What is it?"
"It's a plastic frog!" He grinned one of those "gotcha" smiles.
"I can see that!"
"I carry one of these in my pocket at all times as a reminder that I'm not in charge."
"Yeah?" I reached for the dimestore trinket. "Bob, you might want to take a minute for a cup of coffee to clear your head."
He smiled again. "I'm serious about this. F-R-O-G. When it gets hectic or I'm in a jam, I reach for my frog. Fully rely on God. Chintzy, isn't it? But it works for me."
He left, and I set that frog on top of my computer. It sits there still today, and that scene took place eight or more years ago. I must have glanced at that little piece of green plastic thousands of times over the years, and it never fails to restore peace in my heart.
It works as a redirection device for me, a reminder of what is and isn't important, and what I can and cannot control. It keeps me centered when the world is askew. A plastic frog that I got because I made a scheduling error "hops" to my rescue on a regular basis to restore peace and contentment.
****
Peace and contentment are both elusive and readily at hand for me. Sometimes I'm at my wits' end, and I'll get an e-mail from someone, maybe a silly little something that makes me smile. I'm re-centered. Other times, a rainbow or a walk, some glimpse of Mother Nature at her best restores contentment in my mind. One day last week, I happened on a photo that reminded me life goes on, with or without my angst. I can get on board and share the good stuff, or I can stand at the side and complain about my misfortunes.
Contentment comes from deep inside. Much like happiness, one doesn't find it with or get it from someone else. It is self-contained, yet connected to so much more. All of us are born with a seed that can, properly nurtured, grow into contentment. Being loved for who we are at the earliest of ages is the first fertilizer and root stimulator we need. I learned at an early age that dreams must be tethered with thankfulness and appreciation of the blessings I enjoy. Demons of despair fought for my soul when I was a very young child. At times, I became so depressed, I was physically ill. My mother recognized my symptoms as a cry for help in fostering contentment and peace in my young life.
****
"Mama, I've got the blues in my stomach."
"What's the matter, Olevia?"
"I don't want you to be sick. Why doesn't God make you well? I pray and I beg, but nothing happens. I try to be good. Why doesn't God care?"
"God loves you and He loves me."
"I don't believe you. If God loved us, he would make you well. I'm sick on my stomach, Mama."
"I tell you what. Why don't you get your Big Chief Tablet."
"I don't want my Big Chief Tablet! I want you to be well. I want to be happy."
"Get the tablet, Honey."
Knowing it was useless to argue, I retrieved the tablet from the desk drawer, and she handed me a freshly sharpened pencil.
"Okay, pick a page and write down everything you have to be happy about."
"I'm too sad, Mama. I can't think of anything to be happy about. I think I'm sick."
"What about watermelons? Are you happy we had watermelon last night?"
I don't know what it is about growing up in the South, but my experience is that watermelons make Southerners happy. Without warning during the watermelon season, my mom would wake me up in the middle of night. Together we would go into the watermelon patch for a midnight snack. We would shop together in the moonlight, thumping melon after melon. Once the perfect one was chosen, Mama would crack it open, and we'd eat the heart out of it. All the time we were eating, Mama would be telling me some story about when she was a little girl. These nighttime adventures were major treats and remembering one never failed to lighten my mood.
"Yes, I'm happy about watermelons."
"Okay, then that's a good place to start. This side of the paper is for all the things that make you happy. When you finish, we'll work on the other side."
I began to write, slowly at first and then with more enthusiasm as the fog lifted from my heart. Mama was a tough taskmaster when it came to completing that Big Chief Tablet page. Every inch had to have something on it. Once I had finished my writing, she would sit down beside me to discuss the results.
"What's this?"
"That's 'Grunt'. I love my dog."
"What about this? Does that say 'Mrs. Curry'? Why are you happy about her?"
"She lets me drink coffee with her. Yesterday, she even let me pick a bunch of gardenias from her bush. I like Mrs. Curry."
"Violets? Does this say 'violets'?"
"Yes, I like going down the railroad tracks to that tree close to the trestle. I like picking violets there and watching the woodpecker. See, I wrote 'woodpecker' over there."
"Yes, I see."
And so it would go as we talked about every item I had listed. Sometimes, we would talk for an hour or more. With every minute, my heart became lighter and the queasiness lessened. By the time we finished the front of the paper, both of us were upbeat, teasing and laughing.
"Okay. Now that's done. Let's turn this paper over to list all the things you are sad about."
"I'm not sad anymore."
****
My mother watered and nurtured my seeds of contentment by teaching me to recognize the things in my world that satisfied the soul of a young child. As I grew older, I searched for more substantial proof that my life was worth living. Because I grew up in a Christian home, I spent a lot of time reading my Bible, looking for answers to all the "whys" in my life. Just recently, my husband and I were talking about our spiritual journeys, or maybe I was talking about mine, and he listened.
We had actually brought out my Bible to answer some clue in the New York Times Crossword, and it occurred to me how my Bibles have changed over the years. As a teenager, I was big on underlining in red ink all the verses I thought most appropriate to me. As a young adult, I switched to a highlighter and bought a new Bible. Different verses now caught my attention, and I heard different messages. About twenty-five years ago, I bought a large print version, and I no longer write in my Bible. In fact, I rarely read it at all now, though I keep it next to my bed. Much like that little, green frog, I now just glance at it and feel the tension disappear.
I've added more religious reading to my search for spiritual peace. In addition to Christian based works, I am interested in Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, and Jewish writings. I've discovered there is more common ground among the world's faiths than disparity. That knowledge comforts me and adds to my personal contentment. I believe someday the world will emphasize love and tolerance over my-way's-better-than-yours approaches to solving its problems.
My children often tease me by suggesting that I live in "Annland," a fictional place where everyone wears rose-colored glasses, and no one is ever worth giving up on. They may be right, but I know it to be a land of contentment and a haven where I recognize I'm not expected to do more than whatever is right in front of me on any given day. I cannot fail as long as I search for the string to follow through the maze, and I have no doubt I'm always exactly where I should be.
Life is endless, and this earthly existence is a mere parenthesis in a never ending quest for knowledge and growth toward a more perfect love and intelligence. I've learned that sorrows are offset by blessings, that hurts are medicated by friends' presence and death is not real.
I'm satisfied with my journey, and that is contentment.
Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
|
I wrote this a long time ago- back 2008 and today, as I was thinking about all that is outside of my control, I remembered my little green frog. It is still on my desk! I thought I remembered using it is a post. Once I found the post, I decided to re-release it. Just remembering it is a waste of time to stew about those things we can't control is a comfort to me.
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