Nearly two months ago, our family was struck by tragedy that left us feeling alone and scared. I tweeted about our struggles and was astonished by the kindness of several amazing people.
Lori was one of those people. She reached out and truly threw us a life-preserver that that kept us afloat for days.
Within moments of my tweet, she had sent me her personal email address and phone number and encouraged me to call her. I would have never felt that I could actually impose upon her by making that call, but at her insistence, I did, and she was calm, encouraging, and educated–exactly what we needed. During our calls, she provided me with information, advice, and compassion. She empowered us and helped us to feel as though we could keep going.
My family will be forever grateful to her for the role she played in one of the most difficult times we’ve experienced.
And on top of being one of the kindest and calmest people I know? Lori is also beyond funny and is beautifully self-deprecating. Her blog, In Pursuit of Martha Points is truly unique and between her stories, photos, and graphics, there’s never a dull moment. Her blog honestly reflects who I have come to know her to be–funny one minute, tender the next.
Thank you, Lori, for being there for my family when we didn’t know which way to turn. Thank you for making me laugh when I need it and for inspiring me to pursue my goals.
When we meet next month, to show you just how much I love you, I will be certain that I know exactly how to make your coffee.
And now, finally, I share with you Lori’s lovely contribution to Small Moments Mondays…
The Best Medicine — by Lori
Dinner.
As a family. All five of us with serving dishes and salt and pepper shakers, placemats and a chipped butter dish.
I stepped into the kitchen to get something…a serving spoon, perhaps. And asked, as I stood up, why the coffee table was in the wrong place. The answer, which I already knew, came from Child B: “I guess I forgot to put it back after we rehearsed.”
When I said, as I sat back down, that I’d been hoping for something more interesting, the following conversation ensued.
“There was a herd of wildebeest…”
“No, it was space aliens.”
“… And the aliens knocked the table over. We were so busy cleaning up the from the rest of the havoc they wreaked that we totally forgot to put the table back.”
“From a metaphysical standpoint, the table could be anywhere.”
“Quantum physics says that the table both is and is not in the right location.”
“Or, it says that if you’re not looking at the table the probability that the table is and is not in the right place is exactly equal.”
“Zen furniture: the table is still a table in whatever location. Embrace the table.”
“In Soviet Russia, table locates YOU!”
“Ask the table about its mother.”
“Then the table would need to lie on the couch.”
“If a table gets moved in a living room and no one is around to hear it, is it still a coffee table?”
“Life is like a coffee table…”
I ate my dinner, I chuckled. And I loved my kids with all my heart.
They are smart and funny. Making each other laugh is important. When they do the dishes after dinner, I hear laughter. When they’re all stuffed in the back of the car when we go anywhere, they make each other laugh.
They make me laugh. They make Himself laugh.
It would be so easy, in a house of five people and two bathrooms, in a home of step-parents and step-siblings, to let friction percolate and let small irritations grow into arguments and discord.
Yet I hear laughter more than anything else. More than disagreement, more than tension and more than rivalry.
Life is so large some days – with work and grades, talk about college, talk about the world. We worry about the news, we worry about our children learning about the news. We think about retirement, our investments and the value of our house. We wonder if we are giving our children every tool they need to build the life they want in the world. Each brick in our lives feels so weighty it seems as if we are in perpetual need of pulleys and crowbars.
But when I sit down for the evening meal and hear my kids teasing each other and laughing at jokes with punchlines only they can understand, life becomes my dinner table. Small, intimate…and my very own. With serving dishes and placemats and salt and pepper shakers.
And a chipped butter dish.
Now quickly grab a pad of paper and a pencil, head on over to Lori’s place, and be sure to read So what are “Martha Points?”, where Lori explains her ingenious point system. And don’t miss my some of my favorites, A Polite Request, Shopping for Points, and The Princess and the Pain.
in these small moments 