Why don't we notice?

Why don't we notice? from Southwood Lutheran Church on Vimeo.

I am in love with this SIMPLE concept. Take a little time to NOTICE others. THEN ACT.

Kim Collier created this video for Southwood Lutheran Church. Thanks Kim! I think it turned out pretty cool. 


Stepping Up to Gratitude

At the start of this month, I went to see the movie A Star is Born by myself.  As the credits rolled, I sat sobbing.

In a scene that I'm still thinking about, the famous country singer (played by Bradley Cooper) invites the unknown songwriter (played by Lady Gaga) to come out on stage and sing.  As he gestures from the limelight, her eyes, her body, her everything says, "No."  And in my red velvet movie chair, I grip the armrest and hold my breath.

Finally, she steps--I exhale--and I can feel the other five people in the movie theater cheer as she steps up to the mic.

I think this part of the movie is so stirring because like this character, a part of me would rather not share my creativity.  And yet another part smiles when I do.

The trouble is that these stepping up moments require gusto and courage.  And it seems those muscles are hard to make strong, no matter how many times we flex.

But every new day asks that we step into the gift of courage.  We need not manufacture it.

So, when a friend asked me at book club in October, "Hey, are you doing Gratitude Gal this year?" I'm thankful that I just got started.

Often, I believe, these step-up-to-the-mic moments aren't big.  Often they are quite little, and it's only in looking back that we see them.

It's the little choices we make.  The times we care that we get to sing our song, instead of worrying so much about how it will sound to all those ears around us.  

The times we slow down enough to notice, to breathe a deep breath, and say a little prayer of thanks.  These thanks give us a sense of what microphones are worth stepping up to, of which ones might fit our hands, and which ones are for someone else.

As for me, the note I want to play again and again, is gratitude.  Thanks so much for reading along.  It means very much to me.

Evi (Gratitude Gal, 2018)


The Golden Right Now

"Remember that we are always in the presence of the sacred. . .the sacred nature of life apparent to those who are open to it.  We are a part of the infinite, which is in this moment expressing itself through us and in every facet of daily life." - John McQuiston, Always We Begin Again

The weather’s colder.  The leaves crispy as I wrap my jacket around myself a little tighter. We’re making that shift to inside people yet again.  I look at that enclosed house with terror.  Where will the kids’ energy fit this winter? 

As I shuffle in, putting my coat up on a hook, “Let’s have a game night,” you say.

And we do.

After tacos, we sit around our golden-wood table, the middle leaf removed and leaning against the wall.  Now little arms can reach all the game pieces.  Even though we often eat together here, this feels closer. 

Every other night of the week after supper, at least one of us has our noses pointed at a screen or at a pile of laundry or at little cars and Lego Blocks.

But here we are, for once, pointed at each other.

You’re in your comfy sweats, our daughter (6) squirms to my left—her clothes mis-matched—our son (4) bounces in his wooden chair, his tiny knees tucked in, so he can straighten up, tall as sis.

Close up like this, I see our little girl’s front tooth missing, her tongue wiggling the other one.  I can soak in our son’s freckles and wonder when his facial expressions got so darn animated. 

And you. I see you. 

You’re not new to me, but in this moment, you are.  As I’m reminded that love can get too grown-up sometimes, as we shift from all-night talks about hopes and dreams to quick car convos about who’s-got-what-activity-this-week and what groceries might go on the list.

In your grin at these tiny humans, in your banter and puffed-out chest each time you gleefully send one of them packing back to home base, I see the guy I fell in love with all those years ago.

Louisa May Alcott has a quote I love, “I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.”

I see the guy I fell in love with, but there’s so much more to you now.  Layers left by the storms we’ve weathered, or maybe layers that have fallen away . . . losing your mom, losing that baby who would have pulled one more chair around this game night table, and some days just plain losing each other as we swam in our own pools of grief, spilling over on each other.

Some days we’re still swimming, but as we sit here at game night, I know we’ve been learning to sail our ship.  This version of you—this daddy version—comforts me in ways that are richer, deeper, more sure-footed than I ever could have imagined when I walked down that red church aisle and said, “I do.”

Robert Frost (and later Pony Boy in The Outsiders) must have known about our game night, must have known about the small-town life we would build, when he said simply and beautifully, “Nothing gold can stay.”

So even when you steal glances below the table between turns, your iPhone full of fantasy football scores drawing you like a magnet, I smile, knowing it’s all part of our golden right now

So, when our son stands up in final defeat, our daughter gloating all the while, I love it when he says, “Hey dad, I’m gonna’ play with you next time.  Next time we’ll win.”

He knows the secret that to be on your team is to win.  He knows, and I know too.


Happy Thanksgiving from Gratitude Gal. 


. . . So God Made a Farmer

Today I am thankful to my friend, Doug, for sharing his words of gratitude.  It has been a challenging year for so many farmers.  Thanks again Doug--you and your family are part of why I love our small-town, farming community. 


Most of you have heard the Dodge ad featuring Mr. Paul Harvey’s voice from a Super Bowl a few years back.  I can remember the exact spot where I was sitting when I heard it first. My friend Evi was sitting next to me, and I think we both thought of our dads.  I still have “seasonal allergies” when I hear it played.

This harvest for our farm is now officially the longest that I have been involved with.  Generally, when we start harvesting in September, harvest would conclude before now. We have finished in December before, but those harvest seasons started in October. Christmas music in a combine does not bring a sense of joyful holiday wishes and thoughts; it’s more of a stark realization that time is running out, and we need to get this “stuff” over with.

I farm with my parents, my wife, and our two sons. Being a family business has a great deal of rewards and challenges.  Any business arguments will carry over to the home and vice versa.  Communicating is the number one job skill for us, and unfortunately the one we fail at the most frequently.  I am sure we are not the only family alone in that failure.

Any profession has its ups and downs, successes and failures, and from my vantage point, we focus on the failures more than success.  I don’t think that’s unique to farming, but like any in-home business, those reminders of a bad day can be right out the front door or follow you inside. A shirt covered in bovine amniotic fluid from a bad night calving, jeans that wreak of smoke from a hay trailer that caught on fire and shut down highway 41 for two hours, or cuts and bruises on your arms from a combine water pump that had anger issues, are reminders of days that went more off the rails than on. Sometimes the isolation of this job has its time for quiet reflection, and other times that isolation manifests the failures into more weight than one can carry . . .

That’s where my gratitude has kicked in lately.  Often, things that seem beyond my control can be brought back by reminding myself, "I got into this mess and I can get myself out."  If I can’t, call someone and ask for help: physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual.  I am grateful to work with dad and the rest of my family every day.

These are things that I’m grateful for this harvest: my wife and kids that feed calves almost every night, grandmas who run combines with their grandsons, long text conversations that make me laugh, Mountain Dew, diesel engines that start in ten degree weather, being voluntold to do this writing, and warm suppers.


The Coolest Little Free thing on the Internet

Screenshot from tinygratitude.com.

Is your e-mail in-box the bane of your existence?  Mine used to be.  I would joke to colleagues that it was like a zit I had to pop every day or it would get out of control.  

So, after that delightfully gross comparison (yes, I work with middle grades kiddos), I want to share a cool little thing I found on the Internet that just might brighten your in-box.  

It's free.  

To try it out, sign up at tinygratitude.com to get an e-mail that prompts us to think of just one word of gratitude each day.  You respond, it makes a word cloud, and boom--a little more gratitude in your in-box.

I like the simplicity, and I find it delightful.

If you want to give it a try, it only takes about 10 seconds to sign-up here.

Happy Thanksgiving week friends.  


10 Reasons to Watch It's a Wonderful Life for Thanksgiving

Photo from historyadventuring.com.

“We know love by this. . . to lay down our lives for one another.” - 1 John 3:16

I put up my Christmas tree.  I know, I know, I'm part of the problem.  I should wait until after Thanksgiving.  But as I sit here in the glow of my twinkle lights, I’m smiling.  

Not only did the kids and I put up the tree, but I also watched It’s a Wonderful Life (It's on Amazon Prime).  My aunts on the Steffens side always had this playing during the holidays when I was growing up.  I'm convinced it’s a Thanksgiving movie.  

Top 10 Reasons to watch this 1938 film for Thanksgiving this year:

1.  When that one guy bails in the pool.  During the dance scene, the gym floor opens up.  The man in charge (I think the Principal) starts to panic as chaos ensues.  The moment where he throws his hands up and bombs in himself is a good life lesson, and it's priceless.

2.  People say so much while not saying anything.  How often are George and Mary saying everything with just their faces?  A favorite author of mine, Madeline L’Engle, had two signs hanging in her office: “Listen to the Silence.  Stay open to the voice of the Spirit.” And “Slow me Down, Lord.”  Sometimes fewer words are needed.

3.  Keep it simple.  The opening credits to this film are pieces of paper with someone grabbing one piece after another, sliding them out of the camera shot.  Don't make it complicated.  Simple can be beautiful.

4.  Look at my life with fresh eyes.  When George runs through Bedford Falls near the end, suddenly normal is beautiful and worth yelling about.  “Merry Christmas you wonderful old Building and Loan!”  

5.  For the fully-grown Oak trees.  There's not just one, but ten.  The visual of this says something about the value of sticking with people, of sticking somewhere over the long haul.  How might we feel more gratitude if we’re living Oak Tree lives?

6.  For the old times music.  Who doesn't want to get the song, "Buffalo Gals Won't You Come Out Tonight," stuck in their head?  You're welcome.

7.  To reflect on life.  The big question is asked twice, "What do you want, George?" And "What do you want, Mary?"  

8.  To see Zuzu.  She's cute.  You can't help but smile with her and that flower and, "Not a smidge of temperature."  I just love it.

9.  To giggle at Clarence.  Seconds after a tense situation, he's always laughing with his angel friends at the bigger picture.  What if we all just move on and laugh?

10.  To be reminded.  Our true value is not in what we make or what we earn, but it is in our relationships.  "No man (or woman) is a failure who has friends."


Cheers to that and Happy Thanksgiving Week!  Thanks so much to anyone who's reading along.  Today's Gratitude Dare is to express gratitude to a relative, so if/when you see family this week, take the time to say thanks.  


Gratitude Held in Your Hands

"Everything is a gift.  The degree to which we are awake to this truth is a measure of our gratefulness, and gratefulness is a measure of our aliveness." - David Stendl-Rast
Junior high me was gangly.  She had just swapped glasses for contacts, and she wore a scoliosis back brace.  Her notebooks were littered with scribbles, so-and-so + so-and-so, TLA (true love aways), stick figures, hearts, stars, and practice signatures of my first name with the last name of the boy I liked.

I would like to say that my notebooks have grown up, but as I sit in meetings or trainings even today, my pen always finds a way to doodle, sometimes even my married name. . . Evi Jane Wusk.

One of my favorite writing teachers/writers/teachers of writing is Penny Kittle.  As I had my students complete one of her pre-writing exercises for narratives recently, I was struck by the gratefulness I felt when I made my classroom example, and struck by the memories it brought of those old notebooks.

It's simple.  Draw an outline of your hand, and then fill it with words and doodles of things you've held that mattered.  Sometimes Gratitude is so very tangible, something you can hold in your hand.    

Maybe it's just a silly scribble, a doodle of a junior high girl--but try it, you might be surprised at the memories that come, at the gratitude you've held in your hands.


Cheers to the weekend.  I'll be back here writing Monday--Thanksgiving week. :)