Hands Free Life : 9 Habits for Overcoming Distraction, Living Better & Loving More

I want to see beauty. In the ugly, in the sick, in the suffering, in the daily, in all the days before I die, the moments before I sleep.

I DIDN’T KNOW WHEN I’d changed from a positive person to a negative one; I only knew that I had. I could still remember myself as a cheerful special-education teacher, somehow managing to see the positives in every student and every situation, no matter how dismal. But somewhere along the line, I stopped seeing the goodness. I focused solely on what was wrong and what needed to be changed. Given the fact that I had a loving husband, two beautiful children, a healthy mind and body, and a safe and comfortable home, you would have thought I’d wake up every morning feeling grateful, optimistic, and content. But that was not the case. I woke up feeling the same way I did when I went to bed the night before — unhappy, annoyed, and irritable.

Like a robot, I could speak of my life’s abundant blessings, but I could no longer see or feel them because I was too focused on my life’s abundant distractions. Too many commitments. Too many screens. Too many self-induced pressures to be all and do all. Too many unachievable standards. Too many to-dos and never enough time. Too many balls in the air, not enough hands to catch them.

My outward discontent seemed to peak when it was time to leave the house. Although they were young, Natalie and Avery braced themselves for my daily departure tirade. While I fussed and fumed getting everyone ready and out the door, Avery grew very quiet. Natalie tried to help any way she could, assisting her slow-moving sister with her shoes, gathering snacks in Ziploc bags, and wiping stray cereal pieces from the kitchen counter. Of course, through my critical eyes, her helpful attempts only made it take longer and were never good enough. I didn’t try to hide my exasperation or annoyance.

It shouldn’t have come as a shock when I looked in the rearview mirror to see Natalie anxiously picking her top lip as I pulled out of the driveway one morning. As she pinched that tiny piece of fragile skin on her upper lip with wide eyes, I could practically read her mind: Mommy’s mad. Mommy’s tired. Mommy’s stressed. But there was more. I could practically hear how a young child would interpret her mother’s unhappiness: Mommy’s mad at me. Mommy’s tired because of me. Mommy’s stressed because of something I did.

All at once, I could no longer deny the damage my negative approach to life was having on my family. All the excuses I’d made for being harsh and direct, for constant faultfinding, and for being in a foul mood suddenly held no credibility. While choosing to emphasize every “problem” of my blessed life, I’d funneled my discontent straight into my daughter’s once joyful heart and spirit. The pain on her face was a direct reflection of the expression I wore on mine. I said a tearful prayer right then and there, asking God to show me one small step I could take to bring back our lost joy.

A few days later we were just leaving our neighborhood to head to school. As usual, I’d corralled everyone into the car in a frenzied rush. But instead of barking orders and angrily pushing on the gas to arrive on time, I remained calm in light of my earlier prayer.

“Look up,” a little voice inside me urged. I took my foot off the gas pedal and leaned forward to peer through my windshield. As far as my eyes could see, the sky was filled with a million little white clouds. It was as if a heavenly baker had taken an icing bag and decorated the sky, one sweet puff at a time. Although I knew the carpool line at school would be closing in five minutes, it didn’t matter. I pulled the car over to the side of the road. I needed to show my daughters what it looked like when the morning sky decided to stay in bed, covering itself in an ivory quilt stitched by divine hands. I reached back and opened the sunroof cover above their heads. “Look up,” I said, repeating the same words I’d heard a few minutes before.

Both girls looked up in unison. Natalie let out a little gasp. “I love it! I love it!” she exclaimed, as if I’d just presented her with the ladybug Pillow Pet she’d been eyeing for six months. Avery clasped her hands together and let out a joyful squeal.

I decided this unusual sky was a sight worth capturing. As I placed my camera at just the right angle, I found myself letting out a little gasp, just as Natalie had moments before. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There, at the forefront of this magnificent sea of clouds, was the most perfect little handprint on the glass through which my daughters and I peered. Knowing her mother liked things clean and tidy, Natalie asked, “Are you going to wipe the hand off, Mama?”

“No.” I shook my head, trying not to cry. “Never,” I whispered, knowing something extraordinary was taking place inside me in that moment. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I asked, knowing the girls would both look up at the glass again, and I could stretch this unforgettable moment out a bit more.

As my daughters looked up and marveled at the handprint against a backdrop of floating clouds, I noticed all our faces matched. We were all smiling. Smiling. This unique little imprint, found in the rarest of places, served as a divine sign to look harder, look longer, look deeper beyond the mess, mistakes, and mayhem to see the goodness. I was certain God was telling me this is where I would find joy again.

The fact that I did not wipe that handprint away became significant as I strived to see the blessings over the inconveniences. I quickly realized much of what aggravated me was trivial. Much of what was supposedly “ruined” were things that could be fixed or cleaned up. What mattered — that we were safe, healthy, and alive — were thoughts that began to overpower the negatives. But learning to see the positives in situations and surroundings was only the starting point of viewing life through Hands Free eyes. Seeing the positives in people (particularly characteristics that had once been perceived as weaknesses) was the epitome of living and loving fully and freely.

Rather than viewing Natalie, my eager-to-please, helpful older child, as “always getting in the way,” I began to appreciate her willingness to jump in and assist. At last I could see her for who she was — not an annoyance or a bother, but a loving child with clever thoughts and ideas. Instead of focusing on the mammoth-sized mess she made while engrossed in cooking and art projects, I emphasized her creativity, passion, and drive. Avery, my stop-and-smell-the-roses younger child, was no longer viewed as a time waster, but rather my teacher for living mindfully. I learned how to grasp joy simply by watching Avery put on her favorite pair of pajamas and plant apple seeds in the backyard. The way Avery shrugged off mistakes and didn’t have a worry in the world became my inspiration instead of my headache. Even characteristics I’d longed to change in myself were beheld with more loving eyes. My sensitive side, which I hated for being thin-skinned and introverted, was what enabled me to feel life. I finally realized it was that part of me that allowed me to write what others felt but couldn’t express. Like that dirty handprint on the glass, I was able to see unwelcomed qualities as something at which to marvel, instead of to abolish. As it became a daily practice to see goodness in the most unsuspecting places, the tightness in my face disappeared. The lip-picking behavior in Natalie ceased. Smiles became common occurrences in our daily routine, even at departure time.

See What Is Good, the fifth intentional habit of a Hands Free Life, offers a chance to look beyond the outer surface to the heart of what matters most. It is a perspective that allows us to see beyond our distractions, our hang-ups, and our preconceived notions to see the blessings right in front of us. See What Is Good allows us to be an encourager rather than a dictator . . . an original rather than a conformist . . . a bearer of joy rather than a messenger of gloom.

In this chapter, we’ll consider three examples of how seeing the blessings in people, situations, and events can bring great hope and direction to our lives and the lives of people we love. May you find that it is possible for gratitude to overpower the negative. By making it a daily practice to See What Is Good, the joy in your heart has the tendency to overflow. And when it does, you are able to funnel that excess happiness straight into the hearts of those you most want to see smile. Even in the most dismal situations, even in times of challenge, even when the whole world sees something that needs to be changed, you can see what is good, and you can protect it from being wiped away.

I’d waited six years for this moment. It was the confirmation for which my worrisome heart had yearned. Natalie’s small hand shook nervously as she held the microphone. Standing in front of our entire church congregation, Natalie described how she chose Pricilla, the girl with the broken smile, from an array of children in desperate need of education, friendship, and hope through a Compassion International sponsorship. Natalie concluded her inspiring speech by adding, “You too can put a smile on the face of a heartbroken child like I did.”

It was all I could do not to grab the microphone from Natalie’s hands and yell, “Wait! There’s just one more thing!” And with conviction, I wanted to look into the eyes of every parent in the audience and say these words:

“Someday, maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now, someone will tell you that your child has an issue, a problem, a weakness. Someone will tell you your child needs to be changed. But before you attempt to stifle that issue out, I beg you to look at the flip side. Take your child’s ‘problem’ and look at it from the other side. With the right nurturing and encouragement, that weakness might turn into your child’s gift. And to deny it, alter it, or extinguish it could have tragic results. I know this because someone once told me to change the very heart of the child who just stood here and told you how to save someone else’s life.”

Natalie’s early years were a blur. A colicky baby, an active toddler, and a traveling husband successfully wiped entire days from my memory bank. But there was one day from Natalie’s early years that I will never forget. Natalie was nearly three at the time; her unique personality was already beginning to take shape. She was an attentive caregiver of stuffed animals. She comforted other children when they got hurt. She was kind to all creatures, even the unsightly roly-poly bugs that lived in the cracks of our driveway. But most of all, Natalie loved singing and dancing and going to Miss Beth’s music class on Tuesday mornings.

Normally Natalie stood up the entire class period laughing and smiling, but not on this particular day. On this particular day, her face was buried in the front of my shirt. Natalie wasn’t crying, but she was hurt. She was sad. She was offended.

Another child had aggressively grabbed the musical instrument she had been playing with from her small hands. As I comforted Natalie, I could feel a penetrating glare coming from the mother sitting next to me. In a disapproving tone, this woman I considered a friend chided, “All I can say is you need to toughen that child up.” And if that wasn’t enough, the woman then predicted a dismal future with a shake of her head. “Because if you don’t toughen Natalie up, she is going to have a very rough life ahead of her.”

I drove home from music class in a state of worry. I envisioned a grade-school-age Natalie hiding beneath the playground slide from the bully who taunted and teased her. I envisioned Natalie as a young woman unable to ride the subway for fear of the hungry eyes that hovered over her as she boarded. It was true; my child’s feelings were easily hurt, and yes, she was extremely tenderhearted, but did this mean she needed to be changed? Did this mean she was doomed for life? Did this mean I needed to start “toughening her up” — as if such a process even existed?

I reflected back on my former special-education students who had severe behavior disorders. I remember how their parents desperately longed to see one tiny shred of compassion or kindness in their children who hurt animals, other children, and themselves. Perhaps that is why when I looked at my overly sensitive child, I saw something most people didn’t. I saw compassion, altruism, and kindness in my thin-skinned daughter.

When Natalie and I got home, I did something highly unusual for an insecure young mother whose copy of the book Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child had a yellow sticky note on virtually every page. I made a declaration based on what I saw when I looked at my child, not what someone else didn’t see. Staring into my child’s big brown eyes, which held so much promise, I declared, “I will never, ever ‘toughen you up.’ Mark my words. Someday, someday that tender heart inside you will be your gift.”

Six years later someday arrived. I was given not one but two confirmations that seeing my child’s weakness as her strength freed her to become who God created her to be.

When Natalie was asked to speak to our church congregation about her experience sponsoring a child through Compassion International, she was hesitant. The thought of speaking in front of so many people made her nervous. At first she said no, but after thinking about it awhile, Natalie changed her mind. Knowing there would be thirty available children who needed to be paired with a sponsor, she said, “I bet hearing a child talk about helping a child will make more people want to do it than if an adult talked about it.” I remember hoping and praying she was right.

Natalie stood on a little step stool to reach the microphone. In her favorite blue-and-white flowered dress she told the attentive audience that when she was seven, she walked to the back of our church to a table filled with photos of children in need. Among a multitude of angelic faces beckoning her to pick them, Natalie chose the unsmiling Pricilla. Natalie remembered exactly what she said when she lifted up that picture of the pitiful-looking little girl and so did I. “I want to give her a reason to smile,” Natalie told the congregation.

Natalie explained how she wrote to Pricilla many times, hoping for a letter or a picture that would reveal the status of Pricilla’s smile. Soon one came. Natalie described the photo of Pricilla, her mother, and a social worker standing around a basket of fish that they were selling to pay for educational materials. The enclosed note said Natalie’s latest donation had helped buy those fish. “Most people would have looked at that picture and wouldn’t have seen a smile,” Natalie said. “But I did. Pricilla’s lips were curved up a little bit. She was smiling a little more than before,” she announced joyfully.

At the end of the service, fifteen families flocked to the table at the back to choose a child to sponsor. By the end of the week, all thirty children were adopted. Through Natalie’s gentle and compassionate ways, she motivated others — children and adults — to do something they perhaps wouldn’t have done. She encouraged them to make a difference, to change someone else’s life. This was the first confirmation I received that seeing and nurturing Natalie’s “weakness” enabled her to fulfill her potential. That was enough, but yet there was more. Confirmation 2 came a few weeks later and put my worries about Natalie’s sensitive heart to rest indefinitely.

I was cleaning out Natalie’s backpack at the end of a chaotic week. After pulling out a half-eaten sandwich and an unnecessary number of mini hand sanitizers that smelled like cupcakes, I saw a crumpled piece of notebook paper. It was a speech she’d written and recited to her class before being voted class president in a mock election. It read:

My name is Natalie. Here are some reasons you should vote for me. I am hard working. I am very kind. I take care of the animals and the plants. I have self-control. I am very brave and honest. I am caring and a little curious. I am very smart and fun. I make a good leader. I care about other people. I am so exided to be one of the class presitents. Please vote for me.

I cried for every little boy whose parents are told he is too rambunctious, too inquisitive, too loud.

I cried for every little girl whose parents are told her head is in the clouds, that she is a daydreamer and too much of a free spirit.

I cried for every little boy whose parents are told he is too small, too weak, and too timid to ever play the game.

I cried for every little girl whose parents are told she is too clumsy, too uncoordinated, too slow to ever succeed.

I cried for the mother who was told her child needed to be toughened up and for every year that mother waited for the moment she’d know that nurturing her daughter’s tender heart was the right thing to do.

The moment was now. And there was cause for celebration. Not because I had been “right.” Oh no — there was something much more miraculous to celebrate. In the act of noticing, protecting, and encouraging that overly sensitive heart at age three, my child’s God-given gift had blossomed. And far more important than the fact that the world could see and appreciate her gift was the fact that she could see it herself, among the other gifts she possessed.

I shuddered to think if I had tried to change her, mold her into something she was not. What would I have destroyed in my compassionate child? I was certain she would have never written these words, her purpose, her future in clear legible letters. Therein lay the flip side to an overly sensitive heart, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

As I reflect back on that life-changing choice I made early on in Natalie’s life, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we stop trying to change the perceived weaknesses we see in one another. What would happen if we choose to look a little deeper, take a new angle, or just wait and see? Perhaps by celebrating each other as is, there would be fewer feelings of isolation, failure, inadequacy, and shame. Perhaps there would be fewer school shootings, fewer suicides, less road rage, less self-harm, and less despair. Perhaps if we were to look into each other’s eyes and say, “I see you. I love you. You are exactly as God intended you to be,” there would be more peace in our hearts.

Let us remember that weaknesses have a flip side; they have the potential to become strengths. It only takes one person to take something others see as a negative to mold it into something that can change the status of a smile, the status of a life, and maybe even the status of a child’s future.

HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION

Today I will step back and let my loved ones do things their own way . . . in their own time . . . with their own flair. Today I will step back and let them be who they are. And perhaps when I do, I will see something I thought needed changing doesn’t need changing at all. Perhaps I will see something courageously brave and beautiful that is worth protecting and nurturing. Perhaps I will finally see their true colors, and I will rejoice.

Summer. Just the word alone brings peace to my bones. Summer. It’s morning sunshine, cool pools, warm oceans, bare feet, and extra scoops of ice cream. Summers are the much-needed exhale after nine months of school-year breath holding. But even the most wonderful things can lose their luster. There is a distinct difference between the beginning of the summer and the end of the summer. As wet towels, lost goggles, and long miles cramped in the family vehicle accumulate like sweat beads under your armpits, summer can quickly lose its initial glow.

That was precisely my state of mind when my daughters and I pulled into the parking lot of a local recreation center for an end-of-summer sports camp. “Nothing like being early,” I told my daughters, who were grumbling in the backseat about being the first ones to arrive.

Donned in neon-orange shirts, the camp counselors beckoned the girls with friendly smiles and waves. Unlike me, the counselors looked rested, caffeinated, and enthusiastic. It could have been the sunlight coupled with the one-hundred-percent humidity, but to my weary eyes, it appeared they had halos over their heads. Walking on air, I led my daughters to the check-in desk. After filling out the necessary paper work in record time, we said our good-byes. I was eager to break free and sit in complete silence for a few hours. At this point, being able to hear my own thoughts nearly sounded like a tropical getaway.

Once I arrived home, I worked on a few articles that were soon due. After that, I made an effort to clear a path through the house. When I did, I couldn’t help but notice my children’s trails — or as I like to call it, “Kid Evidence.” I noticed the way Avery had carefully arranged the shoes in her makeshift dollhouse . . . the way her ukulele pick was placed right where she could find it . . . the way she had gingerly set her glasses back on the second shelf when she came home from the movies. Among the disarray in Natalie’s room, there was a notebook tossed on the floor and open to a pretty decent drawing of her beloved cat, Banjo. The way she drew a hundred little hairs on his tail made me smile.

I hadn’t noticed these things earlier, because when the kids are underfoot, these tender, little details tend to disappear. But in my children’s absence, I could see them clearly. And these tender minutia made me feel happy and grateful.

After a day of writing to my heart’s content, I went to pick up my children, but I didn’t go right in. I wanted to see if they were having fun, making new friends, and getting along. I stood at the window of the gymnasium and watched for a few minutes. It was a free-play period with kids doing a variety of activities. I quickly spotted my daughters in their neon Nike shorts and sun-bleached strands of hair spilling from their ponytails. They were doing wall handstands with two other girls. Everyone was taking turns and helping to support wobbly legs if necessary. My girls were laughing, not bickering as they had been doing that very morning.

Suddenly my heart softened. Suddenly the long summer looked brighter. Suddenly I saw all that was good. And I knew where I was standing had a lot to do with it — this view from afar made all the difference. I dug into my purse until I found one of the small notebooks I keep handy in case writing inspiration comes unexpectedly. I wrote, “trails, mess, whining. But my days are better with you.”

A few hours later, this is what came of those scribbles in my little notebook . . .

That was the perspective I got the day my children went to camp — but that wasn’t the end. This shift in perspective continued, eventually covering larger, more sacred territory that included my own imperfections and strengths.

Shortly after camp concluded, the girls started school. On the very first day of school, I got that feeling. You know the feeling like you’re forgetting something? Well, I felt like I was forgetting something because I was forgetting something. I’d forgotten to put money in the lunch accounts on the first day. I’d forgotten to sprinkle Avery’s pillow with the glitter her teacher had given us for the night before the first day of school. I’d forgotten to sign up for the first swim meet. On top of all that forgetting, I had to be away for the night due to work.

In the motel room that night, I tossed and turned. I couldn’t sleep because of the negative commentary going on in my head. I knew such talk was taking me down a damaging and useless path, but my failings were getting the best of me. I couldn’t wait to get home the next day, vowing to do a better job of staying on top of things.

Natalie greeted me the minute I walked in the door. Although she was getting more and more independent every day, she still didn’t like me to miss her nightly tuck-in. She hugged me fiercely. “I slept with your special pillow last night,” she murmured into my chest.

I was quite surprised. “My pillow?” I inquired, unconvinced that among the array of pillows that lay on my bed, she knew I had a favorite.

“You know, the one that is super floppy in the middle — the one that Daddy tried to throw out because he said it was gross.”

Sure enough, when I tucked her in that night my droopy pillow was placed where hers usually sits. Embarrassingly, I noticed my lifeless pillow had several drool stains and needed a good washing. But these details did not offend my daughter. She snuggled her face right into it and inhaled deeply. “Ahhhh . . . smells like Mama.”

In an instant, my inner bully, the one that spews negative comments about my parenting failings, was silenced. And my shift in perspective continued to expand to include myself.

Let us not beat ourselves up if we have to be away — whether it is for work, pleasure, or just to sit with our own thoughts in the corner of Starbucks. Let us not feel guilty if we know we must put some space between ourselves and the ones we love the most. Why? Here are three reasons:

1. Because sometimes we need to step away to distinguish between what is truly important and what is trivial in the grand scheme of life.

2. Because sometimes we need to step away from the people we share our life with to see how beautiful they are.

3. Because sometimes the scent of a drool-stained pillow or the sight of a carefully placed stuffed animal in the absence of our loved one gives us what we need: Perspective — that moment when the flaws within yourself and the people you love fall away because your perfect love for each other overpower them all.

HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION

Today I will view the messy trails in my home as sacred evidence that living, loving, creating, and growing are going on here. If I choose to look at the clutter and disarray with a soft, open heart, I can see the quirks, hopes, talents, and dreams of my loved ones in these sacred trails. Although it is often imperfect, exhausting, messy, and monotonous, it is my life. And when I open my eyes, hands, and heart fully, what truly matters can outshine the mess.

Avery handed me her fall progress report. It displayed a steady stream of happy check marks in all the positive boxes. There was just one check mark standing dejectedly alone from all the others.

“How am I doing, Mom?” my child asked with a level of maturity that did not match the small disheveled person gazing up at me through smudged eyeglasses that teetered on the end of her nose.

I looked at her. Her flyaway hair and dirty knees indicated it had been a good day at school. I looked back at the progress report, then back to her again. Her face, lovely and round, still held traces of baby — unlike Natalie’s face, which had suddenly elongated into an adult-like oval without so much as a warning. Finally, once more, I glanced back to the progress report and the one lonely check mark.

Before I consciously realized I’d made a decision, my face broke into an encouraging smile. I gathered my child into my arms and pressed my lips against her silky, smooth cheek. Before I spoke, I briefly closed my eyes and offered up a silent prayer of gratitude; she had come so far in a year’s time. “You’re doing great. You’re doing just fine.” I whispered into her ear, my voice containing a mixture of emotion and happiness. I decided I would not say anything about the low check mark or the words written beside it. This was just something that didn’t need to be said right now . . . or perhaps ever.

But this child, with her bright blue eyes and sassy rose-rimmed glasses, misses nothing.

“What does that say?” With her small pointer finger, she tapped the neatly printed words that flowed out from the check mark that sat apart from the others.

Inside my head, I read the words: Distracted in large groups. But I already knew this. I knew this before it was written on an official report card. This news was no surprise to me. You see, each day this child comes home with an astute observation:

“Max has a group of warts on his right knee. There are exactly nineteen. I counted them.”

“Miss Stevens got a new haircut. She got layers put in. It looks really pretty.”

“Miss Evans eats Greek yogurt every single day. I think her favorite flavor is peach because she brings that one a lot!”

“Sarah is a wonderful artist. She can draw butterflies that look like they could fly off the page!”

“That waitress sure is working hard. We should leave a little extra money on the table.”

“That man is texting and driving. He is going to hurt himself or someone else.”

Distracted or observant? Distracted or perceptive? Distracted or empathic? I choose observant . . . perceptive . . . empathic.

“What does it say, Mama?” My child was growing impatient to learn the meaning of those words she could not yet read herself.

My children know I will always give them truth, even when the truth can be difficult or uncomfortable to say or hear. So I read her teacher’s comment word for word: “Distracted in large groups.”

My daughter gave a tiny, uncertain smile and shyly put her hand to her mouth. “Oh yeah. I do look around a lot.”

Before Avery could feel one ounce of shame or one iota of failure, I went down on bended knee and looked her straight in the eye. And then I spoke the following words with every ounce of conviction I could muster; I didn’t want her to just hear these words, I wanted her to feel them.

“Yes. You do look around a lot. You noticed Carter sitting off by himself with a skinned knee on the field trip, and you comforted him.

“You noticed the little girl who couldn’t quite get up on the haystack at the pumpkin patch so you boosted her up.

“You noticed Banjo had a runny nose, and the vet said it was a good thing we brought him in when we did.

“And you know what? You’ve taught me to notice. And I don’t ever want you to stop noticing. That is your gift. It is your gift that you give to the world.”

By the look of bliss on her face, you might have thought she was just given unlimited access to a candy shop. She was literally glowing. Glowing. And even when she tried to suppress her smile and look serious, she couldn’t.

“Okay, Mama. I won’t stop noticing,” she said solemnly, yet unable to contain her smile.

Along this Hands Free journey, we are required to make choices in order to grasp what really matters. These choices are not always the popular ones; they are not always status quo. These choices may be looked down on by outsiders and rejected by the “experts.” But after you make these choices — they feel right in your gut — there is always validation. Sometimes this validation takes days, weeks, even years, but it comes. And when it does, you’ll know you made the right choice for your child, for your family, for yourself. Thankfully, validation for the choice I made about the progress report came within days.

I’d just gotten my hair cut. It was shorter than usual. I was feeling a little insecure about it. I straightened it in such a way that was different from my usual style. I walked out into the living room, still in my pajamas, with this new hairstyle that I was not so sure about.

“Wow, Mama. You look so pretty! I love your hair.” It was the voice of my observant child. My face relaxed into a smile, and I immediately felt better about my hair. Apparently my child could sense her words comforted me. What she said next stopped me in my tracks. “You were just waiting for someone to notice, weren’t you?”

My hand covered my mouth to suppress my awe and my joy. I looked to the sky with tears in my eyes. Yes. Yes. We are all just waiting for someone to notice — notice our pain, notice our scars, notice our fear, notice our joy, notice our triumphs, notice our courage.

Let us notice the sacrifices our parents made, rather than all the times they messed up.

Let us notice how hard people are working, not how quickly they are providing service.

Let us notice where our love and kindness is needed, rather than spew criticism and scrutiny where it is not needed.

Let us be Noticers. Love others right where they are. Love others just as they are. Someone is just waiting for us to notice what’s blooming or wilting inside that could use a little undivided attention.

HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION

Today I vow to notice the good before the bad . . . the right instead of the wrong . . . the blessings above the inconveniences . . . the strengths rather than the weaknesses. Focusing on the positive is the key to finding joy in the most unsuspecting places and in the most challenging times. Today I will notice the good. Bring on the joy!

HANDS FREE LIFE HABIT BUILDER 5

See What Is Good with Glimmers of Goodness

Thank you, hurried morning. It is in the hunt for shoes, library books, and backpacks that I appreciate the slow Saturday. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Slow Saturday.

Thank you, perpetually cluttered house. It is in finding rumpled sheets, toothpaste blobs, and abandoned socks that I appreciate the evidence of life being lived. I shall pay attention and appreciate Life Being Lived.

Thank you, growing older. It is in finding another gray hair and another laugh line that I appreciate the gift of another day. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Gift of Another Day.

Thank you, free-spirited child. It is in experiencing everything a little faster, a little louder, and a little riskier that I appreciate the courage it takes to be bold. I shall pay attention and appreciate Being Bold.

Thank you, sensitive child. It is in experiencing everything a little deeper and a little more quietly that I see the beauty of a tender heart. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Tender Heart.

Thank you, pang of guilt. It is in wishing that I did things differently that I appreciate the opportunity of Second Chances. I shall pay attention and appreciate Second Chances.

Thank you, disappointment. It is in experiencing letdown that I appreciate the fact that I had the courage to try. I shall pay attention and appreciate the Courage to Try.

Thank you, daily challenge. It is in looking straight into the face of sorrow, struggle, fear, frustration, heartache, and worry that I appreciate the fact that I keep showing up. I shall pay attention and appreciate the fact that I Keep Showing Up. And I will keep showing up.

Because even on the hardest days, even in the most challenging moments, I can see tiny glimmers of goodness if I look closely for them.

So today I shall pay attention and appreciate any Glimmers of Goodness I can find.

Having a full and complete day of goodness is hard, maybe even impossible, considering life’s daily stresses of children, bills, schedules, deadlines, responsibilities, and pressures. But finding Glimmers of Goodness within a day is possible — even when you are irritated, annoyed, or frustrated. In fact, it is in times of overwhelm that I can find these bright spots most easily. It may sound odd, but try taking each not-so-pleasant experience or feeling and thanking it for its hidden gifts. From that place of gratitude, you might be able to find a Glimmer of Goodness, reminding you that the whiny, messy, unpredictable moments of life are not all bad. In fact, they are what make home a home and a life a life.