Acceptance

There is a beautiful word in the English language.  It's called, acceptance.

The man who tunes my piano said the above words to me one morning when he arrived at my home, head cleanly shaved.  Since I'd known him, he'd always worn his hair in a long ponytail in back, pronounced male-pattern baldness in front.  He had finally conceded the battle of his hair loss and, with joy, embraced the beauty of his bald head.

When my daughter was in her eye-rolling-I-can't-believe-my-mother-is-so-embarassing-in-public-and-especially-in-front-of-my-friends stage, older friends of hers (who just-so-happened to be Ethel's daughters) pulled her aside and said, "Look.  There's no way you're ever going to change her.  We couldn't change our mother.  Acceptance is best."

I think my daughter is getting there.  Someday, perhaps, my son will as well.

Last week, when I stepped out of my house into the crisp autumn air and was met by a lungful of the smell of fall, I was surprised to find myself smiling.  I love summer  and find myself each year in a tug-of-war with September, trying desperately to hold onto sun and sand and beach and freedom for as long as humanly possible.  Every September, for the past forty-nine years, I've lost this battle.  One would think I would learn.  Eventually.  Finally, however, it is October and I'm ready to accept, to move on, to find the joy.

I went apple picking at my favorite orchard this last weekend.  Picking apples with my children has always been a favorite ritual, a way to embrace the beauty of autumn.  We've made so many memories together:  always getting lost trying to find the orchard, spending time together under crisp, blue autumn sky, enjoying a hay ride out into the orchard, eating apples picked fresh from the tree, rewarding ourselves with cider and fresh, hot apple fritters before heading home.  The first year that my daughter was away at college and my son and I went apple picking without her was hard; we missed her terribly.  But my son and I had a few years to make some memories of our own together.

This year, I thought about skipping the orchard and just buying apples at a local farm stand.  I didn't want to go apple picking by myself.  But the sky offered me its most brilliant blue last Saturday and tempted me to venture out, inviting me to believe that in accepting, in moving on, there is still joy.


Joining Ann and others in the Gratitude Community--accepting, moving on, finding the joy.

524. The smell of fall.

525. Acceptance.

526. Leaves turning color, being reminded that there is a reason people travel to New England in the fall.

527. Brilliant blue sky, crisp autumn air, the beauty of Connecticut orchards, hot apple fritters, and a day to myself to pick apples.

528. Getting lost on the way to the orchard (like I always do) and texting my daughter (the human GPS) because I knew it would make her laugh. It’s good to know there are some things you can always count on.

529. Running into old friends.

530. Seeing families with young children out enjoying the day, picking apples and creating their own family memories.

531. Pumpkins

532. Chrysanthemums (and the way typing that word reminds me of Anne Shirley)

533. Son being helpful and being a blessing to a widow-friend.

534. Young men meeting for dinner and campus Bible study.

535. Daughter moving into first apartment.

536. Helpful, loving friends and family assisting with the move and providing faithful Christian community as she’s starting out.

537. Son blessing piano teacher and friend battling cancer, simply by sitting at her piano and playing.

538. Hearing these words from Bible study teacher, “Sometimes it’s okay just because it will be okay.” Behold, He is making all things new!