Gratitude Lessons

It's November, so that means I'm happily jumping on the 30 Days of Thanks on Facebook. The very simple premise is that you post one thing each day for which you are thankful. I love it. I LOVE IT. I love to read other people's posts. I love to be able to scroll through my page and others' pages at the end of the month and read a list of blessings and God's provision and common grace.

It is one thing to have a month of thankful Facebook posts, and quite another to cultivate a heart of gratitude. I've been working on that one for a while now.

Take this beautiful white KitchenAid stand mixer, for example.

When I was in my early and mid-twenties, I had some SERIOUS envy issues. Why? Because every summer I found myself shelling out money I did not have to purchase things for my friends' weddings that I wanted myself, and I despaired of ever having matching plates that did not come from a thrift store, or ceramic nesting mixing bowls to sit cheerily on the counter instead of ugly plastic ones. But the Mother Of All Covetousness was the elusive, expensive, Bridal-Registry-Golden-Ticket, the KitchenAid Stand Mixer.

I watched friend after friend tear into the big heavy box at the wedding shower, after being reminded that "this one is too heavy for your lap, why don't you come over to the gift table and open in!" winkwinknudgenudge. And there before our eyes, the glowing bride would unveil a beautiful KitchenAid, often in a dazzling bright color to match the thoughtful "accent colors of her kitchen". You know, a mixer painted to match the colors of all her new dish towels and spatulas.

And every time this happened, my heart clenched up a bit. Not only was I NOT GETTING MARRIED, I was also never going to get a stand mixer. Because they are like $300 and I certainly did not have that kind of money. And neither did my mom, should she ever be inclined to buy me such a gift.

Let's get to the specifics, here. I wanted a fire-engine red Kitchen Aid mixer. I had this dream of a red and white kitchen, primarily because I had scored a cute little red Kitchen Aid mini-food chopper on clearance at Kohls one day, so now naturally I needed the Stand Mixer to be red. Because obviously now I was going to have a red-and-white kitchen filled with Fancy, Matching Kitchen Stuff someday. This red kitchen dream grew and grew. I started trying to figure out a way to sock away some cash for a mixer. I asked my mom to be on the lookout for sales at department stores. I asked for money for my birthday for the Mixer Fund.

And then something incredible happened.

I sat in my mother's house on Christmas morning, geared up for a very modest Christmas gift giving season. We were all scraping that year. I was hoping for an envelope with a little boost to my Fund. But then as my siblings start unwrapping their gifts, I hear my dear mom say "Jill, your gift is too heavy for your lap, why don't you come over here and open it right under the tree!". I could hear the glint of glee in her voice. I trembled. I walked over to the tree and saw the big rectangular box wrapped in plain paper. And I tore into it to discover!!!!!!!......... A white Kitchen Aid standmixer.

Has there ever been a more ungrateful, undeserving, horrible daughter in the history of daughters? I didn't see a KitchenAid. I didn't see the object of years of envy. I saw the wrong color. My eyes gave me away.

"What's wrong? You've wanted that for SO long!"

"I love it mom. I do. I was saving up for the red one, though."

"Well, I'm sorry, honey, but that was the only one I could afford. The Marshall Fields is going out of business, you know, so they had really big sales back in October. I bought this one as an open box for less than half the price it would usually be. I couldn't have afforded it otherwise. It's your Christmas and birthday present. I'm sorry it's not the color you wanted. It can't be returned."

Have you ever hated me more than you hate me right now? I hate me right now. I hate even recounting that story. I hate the ungrateful freak that I was then. I hate that there was even ONE Christmas that I made my mom feel sad about a gift that she had worked and scrimped to give to me (Unfortunately, there is at least one other story like this, but cut my some slack - I was 8 then). I wish I could get EVERY Christmas with my awesome mom back. I would trade every KitchenAid in the world for more Christmases with my mom. And I whined because I didn't get the red one.

And you know what else?

Sitting here about 8 years later, I have a white-on-white kitchen and I love it. I love my white mixer. It doesn't sit on the counter and scream APPLIANCE! It blends in with the white. It sits demurely waiting for me to bake something or whip up some cream. And I think of my mom every time I see it. She didn't even have one of these in her own kitchen. Maybe she even wished that she had had one. But she searched high and low to get one for me one year, and now I hug the mixer sometimes and thank it for its years of dutiful service.

I did kind of make up for my terrible showing that Christmas morning, and call my mom just about every time I used the mixer from that day forward and thank her for it, and apologize for being a brat. She must have heard me say "I'm actually SO glad I have a white one!" at least 50 times. So hopefully that helped. But that whole rotten display of Stuff Over People continues to convict me about my heart and getting "my heart set" on things. I never ever EVER want to do that again.

What about you? Have you ever let a thing mess with your brain and heart? Do you wish you could go back in time and Scream for Joy over a white stand mixer?

When A Good Deal isn't a Great Buy - Choosing Stuff That Will Last

It's Boot Season again - Hooray! That means I get to bust out my mom's circa 1975 Frye Boots. Believe it or not, boots are hard to photograph in an interesting way. But these boots ROCK. And I get complements on them every time I wear them. They are creeping up on 40 years old, and they still look awesome. Mom actually had TWO pairs of Frye boots in her closet, which seemed Way Way Over the Top for my mom. My Mom didn't spend lots (any) cash on herself by the time she was my mom. So knowing what I know about how much Frye boots cost now, I'm sure these were a save-up purchase. And judging by the re-soled wear, she wore them a lot. And here they are, on my feet, rocking my jeggings and Dress Over Pants concoction in 2012. So an excellent cost-per-wear investment. Plus, I get to wear my mom's boots. The best hand-me-down ever.


Most of my clothes are cheap. Seriously cheap. Not just "Bought on J Crew clearance", although there are some of those. Cheap like "bought from Target/Old Navy/TJ Maxx and barely make it through one or two seasons before I start eyeing them with scissors to repurpose their raggy fabric". I own maybe 3 or 4 items that I could consider "investment" purchases. Clothes that I love and wear regularly, cost a bit more, and are holding up really well. Most of my stuff, however, has little to commend it into the "Excellent Stewardship of Resources!" category. Most are items that I just thought were cute and within my budget and ended up in the cart.

I'm starting to see improvements in this area. Maybe it's getting older. It's much easier to stick my fingers in my ears and sing LALALALALALAAAA over the siren song of trendy clothes. I also have a job where jeans and a t-shirt are just about requisite 3 out of 5 days a week.

Obviously we all need clothes to wear, and I'm not advocating for sackcloth and ashes. I also do not think that it is an ethical affront to look cute. I could actually use some more lovely in my life. I am usually loathe to spend big money on clothes, but I'm beginning to realize that disposable trends aren't as much fun as they used to be. The standard fashion mag refrain is to buy "the essential 10" (or 15, or 20) items in classic, flattering cuts and then care for them meticulously so they last for years. I'm down with that, but how do I start? Buy one piece per year for the next ten years? That's not a terrible idea, actually. As least I can be classically fashionable by the time I'm 45.

So what do I do with all the other stuff? And how many items of clothes do I really need? "Purge the Closet and Dresser" has been on my To-Do list for several weeks now. I was dreading it at first, but then I read this post  from Jamie The Very Worst Missionary and I got some mojo going for PURGE THE JUNK! I'm interested to see what is left after I donate anything that doesn't fit, doesn't flatter, or is just plain ready to be demoted to "fabric".

Ok, really this whole post has been my round-about way of trying to process whether or not I should consider doing something I swore several years ago that I would NEVER do: Should I FINALLY buy a classic, well-made leather  bag that I will just use and use and use and use rather then the "please please make it one more season" pleather or canvas bags that I keep burning through like birthday candles? I love me some purses. I used to have a lot more energy for wearing them like accessories, but the reality is that I pretty much use the same bag every day. Until it crumbles and shreds into sad little vinyl chunks. I'm researching recycled leather bag companies, which I feel sort of OK about, but I just cannot bring myself to purchase new, fresh-off-the-cow leather. Even though those Frye boots are a testament to the longevity of a well-made and virtually timeless slab of hide.

I have leather shoes, even other leather boots. And I do own a couple of small leather purses that have been gifted to me over the years. But now I struggle to put my cash into leather, or to wear it as if to say "Yeah! I'm totally cool with this!".

So if you have a vintage leather bag that you never use, or a suggestion for a great place to get some repurposed leather goods, or can help me with this clash of values (animal-free vs. durability and fewer disposable faux-leather accessories), shoot me a note. I'm gonna head over to Etsy and Ebay and see what I can find.