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Years ago, when Phil was finishing up his Ph.D., we had a little money, a little time, and a little boy. All in all, it was really a happy season of life—with one little exception.
Actually, it wasn’t so little.
I was overwhelmed with stress and couldn’t figure out how to manage it.
Ever felt like that?
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I had carved out time in the middle of a busy week to travel 30 minutes downtown to apply for a passport.
After waiting in a long line, I turned in my application and photo only to hear a lethargic and impatient clerk ask, “Where’s your birth certificate? You can’t get a passport without a birth cert—”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get it. I’ll come back.”
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On a crisp fall morning, I sat with my precious friend and writing assistant, Karen, in her upstairs office. Phil was out of town, and we planned to work on some new book proposals together.
I had started writing my first book just one year earlier and now found myself on a fast track. I wasn’t sure if I was driving, being driven, or a combination of the two. In addition, my travel schedule had swollen with opportunities that I didn’t feel I could or should turn down.
“What do you guys think of Jennifer Rothschild?”
That was the opening question of a post that I should not have read!
A friend told me she had spotted my name, so I decided to check it out. But, when I read the rest of it, I felt like a balloon when the air is being sucked out of it—deflated and scrawny.
I overheard the World’s Most Patient Mom shopping with her two boys.
The little troop was there to get pillows for their bunk beds. There are only about 50,000 pillows in that particular home store, so selecting just two was pretty ambitious.
“Mommy, the ball! I want the ball! The ball!” I listened as one of the boys called out. “Get the ball! The ball … no, not that one! The owange basketball! The fuzzy wound piwwow…”
Well, you get the idea.
Last Christmas Eve, I made the world’s worst casserole.
Oh, girl, I am not exaggerating. If anyone else thinks theirs is bad, I will put this casserole up against it—and, I guarantee you, it would take home the title of “World’s Worst Casserole.”
The recipe called for milk, but I ran out and used buttermilk instead. Bad idea. Truly, it was the absolutely worst casserole ever!
But, my sweet family tried to be so mannerly and gracious as they swallowed each sour, sticky bite! After all, it was Christmas Eve and they were on their best holiday behavior.
When I called my dad to wish him a merry day, I told him about my Christmas Eve catastrophe, and how I had made the worst casserole. He said, “No, you didn’t. You made a great memory!”
My dad was an expert at extracting the good out of every single thing! He taught me how to create “Goodness Grabbers.” (Though, it probably would have been good if he had also taught me how to follow a recipe!)
Do you know what a Goodness Grabber is?
