Tweets from Beyond

Tweets from Heaven As I gaze at the photo taken of my parents the week of their deaths, I imagine they’re in a Harry-Potter-esque animated photo. They’re happy and waving from the bow of the whale-watching ship. “The weather is beautiful! I saw a humpback before you! See ya soon!” Continue reading


The Gift of Giving

I’m trying to reconcile two understandings I have about the giving of gifts and trying to figure out if they are opposites or complementary.

Giving the Best that you Have

This is the perennial Christmas teaching.  I recently had the honor of playing a street woman in Tom Long’s play, “Nativity on the Square.” My own lines brought the lesson home to me again.  When I see that the king of the nativity scene is reluctant to give up his gift, I admonish him, “But that’s why you brought it, isn’t it? That’s why you’re all here…to give him the very best that you have.”

Yesterday, I was again reminded that gift-giving is not supposed to be easy as  a friend read an excerpt of Celestine Sibley’s Especially at Christmas, in which Mrs. Sibley related how her mother insisted on re-gifting items to those who needed them more. When the author once protested to her mother that she really wanted to keep a gift for herself, her mother “blithely” (if I remember correctly) explained how that made it a great gift—it was something difficult to give up.

Notice the dog's placement of his grody tennis ball among our packages.  Is he emulating our giving? (I know, probably not.)

Notice the dog’s placement of his grody tennis ball among our packages. Is he emulating our giving? (Yeah… That’s probably reaching. )

I truly believe this is our model of giving. Giving sacrificially isn’t just financial. True generosity is giving something we’d rather keep for ourselves. It’s the giving of time and talent, when we feel we’re running short of both, to people who might not even appreciate it. It inspires me to give better. It makes me think of wrapping up that spoon rest that I bought for my friend Irene last Christmas but decided it looked too good in my kitchen to give up.

Giving without Even Meaning to…

On the other hand, I also believe we often give exceptionally meaningful gifts without even being aware that we’re doing it. We do it when we smile at a stranger, ask a clerk how they feel, call a friend, or pick a flower.

Example:  One summer when I was in bad health, I was more than a little embarrassed by the state of my yard and garden. Dandelions ruled in the lawn, and the sum total of my gardening efforts was  to shove a morning glory in the dirt by the mailbox and harass my boys into watering it. One day I was at my mailbox getting the mail (bills), when a neighbor stopped and lowered her window. I braced myself for a “helpful” recommendation of ChemLawn. Instead, the woman said, “I want you to know how much I love your morning glories. Seeing them each morning as I leave the sub gives me such joy.” She didn’t know me, didn’t know I was sick. She, whatever her name is, was probably just being herself but to me she is a gift-giver extraordinaire.

This, too, inspires me.  It makes me more aware of the strangers I walk among, aware that small kindnesses can truly brighten a day.


How do these two types of giving mesh? Well, both are giving a gift of ourselves. Both stem God’s gift of a Savior—the ultimate gift.

Can it be that generosity has evolved from a discipline, to a habit, to a joy?

© Laura Hedgecock 2012

Shared Prayers

Today, among my friends, there seems to be a particular need for prayers. Friends fighting cancer, friends having major surgery, friends waiting while loved ones have major surgery, friends trying to make sense of a high-school senior and recent homecoming king’s suicide.

I take comfort in the prayers they post on Facebook, souls bared in their moments of vulnerability. I’m touched by the love that flows from hearts through the “cloud” to other hearts.  It’s a virtual praying aloud, hoping others join in your supplications.

I am particular moved by one prayer today, imbued with love, hope and forgiveness. A friend not only prays for comfort for the family who has lost their teenage son, but for the teenager himself. She prays that he has found the peace he sought.

Falling Gifts

Fall trees work cooperatively to lay down carpets of richest gold, yellow, red and orange.  

We humans, however, jealously guard the vestiges of our previous carpets of green, heedlessly and wantonly destroying the new carpets – tearing them apart, pulling pieces away, and thrusting them into bags.

The metaphor isn’t just the carpet.  We seem to be much more comfortable with looking forward and looking back.  Our inability to live in nature’s moment is symbolic of our obsession with “better.”  Looking around, our memories on the past and our hopes for the future filter our vision, leaving us doubting if our now is what we want it to be.   Obsessed with “what could be, ” we overlook the beauty of “what is.”

It is not just about stopping to smell the roses – though we should.  It’s about remembering, or perhaps even re-gaining, the innocence of our youth.

The innocence of young children and pets (pardon, please, the comparison) makes watching them enjoyable.  Ever see a baby notice a ceiling fan for the first time and do a double take?  I remember my great nephew running towards a ball when he was barely bipedal.  It took several falls and several get-ups, but he went full speed ahead to find the object of his attention.  His pure, simple joy of discovery was moving.

This time of year, I especially like to remember my neighbor’s dog, Shade, when he was young.   He faced each day with enthusiasm.  As the rest of us trudged out to the bus stop each morning,  Shade would be on the lookout for whatever gifts nature had bestowed.  If he looked up and saw a leaf riding down on a breeze, he would go ecstatic chasing it down.  He would be pure joy on four legs, as if to say,  “A leaf!  For Me!  Direct from Heaven!  Who would have thought?”

Shade is now an elder in the neighborhood, looking down his nose at the shenanigans of younger dogs.  Knowing he taught us dumb humans a thing or two bolsters his confidence in his status.

Now when I see a colorful leaf, floating down on a breeze or hanging from a tree above, I remember.  They are gifts for me, directly from heaven.

© Laura Hedgecock 2012

Can’t Let Go….Am I Really Supposed to?

“Let Go and Let God.”

Good advice if you can do it.  Hard advice when it comes to your kids – at least for me.

It’s not that I have no faith and it’s not as if I’m conceded enough to think my plans for my children are better, safer, smarter or anything like that.

It is just incomprehensible for me to think that God loves my kids the same way, as I do.  Maybe He loves them as much, but definitely not the same.

God has  so many children—and so many of them are in desperate situations.  It doesn’t seem reasonable to expect  Him to care deeply over each child’s relatively mundane heart breaks, stumbling blocks, and temptations.

Does God really have the luxury of obsessing over each young person’s dreams and endeavors?

Maybe that’s why He gave kids parents.  Maybe my caring, nurturing, praying, ok –obsessing, is doing God’s work.

I  feel better now.

The Lesson that keeps on Teaching

My parents gave me the courage to walk my own path. They did so with just three words.

Like most teens, I had some moments when I was torn between two worlds – the bland, predictable world of my youth thus far and the more exciting world of new friends that were older and edgier. My parents sat me down to talk about how I was spending my time. They asked me if I had my eyes open and if I was carefully evaluating the motives and actions of those around me. They asked me to consider whether I was being pushed to do things with which I was uncomfortable.

The long and the short of the conversation came down to this:

“Look kid, we trust you.”

(C) 2012 Laura Hedgecock

Inspired by Carley of

The Faces of Memorial

In response to criticisms that we over-memorialized the 10th anniversary of 9/11/2011...

We memorialize
– to face the enemy – be it evil, chaotic, or indifferent
-to face our lack of control over the universe
-to face our loss
-to face sacrifices made, voluntary or not
-to face hope, renewal, and the future, though it’d be much easier to wallow in fear and grief
-to face the light without the comforting shadow cast by that one whose presence loomed so large in our life

For, after a while, you become accustomed to the dark; the light is harsh and moving forward on our own feet is terrifying.

(C) Laura Hedgecock 2011