Stop. Look. Go.

Stop. 
Sit.
Stand.
Kneel.
Bow.
Rest.
Lay down. 
Stop. 


Look.
Inward.
Outward.
At what is directly in front of you.
At what is directly in you. 
At the child.
At the breath.
At the snow.
At the mind.
At the food.
At the body.
Look.


Go.
Move forward.
Move inward.
Into the next moment.
It is a gift too.
How will you use it? 
Go.


This reflection was inspired by NPR: TED Radio Hour Podcast - Simply Happy (check it out at: http://www.npr.org/programs/ted-radio-hour/267185371/simply-happy.)  The final guest, David Steindl-Rast, taught the simplest gratitude practice: Stop.  Look.  Go (he connects it to children learning to cross the street.)  I have been practicing it the past couple of days and it has helped me notice certain things that I might have otherwise flown by in the time crunch trance that being the parent of young children seems to often put me in (another blog post all together):


*  In the narrow window of opportunity that I had to prepare the girls' room for bed, I came across six or seven dolls and stuffed animals neatly tucked into burp clothes at the foot of Francesca's bed.  Please, come into my mind knowing that these thoughts occurred in the slices of seconds that Olympic skiiers win races by: "oh, so this is what she was doing when she was supposed to be napping" (note agitation).  Stop.  Look.  Enter again, "the sweetness and care and thoughtfulness that Francesca took to neatly tuck all of these animals into their imaginary beds.  And I get to bear witness to this world?!  I do hope that Francesca feels as cared for as these little animals."  Don't get me wrong, I still moved fast to get the bed ready, but my negative thoughts where arrested by stopping and looking.  And then I was able to go, to move forward, with more lightness and perhaps even an inch more of joy. 


*  Last night, Lilian was having a hard time going to sleep which is unusual (I am noticing a pattern that many of the stories of early parenthood involve bedtime.)  She was crying that sad, pitiful cry that says something like, "please, dear God, can I just go back in the womb for a few minutes?"  I wont go into the minutia of how the bedtime routine goes, but it is important to note that Lilian goes down first and then Francesca is tiptoed in and whispered a song.  Well, this wasn't going so well.  I tried a variety of things and somehow I ended up on the floor by Francesca's feet that were hanging off of the couch.  I stopped.  I looked up.  I could hear Lilian's cries that were slowing and looked at Francesca's face from a different vantage point.  She was "reading" a beloved book; quietly looking at the pictures and turning the pages.  She looked so little and sweet and the moment was so calm despite the thrownoffness of it all.  And in this stopping and this looking I fell in love with my daughter again in a new way.  And this is what happened next: Lilian's cries stopped and Francesca nestled into my lap for another story.


*  And finally, just this morning I had made a grand plan for myself that included checking my email, cleaning up, and working on various and sundry things (in that order.)  So I did sit down and check my email (and, guiltily, facebook...not part of the plan.)  And then I moved to get up to clean and there, right beside me, was this beautiful window through which I could see huge flakes of falling snow.  I stopped.  And I felt the miracle of snow...we get to witness this?  What a gift.  And then I came here to my desk to share. 


Stop.
Look.
Go.