Party Napkins

PARTY NAPKINS

I grew up in a party house.

Everything was a cause for celebration.

Well beyond the typical celebratory events, such as birthdays and holidays, I found myself invited to daily parties and celebrations in honor of the most common life occurrences: the first snowfall of the year, a beautiful summer day, a new movie release, a good grade, a concert, a sporting event, a new job, a new bike, or even a visit from a friend.

I am quite convinced that my mother would often plan an entire party and only later dream up a reason for it. In fact, my mother added the word “party” to the end of just about everything we did. Some kids went to the pool. Not us. We had pool parties. What constituted a pool party? In our case it was shark fruit snacks, capri suns, our favorite cartoon beach towels, and a much anticipated trip to the pool at our Texas apartment complex. Some kids would watch football on Sunday afternoons. Not us. We had football parties. We would buy bread, meat, and cheese from the local grocery store and then stand behind the kitchen counter laughing uncontrollably as my dad pretended to be a Subway employee piecing together our sandwich orders as we shouted out our preferences. My mother would inevitably comment that we forgot napkins at the store. My father would remind her that we had plenty of napkins. Without hesitation, she would answer back, “But those are normal napkins, we need Cowboys playoff napkins.”

Herein lies an important truth regarding our celebrations: our parties were never about excess. A $3 package of party napkins and contagious enthusiasm were the only tools my mother needed to throw a good party. Underlying everything she did was a simple belief that there was always, always, always something to celebrate; a belief she still holds today.

My mother draws attention to the good in life. She talks about the good. She dwells on the good. She notices the good. She appreciates the good. She rants and raves about the good. She, more than anyone else I have ever encountered, celebrates the good.

In fact, constantly, without any prompting, my mother will comment on the good in her life, “I have the best life. It’s just so good. It’s almost embarrassing, Leah.” Now, anyone who knows my mother, knows that her life has not been without hardship. She has endured family, financial, and health struggles that might paralyze the average person. It is the lens through which she chooses to view her life that makes it seem so extraordinary. It is the good she chooses to see in life that leads her towards celebration over pity.

COMMON COLD

It is a basic life principle: what we feed inevitably grows. The things we give our thoughts and attention to flourish, while the things we ignore and neglect fade. The question then becomes, what are you feeding?

Do you devote more time to dwelling on and thinking about your problems and struggles or your joys and blessings?

When you talk about others, do you spend more time voicing frustrations and concerns or raving about their strengths and additions to your life?

When you come home from work does your spouse/significant other/roommate/parent hear more about the frustrations of the day or the joys of the day?

In general, is it easier to ruin your day or to make your day?

I find these points most easily illustrated through something as universal as the common cold. The common cold typically takes 10 days to complete a full cycle.

Day one: can you describe it? 

Though a considerable amount of time has passed since my last cold, I still find that I am able to describe day one in a great deal of detail. That initial moment when you wake up with a scratchy throat and think, "No... I can't be getting a cold. Maybe it will pass. Maybe the air is just dry or I slept with my mouth open. I'll just drink a lot of water this morning."

What about days 2 and 3? The days where each breath becomes more and more laborious as congestion sets in and a hacking cough develops.

Or days 4 and 5 where you sit buried in piles of kleenex and with each blow of the nose begin to look less like yourself and more like that most famous reindeer of all.

And then...

There are the rest of the days. The days that seem to blur together. You return to all of your normal activities, but not necessarily at 100%. Days 1, 2, and 3 become a distant memory and your symptoms are now just a minor disturbance in your daily life. In fact, it would be nearly impossible for you to pinpoint the exact moment when you experience your last symptom; your very last cough; your last sneeze; your last sense of fatigue. Your cold, which appeared suddenly and without much warning, leaves with a gradual ease, almost unnoticed.

I would propose that we are able to remember and explain the first five days of a cold in greater detail than the last five days of a cold because we have given more thought and attention to the struggle than to the relief. When our throats scratch, when our noses run, and when we struggle to breath, we think about it. We talk about it. People ask about it. We dwell on it. We lie awake at night because the cold symptoms demand our attention.

On the recovery side, we might devote a few moments to celebrating relief (the standard, “it feels good to be back to normal”), but in reality, its likely nothing more than a passing thought. It’s as though we feel entitled to recovery, so it does not seem an undeserved blessing worth celebrating when we find ourselves returned to full health. We expect to be healthy, not sick. We expect our cars to run, not to break down. We expect our family members and friends to remain living, not die. Therefore celebrating something we fully expect, such as health, a working car, or friends and family seems unnecessary and even somewhat excessive. However, when these things are taken from us, they instantaneously command our full and undivided attention.

For example, we might find it odd if a colleague entered the office and exclaimed, “My car started! What a good day!” On the contrary, it would seem very normal for someone to enter the office and exclaim, “My car wouldn’t start this morning! Now I have to take it in and probably pay a ton of money. What a hassle.”  

Following my most recent cold, my mother was overjoyed to hear that my voice had returned to full strength. For ten minutes during our respective commutes home, she talked about how happy she was that my cold was gone. She went as far as to say, “We should grab dinner and celebrate your good health!” This seemed an absurd notion at the time. What a silly reason to have a dinner. What a silly thing to spend even one more moment talking about. I was clearly over a very routine cold, moving on…

But no sooner had these thoughts crossed my mind, then I felt a great sense of conviction sweep over me. I was forgetting to celebrate the good. I was neglecting the lesson she had always taught me: Give just as much, if not more attention to the good in your life than you do the bad/hard/sad. The story found in the Gospel of Luke came to mind as I continued my drive. Jesus was traveling to Jerusalem and along the path encountered ten men with leprosy. He spoke to them and sent them on their way, and while they walked, they were all healed of their disease. Only one of the ten men returned to thank Jesus and celebrate his healing. The other nine men, who only moments prior, had been in terrible suffering, begging for relief, moved on as though the healing had never even occurred. I find this to be one of those special Bible stories where I self-righteously think, “I would never be like the other nine men” only to get sick with a common cold and realize, “Oh great, I’m exactly like them, and I don’t even have something as severe as leprosy.”

In order to celebrate the good, we must first recognize the good. Oftentimes, learning to identify the good takes discipline. Throughout our childhood, my mother always made one request of us when we arrived home from school, “Tell me something good that happened today.” My mother wanted to hear our frustrations. She wanted to be a listening ear and a safe place for us to vent. After all, struggles should never be ignored. There is certainly not wisdom or maturity in denying hardship or refusing to share it with the people around you. In fact, there can be great folly in that. But my mother was trying to instill in us a discipline that we would carry with us for the rest of our lives: Before we give our thoughts and attention to our frustrations, we must first acknowledge and celebrate the good. There were days when this was easier than others; and so she would guide us, “Did you see your friends at lunch? Was it fun?” “Did you have a good soccer practice?” “Did you get any good grades back?”

I still find myself doing this today. I often spend my commute home re-living the very best moments of my day. A mental highlight reel. I allow the little and simple joys of the day to bring my heart and mind disproportionately great happiness. A free coffee, a funny text from a friend, or even relief from a work deadline. The more I look for the good, the more I find it. The more I think about the good, the less severe the bad seems. The more I feed the good, the more it grows.  

BE OUR GUEST

Beyond the daily parties of my childhood, nothing was a greater cause for celebration than people. Guests came and stayed at our home for hours, days, weeks, and even months. As a guest, upon your arrival, my mother and father would greet you at the front door like you were a foreign dignitary arriving from a long journey (when in reality you could have been a neighbor arriving from next door).

It was always clear that your visit had been thought about, planned for, and highly anticipated. You might even find yourself slightly overwhelmed as my mother reached out to embrace you and my father simultaneously tried to remove all of the bags from your shoulders. You would be escorted to your room where you would find towels, shampoos and soaps, and gifts waiting. If we were taking you to a sporting event, the local team’s hat and shirt would be waiting on your bed. Your favorite snacks, books, and a few trinkets from around the city would be in a basket for your enjoyment. You would leave your bag behind and meander downstairs where you would find a feast of food and drink sprawled out across the kitchen counter. You would silently wonder to yourself if 20 other people would be coming over to help consume everything. Finally, you would be offered the coveted leather chair in the living room where my father and mother would sit with you, eating, drinking, and laughing while they inquired about your job, your family, your new dog, your fun vacation… fill in the blank. My mother would sit on the edge of her seat as you spoke, overjoyed by each word and story. Your joys would be her joys. Your heartaches would be her heartaches. If her reactions were any indication, it was clear that you had the most interesting life of any living person. You would leave feeling celebrated.

The example my parents set forth in this exchange was simple: Become a person who celebrates other people well.

I have to constantly ask myself: How well am I celebrating other people? Am I celebrating their successes, their joys, who they are, what they’ve accomplished, and their lives in general? Are the happiest days of other people’s lives the happiest days of mine as well? As Paul writes in the book of Romans, do I mourn with those who are mourning and rejoice with those who are rejoicing? Do I put my life on hold to acknowledge the lives of others? Do I remember in my own busyness to send cards, gifts, prayers, thoughts, and encouraging words when others get a new job, buy a new home, have a baby, get married, etc.?

We recently lost a dear family friend. Anyone who has experienced this loss, knows the feeling I am about to describe: the morning after someone’s death where you actually wake up crying. Reality does not even pay you the courtesy of waiting until you are fully awake before bombarding you with its unwelcomed presence. The person you care for so deeply is no longer here. That was it. Their time on earth is complete.

In a single instance, every good memory, thought, and emotion you felt for that person overtakes you and floods your mind. Immediately, any thoughts of, “Well, let’s not forget that they could be frustrating at times” or “I can’t believe they said that to me yesterday” flee your mind forever. You see only the good. Because of that, you also feel great loss. Nothing more can be said. Nothing more can be done. Their book is now closed, you may no longer write in it or contribute to its plot.

We are all so seemingly busy and important these days. But life waits for no one. We are never promised tomorrow. Life is worth celebrating today. People are worth celebrating always. There is good that daily goes unrecognized and uncelebrated. As odd as it may sound, we should all become more disciplined in the practice of celebrating and partying. We should all set aside more time to think about, dwell on, and celebrate the good all around us. My childhood was one big party. I am determined that the same will be said of my life. That like my mother’s home, my home will be a place of constant celebration, where life is enjoyed, people are treasured, and all of God’s blessings from the very greatest to the very smallest are daily acknowledged, appreciated, and celebrated.