Friday, April 4, 2014

Postcard Challenge #12: Break the Rules

Because the small person I often blog about sleeps such a small amount and because sometimes I'm too tired to explain all of my thoughts and reasons, there are a few postcards I didn't tell you all about (gasp!)

Number 10 was called, "Inconvenience." I was to carry the postcard with me in full view for a week. It was supposed to be a reminder to pray. It was, and more than that, has become my Lent practice this year. I've failed more than a few times at remembering it (isn't that just Lent for you), but have enjoyed a physical, beat up reminder to pray for those I love wherever I wander.


Number 11 was an invitation to carve up an imaginary tree with words I want people to remember, a legacy of sorts. I stole some words from a sermon that I loved:


I can tell you about the sermon and why I chose these words if you ask me, but like I said above, sometimes it's too much to have to explain. 

In the mail today arrived number twelve, an invitation you can probably already guess I don't accept very often: 


In case you missed it, it's there in the blue in the right corner. Break the rules. Kathleen shared with me a rule she often found herself following and challenged me to think of one of mine to forget today. I immediately thought of the daffodils.


We pass by this "house" (I use quotation marks because it's really like a manor complete with a secret garden in the back) almost every walk we take. Each spring I'm tempted by the mass of daffodils on the corner. Maybe I'll sneak one, I thought. Break the "Don't pick flowers" rule. I mean, come on? Can you really own flowers?

No matter how much Pocahontas assured me that "you can own the earth but still all you own is earth until" something about painting, I still couldn't bring myself to steal somebody else's flowers. 

So, I decided to break a different rule; you've probably heard this one a thousand times : "Don't knock on a complete stranger's door and then ask her for daffodils that you've been eyeing on your morning walks by her gigantic manor house."

You know, that one. 

Which essentially encompasses several of my most closely followed rules: 

"Don't ask people for things. Provide instead." 

"Don't be a bother. It's better not to say anything."

"Don't want things you can't have. It's silly anyway." 

And most importantly, ""Don't look foolish or ridiculous in front of others. Appear impenetrable, capable, etc..."

It seemed like a good day to break these (daffodils are an awfully good motivator).


We had to break a handful of other rules to begin our quest. 

1. Don't go out without changing your baby's clothes after she's played in a bucket of dirt (which may or may not have involved breaking the no eating dirt rule). 


2. Don't go out when the sky looks like it's about to rain. 

3. Don't leave the house with your dryer running (sorry, Mom.)

I rehearsed my speech the whole way to the front door. I'm Melissa. I don't usually do this but my parents are coming to visit. We really only need one. I have a cute baby? 

The baby part gave me confidence, as did the "In God We Trust" on the license plate and the Easter egg wreath on the front door. I mean, you don't really expect a pit-bull named Bruiser or a serial killer with an Easter egg wreath, right? 

I took a deep breath and knocked. 



I'm not sure how much of my speech I remembered, it was so awkward. I lost my bravado a minute when the woman looked at me like I had been sitting out in the sun a little too long today. THANKFULLY, I have the gift of extremely fast nervous talking, and she had the gift of being gracious, and she agreed! 

She called the family to the door, and I recognized a former student. Another sigh of relief, See! I'm not a weirdo. They let me teach children so that must count for something, yeah?

I was invited through the beautiful manor and into the secret garden. She picked a whole handful of daffodils and along the way, we swapped stories. 

We broke the rule that strangers can't just get to know each other in a handful of minutes, especially not in someone else's backyard. We broke the rule that you can't get to know your neighbors. By the time we left, she said Elisa could come back and blow kisses to her anytime. 


On the way home I felt like I was carrying a torch instead of a bouquet. I felt like all the cars watched as my handful of yellow passed. If hope could have a smell, I think it would be something like my walk home. 

I wondered as I walked. How many other times have my "Don't ask others. Don't bother. Don't be foolish." rules kept me from being invited in to someplace beautiful? Kept me back from new friendships? Kept me from receiving abundantly more than I asked for or imagined? 

A few blocks later, the three little girls I saw on the way to the house waved. Partly because I felt guilty for looking like I just robbed someone's daffodil bed and partly because I was feeling giddy, I broke another rule and walked up the driveway. I offered them daffodils and we all were foolish sniffing at spring. 

How many times have my rules kept me from having so much that the light can be shared? 

My house is swimming in daffodils. 




It struck me how ironic it was that I was gifted with daffodils, narcissus, the flower named after a man who loved his own reflection, his own self so much that he died in his self-absorption. 

All this beauty is because I forgot my self long enough to become a fool. 

What rules are you keeping that might be keeping you from the fullest life? Are there vows you've sworn that keep you safe but maybe one day sorry?

Will you come along with us?