Lately, I’ve been on a dedicated mission to seek the good, the joyful, the humorous, and the meaningful, the everyday or ordinary. For example, my search includes cheeky signs advertising veterinarian offices who offer unlimited belly rubs, but for pets only. Handwritten chalkboards for coffee shops never fail to provide comical relief in stark choices: it’s better to head inside for a shot of espresso rather than face down a bear. I like to imagine the staff member who took the time to find the pun or joke or message of encouragement and how they either surprised the rest of their coworkers after they placed the moveable type or with the necessary permissions let chalk dust settle beneath their fingernails. Across the Flathead Valley I find many of these signs let me unclench my jaw, chuckle over the image of belly rubs for humans, and appreciate the clever advertising.
When I drop my daughter off at her Daisy Scouts meeting, I hover in the background to hear them recite the Girl Scout Promise and Law. As a former Girl Scout myself, I join along because for one, the law and oath are a reflex at this point and the words come spilling out, but also, I believe in the Promise and Law and think it’s a wise decision to participate in this kind of community declaration. What the Girl Scouts promise to do is applicable to everyone: a promise to try to be of service and help others. My son takes taekwondo lessons and in a similar fashion, his classes start with the entire group, students and instructors alike, reciting the five tenants of the practice. In both Korean and English, the students call out the ethical and moral principles that serve as the foundation of the martial art. The tenants are: Courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self-control, and indomitable spirit. Once again, applicable to most people whether you learn taekwondo or not. Although I’m not on the mat with my son, I listen to this chant and look for the ways in which I’m applying courtesy, integrity, and self-control in my own life. Between the moral lessons of Scouting or martial arts, I marvel at the adults and high schoolers who donate their time and enthusiasm to these endeavors. Likely many of us know a neighbor or friend who serves in a similar capacity, whether in a house of worship or on the playing field. Their willingness to share their passion is palpable, and also their commitment to giving children this type of experience and education is tantamount.
I should pause here and add that this is a more recent revelation because if you were to inquire about my feeling about Girl Scout trooper leaders when I was a Brownie, I would have a much different opinion. That’s because my mom was the troop leader for a good spell and I was mortified. I didn’t follow the Girl Scout Law when it came to being considerate or respectful to authority, and am grateful that time has allowed me to soften my hard edges and deliver a long overdue apology to my mom. Nonetheless, so many of us benefited as kids by an adult who volunteered to teach us to camp or play football or act. I know of many adults now who said those coaches or instructors were perhaps the one person in their young life who believed in them or gave them the courage to pursue their passions.
In between this wide swath of joy makers – sign makers, troop leaders, and coaches – there are also other ways joy and delight make themselves known in my world that can often be far too consumed with pain, sorrow, and fear. I have to consciously seek out the opportunity to read the signs as I’m speeding down the highway or join along in recitation of the oath or law. It’s too easy to overlook these ordinary delights, particularly when the news cycle is bad and the worries mount. But this practice, partly grounded in a spiritual quest, partly in an effort to resist the forces that want to denigrate or make me want to buy crap, also activate me to be a more focused, appreciative, and considerate person. And, perhaps humans do need belly rubs.