The Gift for the Giver

Here's what I have learned about gift giving: your pleasure must be in finding and giving the gift because if you're counting on the recipient's response then the gift is really about you and not them.

Here's how I learned this--again. Last June my "faux son" graduated from college. My husband and I consider him and his sister our "faux children." We've known them since they were infants, but more important, we've traveled to exotic locations with them and their parents and endured jellyfish stings, mosquito bites, sprained ankles, food poisoning, heat exhaustion, lacerations and serious fevers. This creates bonds that shopping at Toy 'R Us simply can't provide.

In 2000 we went to Greece and rented what our British neighbor called a "vulgar" pink house on the island of Corfu. We loved it. Our faux son was eleven. While playing on the beach I found this rock. It looked like an eye! We called it "The Eye Rock" and considered it magical and mystical.

I kept this rock until 2011 at which time I thought, "I know just what I'm going to give Faux Son for graduation--the Eye Rock!"

I found a suitably big ring box and lined it with velvet under which I put some quilt stuffing and made a perfect little indentation in which the Eye Rock nestled. But I wasn't done.

I now had to write a blessing from the Eye Rock. I thought about this young man and how smart and kind and sensitive and funny he is. I thought about his hopes and dreams for the future. Overcome with love and affection for him I wept as I wrote:

May the Eye Rock give you Vision to see beyond boundaries and obstacles and see all sides.

May the Eye Rock give you Focus when you need it most.

May the Eye Rock give you Hindsight to learn from your mistakes.

May the Eye Rock give you Foresight to prevent mistakes.

May the Eye Rock enable you to look deeply within yourself.

May the Eye Rock give you Clarity to see what is best for you and those around you.

May the Eye Rock help you see the Divine in every person you meet.

I read this over and over and cried each time. I envisioned him holding the Eye Rock and reading the blessing whenever he was troubled--a bad romance, a work problem, a health issue.

I folded the blessing accordion-style so that it fit into the box. I attached a red silk ribbon onto the parchment so that if you gave it a gentle tug, it would majestically unfold in all its wisdom.

His graduation dinner was at a fancy restaurant and his family and friends were all there. I couldn't stand waiting. I handed him the box and said, "Congratulations, sweetie. Please open it."

I held my breath. He opened it. "Oh, the eye rock," he said. "I remember this."

"Pull on the ribbon."

He pulled on the ribbon and the blessing unfolded. He took a few moments and read it. "Cool! Thanks, Auntie." Then he gave me a hug and got another glass of wine.

So you may be asking yourself, "What did you want?"

I wanted him to choke back tears, hold his hand over his heart and say, "Oh, Auntie, this is best present anyone has ever given me! I'll always think of you whenever I look at it. I'll treasure it forever."

Okay, writing that just now, I'm actually laughing aloud. But this is the High Drama that ego just loves! It took me a while to remember the tears of pure joy and love I shed while thinking of him and putting his gift together.

I realize now that I was also crying because I wished someone had written this for me when I graduated college. I was sure I would have avoided all kinds of problems if only I had had an Eye Rock. Or someone who could have given me one.

My greatest satisfaction was in the making and the giving of his gift. So in this Season of Giving and Great Expectations please find joy in the journey because the response at arrival is uncertain.

May the Eye Rock help you to always see Light in the midst of the Darkness.

Love and Blessings

In the olden days (and on The Simpsons), the bad kid is always writing a hundred times on the chalkboard, "I will not throw spitballs," as a way of reinforcing good behavior. But we now know that it is more effective to give yourself positive suggestions, i.e. "I will pay attention in class."

A couple of weeks ago I had to pre-sign 200 books before a talk I gave. So I wrote, "Love and Blessings, Debra Jarvis" two hundred times. (I really believe that each of us has the power to bestow blessings on another.)

For the rest of the day and well into the next I felt loving, forgiving and generous. Love and blessings. Two hundred times. I'm thinking about doing this every morning.

A Dutiful Wife

So we just returned from India. We were gone only ten days which is short considering it takes about two and a half days to get there. Wes taught for four days at a science conference held at the Indian School of Business in Hyderabad. As a Dutiful Wife I was forced to go along with him and spent most of my time swimming and reading, "A Suitable Boy" by Vikram Seth. It was only 1, 474 pages. The title of my next book will be, "A Dutiful Wife" and it will be 1,475 pages.

We secretly ate in the student cafeteria whenever we could. It was fun being with the students and I liked being able to refill my own coffee. The Faculty Dining Hall had white table clothes and I was forever trying to remember if my bread plate was the one on my left or my right. Plus there were all these waiters whisking things away. I was acutely aware of the beggar children just a few miles from campus, so I was very uncomfortable with all this formal dining. In fact, I was uncomfortable dining at all. (More on that later.)



And here is the amazing Taj Mahal at sunrise. I thought it was a palace, but it's really a mausoleum. Yes, that's right. When you finally get inside, the actual room is the size of a large McDonald's restroom and there is the tomb of Mumtaz Mahal ("Chosen One of the Palace") and her husband Shah Jahan ("He Who Builds A Really Amazing Mausoleum For His Wife").

It turns out that Mumtaz was the love of his life, soul mate, friend, lover, first wife. And yeah, sure he had a harem but I'm assuming they were for when Mumtaz was hugely pregnant or having her period. She bore him fourteen children in seventeen years.

So she dies giving birth to their fourteenth child and he is bereft. Despairing. Since Porshes weren't yet invented, he decides to build--big time. But here's my question: Shah, why did you wait until after she was dead to build her this breathtaking place?

Why wait to say, "I love you"?

I saw a patient last week who when her husband left the room told me, "My husband has been so attentive and concerned. He insists on coming to every chemo with me. I know he loves me, but he's never been so out there with it."

He's scared witless, I thought. And sure enough, when we prayed together at the end of my visit, he was holding my hand so tightly my fingers had indents from my rings. He whispered, "Amen" after me and tears rolled down his cheeks.

As Wes and I walked back from the Taj Mahal to our hotel, he asked me, "Well, what did you think?"

"Don't wait until I'm dead," I answered.