During this frantically busy time of year, I recall some advice an imagined version of my grandmother once gave me during a guided meditation. It was in the spring, which can be a really busy time in the life of a minister. At the time, I was the single mother of a middle schooler, plus I was getting ready to move and start a new job. I felt beyond overwhelmed and didn’t know where to start.
This guided mediation, which I had done several times, asks you to picture yourself on a big solid rock in the middle of a river. Then you picture releasing all your body’s stress and worry into the river, which carries them away around a bend. Usually I pictured myself in the middle of a mountain river because I lived in New Hampshire at the time. However, that day the river that appeared in my mind was the Big Sioux River in my home town of Dell Rapids, South Dakota. My family actually lived on a farm several miles north of town, but Dell Rapids is where we went to school, where my mom grew up, and where her mother lived.
The Big Sioux is a wide, slow, muddy river that flows through the park where my brothers and I used to play as kids, the pool where we swam, the bandstand where we watched fireworks on the Fourth of July. “This is odd,” I thought, “to find myself here.” However, I decided to roll with it and really immersed myself in the scene, remembering the sights, sounds and scents — the feel of the place. It felt relaxing and familiar.
Then I heard someone calling my name. It was my grandma, standing on the side of the river in her red and white zigzag shirt and her red shorts. Red was her favorite color. It was such a great surprise to see her. She died when I was 11 years old. How I loved her. She was the best grandma, ever.
Her ancestors came from Bohemia, and she grew up in the tiny hamlet of Pukwana, South Dakota. She was my only grandparent who went to high school, where she had played on a girls basketball team. She was a flapper in the 1920s and kept that sense of fun all her life. My straight-laced mother would quail when my younger brothers and I came home shouting, “Guess what Grandma taught us?” Because Grandma taught us things like how to burp and make rude noises under our armpits. Poor Mom.
Grandma planted marigolds around her vegetable garden to keep out the bugs and to look pretty. She was an amazing baker who let me help — dipping the fork into sugar and pressing hatch marks into peanut butter cookies, or frosting carrot cookies with sticky sugar icing. Carrot cookies are seriously good. Her house smelled great. And of course, best of all, was the Grandma love, which was strong and sweet and fun. So I was really happy she showed up to help me in my meditation that day. She said, “Bake some cookies, plant some flowers, and then do one thing at a time.” Such good, down to earth, grandma advice. It was so her.
Think about it — when you’re stressed to the point of overwhelm, you need a little sweetness. Why not make yourself some cookies? When we’re frantic we need to ground ourselves. What better way than to put your hands in some soil? And of course, you can really only do one thing at a time if you want to do it well. Studies show! I have found it to be true.
Here are some possibilities to consider this busy holiday season, based on this Grandma Advice. Maybe not everything will get done, but maybe it doesn’t all have to get done. Prioritize. What’s most important? Or maybe someone else can do some of it. Maybe let them help, like Grandma let me help making cookies.
Maybe your holidays won’t be perfect, but then maybe they don’t have to be perfect. Resist perfectionism. It is such a thief of joy. Practice joy. Maybe what we really need this holiday season is to give ourselves some strong, sweet, fun Grandma love. A little grace. A little space. Bake some cookies. I recommend Carrot Cookies with frosting. Ground yourself. Breathe, and do one thing at a time. Happy Holidays.
The Rev. Tess Baumberger is pastor of the First Universalist Church of Essex.