One of the significant advantages in guiding people through my Focus Phrase™ process is reading rich and tender work. Each person brings their unique voice to the process. And every once in awhile I get to celebrate that voice in public.
Today is such a day. Marci Moore is a magician of excellence in many realms. When she’s not engineering fiscal recovery patterns for non-profit organizations or helping businesses get along better with their people and their mission, she is pursuing her passion for writing. You can learn more about Marci via:
Marci Moore, ACC
Interviews and Team Building
“Be good to yourself: it is the best way to teach others how to treat you.” – mary anne radmacher
Mom’s famous wedding cookies – those light buttery crispy yet soft nut filled nuggets covered in powdered sugar insure a groan of pleasure with every bite. To infer they are addictive demean the cookies. Magical maybe…. Family members sneak into the kitchen for handfuls; some have been known to hide the cookie jar. Mom makes them on multiple occasions which is the secret code for anytime will do, yet she manages to keep the batches small enough, no one ever tires of them.
Sweets in general and Mom’s wedding cookies in particular are my Achilles’ heel. As kids, Dad’s idea of a great night out was giving us free rein at the Sear’s candy counter. We’d arrive home loaded with individual striped paper bags of the cavity inducing loot, and set to finishing every single drop. It was as if we’d won the candy lottery with chocolate covered raisins, burnt peanuts, chocolate covered peanuts, circus peanuts and maple nut goodies the prizes. For me, sweets became a lifelong love affair.
When Dad, a lifetime sugar junkie, now diabetic, started dialysis late last year, it got my attention. I was walking his path, a diabetic in training. Fear got the best of me and I announced to everyone I was cutting back on sugar. On Monday night Mom picked me up to attend a nephew’s soccer game. When I climbed into the backseat, there, within impossibly easy reach, was a small container of wedding cookies. “Who are the wedding cookies for? I asked, still gazing at them with the same burning desire typically reserved for the love of my life. “I made them for Marvin,” she said. “You said you weren’t eating that kind of stuff anymore.” “You’re right,” I replied, momentarily annoyed with myself for sharing that particular intention with the larger family. Immediately afterwards I was flooded with a deep appreciation for her acting on my behalf, based on what she’d seen and heard from me. In that moment, Mom’s sweet words and even sweeter intentions made up for all the sugar no longer in my world of food. Your positive words and actions give others permission to upgrade their treatment of you.
©Marci Moore, used with permission of author