I was reminiscing today about the weather this past spring. We’d had some lovely days of summer-like weather, and it felt like an extra bonus since it was still the middle of April. It was shortly after those wonderful blue-sky days that I woke up to a splattering sound on my bedroom window and saw it was going to be a rainy day – and a cold one to boot.
That day was a Sunday, so my plans to
go for a hike went by the wayside. Instead, I decided to take care of various
household chores that are best done when I’m not drawn to the outdoors. I
needed some time to think, and mundane tasks like folding and sorting the
laundry seemed like the perfect way to do just that.
These heavy thoughts that kept
swirling around in my mind didn’t have anything to do with pursuing shidduchim
for my children. I wasn’t pondering what the future would be with my parents as
they continue to age. No, this time, I contemplated how I was going to change a
specific midda of mine. I know many people who do not have this specific
flaw. I’ve tried emulating these dear friends and acquaintances of mine, and I’ve
looked up to a tzadekes I know, hoping that their goodness would somehow
rub off on me, to no avail. Perhaps being faced with my own mortality, I began
thinking that it’s about time to make a serious change.
Chasdei Hashem, there are a plethora of books and
pamphlets as well as dial-up and online learning classes to be had for the
taking, and I’m grateful for them all. And of course, there’s nothing like
davening, which is always the best medicine. But what about those recurring character
traits that we aren’t proud of – you know, the ones we never talk about with
anyone, those awful ones that cling to us like a persistent cough that won’t go
away.
Oh, I’ve been working on ridding
myself of this midda for as long as I can remember. Let’s see, there’s
the Zelig Pliskin books, the biographies of great tzaddikim, books that
focus specifically on the subject at hand and, of course, shiurim. I’ve
tried them all, and now that I’ve reached the stage of Medicare, it seems like
there’s nothing to show for it. Please don’t misunderstand me, I learned a lot
of wonderful things in my life and consider myself a positive and growing person.
It’s just that this blemish of mine is deeply entrenched, and I’ve not been
successful at rooting it out.
I don’t know exactly what happened
that got me to focus on it. What stopped me in my tracks and brought tears to
my eyes when I thought about it? Maybe it was the proverbial ticking of the clock
that I’d been noticing as of late. Maybe it was an awareness that wasn’t there
before that brought to the forefront of my mind the effects this midda has
had on the people I care about the most.
As I started putting away the clean
dishes from the dishwasher, I decided it was time to act. It’s not something I
thought about with glee, not something I knew I could cross off my to-do list
with relish. This was going to be a process. I knew I would have to turn to
Hashem. I needed to pierce the heavens with my pleas along with my tear-stained
face. I pulled out a favorite Rav Avigdor Miller pamphlet that would help guide
me through this. Chasdei Hashem, it showed up at my door when I needed
it most. Rav Miller’s down-to-earth and practical phrases were ones I could
repeat each day. I decided right then on that cold and cloudy day that I would
try to heighten my awareness even further by putting learning into action with everyone
I encountered. It is probably the hardest task I have ever undertaken, akin to
pushing a boulder up a hill or maybe to learning all of Shas. I have to keep reminding
myself of what Rav Yechezkel Levenstein, zt”l, used to say: “We were
born to toil.”
After the last load of laundry was
folded and put away, and the dishwasher was empty, I sat down and looked out at
the lush green grass outside of my kitchen window. Suddenly, the sun peeked
from behind the clouds, and the chill went out of the room. I noticed then the
fresh and new green leaves on the trees and could glimpse the flowers of a beautiful
pink dogwood tree in the yard. This splash of bright color on a backdrop of
green symbolized hope, and I thought to myself, I can do this, iy”H, I
really can.
