I believe that life is about learning lessons. And one of the biggest lessons we're here to learn is to appreciate what we have, take care of it, and enjoy it. Life has a way of seeing that we do this...

Over the last few months, a friend of mine who used to live on a neighboring farm, but through circumstances beyond her control now lives in an apartment, has been lamenting the loss of her outdoor view. Her son stays at my house several days a week and when she picks him up; she wistfully longs to have a front porch view like mine and vows that one day she will again. I remind her that she's welcome to come by and sit on my front porch anytime. Of course, do I ever sit on my front porch and enjoy the view? Hardly! I'm too busy chasing toddlers, studying, writing or building Web communities to make time to relax and enjoy the view 10 steps away from my computer desk.

Yesterday, she stopped by my house at 4:30 when I was busy at my computer and urged me out onto my front porch to chat, "Come on, come on, get away from that computer for a few minutes and enjoy this porch! It's gorgeous out here!" she coaxed. Reluctantly, I left my email box to join her on the front porch. I had no clue how unseasonably warm it was outside. As we sat and talked, it struck me how blessed we are. We have so much abundance that we don't even have the time to enjoy it all. As we spoke, I began to see my blessings through new eyes -- through the eyes of my friend who could truly appreciate them. Upon watching her drive away, I was left with a sense of gratitude, but also a sense of sadness for my friend who had lost something so precious to her. This was a gentle reminder for me to not only count my blessings but also to take time to enjoy them.

I believe that life is about learning lessons. And one of the biggest lessons we're here to learn is to appreciate what we have, take care of it, and enjoy it. Life has a way of seeing that we do this through three progressive phases: gentle reminders, warning signals and calamity (the whirlwind). It's like your automobile. You know those little stickers that gently remind you when your oil was last changed and when it needs to be changed again? If you ignore that gentle reminder, the warning light will come on in your car. If you ignore the oil light, then get ready for calamity to strike -- serious damage to your car.

Our bodies work similarly. Loss of energy or weight gain act as gentle reminders. Excessive colds and flu, low blood sugar, or anemia can act as warning signals. Then, if we ignore our bodies long enough, they'll use serious illnesses to get our attention. Not only does this principle work for our bodies and automobiles, but it also works in every aspect of our lives and even in societies as a whole.

The older I get, the more I realize that I should be listening to the gentle reminders before they get to warning signals and whirlwinds. But this isn't something I'm good at. Matter of fact, it's a motif for my life -- ''ignore it until it gets to the crisis point then scrounge in a panic to repair the damage.'' Will I never learn that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?

As I was thinking about this, I thought to myself, ''You know I don't think I use to have gentle reminders. I think my life went straight to warning signals and whirlwinds.'' But you know what? I'm convinced there were gentle reminders, but I was just too busy or hard headed to see them. I didn't recognize them for what they were. Recently I've noticed more gentle reminders and have discovered that they come in many forms:

  My one-year-old son peaking around a corner with flirty eyes and coy grin is a reminder of how precious these days in his life are and how blessed I am to have happy, healthy beautiful children. This reminder is saying, ''Take time to enjoy them!''

  Seeing my friends and family members struggle with illness or loss, are gentle reminders to appreciate my blessings while I have them.  

A friend pointing out my blessings is a gentle reminder to be grateful for what I have instead of continually running on a treadmill for ''more and better'' things that I'll just eventually ignore and take for granted too.

My husband coaxing me out onto the front porch to see a stunning sunset is a gentle reminder to enjoy nature and take time for those I love.

My weary eyes at the end of the day are a gentle reminder to stop burning the candle at both ends and get more rest.