First Sentence

I thought my story was over the day I lost my leg, but I realized it was only just beginning when my dad brought home a new horse with a prosthetic leg just like mine.

My 10 year old niece wrote that last week for a “First Sentence” writing contest. The winner of the contest will be invited to write the rest of their story, to be printed in a national children’s magazine. I’m trying to get her to finish the story anyway. Tell me how it ends. How the little girl and her horse start their new journey together. Tell the world how there were so many obstacles, fears, unknowns that they both had to face to get to a place of trust in each other. She, trusting the horse to hold her, protect her, not stumble beneath her weight. The horse, trusting her to be gentle, know her limits, moving forward only when both are ready.

And I can’t help but wonder how many of us have these “first sentences” hanging out there with the rest of the story just begging to be written.  Isn’t it true that we look at a sentence like, “I lost my job today and I have nothing to fall back on” and we let it just sit there, sad, depressed, alone.

“My mother has cancer.”

“My husband cheated.”

“My son is failing all of his classes.”

“I lost my best friend.”

Whatever it is that tells you “I thought my story was over the day I…” needs more from you. Our lives  are begging for us to keep writing. There is ALWAYS an “until I” waiting to finish that first sentence. But too often I feel like I’m waiting for someone else to invite me to write the rest of my story. Someone to inspire me. Tell me I won the contest. When all I really need to do is pick up the pen and start writing it on my own. No invitation. No wins or losses. My story.

There have been several times in my life when I felt like the story was over. The story of love. The story of health. The story of spirit. But every time, no matter how long it took for me to find that pen and paper, I just kept writing. Just kept showing up. Some days the words flowed and I could feel the love creeping back in. Some days I sat in silence feeling like I was staring at a blank piece of paper that would never see words again. But I kept showing up with faith that something would happen. And something eventually did. Love found its way back. Peace came. Faith flowed.

It’s true that our stories don’t always feel like they have happy endings but I don’t think that’s the point of writing out our lives. We aren’t meant to live in this world always seeing rainbows and butterflies. We are meant to just keep going. Living out our stories so that others can have the courage to live out theirs. It’s an ebb and flow. Lows and highs. The tides of our lives coming in and out. But, like ocean waves that follow every receding tide with an incoming wave, so must we look at a situation of loss, hurt, fear, and allow it to be followed by peace, forgiveness, grace.

If you need a friend’s hands to help you get started, grab them. Trust them. Allow them to help you find your footing and start moving forward when you are ready. Grab the pen and just start writing. Maybe you have to cross a few lines out and start again. So what? Just keep going. Every one of us deserves to see our full story written out. Those first sentences are desperate for a second and third and before you know it you’ll have a paragraph, a chapter, a full circle story to call your own.

And they rode off into the blazing sunset, her horse finally trusting the leg that was not his own, allowing it to carry the weight of the girl that now carried his heart.

Love wins. Rinse and repeat.

I stood in Target last night completely and utterly about to lose my mind on my four year old who would not stop with the “Hey Mommy, why are you picking up bananas?” and “Mommy, I want chocolate ice cream!” and “Mommy, Ellie is not sharing the gummy snacks!” and “Mommy, when are we leaving this place so we can go to the paaaaaarrrrrrk??” and IF I HEAR MOMMY ONE MORE TIME I’M GOING TO FLIP OUT SO CAN EVERYONE PLEASE JUST SHUT UP!!!!!!

The really unfortunate part of this situation was that Vaughn apparently can see into the future because before we left the house he asked if we could all wear our “monkey in bath robes” t-shirts (I’ve tried telling him they aren’t wearing bath robes, they are actually little monk monkeys, but he’s four and, frankly, monkeys in bath robes are just funnier to him). Anyway, the back of each of our t-shirts each have a saying: his says “we can do hard things”; Ellie’s says “we belong to each other”; and mine says “love wins”. In that moment of wanting to come completely unglued in the middle of Target I remembered I was wearing Love Wins on my back and if anyone saw me do what I really wanted to do, that would NOT be an example of love winning. My son’s shirt just taunted me all night long:

 

It’s like the pastors that won’t have church bumper stickers printed up for their members to place proudly on their cars. Because the one time that member with the sticker lets their rage go on the road to another driver, that other driver is going to be paying attention to the bumper sticker and make a note never to attend that church. I felt obligated to own up to what my shirt was proclaiming. And in that moment I hated that we were wearing these shirts (sorry, G). I really wished I was wearing a shirt that read “I’m a mom. I’ve had a hard day. My kids are driving me crazy. Please look the other way while I show them what crazy really looks like.”

And I don’t know why I did it but I turned my back to the kids and looked around. Desperate to find someone, anyone, that looked to be in the same crazy boat I was in. Filled with holes, water pouring in, sure to sink within seconds, and frantically trying to get the water out using a bucket riddled with cracks. And I found her. Not even 10 feet away from me.

Except that her boat looked nothing like mine. She was an older lady. Perfectly put together. No kids acting like complete maniacs at her side. And her eyes were peacefully set in their sockets while mine bulged out of my head looking like Ramona Singer of the RYONYC. This lady was reaching for a bag of coffee on the top shelf and wasn’t quite tall enough to get it. I stepped away from my chaos and asked if I could help. She smiled and let me. Then she said, “looks like you have your hands full today” and I laughed with a “oh, you have no idea.” She told me she was a young mom once with five (FIVE!!) children running around and knew these days well. I willed myself to absorb the love this woman was showing. Which is SO hard to do in a moment like that. But she kept talking. She said, “Love really does win, you know, just like your shirt says. Maybe not in this moment but in the end, it does.” By this point I had tears in my eyes and wanted to run but she continued. “Put those kids to bed and take yourself a bath. Wash the day away. They forget these moments of driving mommy crazy and you can start over. You just rinse and repeat.”

“Thank you” is all I got out and walked away. Still kinda wanting to scream at my kids (let’s be honest, even the kindness of that sweet woman wasn’t enough to erase the terror of these kids that are obviously suddenly insane and STILL FIGHTING OVER THE GUMMY SNACKS) but also kinda just wanting to remember that at some point love will win. Maybe not in this moment, but, in the end it will.

And so we left Target and went to the park.

And then I called a friend to say I am coming over whether you like it or not because I just can’t do the mom thing by myself right now. We need those kinds of friends that understand and don’t judge and let us show up unannounced then offer us chocolate cobbler. We need our Monkees.

So, in the end, love wins. Even in the moments when it doesn’t. At the end of the chain of moments that feel like there is no way in this hell I am going through that love can win, it really does.

Rinse and repeat.

Unrefined, Unpressed; Redefined, Redressed

I want to be unrefined.

The unrefined ladies draw me in with their too-loud laughter and lack of concern for the prim and proper. They let their hair down and walk out in the rain, face up to the sky. They roll their sleeves up and dig down in the dirt, hands one with the earth.

The unrefined know the moments of life that require ankles to cross but live for the moments that beg for feet to dance. Oh, that the joys of this life would flow through me with unrefined abandon and that the children in my home would know to put napkins on their laps and elbows off the table but let them ask what’s the fun in all this dancing through life if the dance has to be refined?

I need to be unpressed.

Work presses me in the day. Chores press me in the evening. The loves of my life are left with an over-pressed mother who loses patience too easy and an over-pressed wife who finds solace in silence rather than comfort in dialogue.

How do we press back against the demands, the requirements, the necessities of life? How does is become bearable, doable, and dare I dream it to be loveable? I want to unpress the pressing. Simply stop. Step away. And come back unpressed.

I long to be redefined.

I’m redefining time-well-spent to mean laughter with my babies, dates with my husband, and prayers with my God. Too often we find ourselves simply trying to meet the demands of life and while the laundry, and dishes, and work are spitting out their demands, the people wearing that laundry and eating off those dishes and benefitting from the money that work produces are missing the quality of our time. They get the hand held up while we take a call—I’ll be there in a minute—or the date rescheduled for next week—when things will be less busy—or the prayers pushed back till bedtime—woke up late…again—and when will time-well-spent mean that it is spent on the ones that matter most?

This life begs to be redressed.

Raincoats in the sunshine because the forecast says thunderstorms. Tank tops in the cold because the weatherman warns of  a heatwave. Boots on the beach and flip flops in the snow because the other is where we will be walking tomorrow. Preparations for the next can make the now so uncomfortable and when did I start looking at what the next day, week, year may require and ignore what this current moment is offering?

He asks me to be clothed in righteousness but this current wardrobe feels more like worry, judgement, envy, and distrust and why do I allow all of this to sit in my closet and be pulled on each morning?

How is it that our faces can wear a smile while our chests heave under the weight of a burden-bearing overcoat? I know the days can’t all be clothed in morning glories and evening breezes but don’t we have some control over how we dress our life and don’t we know the One that can clothe us anew in grace and mercy each day?

Redressed. Perhaps the hardest one of all. The burdens on our shoulders and the weights around our ankles are there and on some level will always be. That is life, after all. But this life, this brutiful life, begs to be redressed in a way that allows us to move, to run, to dance beneath it all. That coat has buttons and those shoes have laces so that they can be taken off once in a while. I’m taking them off today and putting on something a little lighter. Perhaps they’ll be slipped on again tomorrow. Who knows.

But for today, if only for today, I’m choosing to be unrefined, unpressed, redefined, and redressed. Let’s dance.

Dos and Don’ts of Self-Tanner

Vanity took over this morning and I decided I wasn’t quite tan enough for a Florida girl wrapping up summer. It’s already August for pete’s sake and I’m barely past the winter-white skin tone. Since going to the beach now requires time off of work and hours worth of preparation for the kids-in-tow, I decided to break out the self-tanner sample I got at Sephora a while back.

Having used self-tanners before and knowing that they can leave, how you say, not-so-natural streaks and dark spots if not applied with care and attention, I took my time with the application.

I was thrilled that my legs weren’t resembling the hue of a sweet potato, as I’d feared, and decided to move on to my arms since this was going so well! My arms and shoulders took on a warm sun-kissed glow and I was applying the self-tanner so carefully that I took an extra two minutes to extend the glow to my face. I made a mental note to get the full-size bottle the next time I hit up Sephora.

Ten minutes later, I’m done.

I examined my handiwork and congratulated myself on a streak-free, end-of-summer glow! That’s when I saw my hands. My palms were the most unnatural shade of brown that any white girl should have. I grabbed the soap and a loofa and started scrubbing. The brown didn’t budge. I grabbed the self-tanner bottle to read the back. Clear as day:

“Wash hands often when applying to your whole body so as not to stain palms.”

WHY DIDN’T I READ THE BACK FIRST?!?!?!

So now I’ve got a great summer glow happening, but I’m really glad we’ve moved from high-fives to fist bumps. Not that I do either, really. But if I come across anyone wanting to high-five me in the next few days it might be a little awkward. First, because they are still high-fiving people in 2012 but also because of this:

There is a reason for directions on self-tanner.

Remember This

He walks in to the kitchen and asks for music. He wants to dance with mama in the kitchen. I turn the stove off and the radio on. His hands find mine as he tilts his head to the side and begins to move his feet. He laughs. And we dance. I say to myself, remember this.

She waddles in to the living room and takes the clothes out of the laundry basket, leaving little piles of clean clothes on the rug. I bend to clean up and she giggles, climbing into my lap. She wants to cuddle with mama on the couch. I leave the clothes on the rug to pick her up instead. And we cuddle. I beg myself to remember this.

He comes home from a long day of hard work and kisses his wife. I have been on his mind all day and he on mine. It feeds my soul something sweet that he seeks me out when he enters our home. We are finding our groove. Everyday the groove gets better. I want to always groove with this man. He looks at me with a love that no man has ever given me before. His tired body leans into mine. I give him my arms as a refuge as I will these arms to remember this.

She walks beside me through the halls of the nursing home. We enter the room that is now the home of the man that taught her life. His eyes register recognition with the love that only a father can give. I watch as my mother feeds him, embraces him, talks to him. Even when he can’t eat, can’t hold her back, can’t remember the stories she tells. She is there. She is his. The world has asked so much of her. Taken so much of her strength. And she has given it willingly. Again and again I see her give her strength away. And now I watch her as she cares for this man that needs her. And I tell my heart to remember this.

He lays in bed accepting her care. Breathing words slowly. Does he remember the strong man he once was? Does he remember his granddaughters playing with wooden blocks on his living room floor? Does he remember his life as we go about ours? I sit on his bed and take his hand. His great-grandaughter is on my lap blowing him kisses. She will never know the man I knew. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, leaving the love of a kiss on the tips of my fingers. Dear God, let me remember this.

This life. This beautiful life. Remember this.

This post was written in response to Sarah Bessey’s post, “In which we are saved, right now {a synchroblog}“. These remember this moments are what save my life. From hurt. From chaos. From others. From myself. Remember this.

What is saving you?

The Unfortunate Incident of Ink in the Summertime

Thirteen years ago I walked into a tattoo shop looking for the perfect Chinese symbol to emblazon on my back. I have no roots in anything Chinese. I mean, I like their food, but I don’t think that counts. I was drawn to a philosophical Chinese symbol in 1999 for the same reason I was drawn to the sun that ended up on my lower back in 1997. It was THE THING TO DO. People were speaking Chinese through ink everywhere. All I needed was someone to suggest I join the masses and into the tattoo shop I went.

I chose the symbol pictured above for the phrase “to live” and felt so deep with my choice.  What does it mean “to live”? Something different to everyone. Something different every day, perhaps. It certainly meant something very different to the girl that walked into the tattoo shop that summer day than it does to the woman that still wears that symbol between her shoulder blades. I walked out that day into the sun ready to live my life by my rules. I was no conformist. I was going to remind myself every day to live and let live. Pave my own path. Which all sounds so bold to an experimental 19 year-old, until you look in any direction and see all the other deep, philosophical peeps walking around with Chinese symbols circa the late 1990’s. We were no conformists, indeed. Except to each other.

Fast-forward five years to me sitting in a doctor’s office for a physical. The Doc walked in and went through the normal questions then moves to my bare back to listen to my breathing. After listening for a minute, she says, “Oh, you have Chinese on your back. I’m from China. Do you know what this says?”

Uh, of course I do. The tattoo guy on the beach told me what it meant. As soon as I said “tattoo guy on the beach” I knew this conversation wasn’t leading anywhere good. You’ve heard the joke about the people walking around with “dumb white kid” inked on their bodies in Asian script? Well, it’s not quite that bad but it might as well be. I cringed as I told her it was supposed to mean “to live”, in the philosophical sense, then asked her to enlighten me to what she read it to say.

Her response: Well, it does say “live” but there are many symbols for the different ways we use each word. In your case, this is the symbol for “I live at”, so it should be followed by your address.

Oh. Em. Gee. Dumb white kid, indeed.

So, having lived in four different places since this unfortunate incident of ink in the summertime, this is what my back should actually look like:

There you go. Have a laugh. After letting it sink in for 8 years I can handle it.

Contemplations of a Babe

The contemplations
Of life are many.
We wonder
Who we are
Why we are
What we are.
I hope
Your contemplations lead you
To a place of surety.
Sure of who you are
Ellis Ann, mama’s girl.
Sure of why you are
Love. Because of love.
Sure of what you are
Beautiful, wise, caring. More than words can provide.
Your contemplations will be many.
Let your insecurities be few.
Contemplate the who, why, what but
Always come back to
You, because of love, my beautiful girl.

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This One’s for the Girls

Sarah and Jasmine. So much love for these girls.

This post is one I’ve been struggling to write for some time now. I knew the message behind what I wanted to say. I wanted to make sure that our graduating girls know that they are “girl enough” to do whatever they want to do and go wherever they want to go. I wanted to drive home the message that God has already made them into the beautiful, incredible women that they ARE.

I tried to start this many times but felt like I kept coming up short on what I really wanted to say. Then I came across a blog post by Rachel Held Evans that reflected much of what I was trying to get out of my heart. So, in the name of full transparency, my post below was, in part, inspired by this post by Rachel. Read hers, too. Obviously, I think it’s great.

~~~~~

This year I have the distinct privilege of speaking to a senior class of only girls. Girls who have been faithful members of our church and youth group. Girls who love God and love His people. Girls who consistently stand in service with arms outstretched, worshiping a God that made them beautiful, kind, graceful, funny, loving, generous, and holy. He made these girls to be all that they are. Not all that they one day will be; but all that they ARE.

We live in a world that bombards young girls every day with ways in which they should be measuring their worth. Any look through any magazine provides a wide array of advertisements and articles that question our beauty, body image, hair quality, eye color, personality, intelligence, and anything else that makes us question our overall worth. And it really doesn’t take much for us to start believing that these marketers are right. If we take what the media has to offer us (which, in all of its glory is material and shallow) then we begin to buy into the thought that our bodies must look like the airbrushed girls on the magazine covers and that our lives must reflect the perfect balance of humor, wealth, and romance played out in any number of movies and tv shows.

But as our graduates take this next step in life, my wish for them (and, all of our girls for that matter) is that they will turn away from what the media tells them they should be measuring themselves against with the full realization that they are already all that they need to be.

Proverbs 31 lays out a guide for us, as women, to strive for throughout life. It is the flawless picture of what a virtuous woman looks like. A woman who is trusted, takes care of her family, does good works wherever she is needed, sacrifices sleep in order to meet the needs of her household, manages and invests her money wisely, and keeps her mind and body strong. She knows how to work with her hands and uses those talents to keep her husband’s buttons sewn on and her kid’s pants patched up. She actively participates in community service projects and consistently meets the needs of the poor around her. When it snows, her family is clothed in warm coats. When it rains, everyone has rain boots on their feet and umbrellas in their hand. Her husband is well-known and she makes sure he is prepared when he leaves the house each day. She is wise, kind, honourable, funny, and productive. And through all of this that she does for others, she makes sure that when she leaves the house, her hair is fixed and her clothes are pressed. In short, she encompasses all, more perhaps, that any woman could ever hope to be.

Overwhelmed yet? Feeling “less than”? Even the Bible gives us a picture of womanhood that, if we took it in its whole form of things we must be doing, is impossible to measure up to.

But, let’s not forget that this Proverbs 31 lady that we use as a descriptive model of the woman that we should be is nameless. There is no woman in the Bible that we can look to as an example of someone that actually achieved all of this in her lifetime. The first verse of this chapter tells us that these were words given to King Lemuel by his mother. The kind of woman his mother told him to look for. Perhaps knowing he’d never find this lady, she gave him this description as a means to keep from having to give her son up to another woman. And honestly, as I look down the road to another girl taking my place in Vaughn’s life, I kind of like ol Lemi’s mama!

Judaism teaches that Abraham wrote verses 10 – 31 as a poem for Sarah’s eulogy. In this case, it’s a lovely remembrance of how he viewed his late wife. However, we know from their story that Sarah didn’t quite measure up to this, either. I’m pretty sure that her asking her husband to sleep with another woman because she was growing impatient with God (and then throwing that woman and child out on the street) removes her from the list of eligible candidates in the running for who this passage describes. In the end, Sarah may have been a good lady, but she wasn’t the Proverbs 31 lady.

My point is, this passage of scripture is a lovely list of ideals that we can strive for, and I don’t want to diminish the importance of any of these attributes, but all too often we get caught up in the minutia of Proverbs 31 and forget the message at its core: Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. It all boils down to this: We can be outwardly beautiful and have favour with those around us but what truly matters in the end are the efforts we pour into our walk with God.

This nameless Proverbs woman receives the high praise of “woman of valor!” and often we leave it at that. Because she received such high praise, this is who we think we should strive to be. But here’s a lesser known fact. Ruth is also a woman in the Bible that received this high praise of woman of valor. She is actually the only woman in the Bible noted to have been called this. And Ruth did NOT fit the bill of the Proverbs 31 woman.

Ruth was a foreigner, which should have prevented men from seeing her as a potential wife. She was a childless widow. And she was poor. So poor that she went into the fields every day to collect scraps of food that could serve as some kind of meal for her and Naomi. It’s also notable that while Ruth went into the fields looking for scraps, she was also hoping to gain notice from the field’s owner, Boaz. This desperate act to be noticed is one that certainly would never have been needed by our lady of Proverbs.

By all accounts, when you look at her from the outside, Ruth was nothing that resembled the wealthy, well-dressed, surrounded-by-a-happy-family woman that Proverbs 31 lays out. The real beauty of Ruth’s story is that God called her a Woman of Valor before she achieved status as a prominent woman of wealth in her city. She didn’t need to get married or be a mother or make a name for herself through material acquisitions before God saw fit to call her great. She was a woman of love and grace that left her family behind to commit her life to serving the mother of her late husband. Whatever it was that she lacked in the world’s eyes didn’t compare to all that she was in God’s eyes.

Rachel Held Evans recently wrote about being enough and her post reminded me that “the brave women of Scripture–from Ruth to Deborah to Mary Magdalene to Mary of Bethany” serve as examples that “there’s no one right way to be a woman, and that these images of perfection that we are confronted with every day are laughable to those of us who are in on the big secret: We are already enough.

And so, to Sarah and Jasmine – You are enough as you step into this new chapter of life because God says you are enough. Because even through the small acts of kindness that you might think insignificant, God sees greatness. He sees a woman of valor in the girl that stops to help someone pick up the pile of books they just dropped. He sees a woman of beauty in the girl that woke up late and rushed out the door wearing a shirt that isn’t freshly pressed. He sees a woman of love and grace in the girl that offers a smile to the outcast. He sees perfection…in you…his child.

My hope today is that you see that perfection, too. That you take this next step with confidence that this world has nothing of lasting significance for you. That God created you as you are. And, though He does have great plans for your life and wonderful new adventures in your future, all that you are right now is enough. In fact, it is more than enough to take on all that He has in store for you.

Congratulations to our beautiful graduating class of 2012.

Defining My Words

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I’ve run into a snag in parenthood. Trying to define the words I use is making me stumble awkwardly down the path of educating through dialogue. I believe in open communication with my children to the point where I even bore myself sometimes with all the communicating. You see, Vaughn, the butterflies come into our garden because of the nectar-producing plants. Nectar is a sweet juice that…zzzzz. I find myself in moments of explaining why or how something happened and realize I don’t know what words to use. Having to stop my explanation to my 4-year old of why people are mean sometimes to define words like kindness and forgiveness ends up losing us both on the many rabbit trails I find.

So last month I decided to focus on a new word each week. Figured it would be good character-building to introduce patience, grace, generosity, etc in at-home speak and it will help my kids keep up with the conversation when I’m in the car trying to explain why we need to be kind to everyone, even when we feel like screaming and hitting (like you just did to Timmy). You know, visions of me explaining, and them absorbing everything. Most likely it will be me explaining, and them zoning out completely. But my vision wins for now.

Anywho, I started with patience. My definition was “to wait with a happy heart”. I was so stinking proud of that one. Off with a bang! Over the course of the week I found so many opportunities to tell Vaughn, “I need you to be patient right now. And that means to wait with a happy heart”. And he bought it! That would stop him in his whining tracks. I actually started finding other things to do when he asked for something just so that I could give him an “exercise” in patience. You want a peanut butter sandwich? I realize it may look like I’m just sitting on the couch watching RHONJ for the 3rd time this week but I was actually just about to fold this laundry that’s been sitting here for two days so, “Hang on, son. Be patient for mommy. Wait with a happy heart.” (of course, I didn’t actually do the laundry) A little sick, I know. But I was character-building.

Week 1 done. Patience learned. I’m such a great mom.

That was last week. This week I chose grace. Definition: sharing or giving with a loving heart. I made a mental note to have all of my definitions circle back to the heart. The big lesson at some point down the road being that character is made up of things we do with our heart as our guide. Man, I am good. Mental note #2: maybe next week’s word should be pride. Nah.

Monday: I started by telling Vaughn that the iPad belongs to Mommy and I love it. I use it a lot and it’s something that is very valuable (rabbit trail here to define valuable) to me. I have games, books, and movies on it for you because I love you and I want to share this valuable thing with you.  I allow you to use it because I love you. And it’s with a loving heart that I share this thing with you. And that is an act of grace from Mommy to Vaughn. He smiled and said, “Ok, can I play with my iPad now?”. Um, I think you may have just missed my point. We’ll try again later.

Before bed that night I took one of Vaughn’s silkies (little silk blankets he’s slept with since he was a baby) and tell him about grace once more. I explain that this silkie is something that he loves and it would be a big act of grace to let Ellie sleep with it tonight. To share something you love with her and have a loving heart while doing that would be very graceful of you. He said he would think about this during story time. Side note: I looooove this age. Watching the thought process and reasoning happen is incredible to me in such a young person. I look at him as a baby still and then he has these moments that remind me of his personhood and I fall in love with him over and over again. Fast-forward to end of story time. He tells me that he loves his silkie and he loves his Ellie and he wants to be grace. (We’ll work on how to use these words later. The point right now is what it means, and CHECK, he got it!) He hands her the silkie. I’m blown away but try not to show surprise at this huge act of love. It doesn’t matter that there are three other silkies laying beside him. What matters in this moment is that he chose grace. I really want to be all ram-in-the-thicket and give it right back to him saying it was all a test and YAY! You aced it! Because honestly, Ellie has silkies of her own and doesn’t really know the difference yet between hers and his. And I’m just so darn proud of him. But I let it stick and put Vaughn’s silkie in the crib with Ellie.

This morning, however, he came to his senses and saw her with it, promptly forgot all forms of grace in his morning stupor and snatched it out of her hands. A work in progress. All of us.

But I realized that this exercise of word defining is teaching me more than Vaughn. Over the past two weeks, I’ve sat in waiting rooms (there’s a reason they are called waiting rooms, not patience rooms. I DO NOT have a happy heart when I’ve been sitting for an hour after my appointment time with no end in sight. There is waiting with a happy heart and then there’s waiting. BIG difference.) and had my patience tested more than I would have liked. But because I’m consciously trying to teach these things to my kids, I’m trying to live them out as well. Teaching a word and living a word is also two vastly different things. Mental note #3 to write about that sometime.

I also had the opportunity to extend grace to my new friend, Faith, this week with my Monkees and she began telling me of a community service project she got involved in last week as a result of the help she had received from us over the past month. She said, “Everyone needs something. And everyone has something to give. It doesn’t matter who you are. We are all called to be faithful servants of God’s love. And that means that we give His love consistently to everyone we meet, no matter who they are. Rich or poor, healthy or sick, man or woman, child or adult. It’s not our call to judge; it is only our call to love.” Faithful servants = loving consistently. Hmmm…

I’m astounded at the ways in which God is teaching me how to love. I may have a little bit (a lot) still to learn as I try to parent my children to be givers of love but I’m so thankful for people like Faith that have been brought into my life to teach me. To show me that no matter how I try to define all the “big words” of life for my kids, the only words that truly matter are those that circle back to the heart.

Next week’s word: Faith. What better way to teach it to someone else than try to learn it myself?

No Matter What

“Love is patient, love is kind,” are some of the most beautiful words we can know. This simple phrase speaks of an ever-growing dimension of love and a not-always-easy lifestyle of graciousness—both of the small graces we impart and receive daily and of the deeper offerings of the soul that require only the truest of loves to give. The patience and kindness of love, when allowed to completely manifest within our attitudes and actions, stand the weight of the kindness scale amongst the ever present rages of this world, from the simple words in passing when sarcasm might be quick to speak, or the sharing of life on the most intimately connected levels, day after day and year after year. Our actions of love suggest a consistent, predictable offering of grace, a lifestyle of kind gestures and words, whether given to a passerby for only a second or to a friend for a lifetime in the extended day-by-day togetherness of life.

How bleak this world would be without those who practice small acts of kindness, small gestures of love. Worse yet, how desperate this world would be without those who know how to give from their souls, who are willing to walk through dark places with others, who comfort, who cheer, who connect, and those who hang in there by our side no matter what.

I’m so grateful for the “no matter what” people in my life.