One Day, In a High School Bathroom, My Daughter Showed Me What Kindness Looks Like

Sweet daughter,

Oh, our second and last baby, how we love you. People told your dad and me that your big sister was our "sucker baby": she was so easy-going that she suckered us into having another one. And it is true that when you came along, you were another story . . . your own story. Your approach to us was, "What have you got? Bring it on, 'cause I've got more." That "more" has challenged  us, but it has also thrilled and delighted and stunned us, because it reflects pieces of who you are.

You are complex and complicated and, as my mama and your grandma put it perfectly, "unusually unique." You feel what you feel, deeply, and you don't hide it. You are determined, focused, driven, and passionate. You can be tricky to figure out, but you are a puzzle so worth putting together. 

You are also kind and compassionate . . . and one day, in a high school girls'
bathroom, you showed me what kindness and compassion look like.

It was band camp week, and I'd been in and out, playing band mom and feeding kids. I'd messaged you earlier in the day and commented that there were a couple girls I knew for a fact were lonely . . . girls who'd told me they didn't have any friends.

Right away, you texted back: "Do you know which ones they are? I'll try to talk to them."

So I was already proud of you for that, but then when I walked into the school later that day to do freezer-pop duty, one of your marching band instructors told me, "Your daughter is a real trooper." And then, gradually, I found out what had happened.

I found out how you had walked into the girls' bathroom and discovered one of those lonely girls there, her arms covered with cuts. I learned that you'd tried to comfort her and found her some Band-Aids and gave her a hug and took her to where she was supposed to be.

I also learned that some of your fellow band members gave you a hard time for that. "Why did you do that?" they asked you, and you told them, "She's a person. She deserves to be treated with respect."

My daughter, I know I'll be proud of you many times in the future, but I'm thinking those times will always have to measure up to this one.

Later that day, I came across one Bible verse and one quote that were so right in light of what had happened, I might have called him coincidences, except that they had the mind and heart and hand of Abba written all over them. 

"And the King will say, 'I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!'" (Matthew 25:40)

"May I urge you to love the overlooked? When you talk to the lonely student or befriend the weary mom, you love Jesus. He dresses in the garb of the overlooked and ignored." (Max Lucado)

That day in the school bathroom, you showed me what this verse looks like when it's lifted off the pages of a Bible and put into action in real life. You showed me what this quote looks like when it's not just something somebody says but something somebody does. 

And you showed me what kindness looks like when it's given a voice and hands and feet—and, sometimes, a Band-Aid.

Love,
Mom

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With My Last Baby, I'm Finally Trying To Cherish (Almost) Every Moment

"Can I drive to camp today?"

The question from my 14-year-old caught me off-guard, because I'd already forgotten that she'd gotten her learner's permit the day before.

"Of course!" I told her with encouraging-mom-of-a-new-driver enthusiam, even though what I was thinking was that I'd been blindsided by the milestones of motherhood again.

And these milestones are hitting especially hard with my second-born baby, because she is also my last baby. Which means all the "firsts" and "lasts" with her are the last firsts and last lasts. No more do-overs or do-agains.

I'd be so grateful to have you head over to the lovely Moms of Tweens & Teens and read the rest of this post about how I'm trying to soak up these moments with my daughter in a way I really never have before.

I Didn't Cherish Every Moment Then,But I'm Trying to Now

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Faith Even When You Don't Feel Like It

My husband, God bless him, is a die-hard college sports fan. His blood runs the colors of his alma mater, and he believes in his team whether they’re winning or losing. He’s a faithful fan. 

I didn’t grow up in a sport-centric household. Before I met my husband, I wasn’t even sure what the difference was between the institution of my husband’s devotion and the other big university bearing the name of our state. Out of love for my husband, I’ve learned what downs are in football and where three-point range is in basketball. I root for my husband’s team, and when they’re doing well, I’m an enthusiastic supporter. But if they’ve just given away a big game or are on a losing streak, I leave my NCAA-approved college-logo sweatshirt in the closet. I’m a fair-weather fan.

But here’s the sticking point: this is often how it is in my relationship with God.

I regularly practice fair-weather faith. I enthusiastically worship God when everything is going the way I want it to. I testify to His goodness when I feel His presence and His blessings. When I’m not sure what He’s doing, though, or when I think I can tell what He’s doing but don’t like it, I pull away from Him and hold back my praise.

And this is a problem, because I am not called to love God “when” or “if.” I am called to love God. Period.

What does love for God look like? I show love for my husband and children by spending time with them and bragging about them. So if I’m truly loving God—love, the ongoing action, not some vague feeling or greeting-card emotion—I’m going to spend time with Him. I'm going to pray and read and study His love letter. I’m going to make a big deal about Him to others.

The Psalmist knew the formula for all-weather faith, and it hinges on a single word: yet. He describes his soul as “downcast” and “disturbed” (Psalm 42:11) but doesn't stop there: “I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.” In the midst of a struggle—not when it's over or improved or resolved, but while it is still going on—the saved soul decides to praise God.

In his book of laments, the prophet Jeremiah shows this same “yet” kind of faith. I love that the consistency and connection of Scripture is on full display here: we're told that in his own “yet”moment, Jeremiah too, finds his soul to be downcast. “Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope…” (Lamentations 3:21). Same state of soul, same hinge word, same decision to extol God and affirm who He is.

As a naturally melancholy personality, my soul often dwells in the land of the downcast. When I am there, praise and hope are not my default reactions: withdrawal and wallowing are. But I can learn a new way. When storm clouds of worry, uncertainty, sickness, hardship, or sorrow roll in, I can make the choice to make a habit of defaulting to yet.

Yet, I can choose to praise God. Yet, I can choose to “call to mind” truth about who God is. Yet, I can choose to worship in the waiting, in the meantime, in the midst. Whatever the weather. Whether my team is winning or losing.

I. Will. Yet. Praise. Him.

**This post in its original form first appeared on Blogs By Christian Women. It may have been shared at some of these link parties.**