humble.

Sometimes you have to take a deep breath and remember who your God is.

When you fight with your best friend, the kind of fight where you turn on your heel and walk away.  And you sit down to write your paper, but your mind is like a grumpy elephant; big and clumsy and getting its trunk twisted up in its two front feet.  

I thought I lost my phone so I dug around in the darkest recesses of my backpack, and the only thing that came up was a white note card that said, "So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God." It's not my handwriting; I have no idea where it came from. But it made me pause.  It helped me untangle my trunk from my two front teeth.  I am here to glorify God.  Is that what I'm doing? Right now?

He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?

Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly.  It's really that simple.  

pain.

There are days when I feel like I would rather my own self be in pain than someone I love. I don't mean this in a self-righteous way at all.  The simple truth is that when someone else hurts, I hurt.  I want to take a little of their hurt for myself so they don't have to carry quite so much, and I hate that I can't.

Someone I very much love is dying. She is over ninety, and it is time for her life to slip away.  I understand that.  But things aren't going as they should.  Her life won't slip away quietly and peacefully.  She is in and out of hospitals, going through surgeries, on a high dosage of morphine to ease the pain.  My mom goes and visits her, holds her hand, and prays for her.  I sit in my room and cry and cry to think that the sweetest, kindest little lady I have ever known is fighting a battle no one should have to fight, especially when they are wonderful and kind and ninety years old.

All I want to do tonight is sit beside her and cling to her hand, but I am 700 miles away.  I want to fill that soundless room with my laughter and tell her how thankful I am for the childhood memories of hard candy and coat-hanger crafts.  I want to tell her how much I loved being to walk down the block as a little girl to visit her when I got done with school.  I want to tell her how special she made this kid feel.  

But all I can do is read updates from my mom and pray - beg - God to take away her pain.  I don't understand why she has to hurt.

Someday all things will be made right and there will be no more pain.  For Bea, I wish it were today.  I love her so.  It hurts to love.

sunday afternoon.

My eleven-year-old pseudo sister is sparking and twirling as she dances around the living room in her red pajamas to the lyrics "gotta make the world into your dance floor."  My back is turned, and no one else is in the house.  She's not dancing for people to see, but simply because it brings her joy.

Life lessons from the little sisters.

extra little hop in your skip.

This week the counselor said, "Talk to God.  Ask Him to help you from here on out."
I said, "I can't talk to God now.  Then I would only be talking to Him when I need help. I've got to get things together and get through this, and then I'll start talking to Him."
The counselor said, "I don't think that's what grace means.  You're trying to earn God's grace, and you can't do that.  You can't earn grace."

You can't earn grace.

So no matter where you are, whether you're burrowed under your covers and won't come out, or whether you're jumping in puddles because life is good and you're wearing your rain boots:  accept the grace.  Don't try to fix yourself so that you can say you've earned it. You'll never be able to earn it anyway.  Right here, right now, God wants you to simply accept His grace.  It will give you the strength to get out from under the covers, or it will give you an extra little hop in your skip.