A Day of Birthdays

This week has had me thinking a lot about my precious mini's 15th birthday. In a few days shy of a month, she turns the exact same age that I was when I started dating her dad - what a scary thought! But perhaps even scarier than that is the approaching sixth month reminder that that day may not have ever come. 

Years of loving and counseling teenagers had me acclimated to a few things:

Growing up sucks. There is no doubt about this one. We all feel it, whether 13-18yo, 18-25yo or well over that. Growing up means the continual progression of evaluating beliefs, questioning society, and breaking down of the physical tent we call a home here on earth. Without reference points and experience to glean understanding and perspective from, teenage years can quickly become a spoiled soup of emotions, reactions and consequences. 

Teenagers don't understand their parents and parents don't understand why their babies won't heed their counsel anymore. Those years of "don't touch the hot stove" turn into years when counsel is often in one ear and out the other in exchange for personal experience and lessons we'd love to help them avoid. But we can't. Some lessons are only learned by experience, thus heartache and heartbreak become a regular part of the journey we attempt to walk together. 

The need to experience things on their own warps perspectives and gives way to the feelings of over protectiveness all teenagers feel toward their parents. Our perceived need to protect them from all hurt and harm furthers the distance between our shmoopies and ourselves as we grapple with feelings of lack of control over this once tiny being who held onto our every word. 

But what happens when all that gets broken? What happens when a parent becomes withdrawn in a foolish attempt to shelter their child from the grief of losing them one day? What happens when words aren't spoken frequently enough in concern and the final layers of control are stripped away by a world altering pandemic?

On October 19, 2020, our family would have a crash course in learning what happens. With emotions at an all time high and disputed consequences by outside parties, my precious mini felt so out of control that leaving this place on a permanent basis was her only choice. 

As the words "You did what?!?!?" are seared into my memory,  I can see where I'm standing and quickly recall the emotions I felt that night. In her desperate attempt to just not feel those feelings any longer, ingestion of chemicals would be her out. 

The flurry of phone calls and preparation to head to the ER are a little less clear. I sat in the back of the car, holding her hand, both angry and scared at what was happening. Covid meant lockdown at our destination so I, the antithesis of her being, would be the only one allowed in with her. 

I attempted to convey to the staff the newly begun prescriptions and the black label they contained for teenagers but it fell on deaf ears. I'll never forget the ER doctor looking me straight in the face and saying, "If she was really on medication and in therapy, this wouldn't have happened." I should have known then how the rest of the evening would play out. 

After all physical tests had been run and came back within normal range, we sat for an hour with the psychiatrist. He was a bubbly, jovial man who tested her beyond the constraints I was willing to go that evening and even tackled some of the beliefs she had begun to hold. I can't tell you how many times his words of reassurance have been the words I've echoed back to her since that night - "Today (it was after midnight by this point), today you get to start all over. You've burned the whole house down and there's nothing left. Today, you begin rebuilding, one step, one brick at a time...." All of the old was now gone. We were given the chance to begin again by miracle. 

I'll spare details of the rest of that particular journey but that a disagreement with staff caused us to leave AMA. The desperateness I had heard in her voice "Momma please... mommy, no..." quickly snapped me back to the place we both needed me to be. CPS became our newest contacts as sheriff's deputies literally drove up in our driveway behind us. What we had just experienced was something I would never wish on anyone, let alone the storm looming on the horizon. But I would fight now. I would never relent again. With 100% support of our actions that evening from her amazing therapist and our beloved pediatrician of 25yrs, we triumphed over our second ever CPS case in record time. 

This grown up sized child would never lack hearing my voice or knowing my reassurance again. She would, hopefully, come to see the mom she should have always had. 

All those years of youth ministry never prepared me for that moment. I had never sat with the mother of a suicide survivor. With no frame of reference myself, the days of attempting to spare her from the grief of losing me one day quickly turned my focus to days, for the rest of my life, of building bridges, understanding and demonstrating the unconditional love she had been void of during my years of clinical depression. We now had more in common than either of us was willing to admit before - we needed each other to make it through this phase of life - the losses, the depression and the ever shifting sands. 

The months to follow would find all chemicals in our home locked away. All medications behind locked cabinets. And my mini sharing not only my bed but all of her space with me. I all but sat in classes with her. I  couldn't bear to let her out of my sight. How could I? I nearly lost one of the most precious things in all of life to me. 

Almost six months ago. I remember that I didn't sleep that night. I laid there, watching her breathe, waiting for every chest rise and fall just like I had when she was an infant. I still regularly do even though she's back in her own room now. Then I just look at her beautiful face. 

It was never lost on me, the date of those events. It was her half birthday. And now, because of God's grace and mercy we celebrate not only her 15th birthday but her half birthday of life renewed. She holds my hand and throws me half heart hands to complete at every glance. God's given me more time with my Pigs and I'll cherish every moment, even the hard ones. 

Parents, don't take one day for granted. Don't fall into the trap of "tomorrow..." Don't wall off your emotions in an ill attempt to protect your children from pain down the road. Pain is going to happen, it's the trade off for a life lived to its fullest and is only increased when experienced alone. Love the shmoopies. Love them hard. Demonstrate the unconditional love God gives so that there's never a question in their minds - they are loved. And never give up. Never. 

Happy (upcoming) birthdays my precious girl. I am thankful for everyday I get to live this life with you. 💕

Her High Heel Rubber Boots

It's that time again and I couldn't be more excited!!! Homesteading and gardening have always been my very favorite hobbies to learn more about. So when momma texted me last night and said, "Daddy wants to know when you want to plant the garden..." my excitement immediately took me to last frost date and all the planning that's involved. 

I ran through supplies on hand in my mind - seeds, potting soil for starter plants, gloves, rubber boots. Stop. 

I have two pairs of rubber boots, both well used. My black pair with dragonflies and pink ribbons remind me of the day I texted Aunt Suzie to show her what I had just ordered. A few days later, I got a text from her of these high heel pink rubber boots with pink ribbons that she had ordered from the same website. After she went Home, I asked for only a few things from my cousins, her boots included. 

If you knew Aunt Suzie or followed her social media updates, you knew she always began tough posts with - "Well, my friends, it's time to put my boots on again and venture on another hike..." Her literary imagery was the embodiment of how she lived her everyday life. When it came to cancer, to nerve damage, to the pain those things brought, she would make her way up the steep slopes of the mountain placed in front of her without complaint, without woe is me, without the anxiety a lack of knowledge about what the future would hold could bring. Did she ever need encouragement? Duh. Yes! That's where our shared infinity for glitter being like God's goodness was born from. 

But those boots. I can still see her beaming from ear to ear about high heel rubber boots. I giggle at the impracticality of heels on rubber boots but smile at the physical representation of who she was. 

This year began pretty rough for us. A covid diagnosis on Jan 3 meant two weeks of quarantine for us all. Family "Christmas" would once again be moved as nearly all of the cousins tested positive starting the week before Christmas until our diagnosis at the end. We had only seen each other at Aunt Tracy's funeral. Another aunt lost to stage 4 breast cancer. It felt like a nightmare we couldn't escape. 

So when I found it, a strawberry sized lump, while Brian was on his 10th day of quarantine, I just couldn't say anything. I froze, literally, for 36 hours. At first I tried to reason it away as someone who has a history of cysts and had been down this road before but this time, this time it was different. The size, the texture, the shape, the lack of pain. 

After those initial 36hrs, I only told momma. Even then I begged her to give me two weeks to see if it would resolve on its own but she knew the difference in all the symptoms just like I did. I, reluctantly, made an appointment for a week later. 

But still, I told no one. How could I? My best friend literally lived this nightmare not even a year ago. How could I drudge up emotions and feelings that were so freshly under the surface? Then there was my family. The greatest source of my encouragement and earthly strength. They could not know. I could not even breathe when I would think about having to tell them what might be. My husband, my kids, my brothers and sister (in law), my cousins, grandmother, aunt and uncles. No way would anyone be hurt by anything that was going on with me. Thankfully, the excitement of finally all being together at "Shrimp Christmas", all now covid free, didn't allow for any quiet time together. I was in the clear now to wait. 

Still, those boots. Sitting by my backdoor, the irony of their possession was not lost in those moments. The last time I went through this, she had been the voice on the other end of the phone. She had been the one walking me through procedures and testing to come. She was the one I called back immediately when I walked out of the Women's Center that last time to say, "Everything is good!" Now, she wasn't here. Her silence was deafening this time. Those boots that had walked up so many mountains were now laying at my backdoor. 

God, in His infinite wisdom, gave me a best friend to walk with this time. Procedures and tests re-explained. Tears shared and reminders of one day at a time were daily, sometimes hourly, occurrences. She knew I didn't want to tell my family, she truly understood why. 

After three long weeks, the nightmare would be put in our 2021 rearview mirror. Many tenuous talks with doctors later would reveal what we had all been praying for - no cancer. Everything else could be dealt with later. 

Those boots. Those high heel, wonderfully worn, half a size too small for me boots. Not only had she figuratively climbed mountains in those boots but she harvested real vegetables in those boots. Vegetables that had grown from seeds and plants she had planted. Plants she had cared for, watered, pruned, fertilized but plants God did all the growing for. 

When I found the adenoma, I didn't water the seeds of fear. I vividly remember not being afraid, maybe it was shock, but just being determined. "Gotta do whatcha gotta do..." - I'm not sure how many times I said that to myself, to Brian, to Toni. 

The most amazing thing to me in all of this though is the continuing faithfulness of God to grow His peace and His comfort, His strength and His provision in and for me. I talked the whole way through the biopsy, oblivious that the procedure had already begun. Momma laughed, she said Aunt Suzie did too. 

I was prepared to put those boots on and hike whatever mountain God put in front of me. But I didn't have to this time. Instead, I'll slip them on next week as we plant our garden. Then, we'll again watch Him produce fruits in total amazement of His unconditional, unwavering love for us. 

Pic: Pickles from the day I got to hang out with momma, Aunt Suzie and Aunt Birdie learning, chatting and laughing. ❤

Helping Them Say Goodbye

I'll never forget that day or the sound of her voice on the other end of the line. "I just can't do this anymore..." I could see the tears rolling down her face even though I was no where near her. You see, this was the job she went to school for. It was a job that she loved. A job, though she never saw herself as an overly compassionate person, God not only called her to but used her to begin the healing process of wounds which will never go away. 

My cousin was 8 months pregnant that November day. She had just sat with a family, a mother, a father, who were mourning the death of their newborn. She tendered her resignation only a short time later, not because she was overcome with grief that day but because she and her husband had always wanted her to be at home with the kids. 

My cousin is a funeral director by trade. To watch her work and scale the depths of her knowledge and wisdom is nothing short of amazing. She was the first, and still one of the only, of us grandkids who finished their schooling and obtained a degree. But watching God pull out the compassion He's poured into her during times of folks' deepest, darkest needs is a testament to His incomprehensible, intimate knowledge of exactly how he made  her and how He gifted her. 

So this morning, as I sit here in this cold parking lot, watching an overwhelmingly late 20s & early 30s group of *kids* make their way to the front doors to say goodbye to their friend, I wonder again - how did she do it?

How do you walk with people day in and day out "through the valley of the shadow of death"? How do you mourn with and grieve for people whom God places in your life for a moment in time? I quickly recognized the irony of the answer to my questions being contained within my questions. God. 

I found my way into the small chapel where folks had gathered. There was laughter; there were memories being recalled; there were tears which gave way to long, hard embraces. I watched all of these lives that had somehow been touched by the life we gathered to celebrate. 

This would be a first for me, a first for Brian. The funeral of a former student. A student who was the same age last week as so many of the adopted daughters we have gained through years of opportunities in loving youth. Young women who are a part of my everyday life. To imagine them suddenly gone is beyond breath stealing for me - it is what I begin my prayer for them each day to avoid. "God, keep (her) safe today. Be with her and remind her of your love. Give me words to say when my phone rings...." Then my mind shifted to the children God gave me the honor of giving birth to. My life without them would be diminished in purpose, in joy, in fullness. 

His "little" brother began to play his guitar. Worship has always been something our family has intentionally stressed during our Homegoing celebrations. But this time, not being married to the leader, I watched the toll that last gift took. His focus was glorifying God while remembering his brother. I later thanked him for the gift and sacrifice he made in love. 

But in that song sequence, he sang a song new to me, one I quickly texted Brian to remember. "Nothing Else" by Cody Carnes. 

I'm caught up in Your presence
I just want to sit here at Your feet
I'm caught up in this holy moment
I never wanna leave

My cousin. How many times had she found herself in the back of the room, praying for peace and comfort for families? What would she have told them?

Now, today, she would tell them that grief sucks. The hole left by his absence will not ever be filled. One day, one moment you will be fine. Then a smell, a sound, a song will send a cascade of emotions that you are unable to control or reign in. At first. 

She would tell them that it doesn't get easier. It gets different. That seeing him again one day may not be enough for this moment right here. That anger and regret and loneliness have all been a part of her own journey. 

But God. 

That same God who gave her the strength to meet with families day after day, with our mortality ever present and looming, meets her every morning as the sun comes up again. He hears her. He hears the anger in "it's just not fair". He hears the regret in "if we had only". He hears her cry in the lonely moments in a crowded room. And He doesn't shame her. He doesn't tell her she shouldn't feel that way or tell her to be more thankful for what she's had. He comes ever closer to her. He binds up that brokenness in the moment and quiets her fears. He is there with her, in her loneliness, whispering in the quiet, "I Am." 

That's what she would tell them. To cry. To wail. To scream. Then to sing. Even if it's only lips moving, sing. 

He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40:3

Oh, I'm not here for blessings
Jesus, You don't owe me anything
And more than anything that You can do
I just want You

What Football Taught Me About Being a Mom

For nine years I would stand on the sidelines and watch him. At first, the hits would take my breath away as I waited for him to stand up between plays. It took a while for us to get a system down where he trained me to watch for the tap. 

It's well known in football that you take full advantage of every down second you can when you know you're coming out the next play. A gentle tap in the grass would be my queue on the sidelines, signaling the difference between a true injury and a few extra seconds of down for teammates to catch their breath while his playability was being determined. No tap signalled a reason for concern but only twice in his whole career would that be the case. 

Mom-ing is hard. As mothers, we are our own worst enemy and critic. We beat ourselves up over what we've done, what we could have done, what we should have done. There are times we wish we could gently tap the grass, longing for a few extra seconds to breathe. But rarely do we have that convenience. 

In our middle son, God crafted a young man who was named leader of the team every single year that he played. It wasn't his charismatic personality. It wasn't his will power and strength of voice to command. It was by gentle service and encouragement to his teammates. Why then, would I be surprised the night God used him to encourage me?

I often bounce things off of him, mostly because we think the most alike. I am able to take his gentle nudgings and rebukes easier than any of our other children. It's not because they're wrong and he's right; it's because of the delivery. 

In the quiet, darkness of driving home from his girlfriend's house, I told him some things I was struggling with. Mistakes I had made in raising them and how all of those things are so crushing at times that I feel like a failure. I feel like all of the bad things that have and do happen are my fault. I didn't protect them. I let them down in my depression. I didn't push them hard enough when I was supposed to and too hard when I wasn't. 

Then. It was silent. 

I thought maybe I had gone too far. I mean what 20 year old really wants to do therapy with his mom? 

His gentle voice pierced the darkness as tears welled up in my eyes. 

"You see mom, it's like when I was quarterback. There were things that happened beyond my control. Maybe the ball slipped as it left my hand, maybe it was a bad snap, maybe it just wasn't my night. At any rate, I let my team down that play. They would be upset with me but only because they weren't in the position to do my job. I always did the very best with what I had been given. I could either keep dwelling on that play, the moment it messed up, their feelings of letdown and tank the rest of the game or I could apologize to them and move forward to the next play. 

Only once did I let it get into my head and Coach Dale pulled me when he saw it happening. I was able to think clearer on the sidelines and was ready to return to the game. But I never gave up.... You have to move on to the next play."

Next play was code with the Lions for "well that screwed up but let's recover and press on..." How many times had I myself yelled that from the sidelines? But here in my own head, in my own mom-ness, I was unable to let things go and move on to the next play in order to salvage the game. 

I've never been so thankful for a dark drive home as the tears rolled freely down my face just listening to him. He was willing to meet me where I was, encourage and rebuke me simultaneously, in a way that the two of us had shared for nine years. 

Feeling like a failure dissipated as wonderment took its place and I heard those words coming from my son. My son, whom I had raised, telling me to shake off the dust, breathe deep and move on to the next play. 

He didn't learn "next play" from all those years of bible study. He didn't learn that having watched his perfectionist mother struggle with her constant feelings of failure. He learned that from a group of godly men who invested in his life to build his character and ability to forgive himself in order to move forward. 

To all you mommas, pat the grass, take the few seconds of timeout, dust yourself off, breathe deeply, and get ready for the next play. This game is far from over. 

To all you coaches, thank you will never suffice for the investment you made in our sons. 

Life, Locusts, and Covid19

On July 29, 2015 our lives would be forever changed. None of us could see it coming and none of us was prepared. In the three short months to follow, Brian, the kids and I would find ourselves living in some type of alternative reality despite our best motivations and attempted to maintain "normal". 

Having grown up in the homeschool community, the kids had the flexibility a more regimented schedule would not allow as we helped to care for our neighbor, my 92yr old grandmother after her fall that hot summer day. And care we did. The majority of our daytime hours were spent working through some type of math, literature, or history curriculum while tears and fear of the reality we were facing taunted every lesson, every problem that had been worked through, laced every new concept. Sometime between 2pm and 4pm I would put my rubber boots on and walk the well traveled trail to grandma's to take up my shift for the day. There were days the kids would go with me but most days they were mandated to finish their schoolwork before joining me. Crockpot meals, dinner provided by momma and daddy's Sunday School class and the newly developed skills of our 19 year old were our new norm. 

Rarely would I be home before midnight and time together as a family during this time was virtually non existant. The kids, with help from their dad who had worked a 12hr shift, were expected to not only perform daily and evening routines largely alone - they were expected to excel at them - without a goodnight or "good job" from mom. They did fabulous though - as much as a 15, 13 and 9yr old can do. I would tell them during the day I was proud but then routine had to begin. It HAD to. 

Our children grew a lot that fall. We were bumping along just fine, or so I thought. Until one morning, just two weeks before gma would pass, as I sat across the table at McDonald's sharing with my friend at our normal "tea time" date while the kids were all at co-op. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. (Poor Susan! She was so very patient and loving with me during all of that!! 💕) I was exhausted. My kids were exhausted. We were reaching the end of the hardest leg of this new journey that none of us wanted to take. Gma was slipping away from us right before our eyes and we were still learning about the civil war and integers and codyledons. I just wanted to enjoy these last few days and hours. That's when she asked, "So why don't you?" Also a seasoned homeschool mom, Susan was the voice in the darkness that God used to remind me why we made the choice that we did to homeschool in the first place. She reminded me that we serve a God who can, and will, "repay all that the locusts have eaten". (See Joel 2 for some really fabulous encouragement)

After repeating the mantra "No regrets" every afternoon to the kids, we FINALLY lived it from that day on. Textbooks were put away. Pencils only drew pretty pictures that would adorn Gigi's room. Now the kids spent every waking moment they could WITH me at great grandma's house, where they had all found such great comfort throughout their young lives. 

It was the best two weeks of that entire journey. Though we were saying goodbye to one of the people we loved most in the entire world, there was an indescribable peace. There was laughter again. Fears dissipated. Tears of sorrow were now coupled with a certain reassurance that I had not been able to remind them of in my absence, both physical and mental. 

I share this today, not to brag about our wonderful, amazing, fabulous, one of a kind kids. I share this today to encourage you to just STOP. 

Stop sitting your kids at the table to do worksheets. That's not how homeschool works - take it from someone who learned the hard way. Life is learning. The largest lessons our kids learned that fall were not taught out of a book or contained in any curriculum. 

Stop attempting to teach new concepts in academics. THEY AREN'T GOING TO RETAIN THEM RIGHT NOW ANYWAY. Their psyche won't let them. 

Stop attempting to maintain a rigid schedule when kids' emotions don't have clocks to tell them when it's an appropriate time to be afraid or sad or angry. Be in the moment WITH them. 

Stop feeding the fear and anxiety your kids have about this virus. Our own daughter had it like 3xs this week, she was sure! (Our daughter - who has been on spring break for two weeks with no physical contact outside the five of us and has been on allergy medicine since she was 9mths old...)

Stop not living life. Go outside! Make small goals and work toward them. Start having fun again! Life is learning.

Stop attempting to go on like normal. This is NOT normal. Let your kids know that. Let them see your frustration and how you are coping with it to help them know their feelings are ok. Let them know that you can just be together without having to check things off of a list. 

That fall our kids had a fundamental change in their psyche. Our daughter will tell you that was the fall she grew up, at 9yrs old. And after learning how to make coffee, properly trim wisteria, help someone to the restroom, change sheets with someone still in the bed, love to the very last breath - I would tell you that she's partly right. This time around, in this new not normal that none of us asked for, I refuse to push her, or our boys, into growing up any faster than they should already. 

This time we are living with no regrets on the top side. This time we are creating our own temporary new normal. This time I will steady them as the locusts continue to strip away at what has been planted. This time I will be 100% present and with them. Because that's what our kids really need right now. 

Pic: Our daughter, learning to cross stitch the week after saying goodbye to her Gigi. It is a skill that her Gigi taught me. 

I saw you last night

I saw you there. In my dream last night. It's been almost two years since I saw you last. Since I heard that beautiful voice.

Oh, how I prayed that God would let me dream of you in the months and months that would follow, just so that I could have some sort of peace, trying to grasp that you were in His arms, safe and whole again. But it wouldn't happen until last night and even then I was startled awake by the morning call of the clock, reminding me that time won't stand still just because I'm still trying to figure things out.

I tried to call you a couple times over the holidays. I don't know why. Something in my brain just didn't connect until my fingers started punching numbers on the screen. Then. I remembered.

But there you were last night. Just as beautiful as ever. No edema. No striations going down your arm. No nausea. The look in your eyes was that same 'ol glittery shine from days gone by. The one that could comfort the most weary and unsettled hearts. And though I still haven't heard your voice, you communicated to me that you had had to go. There was a place of healing beyond our wildest dreams. You knew that we would never be able to let go and so...in His infinite wisdom and sovereignty God took you. He took you to be healed into that bubbly, bouncy blonde everyone else remembers you to be. And now I remember too.

You were so beautiful. And I miss you every single second of the day. But now, maybe the beginning of a touch of peace.

And a whisper of "Thank you Lord for your goodness to me."

Kindness Disguised As a Shake

Twenty three years ago I became a mom. Growing up I wanted nothing more than to be a stay at home mom and wife. Perhaps my dreams were idealized or my youthful brain downplayed the struggles that would come with it or I severely underestimated the toll my own adolescent emotional outbursts took on my mom but alas, this is all I ever wanted. And I love it. Maybe not every minute of it but I can't imagine myself doing anything else. 

We would have one boy, then two, then three. I settled quickly into the boymom life and it suited me well. I was made for this! Then.....A GIRL! Oh bliss, right? But all I can remember was being terrified. I still am most days. Growing up as the only girl in the house, I only know that I have no idea what to do with this tiny pink thing about 125% of the time. No really. When she told me at 4yrs old that I had hurt her feelings, I vividly remember thinking, "You have those already?"

So as puberty has made its rather unwelcomed home in my baby girl, I've found myself leaning more on all of the girlmom experts in my life and hers. I've been coached by the best to respond, "I'm so sorry honey." or not respond at all to the on slot of estrogen induced swings and tears. I don't have to fight every battle, I don't have to prove my authority. Listen more, talk less. Got it. 

Last night, in the midst of one such occasion, a stranger's timely kindness would bridge a gap preventing a canyon from growing. 

As a reward for helping earlier in the day, I took two of the kids to Whataburger for dinner and bumped the drinks up to shakes. With a single income, eating out is a rare treat and you NEVER get a shake. From a very young age, part of practicing social skills for our homeschooled kids has been that they have to order their own food. Only when it was time for my daughter to order her food, she started to break down into tears of unknown origin. I placed her order with the kindest cashier I think I've ever met. We talked about our kids and how extensive it is to feed teenage boys then closed out the order and took a seat on the bench facing the counter to wait, my daughter crying silently under my arm. About seven orders had been placed immediately before ours so we knew we were going to be waiting a while. 

As we sat there, my precious baby took my hand and looked up with tear stained cheeks, "Momma, will you cry if you're tired?" 

"Yes, my love." 

"Momma, will you cry because you know that you're tired?" 

"My sweet girl, right now you will cry for reasons you don't know and then you'll cry harder because you're crying and you don't know why."

I guess the lady heard us talking or saw the tears that just wouldn't stop. She disappeared behind the wall then reimerged with three shakes in her hands. She walked over to us, having skipped all of the other orders, took my daughter's hand and said, "Here you go baby girl. This will help." Through tears, my daughter saw a shake but I saw something more. I looked for a name tag but she didn't have one. I wanted to report the depth of my gratitude to her corporate office, knowing most of what they hear is negative. So I just said thank you and we walked to the car after getting the rest of our food. 

I sat there for a few minutes, still debating on how to adequately thank her for the kindness she poured out, when I finally told the two kids I would be back. I walked into the restaurant, barely able to control the tears welling up in my own eyes at this point. I took her hand across that counter and thanked her for the simple gesture she had made for my struggling daughter. I told her I feel like I don't know what I'm doing with a girl most of the time and how both of us have been struggling so hard lately. She replied that she has six kids of her own and knows there are those days but could tell that we loved each other very much. I was crying by that point, thank God no one had walked in to order food! She started to make her way around the counter and asked if she could hug me. She whispered in my ear that everything would be ok and we would make it through. 

I returned to my car to find our two kids that fight the most laughing together and talking about a game we all play. It wasn't the shake itself that saved our evening, it was the unmerited kindness of a perfect stranger. No doubt a daughter of a different one time Stranger who poured out unmerited kindness to us all. 

Be kind. Look for opportunities to love with the same grace you have been given. Say thank you more often. You don't know who's life you may change. 

Anxiety weighs down the heart, but a kind word cheers it up. Proverbs 12:25