30 More Days of Grace

Let Her Dance! I was sitting in church today, and there was a little girl in front of me, probably five or six years old.  When the lights dimmed and the band started playing, she hopped up and started dancing through her row. As we sang Great are you Lord , she danced.  She twirled and flowed, extending her arms, looking toward heaven, and dancing uninhibited as the picture of innocence and grace.   I saw her mom doing that thing we do as mothers, watching, waiting, trying to determine when to intervene.  And, secretly, I prayed that her mom would just let her dance. Toward the end of the song, I noticed her mom getting a little fidgety, glancing over at her daughter more and more often.  By the end of the song, her mom had leaned over and whispered for the little girl to sit down. “No,” I thought, “let her dance!” As the second song started, the little girl glanced over at her mom and noticed she wasn’t paying attention, so up she sprang ...

Unarmed and Unprepared: I walked into the counseling office this week unarmed and unprepared for attack.  It was my own fault, really. I’ve spent the week ticking off boxes on my own to-do list and working through my own junk with my own counseling and appointments that I honestly forgot to think about what I would be walking into at my daughter’s counseling appointment.  But, I survived. See, sometimes I forget that not everyone I come into contact with on a daily basis has walked through the last 18 months with me. I forget that some of the people I come into contact with have done nothing but stood back and judged me quietly, while others have openly condemned me, and still others don’t know what to think, say, or do with me.  I forget that my circle is small, and that those people in my circle are truly the only ones who know the intimate details of my journey. I forget the other people who cross paths with me on a daily basis probably wonder what I’ve been...

Kid People: I’m not a kid person. I know.  I know.  I’m a woman.  I’m a mom.  Statistically speaking, I should be a kid person; however, I can absolutely assure you that I am, in fact, not a kid person.   I like my own kid, so I feel like that should count for something, but I’ve also raised that kid and talked to her like a little adult since she was...well...born.  I don’t do baby talk.  I feel like a complete moron when I even attempt to talk like that.  It’s not natural to me AT ALL, and it has to be obvious to even the youngest audience that it is not my forte.   And to all of you kid people out there:  God bless you.  I don’t know how you do it, but God bless your souls.  You have a gift.  Seriously, an amazing gift that God did not bless me with! My brother has 4 kids: an 11 year old daughter and sons that are 9, 4, and 2 (God bless his soul as well).  I spent the weekend with them, a...

Christmas Miracles Chaos I learned the importance of being invisible when I was ten.   It was Christmas Eve, and, just like every Christmas Eve, we made the ¼ mile trip down the road to my grandma and grandpa’s house.  Both sides of my family subscribed to the family compound philosophy (aka: they all lived within ½ mile of each other); consequently, all of my mom’s family members were crammed into this small house.   While my grandparents were alive, we thrived on tradition. I never questioned what would happen on a holiday because we had a set plan for each of them. And our Christmas Eve tradition was to go to my Grandma and Grandpa O’Dell’s house with my aunt, her kids, and their kids.  We would eat, someone would read the Christmas story, one of the men would disappear, Santa would show up, the kids would be scarred, the female adults would be embarrassed, gifts would be distributed and opened, and then we would go home. This went down like clockwor...