The compassion of a child...

The movie was over.  It was time for bed.  Brush teeth, put on jammies, go potty.

I'm walking by when I hear her daddy ask her why she's crying.  I pause because now I can hear her, too.

When I look in the bathroom door, she is sitting on the potty - going potty like she was asked to, but crying the entire time.  Crying to the point of not being able to tell me what's wrong.

Finally, she stifles her crying enough to answer my "What's wrong, honey?" with this stunner...

"I feel bad for the people at the end of the movie, Vannah.  The ones without legs."  

We had just finished watching Dolphin's Tale.  At the end of the true story movie, they show video of children and adults with handicaps (like amputees) swimming with Winter (the dolphin).  

What do you say to that?  All I could do was hug her and tell her it was okay to feel like that.  Then, through her tears, I tried to explain how God can use people who have handicaps in big ways.  My mind raced, my heart pounded.  Here was this little girl with her heart broken for someone she doesn't even know. 

How do you explain that?  How do you help that not hurt so much?  How can I even fathom that depth of compassion?

I did the best I could.  We got her into bed.  Then, I just had to sit down and cry. 

When was the last time I felt that level of compassion for a stranger?  When was the last time that someone's trials  moved me to tears? 

I don't want to become cold.  I had to repent.  I had to beg for the compassion of a child.  Because in a simple moment, her brokenness for others broke me. 

I've become so wrapped up in the day-to-day, that I sometimes forget the essentials like compassion.  Compassion that moves you to tears.  Compassion that moves you to action.

God spoke to me tonight - through the small, quivering voice whispering, "I feel bad for them, Vannah." 

Until next time,
Keep Reflecting

Four years ago...

I'm feeling a little melancholy at the moment.  My dear husband was looking for a memory card for his new phone and we found one in the desk in our spare room.  After plugging it into his phone, he calls "Baby, there's something on here." 

On this memory card, we discover a glimpse at the past.  We had recorded videos of Brynlea saying the Pledge right after she started preschool (and she just graduated Kindergarten).  We found pictures of her and I from her days in daycare, right after Paul and I had met. 

Oh my, I started to feel old.  She looks so tiny in those pictures compared to the almost-seven-year-old I saw sitting across the table from me tonight.  When I came into her life, she was only two-and-a-half, just a baby.  Now she's growing up into this opinionated, vibrant, challenging girl, who never ceases to aggravate, surprise and thrill me. 

Oh my, where did the time go? 

I remember the days when I would sit and watch Paul give this little thing a bath and tuck her into bed.  Now she can shower all by herself and at bedtime, she says her prayers.  I remember when I could pick her up and carry her on my hip.  Now, she's only about a foot away from being as tall as I am. 

In this December, Paul and I will be married four years.  Moments like now, I look back and think - "How in the world am I doing this?"  I'm helping raise a little girl.  My decisions, my choices, my love and my discipline impact her life in ways that I can't even begin to understand. 

What if I screw it up? 

Here's something I'm figuring out, though.  There is no manual on how to raise a child.  Sure, many books claim to have the secret, but there is no secret. 

I get frustrated.  I mess up.  I know I do.  But I love her.  I love her as best I can.  I want what's best for her.  I want her to know the love of Jesus. 

All I can do is pray for her and over her.  The rest I have to leave completely up to the Ultimate Father. 

I don't know what the rest of her life is going to hold.  I'm not supposed to.  I'm supposed to love her and show her the Jesus I know.  He's promised to handle the rest.

Keep reflecting, Mamas (and soon to be mamas).  Remember our moms didn't know what they were doing either.  Just love them.