… who commanded me to “post something to your blog!” The wind blew just right yesterday as I drove home, so I could talk to her on my cell phone during the long stretch of the Indiana Toll Road where there is not much to think about while driving. It was good to talk with her and get the low-down on things back home. It would be better if I could hop on a plane and be home for a few days, but since I loathe flying anymore (so much so that we–as in all five of us–are driving to Portland this summer for GA and an extended vacation), that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon.
It is an interesting time at our house, as the girls grow older. We went to lunch a couple of weeks ago with another couple from church and their baby and someone else who I know relatively well but who the others did not know at all. The next day this person remarked that we are a “lovely” family. Her word, not mine. Then she noted that the girls just seem so … confident and self aware–in a good way. I took a breath and said, “Weird, huh? That MY daughters would be that way.”
I don’t know what’s different for them than it was for me, but I could never have managed my way through middle school as well as these older two have thus far. Which is not to say that they don’t have bad days, but they have something that I still don’t have, some attitude of knowing that even though they aren’t what everyone else is, they are still perfectly who they are supposed to be. That doesn’t make sense, does it?
They’ve got for themselves, at ages nearly-twelve and 13, what I still don’t have for myself: a sense of being grounded in who they are. Sometimes a little too grounded, I might add. They have an ease that I have had to force (can you force “an ease”–well, if anyone can, it’s me), and still do.
I think a lot of it has to do with the church community, and the kids they have known there–some of whom are now grownups. These kids modeled for mine what it meant to be an individual while also being connected to the whole. They modeled being true to themselves and to the principles they were taught in Sunday school and in worship.
I remember the first time my oldest daughter was asked to take one of the baskets for the offering. She was maybe five years old. She started walking down the aisle with the basket, forgetting to hand it to the people in the pews. One girl who was 8 or 9 at the time jumped up, took her hand, and showed her what to do in the most loving manner I’ve ever seen one kid offer to another.
Enough mush. Must paint the basement trim before children come home and touch things.
Hope that was enough for you, Mom. I’ll talk to you Sunday,