Courtesy

I went away last weekend to the Big Ticket Festival (think Christian Woodstock) with my cousins. (A big shout out right now to Len and Patty for their friendship and generosity!) My cousins left on Wednesday, and since I didn't want to miss my Wednesday night class, I drove up on Thursday morning with a couple from my church and Bible Study group.

You know how sometimes a simple act sticks with you? That happened on my trip to the festival in Ionia that Thursday morning. And I'm sure it will stick with me for a long time to come. Each time I got into their car, at my apartment and later at a rest stop, Greg would help his wife was in the car and close the door. And then, he took the time to make sure I was in and close my door.

It's not that I'm unaccustomed to having someone perform simple acts of courtesy for me. It was in the way he did it: humbly, naturally, easily. I felt so much love through that simple act. So much that I wanted to share it with everyone. I hope it is a reminder to me that we never know how someone is affected by what we do, but when we do things with love, it leaves a lasting impression.



Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do... but how much love we put in that action.
Mother Teresa

Happy Father's Day

I remember the last time I saw my father. If I had one word to describe the visit, it would be surrender. I believe that as I sat on his bed in the nursing home reading Psalm 51 out loud, he was able to surrender to whatever it was he needed to. I felt that he was at peace. There is also part of me that believes that I had somehow given him permission to let go and die. There is so much I don't know about my father. I never asked him about how he grew up, about the relationship he had with his mother or his father. About the only thing he talked to me about were his Navy days. I cling to those memories. And the memories that I have of him when I was a child. Him making up stories about tugboats that had my name, and the name of my brother and sister. And the game we called good daddy, bad monster--he was a nice daddy one moment and with a push of the "button" (his forehead) he turned to growling and tickling. My sister and I were younger than my three older siblings, so a lot my memories were with just us. I think my father never had enough courage or never knew how to overcome his feelings of fear or failure. That saddens me so much. I am grateful now to know that he is perfect and happy and whole in heaven.

I also think of my son's father, our choices, and how the actions of my 17 year-old self has determined my son's future but not his destiny. Or his legacy.

Today, I get to spend the day with my son who is a father now. To watch him be a parent is the most incredible gift God has ever given me. He is learning to be a husband, a father, and a man without having the example of what that looks like modeled for him. I'm sad for that. But I am grateful for the love he had of his grandparents, especially his grandfather. I am really proud of him and of how is figuring things out for himself.

My wish for father's everywhere, actually men everywhere, is that they have and are models for each other. Happy Father's Day to all the men who are fathers, and a special thank you to those of you who have helped all the fathers and fathers-to-be who haven't had a father of their own.

God Bless You

Haven't heard this phrase since I left NYC, at least not in this context. What context is that, you ask?

Walking down the street at WSU from class to the parking garage. Spoken by a Spanish man walking towards me. A compliment, not a blessing. Another favorite I used to get was, "Thank you, Mommy." Spanish men in cities definitely have their own way of saying things.

Still a compliment is a compliment, and I'll take it.