Receiving Grace

Tonight, I yelled at "The Princess," one of the girls I watch.

I've yelled at the Princess lots of times.  Most of the time she had it coming. She probably deserved it tonight, too. She wasn't listening. But I still felt bad for yelling at her.

I try to be gracious. Then I fail. And I find myself being the one who has to accept grace.

The Princess has some pride issues. She HATES to be wrong (don't we all). And if she's wrong, and she's wrong a lot...because she's a kid...and a human being, too boot--well, if she's wrong and you catch her being wrong, well, she doesn't forgive that easily.

However, I find her to be very forgiving when other people are wrong. For example, when I apologized for yelling at her, she shrugged and said it was okay. When I asked if I had scarred her for life, she grinned and told me I'm weird. In her vocabulary, "You're weird, Ruth" is synonymous with "I love you, Ruth." At least I hope so, because she says it all the time.

The Princess and I are a lot alike. I see a lot of who I was (and still can be) in her. It's easy to forgive sometimes. It's not so easy to ask for forgiveness.

When we forgive, we get to be the bigger person. We get to be the hero. That's a good feeling.

When we ask for forgiveness, we have to humble ourselves. We have to admit a we are at fault. We have to admit that we aren't these perfect people who always have it together. We have to put ourselves at the other end of grace, hoping the other person will give it, because we need it in order for the relationship to continue and grow.

That's not fun.  But I would venture to say that graciously accepting grace is just as (if not more) important as freely giving grace.

After all, as fallen, sinful humans, we aren't fully able to forgive others until we're able to humble ourselves and accept the grace of God.  We can't begin to comprehend the power of grace until we realize (on some level) just how much grace God gives us.

And when we mess up, as I did tonight with the Princess, we have an opportunity. I could have just brushed off the whole encounter with the Princess. She gets yelled at so much that she can brush it off quickly. But I took the time to pull her aside (after we had both calmed down) and model humility. That doesn't mean she's going to develop her own sense of humility overnight, but children need to understand that it's okay to mess up. They need to see that there's a proper response for those times when we mess up.

Guilt is human, meaningless, and leads to self pity and inaction. Conviction is from God, meaningful, and leads to humility and change.

We need to learn to accept grace and even seek it out--even when it's scary and could lead to rejection. And we need to give grace to others, for we have likewise been forgiven.

We are all undeserving princesses and princess. We aren't perfect, but we should strive to honorably represent our Father in all and say and do.

...Even when we fail.

A Colorful Afternoon

Yesterday afternoon, the youngest of the three girls I watch ("Princess") wanted to ride her scooter outside.  Well, she's not much of a little girl anymore.  She's going to be eight in a few months, which sounds so grown up.  Still, I feel the need to protect her as much as I still can.  So when she started riding away on her scooter, I shouted, "Wait!  Come put your helmet on."

Surprisingly, she obeyed me, but she still protested.  "I don't like my helmet. It feels funny because the strap tickles my chin."

I said, "Well, it feels better than busting your head open."

She exclaimed, "I WON'T BUST MY HEAD OPEN."  This is a promise every child makes, and every child keeps this promise.  Until, of course, the child busts his/her head open.  There's always a first time.  And as Eeyore the donkey said, "Funny things accidents.  You never have them till you're having them."  There's a reason why that's one of my favorite quotes.

So what was my response to Princess' promise that she wouldn't bust her head open?

"I know you won't bust your head open, because you're going to wear that helmet."

She sighed and rode off on her scooter. 

Her oldest sister ("Drama Queen") was inside doing middle school homework (which is too advanced for me to be able to help her with).  "The Diva" was at soccer practice.  So it was just me and the Princess.  I sat on the front steps and watched her ride around the cul-de-sac, taking in the beauty of the afternoon.  The sky was so blue, the grass so green.  It's days like yesterday that make me realize how much I take the gift of sight for granted.  There's a line from a Rich Mullins song, "Here In America," that goes, "There's so much beauty around me, but just two eyes to see.  Everywhere I go, I'm looking."  This world gets so flashy sometimes, so loud, that I forget to look.  I forget to listen.  But yesterday afternoon was just one of those times where I took the time to breathe.  I took a few moments to just be.  And it was good.  It was very good. 

That's when the real magic happened: a simple, fun, beautiful moment I'll remember for a long time.

Princess rode her scooter around the cul-de-sac, but then she came up to where I was sitting on the front steps of her house.  "What happened to your toe?" she asked, referring to the middle toe of my left foot, which is a lovely shade of bluish black due to an ugly bruise I've received while running.

"I bruised it when I was running," I explained.  "It's not a big deal."

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

I shook my head.  "It doesn't feel like much of anything."

"It's numb," she said, as if announcing a new vocabulary word.  I confirmed her word choice as being accurate.  She smiled and ventured to touch my toe--something I normally wouldn't allow.  I've got germ issues and feet issues (seriously, I don't let ANYONE touch my feet)--but today, for some reason, I just didn't worry about it.  She touched my toe and shuddered.  "Why are your toes hard?" she asked.

"I have callouses," I explained.  "They protect me from getting hurt.  I get them on my feet when I run, and I get them on my fingers when I play guitar.  Otherwise, my feet would hurt every time I ran and my fingers would hurt every time I tried to play guitar.  So callouses can be a good thing, even if they don't look or feel that pretty."  It suddenly seemed like I was teaching her a life lesson instead of just explaining why my feet are such a mess.

This seemed to make sense to her.  Satisfied with my answer, she rode off on her scooter for another lap around the cul-de-sac.  Then she returned to me. 

"Do you see our new flowers?" she asked, pointing to some new flowers her parents had gotten for the front yard.

"Yes!" I said.  "I like them very much.  They're beautiful, and such pretty colors."  They were yellow and purple--my two absolute favorite colors for flowers.

"The flowers mom and dad planted earlier are big now, see?"  She pointed to some flowering bushes that I hadn't really noticed before...but I think I'll make a point of noticing them from now on.  They were lovely.

I nodded.

"Can you make flowers grow?" she asked me.

I shook my head.  "I have tried, but whenever I try to grow any kind of plants, they die.  I don't have a green thumb."

Her brow furrowed and she started looking at my thumbs. 

I laughed and said, "No!  That's just what people say when a person is good at growing things.  My sister has a green thumb, because she makes so many pretty flowers and yummy vegetables grow, but that doesn't mean her thumbs are really green."

"What color are her thumbs?" she asked.

I held up my thumb.  "They're kind of like mine."

"Do you have a green thumb?" she asked, still looking at my thumb.

"No," I said, sadly shaking my head.  "I have a black thumb."

She sighed really hard.  "No, Ruth.  You have a black toe, remember?" 

Princess rode off on her scooter.  I laughed to myself, just grateful for moments like that one. 

Too soon, she wanted to go inside and watch tv, and I had to make dinner.  Magic happens in between all the everyday moments.  It's so easy to miss them.  I'm glad for all the colors of yesterday afternoon--the blue skies and the yellow flowers and the green thumbs and the black toes.  I'm grateful for the people in my life, like Princess, who help make every day more colorful. 

And even though I've just been given two eyes, I pray that everywhere I go, I'm looking.

"Be praised for all Your tenderness, by these works of Your hands.
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land.
Look down upon this winter wheat, and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green that fills these fields with praise." --"The Color Green," Rich Mullins

Fiction Friday: Disney Movies

So movies aren't books, but they're still fiction.  And I can't think of anything else to blog about for this Fiction Friday.  Lol.

I am like a lot of people who grew up watching Disney movies.  In fact, there was this youtube video that showed brief clips from all 50 of the animated films Disney has put out so far (did you know Disney has put out 50 films (not even counting the Pixar movies)?  Now you do.  In fact, there might be more by now...shrug).  Of those 50 films, there were only two I hadn't seen.  Part of that is because I watch kids, and part of that is because I pretty much am still a kid.  Which two Disney cartoons haven't I seen?  Brother Bear and Home on the Range.  That almost makes me want to go rent them so I can have my perfect record...but...nah.

Anyway, like most good American girls, I was raised on stuff like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White.  These put all kinds of unrealistic ideas into my head.  For instance, I think I grew up fully expecting to be able to waltz out into the forest, sing a song, and immediately befriend three dozen forest animals before Prince Charming came along to carry me away.  (I love the movie Enchanted, because Disney is making fun of itself.  And self-deprecation is one of my favorite forms of humor...and I also like it because Amy Adams is incredible.)

Then Ariel came along and showed all us independent women that we didn't have to listen to our dads.  I mean, sure.  King Triton was overbearing and had a short fuse, but dude was a single father who was just trying to take care of his SEVEN daughters...while also trying to run an entire underwater kingdom.  Talk about pressure.  Ariel was a princess.  She had a lot of good things going for her.  She had a loving family.  She had great friends.  She could sing amazingly.  But who cares.  No big deal.  She wanted MORE.

Oh, good job, Disney.  You completely violated Hans Christian Anderson.

I believe The Little Mermaid came out in 1989.  And most of the Disney animated films of the 1990s have that similar theme of wanting more more more.  Belle wanted MORE than this provincial life (nothing against Belle, though--she's my fave--she reads books).  Aladdin wanted everyone to see there was so much MORE to him, while Jasmine wanted a different life, too.  And honestly, I couldn't blame Jasmine for not wanting to get married off--but in her culture, she would have been raised to expect it (and if she had defied her father like that in real life, he would have probably done something horrible to her--just sayin').   Simba just couldn't wait to be king.  Pocohontas wanted to find out what was beyond the river bend (and with this film, Disney mutilated historical fact!).  Quasimodo wanted to spend one day out there (although I have to admit I liked the happy Disney movie better than the original novel where everyone died,  I'm sure that Victor Hugo is rolling in his grave).  Hercules wanted to be a true hero that could go the distance.  Mulan wanted to be a warrior (okay, okay, so she was being noble and protecting her father).  Tarzan wanted to know more about those strangers like him.

There's nothing particularly wrong with that theme.  It's just that I noticed that these movies were a big part of what shaped my later childhood.  It's probably why I spent a lot of my time staring into the sunset in my late teenage years, wondering what MORE was in store for me instead of actually doing stuff with my life.  There's nothing wrong with dreaming.  There's nothing wrong with hope.  There is something wrong with discontent, and I'm not blaming Disney for this as much as myself.  Because I tend to get caught up in fantasy...if you haven't noticed.

Anyway, the 2000s were kind of a let down for me, Disney movie-wise (again, not counting Pixar--because I love me some Pixar).  I loved Fantasia 2000, but what followed it were a series of Disney films that just didn't seem very Disney-ish.  The Emperor's New Groove made me laugh, but it lacked something I'd come to expect from Disney films.  Perhaps it was simply that the main characters didn't burst into song every five minutes for no apparent reason.  I like Disney movies where people burst into song.  In fact, I'd like life a lot better if everyone just randomly burst into song.  I've tried it, but usually people just give me funny stares and I eventually stop singing...or I just endure the funny stares.

Yeah.  Like NONE of the Disney animated films from the 2000 decade have people that burst into song--unless you count The Princess and the Frog.  I liked that one, but it didn't strike me as a truly Disney film.  It lacked something.  Some kind of magical Disney quality that I believed to be dead.

When I saw previews for Tangled, I just sighed.  I had no desire to see it.  The previews just made it look like a stupid parody--like Disney was trying too hard to be hip and cool and funny.  But it was playing at work one day, so I watched part of it.

Oh.  My.  Gosh.  I had to go rent it afterwards so I could watch the whole thing.

The Disney movie is NOT dead.  Tangled is a funny parody, but it's also a more traditional Disney movie--complete with characters randomly bursting into song!  I don't want to give too much away if you haven't seen Tangled.  It's an original story that does a great job of incorporating the original fairy tale.  I'm not sure what Disney animation has in store for the 2010's, but I'm paying attention again.

Only this time, I hope I'm able to differentiate fantasy and reality.

Too Many Words

I nanny for three girls, the youngest of which is six years old. "The Princess," as I will refer to her in all blog postings, is about halfway through her second week of first grade. I take care of her and her sisters ("The Drama Queen" almost 12, and "The Diva" almost 9) about three afternoons a week. The older two are pretty good about doing their homework without too many problems. Sometimes they'll ask me to help them with their homework, and I realize that I am, in fact, a dunderhead when it comes to elementary and middle school mathematics (What does commutative mean? Seriously...I have to use the dictionary to do 4th grade math?), science (Laws of Motion? All I know is that I get in trouble with the law if my driving motion is too fast), geography (how am I supposed to know why it's called the Tropic of Cancer? No, I'm pretty sure you don't automatically get cancer if you go there), and pretty much everything else.

Anyway, I can easily help "The Princess" with all of her homework, since most if it is still on my level. Right now, she's just coming out of kindergarten (and a long summer break in which I did not make her practice her writing/reading enough), so she's practicing writing simple words like "a," "at," "the," "me," etc.

The past two days I've asked "The Princess" to do her homework. You'd think I was torturing the child. She comes home from school and starts complaining about how long it will take her to do her homework. She eats a snack. She stalls. She sits at the table. She stalls. She cries. She stalls. She pounds the table with her head--literally. I try to reason with her, but she doesn't seem to grasp the simple concept that if she'd just go ahead and START her homework, she would be done with it sooner. Homework that would take her about 10 minutes becomes an hour long ordeal.

The other day, I was trying to help her start her homework. I suggested she write some of her words down. It was a list of 10 words, all four letters long or less. She looked at me helplessly and dramatically exclaimed, "THAT'S TOO MANY WORDS!"

At this point, I really made her mad by busting out laughing. She demanded to know why I was laughing. I said to her as kindly as possible, "Sweetheart, I have written three grown-up chapter books. Don't tell me that this is too many words."

Anyway, I've been taking a break from writing for a while. I have about a week left of it, and then I'm going to have to start trying to get my first book published again. I'm going to have to send out query letters. I'm dreading this.

I have the temptation to look up at God helplessly and exclaim, "THIS IS TOO HARD FOR ME!" Only I'm not too mad when He laughs kindly and says, "But, sweetheart, nothing is too hard for me."

I know that I'm going to sit down to start sending my queries. I'll want to cry. I'll want to pound my fists on the table. I'll want to complain about how long it'll take me to find an agent. I'll want to make up excuses not to try. I'll want to go through every possible reason why I'll most likely not get published. "I'm an unknown writer! No agent will want me!" "My writing is unusual and probably sucks." "I don't know what I'm doing! Why did I think I could do this?" "What if aliens invade the planet and erase every copy of my book, and then steal my brain so I can't write it all over again!?"

The thing is, if I would just sit down and trust God and GET IT DONE, it wouldn't be such an ordeal for me. So I still ask for prayer. The reading break I've taken has been immensely helpful and refreshing. Now it's time to work again. There aren't too many words; I just have to be dilligent to do what needs to be done.

Lord, let not my hands be idle, nor my heart be unstirred.