Wow, Your Hands Sure Are Full!

I was shopping last night and saw one of those cutesy signs that read, "If you think my arms are full, you should see my heart!"

Yes, you know my reaction was a snarky combination of eye rolling and finger-down-the-throat gagging.

The sign also got me thinking about something that happened to me, which led to this post.

Last year Shawn was going to be home late and I was in no condition to throw any kind of dinner together, so before we picked Noah up from practice, the littles and I hopped in the car to grab dinner from Chik Fil A.  Now, if you're not familiar with Chik Fil A, there's really no 'grabbing' anything during peak meal times.  The drive thru wraps itself around the town at least once, and if you happen to have the misfortune of pulling into the parking lot on a spirit night as I did that night, it wraps itself around the town for several miles, or you're parking in the next county over and walking.  Rather than try to attempt entertaining two small children in the drive thru, I finally found a parking space and I took the littles in for our carry out order.  The cashier handed multiple bags and a heavy drink carrier--to my already burdened arms, carrying a squirming infant, an umbrella (because yes, it was also raining--oh, the time had just changed, so it was also dark), my purse and my 6 year old's hand.  Between the crowd at the door inside the restaurant, and on my way to my car in the dark, wet parking lot, no fewer than five people commented how full my hands were.  One of them even allowed the door to slam shut in my face, leaving me to open it with my son's head elbow and foot.  Not one of those observant morons humans offered to help me.  I really considered throat punching the next person who made such a ridiculous observation.  When everything but Ezra and Avery's hand finally slipped out of my hands in the middle of the parking lot, I dropped to my knees in tears, dinner all over the parking lot, ruined.  I cried, I yelled and I screamed, if only one person had offered to help.  I didn't even bother cleaning up the mess our dinner had made. Yes, I felt quite like the crazy lady right there in the middle of the parking lot.  We all got back in the car, all of us in tears, picked Noah up (Avery quickly explained to him that "Mommy dropped dinner and screamed at Chik Fil A.") and went home to canned soup for dinner.  

If only one person had offered to help.  You could be the difference between a good day or a bad one for someone.  Wouldn't you want to help a person have a good day?  All it takes is an offer of help.  All that person can do is say no--and hey, you've done your part.

"Could I carry that coffee cup to the register for you?"
"Could I please take your tray to the trash can?  Gosh, I remember when my kids were that age!"
"I would really like to help, it looks like your arms are full, what can I do?"
"Here, please take my arm and we can step down this curb together!"
"Is there something I can reach for you?"

It doesn't take much to be nice, to be thoughtful.  A simple smile, a door held open, a quick pleasantry at the door.  An offer of help.  There are times when it's not so much that a person's arms are full, but the person is caught in public, overwhelmed by life--emotions like grief sneak up and catch us off guard.  Disabilities and pain are another big part of life. So often we lose ourselves in our own little worlds, oblivious to the needs of others, oblivious to others at all.  I beg you--wake up, be aware.

My ending thought--be the light.  Don't be the jerk with the dumb, obvious comment.  Be the nice human with the nice smile and the waiting arms.

To the Adorable Little Girl in Target

I've had a rough time lately.  I haven't felt the Christmas spirit, and I've struggled.  December is usually a tough month for me anyway; I told myself this year would be different--but a few things have happened, and I've allowed them to drag me down.  I haven't dealt with them as well as I thought I would, or had.  It's unfortunate.  I'm tough on myself when this happens, because I have so much to be thankful for.  I live an amazing life, but there's one little glitch in my brain that makes things more difficult sometimes.

This time of year I start thinking about the gifts we can't wrap.  I think about my grown up Christmas list, all the many things other people need, but sadly are unable to provide for themselves or their families.  I think of all the things I want that cannot be put under any tree.  Occasionally I obsess a little (too much) on it.  I get melancholy, or, as Noah puts it, somber.

So, instead of having a home that's warmly decorated, I have a tree that's up and sort of halfway sort of decorated, a yard that's decorated (thanks to Noah), and 8 boxes or decorated scattered around the house that I'm constantly tripping over.

I've done a lot of 'faking it' for Avery's sake, or tried to at least.  Noah can see through it, and Shawn knows the truth.

So, maybe that helps you understand why you, dear child--you have no idea the gift you gave me the other night.  I came across you and your parents at the lights in the Christmas section; I motioned to your mom that I would steer my cart around behind the three of you because the look on your face was priceless as your dad carefully explained all the different kinds of lights to you, I just didn't want to break the spell.  You were in complete awe!!!  You happened to look over at me anyway, a huge, beautiful, happy grin on your face.  Your smile was catching, and I said to you, "There's magic in those lights, isn't there?!"  You nodded, jumping up and down, clapping your little hands and shouting, "YES!  YES!"

Sweet girl, my prayer is this:  That you will continue to share that light in your smile with others.  That the world does not jade you in any way.  I pray your parents continue to foster this awe in you, and continue the patiences they demonstrated, explaining each light to you.  I pray you only ever know love and security.  And I pray that someday, somehow, you know just how exactly how much your smile meant to me, and much it brightened my evening.