Wednesday night was Blue Night at Awanas, and Craig was working late. I wrestled Devon into his blue Puggles shirt, blue jeans, blue socks, and blue shoes. Then I opened a Fun Size M&M's and lined them up on the coffee table to entertain Devon while I found something blue for the girls to wear.
"OOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNEEEEEE treat! Crunch! TWOOOOOOO treats! Crunch!"
When the kids were buckled in their car seats and my hand was poised to put the key in the ignition, I realized that I had given no thought to my own appearance. Being from Lexington, Kentucky, I have at least five Wildcats shirts that would've been appropriate for Blue Night Awanas, but my recent struggles to get the laundry done mean I've lost interest in changing my clothes unless something is really dirty. If I don't go out, my black yoga pants and t-shirt can last the evening, turn into nightwear, and make it into the hamper the next afternoon after I've finally gotten around to exercising.
I decided that my white tank top and jeans would be all right, but I traded my purple Crocs for the only pair of blue shoes I owned. Flip flops are always a good choice for Florida. Floridians wear flip flops everywhere: to church, the store, the beach, to job interviews. I'm pretty sure they even get married in flip flops. I'm sure that thought popped into my head because my flip flops were periwinkle, a color that featured heavily at my wedding and is no longer in style. I tried to remember how old these shoes were. Six years? Nine?
At a stoplight I looked at myself in the child-minder mirror, noticing a new and colorful bruise on my upper lip. Devon gave Carrie an affectionate head-butt while she was sitting on my lap earlier, sending her head into my face and making all three of us cry a little. I was reminded of the bruises that my Dad would get from pitching practice with Tim. Proud that his son could throw a fastball hard enough to leave a mark, Dad would always have Tim sign his name on them with a Sharpie. I wondered what people would think if I let Devon sign my face. Probably not a good idea, since he colored his first wall a week ago and we're trying to teach him what is appropriate for coloring (paper) and what is not (tables, walls, the computer monitor, the floor, and yes, people's faces).
I hadn't had time to put on makeup, which may have covered the bruise a little. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only mom who manages to dress several children in cute matching clothes but doesn't give much more thought to her own appearance than a daily shower. When the girls turned one year old, I made a personal resolution to be presentable and wear makeup if I was going to an "adult activity" (church, lunch with friends, the mall, etc.). I made a real effort for a month, which sometimes meant going out in my red leather Bohemian sandals, tan Capri pants with beach sand still in the pockets, my Wallace and Gromit t-shirt, and full evening makeup. Then I stopped caring again.
When I'm out by myself with the kids, I like to think I'm "hidden in plain sight". Everybody still looks at us, but definitely more at the giant green stroller careening towards them with seventy pounds of children in it. I'm the least interesting part of the ensemble, grunting and sweating like Serena Williams in the back.
This time, not so much. As Devon hopped onto the rumble seat and I threw my weight right to swing around, I felt the toe strap of my flip flip let go of the sole. I looked down at the absurd periwinkle Hawaiian flower that now swung freely over the top of my foot. I didn't have another pair of shoes in the car. I'd have to go home and change. I threw my weight left and started to swing back around.
Devon began to cry.
"I want Mommy play Awanas! I want Mommy play Awanas!" he wailed.
"Devon--," I started.
"ON THE FIRST DAY GOD CREATED THE LIGHT! ON THE SECOND DAY GOD CREATED THE SKY! ON THE THIRD DAY GOD CREATED THE GRASS, THE TREES, THE FLOWERS, AND THE BEGGETABLES!"
I couldn't go home.
I shoved my foot further into the dangling shoe and limped on my heel into Awanas, stroller swaying right to left. I parked the Green Machine outside the baby room and threw my ruined shoes in the bottom.
Devon took my hand and shivered with excitement. He's far too young to be embarrassed by how his Mommy looks, barefoot or not. He put on his shy face and barely greeted Miss Erin and Miss Kristi. I think it's funny that they've barely heard him talk, while he'll chatter on and on about them on the ride home, in the bath, and straight through to bedtime. We marched in a circle and played our instruments to the Puggles song. I watched Devon's frown of concentration as he spread glue on his paper plate sun and his smile when Miss Erin shook glitter on it. We learned the next installment of the lesson Devon will repeat for me:
"ON THE FOURRRRRRRRRTH DAY, GOD CREATED THE SUUUUUNNNNNNNNN!"
Forty-five minutes later, I was called out of the room by my friend Laura who is also the Early Childhood Ministries director. She gestured to the Green Machine, still parked outside the room. Perched on the front seat were a new pair of flip flops.
My desperate waddle through the parking lot had not gone unnoticed. Someone had gone to nearby Beall's department store and bought me some shoes so I wouldn't have to wear my broken ones home.
Awwww!
Yet another reason why Wednesday night Awanas at First Church of God is the highlight of our week. If my son is surrounded by such loving and caring adults, surely he'll grow up to follow their example. Yet, church is not the only place where I see nice things happen to people. We just passed the one-year mark in Vero Beach, and we often pause with the strollers on our nightly walks and reflect on how much we love living here and how everyone in our community is so warm and friendly.
I admired the shoes, which were colorfully striped. They looked exactly like something I would pick off a rack, they were my size, and they fit perfectly. My anonymous benefactor has to be tall, too, guessing that as a tall person I have huge feet. I returned to Devon's classroom and told Miss Erin and Miss Kristi that I was the recipient of a random act of kindness. They admired what they called my "Blessing Shoes". The whole incident went right over Devon's head. He kept on singing, coloring, and playing "I'm going to get you!" with Andrew. He didn't notice that picking the girls up from the baby room, walking back to the car, and getting everyone safely loaded in the sprinkling rain took easily half as long as the trip inside.
I was having a hard time on Wednesday night, and someone decided to do something nice to make things easier for me. I have to admit, the hardest part was not pushing my giant stroller with one shoe flapping off my foot. The hardest part was letting someone help me.
Yes, I accepted the shoes and I was really thankful. I also felt my upper arms flush with embarrassment and I suddenly wanted to remind everyone that I had plenty of other shoes to wear. For a moment I wondered if anyone would notice if I just wore my old ones and put the new ones in the "needy people" collection area so they could "go to good use". Even after putting them on I was plotting in my mind how I would accept this gift, but pass it forward like a good, financially responsible Christian. On the way home we would all stop to buy some shoes that we could donate to CareNet so that my gift would help a really needy person. Emphasis on the adjective NEEDY. I don't fit that description. Thank you very much.
Then I got over it.
It's funny how much mental arithmetic I was doing to convince myself that I was not the kind of person who needed someone to go buy them a pair of shoes. My foot was getting scuffed from wearing my broken shoe like an ankle bracelet. My kids tend to get wired and overemotional when tired, and it was my sole responsibility to get them home and into bed. With Devon wanting to walk beside the stroller and me limping ineffectively after him with the girls in the stroller, it was going to take forever. I was EXACTLY the kind of person who needed a pair of shoes.
A needy person.
My Women's Bible Study has been reading in our book about how being overly self-sufficient can really be a mask for pride. It's easy to spend all our time figuring out how to meet our own needs and the needs of our families, losing sight of our total dependence on God. The phrase "God helps those who help themselves" appears nowhere in the Bible. Here's what the Bible DOES say about people who try to get through life by solely relying on themselves:
"You say, 'I am rich. I have everything I want. I don't need a thing!' And you don't realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked" (Rev. 3:17).
It doesn't sound like we're meant to have much confidence in our own strength.
Nothing gives me more reminders of my own shortcomings than being a mom. Sometimes I'll manage to get everything together, and some days I admit defeat at 10 a.m. and say a quick prayer that my kids will still be alive and reasonably well by suppertime. The first step to accomplishing all I am meant to do is letting go of my need to control, realizing that I can't do everything. God gave me my family and the energy to serve them, and sometimes all of my time and effort for that day isn't enough. It's a reminder to trust God to lead my family and meet their needs even when I fail.
I also need to graciously accept help when I need it. If one of my friends called me in the mid-afternoon and said she was having a hard time and needed some help, I'd drop everything. The kids and I would hop in the car, pick a drive-thru, and show up in minutes to give someone we care about a break. It would be fun! Ironically, thanks to my pride I'd rather suffer in silence in the middle of a really hard week than let someone else do that for me. How many times have I answered the offer of help with a clippy "I got it!" instead of a smile and a thank you.
I don't think I'm the only one. I hear on the radio about someone who pays for themselves and the person behind them in the toll line. So many times it seems person after person chooses to "pay it forward", paying for themselves and letting the car behind them get the blessing. There was even a contest to keep it going as long as possible. I'm assuming that when someone finally smiled and said "Wow, thanks! I really needed that today!" people got mad. How many people get an unexpected perk when that happens, even when hundreds of people pass it on? Still just one. Nobody decides to really pay it forward by paying for someone's coffee, feeding quarters to someone's meter before it runs out, mowing the lawn of an elderly neighbor, or being extra patient with their children. Nothing gets multiplied. People refuse the kindness of others and then feel like they've been let off the hook.
I don't feel like I need to do something nice for someone else to repay an anonymous act of kindness. I do kind things for others all the time, but not because I feel guilty when people do nice things for me. I don't want to be like that. I've worn my Blessing Shoes for three days straight. I really like them. Most of all, I know God put somebody in my life on Wednesday to take care of me AND to teach me something.
I've had plenty of opportunities to reflect on pride-free parenting this week. Last Sunday we decided to give our children a rare opportunity to visit a pumpkin patch. This is kind of hard in South Florida, where nobody really farms vegetables and alligators and armadillos are probably crawling around nearby if you get too rural. A local entrepreneur staged a "pumpkin patch" by throwing down some straw in the parking lot in back of the mall, artfully strewing around some trucked in pumpkins, and charging people $10 each to participate in a fall tradition. We instead drove to Sebastian only to find that a farm whose website had advertised a more authentic fall experience from 10-4 on Sundays had decided to close.
We decided to admit defeat and visit the Splash Pad on the way home. After all, the car thermometer said 84 degrees. We know it's time for fall, but don't feel a chill in the air or see the fall colors outside of the silk flower aisle at Michael's.
I hadn't packed a swim bag, so we stripped the girls down to their onesies. Devon's shorts got wet pretty fast and started to sag. I ignored the small pang of embarrassment I felt as I watched my girls shriek with delight as they ran through the water with Devon stepping out of his shorts to run more unencumbered behind them.
Who needs pumpkins? Or swimsuits, for that matter.
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