There is nothing quite so humbling as children.
The perspective they bring puts the lid on the crock of any delusions of grandeur I may have of myself, typically at the moments in which I am almost convinced that I am ALL THAT.
Between a massive belch at the church potluck and the tantrum in the salad isle at the grocery store, or the statement in the drink isle to the local grandma that he's tasted beer, it's a wonder I don't just shrivel up before walking out the door in the morning. Yes, Pride is safely tucked away in the B.C. era of my life.
Some examples, so you may laugh at my good fortune:
I am riding my bike, with the wind in my hair. I can feel the power in my legs . . . pedal, Pedal, PEDAL. That little just-turned-three blondie calls out to me from her tag-a-long trailer, "Mommy, put my shade down."
"Why?" I ask. "It's not very hot today."
"Because I don't want to look at your butt!"
From my middle child: "Mom, when you were little, were you in black and white?" This is also the child who told his teacher that I am as "pretty as a zebra".
And from my eldest, in a hot wheels driving "class" with his younger siblings: "Today, class, we are going to learn how to speed without getting caught."
These short people (who will only be short for a few more years till they are ALL going to be looking down at me from the rafters--thank you, Clay) have given me a depth I never knew existed. They have given me the ability to be in a euphoria that only exists in movies and the simultaneous capacity to be emotionally anhiliated.
If they grow up to be God-being, people-loving, justice-seeking, beauty-seeing, courageous-asking, happy-living people, I will rejoice. That will be the ultimate success.
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