Playing together...

Charlie is such a great gift to Jimmie.  I believe that wholeheartedly.

After Jimmie was born, as I sat in my hospital bed, holding my perfect newborn son, I knew I would be back.  David wasn't so sure.  But I knew it.

Then the months passed and milestones were missed, and seizures and therapies and doctors became a way of life.  And my husband went from not being sure that a second child was needed to being scared to death to have one.  And as those fears rose in him, a different fear rose in me: "What if we don't have a second child?"  Seriously, we were old.  I was 38 when Jimmie was born.  David was 35.  Who is going to take care of him, like we would take care of him?  And in the end my fear replaced David's fear in his heart too.  And so, as my 40th birthday gift, we agreed to try again.  A month later I was pregnant.  If only it had been so easy with Jimmie.  If only...

I would be lying if I said I didn't have fears of a second child with Jimmie's issues, but in the end, the thought of Jimmie being alone in this world was more than I could muster.  And I would be lying if I didn't say that I watched Charlie like a hawk every day for a year, asking if every movement was a seizure.  I did that.  Praise the Lord, they never were.  Then Charlie didn't speak as he should.  Isolated Speech Delay.  I worried a little...well a lot I guess.  But the delay became less and less more and more quickly.  I don't worry anymore.  I just want to give him every opportunity to catch up.  He dances.  But he doesn't sing.  I try, but no singing.  I think that is part of the speech delay.  He'll get it.  I know he will.

Tonight, my boys played together.  It was wonderful to behold.  Charlie and Jimmie ran through this house, giggling and chasing each other room to room, tackling each other with hugs and body slams.  You'd think they watched WWE or something.  I promise you they don't.   But they wrestled and chased and giggled and hugged all evening.  And it occurred to me that Jimmie was totally present for the game.  Jimmie was participating.  Jimmie was reciprocating.  Jimmie was a five year old.  Charlie is such a gift.  Play harder my men.  Play harder.  I love you both so much.

Random Acts of Kindness

Yesterday, as we visited with my beautiful sister-in-law (she is truly beautiful, inside and out), her middle teenage daughter did what every teenager does: took every chance she could to drive the car.  The kids next door wanted nail polish.  She drove them to Walgreen's.  Her sister wanted something: off to Walmart.  Jamie has her mother's beauty, and an almost glamorous quality in her style.  She's a pretty girl.  Slightly shy...well very shy...smart, and it seems, kind.  After taking the kids to Walgreen's, she came in the house, bashfully, looking down.  "David says I got scammed."  Her mother looked concerned.  "What?" 

"Well, as I was pulling out of Walgreen's, a man in a car pulled up beside me, with his windows down.  He had his wife and kids in the car with him.  He yelled to me, so I rolled down the window.  He said that the ATM ate his card, and that he was out of money, and that he was nearly out of gas and would not be able to make it home.  He said he never did this, but he wondered if I had any money to help him.  AND HE HAD KIDS IN THE CAR.  So I gave him $10."

Beth smiled at her daughter.  "That's okay, Jamie.  It's fine."

I felt compelled to relieve the child's mind, since it was my husband's big mouth that had caused her distress at her good deed.  "Jamie, he might have been scamming, but you gave that money to a family in need.  In the end, what you did, outweighs anything HE did.  Don't walk away thinking he may have scammed you.  Think only what you thought when you gave it:  those children needed your help and you helped."

Jamie smiled and ran upstairs to deposit her purse in her room.  I don't know if I really explained it well or not.  But I think she understood.  The random act of kindness she performed is more important than the possible ill act of another.  There is no way to know if that man was lying.  People lie.  But suppose, just suppose, he wasn't lying.  Her $10 got those kids home safely.  Her kindness gave that man faith in the human race and made him believe the angelic look of the girl in the next car actually masked a real angel.  Surely he was searching for her wings as she drove away.  And if the sun got in his eyes, he might even swear he saw them.

After she left the room, I looked at Beth.  "I really think it is important to give randomly to people on occasion.  And sometimes you don't know if what you did matters, but sometimes you do."  I then told her the following true story:

Two years ago, my mother's sister and her second youngest daughter and two of her children visited Chicago.  My cousin's eldest daughter Jill was in a figure skating tournament.  They live in Boston, so it was a very rare visit.  I was more than excited to drive into the city to meet up with my aunt, cousin, and my cousin's two daughters with my two babies.  It was a beautiful summer day.  We drove downtown (all squeezing into our van) and parked in a parking garage near the Sear Tower.  We took the obligatory elevator ride to the observation deck.  Strangely, as we were buying our tickets and my aunt started to freak out about the height of the building, loudly, the ticket seller looked up at her and laughed and said, "Hey, didn't I sell you tickets to ride the Farris wheel at Navy Pier last night?"  I laughed, thinking it was a joke.  Nope.  He sold her tickets the night before and she had freaked out about the height.  It's a side story that is not really relevant, but I thought it was cute.   Anyway, after we finished viewing Chicago from atop Sears Tower, we walked around the corner to a pizza restaurant.  I explained that Chicago style pizza was a must.  They had never seen the sauce on top that way.  As we left the restaurant, Aunt Cynda noticed the road sign that read, "Start of Historic Route 66."  Pictures all around.  It was fun.

But on the corner a few feet from that sign stood a man in his winter coat with a coffee cup.  Remember it was summer.  His beard was full.  He was dirty.  His sign said he had been laid off.  My aunt and cousins walked away.  I reached into my purse to give a dollar...only I had not spent any money yet, blessed by my aunt's kindness, and all I had was twenties.  I was committed at this point though, the man had seen me.  That wee small voice whispered, "It's okay."  I shrugged, pulled out a $20 and shoved it deep into the coffee cup and practically ran to catch my aunt, without speaking a word.  And then I knew it was okay.  I knew I had done the right thing.  In a way Jamie didn't get yesterday.  I heard the intake of breath.  I heard the footsteps start, even before he started to yell after me.  I heard him calling, "Ma'am, Ma'am, wait.  I think you made a mistake."  The homeless man on the corner was chasing me to give me back my $20.  Seriously.  When does that ever happen?  The tears welled in my eyes.  I stopped mid-street, turned, took his hand and pushed the money back.  "No sir.  I did not make a mistake.  I know what I gave you.  Go eat something."  He looked shocked.  "Wow.  Thank you so much.  Thank you.  God bless you.  Wow."  The tears came then.  "Thank you for that sir.  I think He does."  I turned back to my aunt who was standing beside me then.  "What did you give him?" she whispered.  "I only had a $20.  And he looked hungry," I shrugged.  "That was so nice, Lacy."  And we walked on, leaving him.  It was one of the best feelings I ever had.  I don't know what happened to him.  I don't know that he ate.  I do know he was an honest man.  He proved it.  And I know I did the right thing.

It had started years before.  When I started by doing the wrong thing.  It was DC.  Not Chicago.  I was trying to get it together.  I was looking for a real job.  I was broke.  Seriously only had a few dollars in change in my purse.  I was working temp jobs in DC.  I was driving a Chevy Cavalier my father had purchased from the junk yard.  It had been totalled in an accident.  There was blood stained on the backseat from an injury sustained in the accident.  The rear end was crumpled.  But the engine was a lion heart.  It ran like a dream...and looked like a nightmare. 

It had been a rough day.  I had not earned much money and wouldn't get paid for a few days.  I had no idea how I would get back the next day, or if I would even make it home on the gas in the car.  It was summer.  It was hot and sticky.  And the AC didn't work in that car.  The streets of DC had been scattered that day with drunken, drugged, vagabonds.  It felt like that scene in  Raiders of the Lost Ark, when Indy runs after Marion in the basket and into the square full of beggars who are all pawing at him for money.  Of course, not literally, just figuratively.  That's how it felt.  And as I sat in bumper to bumper traffic trying to exit DC via the 14th Street Bridge, I saw him.  Caucasian.  Mid thirties.  Long brown hair.  Beard.  I kid you not, he had a red head band wrapped around his brow like a crown of thorns, and he stood at the center jersey barrier separating incoming from outgoing traffic on the bridge, with his hands outstretched to each side, feet crossed, leaning against the jersey barrier.  He had propped up a sign asking for money.  And the devil won the moment.  I looked at him and saw a homeless man, probably a drug addict of able body, begging, and I thought venomously, "Oh look.  It's Jesus Christ."  And then I heard the voice.  It was not my voice.  And no one was with me.  The car was empty.  It was a man's voice though, and it spoke clearly, "Ah Lacy, my darling child, as you have done unto these the least of my brethren, you have done unto me.  Remember that."  Wow.  Jesus just reprimanded me.  I sat there with my mouth open and the full awfulness of my previous thought filled my head and heart.  My mouth went dry.  My eyes however, were not.  The traffic moved.  I lerched forward, next to the man.  I picked up my purse as I pulled beside him.  He smiled and leaned down to my window.  I turned the purse upside down into his cup...shook it.  All I had.  Everything I had.  "God bless you," he said.  "No.  No.  No, " I choked through the tears and dry mouth.  "I am so sorry."  I don't know if he was Jesus or not, but he didn't ask why I was sorry.  He just squeezed my hand and smiled.  And his hand was soft and warm, and though it was dirty, I didn't pull my hand away.  I held it.  And then traffic moved.  He let go.  I let go, and I moved on.  I don't know how I made it to work the next day.  Or how I made it home.  But I did both. 

The reason random acts of kindness are so important is because you never know when that man, woman, or child is really Jesus Christ, in the flesh, when the gift you have to offer is in fact a gift to you, a blessing to your heart and soul...and the reason for that is because every gift of random kindness is in fact a gift to you, a blessing to your heart and soul, because that man, woman, or child is always really Jesus Christ, perhaps not in the flesh, but always in the spirit.  Even if that man, woman, child is conning you, the blessing falls on you for the giving.  Don't you see?