Kay is brilliant. I have my brother-in-law Vic’s word on it, last Thanksgiving. It happened as the adults sat at the dining room table sipping wine after dinner, and the younger set (we can’t quite call them kids anymore) shared imaginative stories in the next room. He said, “Kay is brilliant.”
Now I love my daughter, but I’d never thought of her as brilliant. True, she is amazing, but I know about the socks on her bedroom floor that never seem to make it to the laundry. I suppose it's easier for me to see her shortcomings because I'm so close. (Isn't that the way for all of us?)
Of course, I realize that your child (or your grandchild or niece or nephew) is likely brilliant, too. That’s the incredible thing about talking to you about a young person, any young person. I can use all kinds of superlatives to try to convey my wonder at the nature of one child. And no one with young people in their heart could fail to understand that this is not me bragging about my child, but is instead the love of a parent for the star in her life.
I see it in people every day. Christine just blooms as she talks about her boys. But, then again, I think she's like that when she talks about any of the kids in Sunday school. Listen to Brian talk about his three children and you’ll know - if you don't already - what a loving dad sounds like. I've been swept off my feet listening to one person speak about the fierce protectiveness he feels for his grandchild. I've grown teary listening to another talk about her hopes and fears for her grown, yet not quite grown children.
We just finished up a sermon series on the Beatitudes at First Church. At our Ash Wednesday service last week, I reminded those gathered that “You are blessed,” in one variation or another, as I wiped ash crosses across dozens of foreheads and hands.
Children are blessed, as are we who share their lives and all those who were once a part of our younger lives.
You are blessed, we all are. Believe it. And live it.
It’s almost five o’clock now. I think I’ll go back to bed ad try to get some sleep (see previous post.) or maybe I’ll try to sleep in the bathtub.
Of course, I realize that your child (or your grandchild or niece or nephew) is likely brilliant, too. That’s the incredible thing about talking to you about a young person, any young person. I can use all kinds of superlatives to try to convey my wonder at the nature of one child. And no one with young people in their heart could fail to understand that this is not me bragging about my child, but is instead the love of a parent for the star in her life.
I see it in people every day. Christine just blooms as she talks about her boys. But, then again, I think she's like that when she talks about any of the kids in Sunday school. Listen to Brian talk about his three children and you’ll know - if you don't already - what a loving dad sounds like. I've been swept off my feet listening to one person speak about the fierce protectiveness he feels for his grandchild. I've grown teary listening to another talk about her hopes and fears for her grown, yet not quite grown children.
We just finished up a sermon series on the Beatitudes at First Church. At our Ash Wednesday service last week, I reminded those gathered that “You are blessed,” in one variation or another, as I wiped ash crosses across dozens of foreheads and hands.
Children are blessed, as are we who share their lives and all those who were once a part of our younger lives.
You are blessed, we all are. Believe it. And live it.
It’s almost five o’clock now. I think I’ll go back to bed ad try to get some sleep (see previous post.) or maybe I’ll try to sleep in the bathtub.
Talking about my socks? I call that airing my dirty laundry online, lol. =)
ReplyDeleteThe reply button is obvious in a way I don't recall noticing in 2015. Here's what I originally wrote (but in another comment):
DeleteKay,
Thanks for being such a willing accomplice in my storytelling. You're the best!
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ReplyDelete