You Is Good

The words Kevin Costner spoke, I thought about them afterward. A quiet hush, a ponder in the present quieted my mind. She wondered if she was good enough, he said. Am I pretty enough? Will they like me? Hesitation and doubt marked her motions, caused her to re-do make-up, a change-over to be enough. To be good. Tweens asked the internet, am I ugly? Surveys for self-worth. My heart hurts.  Before the birth of my three grandchildren I had read The Help. In the story, one of the black maids, Aibeleen, witnesses to white child. She croons into baby girls ear, telling her, "You is good, you is important." "You is good." After reading that first scene, truth spoken into baby girls forming ears, her elfin brain, I understood the importance of passing on the message to the next generation. A fiery sword aimed directly at the enemy. Break generational curses and chains of shame. Cradle babies, lean into tiny ear and proclaim. You are good. You are important. There will never be a more beautiful you. What better way to jump-start a heart than turning on the ignition before the race even begins. Staking the claim before the world defines their worth, I whisper into pristine ear, You are loved. You are good. According to Pastor Ted Roberts, the limbic system "the part of the brain that stores highly charged emotional memories, sets the emotional tone of the mind, and tags certain things as important," is developing in infancy. Kiss soft cheek. Croon into ear. River of life flows through the canal, rushes down, down, pooling in the heart. Spoken truth, epistle for abundant life, drives the force within. It begins with the young, this pour from the wise, a drink for the thirsty, all are good. He  spoke before the world, saying words we all long to hear, "off  you go Whitney, off you go, escorted by an army of angels, and when you sing before him, don't you worry, you'll be good enough." Souls bury their beauty, doubt inherent goodness. So, I declare the truth, the one that Jesus unfurled, my own surveys he answered. I mark it in ink #545 I am good. Pass it down, imprint into evolving limbic systems, charge the emotions with love. #546  gentleness is power. #547 God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. Look into young eyes, watch flecks of light glinting in the iris, the brain tagging the message. You is good.

A Perpetual Feast

Several weeks ago we celebrated our twin grand babies first birthday. Friends and family gathered together at our home, digital cameras captured cherished moments; frosting on faces, gifts in bright bags, good cheer around. Our granddaughter, just shy of one year joined the party from Virginia, a picture on cell, it worked its charm. Spills on the floor didn't matter. Bits of cake crumbles between sofa cushions, no problem. We rejoiced in the birth of the boys, their presence with us. Curious George cutouts dangled from the ceiling. After a bit, back pain forced me into a chair. Look up! Handmade yellow, blue and red Happy Birthday banner strung across the wall. One birthday boy chased after blue ball, the other sat on his knees, laughter spilling onto the floor. What presents? Rising to chat with a guest, the back pain resumed. Look up! I am looking I whispered back. The party ended, guests left and my husband cleaned the mess. #417 Husband who cleans up party mess. Max Lucado says it well: "We must trust God. We must trust not only that He does what is best, but that He knows what is ahead." Look up! He says. He outpaces me and I cannot reach, but my pen takes notice. My pen has supernatural power.  #465 Grandma teaches one-year-old boy the high-five #475 exercises that retrain silent muscles. A tear slides, lands in His palm. Trust me. The banner stays strung, Curious George grins wide from above. How long will I keep hurting I wonder while gazing at the monkey face on paper napkins. He knows what lies ahead. While hope girds the heart I wait, and wait. Keep pace, write it down, the good, the hard, the monkey faces. "Cultivate the thankful spirit! It will be to you a perpetual feast," encourages John MacDuff. Trading tears for the promised feast I catch the glimpses, boys tossing balls, husbands helping hand , Curious George in play. Affliction eclipsed by the beautiful. Perhaps in the midst of our suffering, our unanswered prayers, He can finally reach us, palm to palm, and joyfully teach us how to fly. #500 Wings on hummingbird, thrumming, thrumming.

As The World Turns

Recently, while performing a cardio-does-the-back-good routine at the gym, my Ipod died a sudden death. Noiseless, empty ear buds a mere prop. A bold question mark dangled in my head. How am I going to finish exercising? I need my music! Bereft of my workout companion, I swallowed a discouraged breath, and headed for the weight room. I needed to perform a long stretch, the kind that begs for the company of music. I knew I had to find a way out. A distraction to prevent me from bolting for the locker room. Voices filtered through the atmosphere, a cold rush of air brushed my shoulders, my eyes darted to the clock. Four minutes, six yet to go. I groaned inwardly. Soon, a gentleman approached, a man I see regularly, the sweetest smile lighting his face. A sun break. The question mark morphed into answer. I had been given a way out! We chatted for a few minutes about the weather, the new weight machines. The stretch tightened my calf muscles. The sparkle in his eyes eased the boredom. After he parted I took a long look around the room. My eyes panned the new gym equipment, faces of both the familiar and unfamiliar, people like me trying to take care of their bodies, ease the pain, stay fit. Like an early morning sunrise, reds and golds palming the sky, I understood I had just received a gift, a grace. When I reached the locker room I jotted it down in my journal. # 309. Ipod died. I didn't. Nice chat with gentleman. They are vigilant. The searching eyes. The cataracts supernaturally removed. And as the world turns, I watch eagerly, much like a five-year-old at Disneyland, eyes opened fresh wide, the magic kingdom unveiled. Oh, the wonder of it all. This thing called grace.