Perspective

Last night was fabulous. Andrew and I finally had our Valentine's Day make up date. We got dressed up (I was definitely a bit overdressed, but didn't really care at all) and headed to Yanni's, a nice mediterranean restaurant I wanted to try. And get this, my gem of a husband called ahead to see if they could give us the Valentine's Day menu, to really recreate the whole thing (he's really incredible with the "big little things" as I call it, like how this summer he asked a bartender to recreate my favorite drink from our Mexico honeymoon. What a sweetie). They happily obliged, even putting a lily on our table and offering a free small dessert. We didn't end up ordering off the V-day menu, which I felt a little badly about, but only until we got our incredibly delicious entrees. Afterwards, we went to the bar for a drink and to listen to a local cover artist, then went to a frozen yogurt bar. It was amazing.

This morning I attended a reading group partly orchestrated by a member of our community group to give children an opportunity to read and be read to, something many don't get at home. It was both encouraging and discouraging to see the rambunctious kids barely attempting to pay attention, seeing their struggles with reading levels they should be far beyond, and to help create an enthusiasm for something they would otherwise disdain.

When I got home, I started reading Diary of a Dying Mom, a blog written by a woman suffering from a terminal illness, including her struggles, small victories, great losses. It is an empowering thing to follow this woman's journey in the last days of her life. I am taking so much from it, especially given my upcoming role at the grief center. In one of her posts, she speaks about a time with her father:

We sat together on my bed that morning and I enjoyed his easy company. He didn’t tell me what to do or feel. He didn’t give me a long-winded pep talk. He listened and echoed my feelings and fears. He was present with me and let me be where I was: sad, discouraged, and bordering on hopeless. And in some strange way, his accepting presence made it easier to chip away at all the negative emotions and find some small ray of happiness and enough momentum to keep going.

This struck such a chord in me. It is a beautiful summation of what facilitators are meant to do with their groups, and something I so hope I can be for suffering children.

Today I am thanking God for my many blessings: my loving husband, my good health, my family. And I'm asking for the perspective to know what to say, or, even more, when to speak.