Lessons Already Learned

Back from R*yal Family in awe.

In awe of the one who works all things together for good, who folds lessons over and on top and around each other again until these thin ropes form a net thick enough to hold my weight. The weight of all my imperfections and uncertainties. Of all my hesitations and the moments where the words simply will not come.

Because, my kids can tell you that I'm really good at spontaneity - so long as I've had enough time to plan it all out beforehand.

Throw me into a situation that I don't have a contingency for and just watch me start to sweat.

It's part of the reason that I read and learn ALL. THE. TIME. You just never know when that piece of information might come in useful. If you know better, you can do better, so I sure as heck better know better.

Because, let's be honest. This.

I'm going to try to figure it out. Quietly. In my own head. At my own time.

But, the one who created me also knows me. Knows that I needed to learn these lessons someplace that is not Royal Family and its constant inundation of humanity. Beautiful. Messy. Smashed together. Trying our best, humanity. But, nonetheless, people - everywhere, constantly.

So, He gives the grace to walk through familiar lessons already learned. Because, in His perfect timing, I have already had these teachers.

D*n**l taught me as his third grade Sunday school teacher what it means to communicate an expectation without shaming.

Another D*n**l teaches me weekly what it looks like to step back and allow a kid the time for their own process, give them the space to chose the awesomeness that Christ in them is capable of.

D*sh**n taught me the cool calm to deal with sticky fingers, the gentle taking back and the quiet promise to return it for them to its place.

He also taught me about the subtlety of triggers; the speed with which a child can fly from smiles and hard work to (literally) screaming fear; and the desperate need for a narrative, no matter how fabricated, that will let you fit in.

S*th taught me what it feels like to have someone smaller pit their will against my own and how to choose which battles aren't worth fighting.

M*tt** taught me to never stop paying attention.

And, J*sh and S*rg** taught me what it looks like when a child is afraid of not having enough food.

M*r*nd* taught me how to keep things low key.

J*nny the subtle difference between attention seeking and a desperate need to be seen.

*pr*l taught me when to step back.

M*t** the physical importance of making myself visible.

Skyl*r and J*c*b the importance of a name.

Ch*s* taught me the power of consistency and the magic of lending out a sweatshirt or a bracelet.

Tys*n taught me that just being present can sometimes be enough.

R*b*cc* that a silly song can be repeated so often that it becomes a memory.

Tr*sty*n and S*r*n* the clapping games that the girls in my cabin already knew.

And, more kids than I can name have worked together to teach me the power of touch. (If you are older than middle school, please be patient, I am still working on that one.)

Dozens of kids over fourteen years of this teacher/leader/counselor gig. Dozens of teachers. Hundreds of lessons. Because, heaven knows that patience is not my natural state of being. That gentleness and mindfulness needed to be taught.

And so, I come back in awe of the one who would surround me with so many messy, smiley, sweet, and sassy little opportunities to learn.