God's Macaroni Necklace

"Here, Mama!"

She shoved a rattling string of wooden beads in my face with a beaming smile and gripping fist.  Her eyes danced with pride as she waiting for my reaction. 

"Oh, Honey!  It's absolutely beautiful! Did you make this for me?"

"Uh huh!"

I reached for the necklace and she released her clutch, dropping it into my open hands.  A long necklace of beads and painted wood butterflies as big as silver dollars lay in a pile before me in my palms.  The ornaments were polka-dotted and colored in every bright pastel hue you can think of.  She waited beside me as I stood up to put it over my head and glance into the mirror over the buffet in my dining room.  It looked more like a lei than a necklace.  I smoothed my hands over the butterflies.

"It's really nice, Honey!"

"Are you go to wear it to church?"

I am team teaching a bible study on Tuesday mornings until January.  We were readying ourselves to head out the door when she handed me my surprise.  I hadn't considered that a lei of clanking butterflies would be perfect with my carefully selected outfit. 

"Oh, um.  Well, of course. Yes, I will wear it to church."

I left it on and hoped that I would remember to remove it after I dropped my daughter off at the babysitting room in the building but I forgot about it in the chaos of setting my stuff down on a table and trying to find the child care provider so I could leave Carli to play.  I finally got her settled so I could set up for the lcass when I found one of my teachmates in the study room.  We were reviewing what the morning would be like when I noticed that she kept glancing at my blouse.  It took about 4 times for me to get what was distracting her.  It was my butterflies.  I grasped the beads when I figured it out, chuckled and told her about my gift that morning.  We had a laugh and she went on to tell me about a scarf that her daughter had knit for her in junior high school.

"You don't know how many mornings I'd leave that on just long enough to head out the door and into my car to change into another one."

"I forgot about my necklace.  I didn't want to hurt Carli's feelings."

As I said that I started thinking about what would happen if I'd made a macaroni necklace for God.  I remembered making one for my mom when I was in Kindergarten.  It was an elbow and penne macaroni necklace that was spray painted silver by the teacher.  I was so proud of that necklace.  I couldn't wait for her to wear it.  I am sure she had many of the same thoughts I had about my butterfly one. 

Compared to God's gifts to us, our gifts to Him are like macaroni necklaces.  His gifts are perfect, valuable and hand selected for us.  Our gifts are primitive, easily duplicated and sometimes clumsy.  He loves everyone.  He delights in our efforts to love Him back, just like we do with our children.  His love is perfect though.  I believe He does wear our macaroni necklaces with great pride.  I believe He is eager to show them off to the angels and say, "Look, see what my precious one made for me today."

The Little Me

It's Monday morning.  I roll over with a groan and stretch to the sound of my chirpy pre-schooler who has formally announced the time and is already firing questions at me about our day.  I try to delay the answering in hopes that she will slow down and crawl under the covers for a few more precious minutes of rest.  Like most days, she sits beside me and refuses my unspoken offer of blankets, pushing them away and asking me, "Mama, can we get up now?"

I force my rising and head for the coffee maker.  A couple of hits of my favorite drug and I can try to fien an equal excitement about the day.  The beginning of the week always holds a list of 'To Do's.  Today I don't want to do any of them.  I homeschool my daughter now and though I know there is a lesson scheduled for Monday I am already negotiating how I can do something else by 9:00 AM.  Monday mornings always include the gym.  I need my exercise.  Trust me, the world is a safer place because I work out.  By 10:00 AM I am convinced that I am over tired and under ambitious. 

Against my will, I dress and head for the 'Y' with a crying child who doesn't want to play with the other kids in the playroom while I do my workout.  "Stay home!" she yells as she bounces up and down, shaking her hands and scrunching her face.  I have to admit, it's compelling when normally it is an annoyance.  She settles as we pull into the parking space and I walk her in and down to the babysitting area.  She doesn't even toss back a glance once she sees all of her playmates busying about the toys.  I am still wishing she talked me into her agenda earlier but I am here now so I head to the fitness area.  It's treadmill day.  I don't want to run but I make myself even though I want to hit the stop button about 20 times in the first ten minutes. 

With every step, an ongoing war.  The battlefield is my mind.  The need to discipline myself versus giving in to the desires of the day.  I recalled a buzz word as this went on that I haven't heard since the early 90's.  I remember it very clearly.  It was on the lips of every psychologist and in the discussions of many talk show hosts.  The topic was the Inner Child.  I had a therapist who spent hours with me, helping me to first identify the voice of my inner child, discover what she lacked, and then how to help her.  We spent a lot of time with my eyes closed, picturing what she looked like and how she felt.  Most of my sessions were about her.  This delicate creature within, so damaged.  I had to be careful not to make her worse, I had to tell her that I loved her and that she was safe.  I was even instructed to sit quietly for a half hour every day, give myself a hug, say 'I love you' and see her in my mind surrounded by soft, warming yellow light.  What ever became of her?  I haven't seen her in so long.

She is still there. Her agenda usually doesn't include effort.  She'd rather go willy-nilly, avoiding anything that has to do with work or sacrifice.  I made a french toast breakfast this morning with egg whites.  She wanted eggs, sugar and cinnamon in the mix.  I made two slices, she wanted three and with extra syrup.  I made her have one tablespoon.  She didn't want to go the gym and do penance for any misuse of calories from the weekend, I ignored her whining and got into the car.

I used to spend so much time being careful not to upset her.  I invested so much in making her happy, thinking that if she was that I would be too.  Now, instead of coddling her every whim and weighing it against what I would like to do, I just say, "Get moving!"  Turns out that my inner child needed the one thing everyone told me never give her, a simple spanking. 

Please Accept This Blessing

A day at Wingaersheek Beach last week proved enlightening.  Carli had successfully worn me down about going.  It isn't that I don't like the beach.  I just have a different idea about what to do there than an active 4 year old girl.  Carli squeals and hops toward the water as soon as we put our things down.  She delights in the surf with a beaming joy, begging her reluctant mom with "C'mon Mama, c'mon! Come in with me!".  My aching toes and ankles shock in the frigid water.  She is pulling me like a dog who doesn't know how to walk on a leash with her little arm dragging me further in.  We will do this about 10 times.  We can't just stay in.  We have to leave as soon as we get numb and go play in the sand for 15 minutes and then run back to the water again.  Occasionally this mantra is interrupted by chasing seagulls while yelling 'boo!'.  To Carli, this proves to be hysterical.  She can barely keep her running pace from the laughter.  I am running out of steam about a 1/2 hr into our trip.

My idea of the beach is to park myself in my sand chair, fix it to a slight recline and dig my heels in the sand until it feels comfortable and stay there.  I like to bring a stack of magazines that I have no time for at home and leisurely flip as I either redecorate my home or put together a haute couture wardrobe for the upcoming season all from the laziness of the shore while listening to the hum of fellow beach goers and the slap of the ocean waves.  There is little reason to leave my station.  Imagine my distress when my little baby grew to walk then run and didn't consider the wishes of her mother while visiting the beach.  If I want to read a magazine these days, I have to get used to reading it in 5 minute increments and only when Carli is satisfied to dig by herself for a spell.  No, my fond summer respite has become a mission to corral someone who can't swim and is too friendly to not want to wander off with whomever pays attention to her. 

I endure it because she likes it.  We get to be together and I watch my child enjoy herself even if it means that I have to run around and try to keep up with her while I opine for my chair.  Wingaersheek Beach was a first time trip for Carli.  I was happy to find showers, bathrooms and  a snack shack so close to the shore and Carli was elated to find a sign that she could recognize, a picture of an ice cream. 

"Ice cream, Mama!" she sang out as I held her little hand in my right and tried to hold and balance everything else with my left. 

"Yup, later.  Okay?", I tried to reassure her that it was coming but not right now. 

Who doesn't like a frozen treat after a day at the beach?  I couldn't blame her.  I just didn't want to indulge her at 10 in the morning.  We had to visit the rest room two times and each time I heard the same thing, "Can I get an ice cream, Mama?". 

It came time for lunch which we ate at the snack shack.  I didn't bring much for myself and I knew if I was going to buy lunch for me, I'd need to get some for her. She would not be happy with Goldfish and cut up Smart Dogs while watching mom eat something that came in a cardboard box and wax paper.  We sidled up to the window with a smiling face peering out and placed our order.  The cost of our lunches, most of hers of which I tossed in the garbage, cost about as much as the interest on the national debt.  Lunch plus the cost of parking took all but a dollar out of my wallet.  No worries, ice cream would still be had.  I just would use my debit card.

I announced that we'd get ice creams when we were leaving.  No need to get them now, we just ate.  When the beach ran it's course with Carli after many sessions of dragging mom into the water, chasing the poor water birds, digging and seashell hunts, she announced that it was time to go home.  I agreed.  I was exhausted.  We packed up and made our way to the snack shack, discussing what she wanted before we could even see the building.  We returned to the ordering window and my heart sank as I read the sign, "Credit Card Purchases -$10 Minimum Requirement".  I certainly wasn't going to buy 10 dollars worth of stuff for a 2 dollar ice cream.  I looked down at my wide-eyed little girl and tried to gently explain the situation. 

"Honey, Mama doesn't have any cash on her and the man won't let Mama buy the ice cream with her debit card."

Sadness and confusion covered her face and her smile disappeared as she tried to take in what I said.  I felt so terrible that I was doing to have to disappoint her.  My mind ran with remorse over not just paying for lunch with the debit card and leaving more cash in my wallet. I thought of how foolish it was of me not to check beforehand.  I also didn't want her to start crying.  I tried to explain again and smooth it over with a promise to get ice cream somewhere else.  She didn't want to go elsewhere, she wanted the treat I had been promising her all day and she wanted it at the beach.  As I continued to reassure her a woman came up to me and held out her hand. 

"Here, just take this." she smiled and stuck out 2 dollars and 50 cents in my direction.

I hesitated.   I was so touched by her generosity and strangely ashamed to take it from her.  She stuck her hand out again and I took the money from her grasp slowly, thanking her with a sincere quiet humility.  I ordered Carli's ice cream and took it back to our spot for her to enjoy.  The waves of shame still washed over me as I watched her eat it.  I felt silly for feeling that way.  I didn't do anything wrong and I wasn't a charity case and even if I was, couldn't I allow someone to bless my daughter? 

This woman had two children with her.  She understood what it was like to let a little one down.  She wanted to save the day and I almost didn't want her to.  I had forgotten in that moment what a gift it is to bless other people, especially when the blessing is anonymous.  As I reflected on what had happened, I realized what a gift I had given her by allowing her to bless my daughter.  The times I have bestowed this on others were the moments of the greatest joy.  There was a much bigger gift here than just a 2 dollar ice cream.  I connected with another human being in love. To me, that is worth not having enough money in my wallet.  Who ever you are, Ma'am, thank you.