For my oldest daughter, on her fourth birthday

For my oldest daughter, on her 4th birthday.

My little girl, no longer a baby, no longer a chubby toddler.  This year you have grown so much.  You continue to surprise and delight us with your songs, your stories, your knock-knock jokes.  

I am so proud of you, honey.  You are sweet, kind, silly and sensitive.  Sometimes you are feisty and sassy, but usually only to your momma.  I love to watch you dance, in dance class and at home.  Especially in dance class, when you are so intent on the teacher and you are trying so hard to do it right.  I love to watch you ride a horse, giggling when you trot, so serious when you’re trying to listen to your instructor.  You know your letters and you can count very well.  You love to write your name and you do an excellent job at it.  I, of course, think it means you’re a genius.  You can identify a few words in books, like Daddy and Mommy, and that of course makes me believe (again) that you are a genius. 

I worry about you, sweetheart.  Your enthusiasm for life is like a little soap bubble, so beautiful and filled with light, and so fragile.  I hope I can help preserve it.  I am awestruck by both your bravery and your vulnerability.  You alternate between being brave and confident, like when you march up to the front of the church to receive your birthday blessing, and being shy and careful, when you hesitate to ask another child to play with you at the park.  I worry that your strong desire to please will lead you to heartache, and I worry that your strong opinions will lead to friction.  You are both sassy and kind, demanding and obedient, fast and slow, loud and quiet.

I want so much for you, darling.  I want you to grow in confidence, to face challenges with determination, to be compassionate, to be creative, to be intelligent.  I want you to love deeply, to risk bravely, to work devotedly, to learn passionately, to live fully.  Most of all, I want to you enjoy being my little girl for as long as I’ve got you.

Loving the Poor in Spirit

In the last few weeks, I prayed my way through a meeting at work.  It wasn’t a difficult meeting; I should have had no trouble participating in it.  I was in a petty, bratty state of mind, for no real reason at all.  I prayed the Jesus prayer, “Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” as I breathed in and out and in and out.  It helped me hold my tongue, instead of making sarcastic remarks.  Later, I wanted to complain to a friend about the meeting, “I wish I’d been consulted…  I wish someone would just make up their mind…  I wish people showed some respect… blah… blah… blah...”  I prayed again, so I wouldn’t open my mouth, “Jesus, please help me not be an ass.”  Did it matter that I kept my negative thoughts to myself that day?  Probably not, not to anyone else but me.  After a few hours of occasional prayers, the negativity subsided.  Jesus did change my heart, and he let me see my silly pride.  My complaints were bullshit, merely put on so I could pick a fight in my mind with people who don’t deserve it.  Man, I am a pain in the ass.  Luckily, that one day, I kept it to myself--between myself and Jesus.

That night, I read Madeleine L’Engle’s book, Bright Evening Star:  The Mystery of the Incarnation.  She says, “He (Jesus) told them it is all right to grieve, to be meek, to be poor in spirit.”  I had always thought of “poor in spirit” as poor, sad, depressed people who need my love and deserve the kingdom of heaven.  As a modern day liberal, I really want to love the poor, the downtrodden, the meek.  But maybe that’s not the only ones Jesus means.  Maybe “poor in spirit” means those who just can’t be nice.  Maybe the “poor in spirit” are the regular-old pain in the asses like myself.  Maybe it means all those jerks, annoyances and nasty people that we meet all the time.  Jesus loves them, too.  And he loves me when I’m one of them.  Jesus heard my boring, narcissistic complaints today and helped me keep them to myself.  Man, he must be pretty tired of it, even if I were the only one he complaining to him (and I know lots of people are talking to him besides me).  

What is that kind of love, the kind of love that loves jerks, even when they’re acting like jerks?  The kind of love that forgives the prodigal son for running away and spending all of his inheritance and then crawling back home to daddy?  The kind of love that forgives the sinner?  That love is pretty awesome when you’re the forgiven sinner, but it’s kind of hard to look at when you’re the one who’s toeing the line and keeping the faith.  When I’m trying to be all kind, patient, compassionate and tactful, I am annoyed by those who are grumpy and intractable.  It’s not so easy to love the pain in the ass, even when it’s me.

I wonder about that kind of love.  If Jesus were my friend, walking around here, would I think he was a dupe for loving people?  Would he be like that 22 year-old girl who loves her jerk of a boyfriend so damn hard, no matter what an asshole he is?  Would I want to slap Jesus for putting up with his crap?  What does he see in him, anyway--seriously!  If Jesus were in a romance novel, would he be the annoying girl who loves her vampire boyfriend, insisting he is truly good and that he won’t actually kill her and suck her blood?

Then I realize what my metaphor is missing. See, Jesus loves me when I’m a jerk and he probably loves that blood-sucking vampire, too (except I hope he doesn’t whine and sigh about it as much as the girl in the movie).  But, the love of Jesus doesn’t let me stay a jerk.  The love of Jesus makes me want to change so much that I pray instead of talking, that I hold my tongue on all those negative thoughts.  Then, that love gives me a few hours to gain my perspective and recognizw my injured pride and my silly posturing.  I’m so grateful for his love that I become a little less of a jerk, a little bit more patient and a little bit more compassionate.  The love of Jesus loves the nasty, jerky, poor in spirit, but it doesn’t leave us that way.  The love of Jesus seduces us out of sin and into love.  And when we fall back into sin, he loves us right back into grace, over and over again.