As I sat there in the choir loft, sobbing during the service, most people thought I was still mourning a close friend who’d died that week. That was part of it. But most of it was ugly, red-nosed, can’t-find-a-tissue-so-I-have-to-sit-here-and-sniff self-pity. I’m a stepmother and Mother’s Days are complicated.
At the end of that service, our newest elder, Joey, came up to me with a huge smile, his hand behind his back. I blew my nose, smiling back through my tears.
Joey’s class was my favorite when I taught junior high science because they were so eager to learn. They inhaled the lessons and when we had extra time, I’d do my best to find wacky competitions to help illustrate what they’d learned.
Once, after an engineering unit, I asked them to create a bridge out of spaghetti. Their mouths dropped. After they stopped complaining, I read the weight component of the competition. Their bridge had to hold two ounces, but the bridge that held the most weight won.
The moaning stopped at the word, “competition,” and as I handed out the boxes of spaghetti and white glue, they were already designing. This was my favorite assignment, even though it left the lab was a mess.
But for some reason, assignment just didn’t click with Joey. A straight-A student, he came to me in a panic when his latest bridge failed the day before the assignment was due. I reviewed the lesson with the class one more time, but this time, I gave them a hint: look under real bridges. I’ll never forget the smile on his face the next day as he brought in a spaghetti suspension bridge, its deck reinforced with beams made of triangles. It held the required two ounces, but it won the competition because it held a one-pound weight.
Fast-forward fifteen years: Joey smiled as he handed me a pink carnation and wished me a happy Mother’s Day. Joey, the highway engineer. Designer of bridges. I inhaled the spicy sweetness of that pink carnation and smiled.
The object of this lesson is to trust God to care for your heart. We’re called to care for those God puts in our path. We’re not called to be appreciated.
Today I’m sending a pink carnation to Beth Vogt. God put me in her path and she’s encouraged me, mentored me and kept me going as a writer. If it weren’t for her, I would have given up years ago. Love you, Beth!
Who has God put in your path? How can you encourage someone today?
~*~
Angie writes stories about God’s love and small towns. She and her hubby live in the middle of a big wood. She’d love for you to join her at Seriously Write and her website, http://www.angelaarndt.com.