On Suffering, Kindness, and Perspective

The year our fourth boy was born threw me for a loop.

The three youngest were all in diapers, one had colic, and I had mastitis. I remember the day I made it in to the Doctor’s office for the baby’s first checkup and being berated by the receptionist for being a few weeks late. And I distinctly remember the way that made me feel. A bad mom. Irresponsible. Overwhelmed.

I wanted to cry.

Instead, I choked this out: That she didn’t know my story. That she had no idea why I couldn’t make it in until that day. And requested that the next time she wanted to cast judgement on someone or speak unkind words, that she first remember that she didn’t know that person’s story and perhaps a few words of kindness could go much further.

And then something happened that shocked me.

She apologized.

Not a shallow apology, but one that I could really feel. I knew she meant it. 

Today I was thinking about the winter of my childhood where I’m pretty sure we nearly starved to death, surviving on not much more than potatoes and powdered milk. The winter where my sister and I invented potato cereal (no… it’s not tasty), I was stricken with scabies, dug through dumpsters for food, and I learned to dig deep within myself to survive. To make it through to the next day. And the next.

I became the strongest person I knew.

And it’s a good thing for me to remember. Because sometimes, I need perspective, just like that receptionist needed some too.

But don’t we all sometimes?

I think everyone suffers at some point in their lives. What can we do to make a difference?

We can be kind, because it’s really easy to do.

            Just a smile

   or a wave..

                        a compliment

…or two.

                                      just because.

                .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

I’ve been gone from here for a bit, but I’m looking forward to returning soon.

Here are some things I’m loving and am thankful for lately…

                             hearts of palm

       fresh mushrooms

           the farmer who works our fields

               my freshly planted garden

                .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

I’ll be back soon.

Love,

me