Ordinary Miracles

I wrote this back in February, just now getting around to posting...

I don't spend much time watching girlie television shows. The boys watch Curious George and KiSA watches hunting or Mythbusters. I'm fine with that; I have too much to do to really care about having my own "shows."

But this was different. This was the Miss America pageant. I admit, here and now, I like fashion shows, pageants, wedding dress shows and "What Not to Wear." Yes, it's nothing but vanity and fluff and ephemeral nonsense and I think a tiny bit of that in life is okay. Just a bit, maybe twice a year.

So, while KiSA was gone, and I was sick and could justify sitting down to watch TV, I watched the whole thing. (Of course, I forwarded through the "athletic" portion of the contest. Who do they think they are kidding anyway? If they were truly judging athletic prowess, there would be a sit-up contest and baton relay. Give me a break. Either way, neither I nor my boys need to see it.)

Surprisingly, the boys were fascinated right along with me. They liked the talent portion; they liked the dresses. "They look so pretty," SK kept saying.

Now a long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, I won a talent pageant. It was before I really knew who I was, or what true beauty or wisdom looked like. But, I worked hard for it and of the effort, I was proud. But we are bombarded by messages of how different we should be than how we are, and how we can never be beautiful enough. So while watching the pageant, I started to wilt a bit. Rather than appreciate how dedicated and hard working those young women were, I started to regret not being more like them.

In a gift of Divine Grace, SK turned to me right in that moment, looked me in the eye and said, "Mama, you're so pwetty."

Oh, he could have written it in diamonds and it would not have meant more. That's what my God, my husband, my parents, my children, and my friends and family think--they think I'm beautiful. Three-inch heels and tiaras aside, they think I'm beautiful. It helps me to think so, too.

...Well, flash-forward to June, and I have been the happy recipient of a continuous torrent of similar complements from SuperKid. He daily tells me that I'm more beautiful than anyone ever believed, I'm so pretty, and I'm a princess. Really. I really think it's the Father's way of loving on me through my son's words. He is such a blessing.

SuperKid has discovered the biggest number ever: one thousand and eight. It's the height of the tallest tower in the entire world, the largest quantity of anything anyone could ever have, and even the distance to the very stars. He dreams of building a factory that will make 1,008 robots, and of opening a barber shop that gives 1, 008 haircuts. If he had to wait for the longest length of time imaginable, it would take 1,008 days. Someday, when he is a very big grown up man, he wants to have 1,008 kids.

This has been so for over a month. We had no idea why. But recently, we began discussing the possibility of taking a summer trip to Texas. KiSA was looking at the map and teaching SK the names of the states along our intended route. Finally, he explained that it was very far from our house to his grandparent's house. In fact, it is exactly 1,008 miles.

Aha! At some point in a previous trip or discussion of it, SK had picked up that number--1,008--and understood that it was a very great distance. When you're four or five, a two-day drive in the car is the longest, most grueling endurance test imaginable. And when you miss your family, yes, it can feel like a very big number indeed.

There is a value greater than 1,008--Love. It cannot be diminished by distance or time. So please know, dear family and friends, that we love you very much.