Little Girl Lesson

She was there at the bus stop, waiting like the others.  Her bus was yellow too, but was smaller with a wheelchair lift in a grid of patterned, painted metal.  Cars were parked behind her mother’s older van.  One…two…three…waiting impatiently.

It was late spring in the coolness of warm weather-to-be.  Flowers and trees bloomed everywhere.  Pink and purple or double blooms of white, smelling fragrantly.  At the corner, children pressed buttons to roll down windows.   Heads of boys hung out side to see what the commotion was all about.  Girls who couldn’t care less, texted in back seats while chewing gum and clicking tongues.

Air, still damp wafted through hallows of vacuumed cars.  Birds in high, high branches tweeted songs from above, while warming engines shut down from below.   Healthy kids who took dancing lessons in afternoons or batted balls early in nights, didn’t know or understand what they waited for.

There was a hidden motor buzzing like baby bees helping to ‘lift’ a lower platform to the ground.  Suddenly, children’s eyes looked carefully.  They saw a young woman with a pony tail of glazed copper standing under a sky of blue together with a round of gold.  From the side, she guided forms of metal gently to the ground.

The aged van that was parked behind the mini yellow, held a dainty girl together with her waiting mother.  The van was grey in color with a magic sliding door that suddenly opened revealing a ‘lift’ much like the mini-bus of yellow.  Sitting on top was a miniature wheelchair holding a delicate child with skin of white and hair of red.  The ‘lift’ lowered her to the ground where her mother waited, protectively.  She brushed air curls of hair away, something simple that her daughter could not do with arms not able to work like yours or mine.

Other children who had walked, stopped to stare.  Not to tease or gloat or bully.  Without saying a word, the little girl sitting in the wheelchair spoke volumes.  In a matter of minutes, a major lesson had been taught.  Other children realized how lucky they were to run and jump and dance and play.  No more taking God’s gifts for granted!  Live life to the fullest each and every day.

Be thankful in every way.

“Doodle” Bandit

There I was in the midst of, ‘everything.’  Running around and about, I was busy cleaning up, sorting mail, and emptying trash when I saw them.  Crumbles of hard caramel-colored pieces sprinkled here and there.  They were left in a trail thoughout the house much like “Hansel and Gretel” would do in their fairy tale.

Nubby golden nuggets shaken like salt and pepper led me down the hall through my bedroom to the point of origin.  The door was wide open to my walk in closet.  Sitting on the floor where I had left it the night before was the small tote bag that I had carried on the plane.  Peeking through the zippered opening to see,  was only a warm fuzzy blanket.  The rest was a mystery to me.

So, I shut the door to go about my day.  I did not have time to play.  Still, everywhere I went were  reminders of the evidence.  Wherever I walked, wherever I stepped, nubby brown nuggets stuck to the bottom of my feet.  Then, up from the stairs bounded my favorite fluffy fur ball, jumping into my lap with greetings of love.  It was my “Doodle” dog.  Ha!  I had my answer now.  Surely, he was the one.   I needed to find out what he had done….

Like a white creme puff, I carried him to my closet where I opened my tote to get to the bottom.   Slowly, I unraveled the warm fuzzy blanket.  Shaking it out, more  crumbles fell out.  All of a sudden a crackling sound could be heard.  Clear cellophane paper appeared!

Sitting on the beige carpet, I looked to my left where Doodles sat upright together with two white legs and black paws, in front.   Like a small child, he knew he’d been caught.  He  knew he’d been found out.   Beneath his dark eyes and under his black nose, the evidence was clear.  Looking closer now, I could see.  It was there, underneath his chin.  Chocolate that he had tried to lick off, but couldn’t quite reach.

In my closet, in my tote, Doodles had sniffed it out.  He dug through the blanket to ‘carefully’ scratch open the cellophane, paw by paw.  The clear was not slit down the middle nor shredded to bits.  No, he was smarter than that.  He lifted a piece of my favorite sponge candy out of the fancy wrapped bag, one piece at a time.  Like you or I would do.  It was obvious he didn’t, ‘wolf it down.’  No, he finished the first before returning for the second.   Perhaps he was saving a bite for me?

You may wonder why I’m writing this, but I have a lesson here.  This is not the first time…..  I should have learned by now from this “Doodle Bandit” of mine.  My dog is addicted to chocolate.  I’ve called the vet who has told me that some dogs are allergic to chocolate.  They may get sick or even worse.   Not Doodles.   He simply steals and devours it with glee.

Long ago I came home when he was just a pup to find an up-opened box of Godiva chocolates sitting oddly on the floor.  I took the lid off.  A few were missing.  Others were pinched.  Yes, pinched by a small white paw.  The box was perfect.  No papers out of place, no chocolate to be found anywhere.

Crazy I know, but isn’t that what a cat burglar would do?

The Cookie Exchange

Last night, believe it or not, I attended my first holiday “Cookie Exchange.”  There were lessons to be learned there.

I live in a small subdivision of about twenty-five brick and mortar homes.  Smoke swirled and curled above all of the chimney tops, looking like a Rockwell painting as I walked by.  Crunching snow underfoot,  I carried my grandmother’s pink depression platter of lemon-glazed cookies, warm from the oven into the freezing cold.

The Lucky Ones

Like children jumping off pages of a story book, they’d skip along the sidewalk holding hands.  One  was older but slighter, the other bigger but with a baby’s pudginess.  Without words, they clasped hands to signal brotherhood.  A lifetime of protection.  Orange pop-cycles dribbled down wrists, leaving squiggly stains of wonder within their eyes.  From the window screen, I heard them giggle.  The two compared arms, pointing to each other as if a spaceship had landed!  Mandarin liquid dripped faster than quivering lips of four could lick or keep up.  It was the afternoon heat of desert after all!

I had no way of knowing it then, but my oldest son, the one who wore red canvas sneakers tied loosely upon his feet walked steps closer to being diagnosed with a chronic illness. Soon, his childhood innocence would be snatched out from under him.   Perplexing puzzle pieces were locking into place.  Different sizes and shapes were coming together.  Eventually, they would all match to make a picture portrait for me to understand.

Thanksgiving week is here.  It is no more apparent to me that good health above all else is most important in life.  Not wealth, status,  power or privilege.  Good health matters most in all of this world.  God is smart to be sure.  He gives us what we can handle, leaving the rest for us to figure out.  Still and forever more, He guides us along our way.  Often He’s there to help us discover hidden lessons in life.  Before long, we learn how hard we must work while not playing the martyr.

Without realizing it, luck is on our side.  This perhaps, is the first life lesson to learn while living with a chronic illness.   Through the years there is much more to understand. We grow and pass on what we have been given.  For we are the lucky ones.

Yes, the lucky ones….