A Letter to Humanity: Confession

I saw you the other day standing alone under a bridge.  You were watching the cars zoom past you while you were having a conversation with yourself.  No one waved to you.  No one stopped to see if you were okay – no one, including me.

I watched you at the street corner as I sat at a traffic light.  You were a new face at this busy intersection.  The sign you were holding read, “Hungry disabled veteran.”  I had three boxes full of leftovers from my birthday dinner.  I did not offer anything.

I passed you in the school parking lot yesterday morning.  Our children played together at a local play area last week, yet you walked right past me as if you did not recognize me.  You did not say, “Hello.”  You did not even acknowledge my presence.  But, I did not speak to you, either.

You were struggling with your baby and all her baby things.  As you were leaving the restaurant, I heard something hit the ground.  I turned to see a baby bottle lying beside my seat.  The gentleman at the next table offered help while I continued my lunch conversation.

I wonder how many times I have passed you by without a glance, without a thought.  How many times have you crossed my path without my recognition?  How many times have I accused you of self-centeredness when I was the one who neglected to reach out to you?  Can I count the times?  Can you?

Have I become so selfish that I no longer recognize your face?  Am I so blind that I no longer see your need and so deaf that I no longer hear your cries?  Yes!  I am engrossed in my own desires, my own life and my own world to such a degree that I see nothing but what is mine.  And still I wonder where you are when I am in need.  Surely, you are thoughtful enough to remember me!

I was not intended to live life this way; I was not meant to close my eyes to the world around me, to live in seclusion and to seek my own satisfaction no matter the cost to others.  I was created to share, to fellowship, to touch, to help, to heal, to love.  Still, when I saw you hungry and thirsty, I did not feed you.  When I saw you homeless and shivering, I did not shelter you.  When I saw you sick and in prison, I did not help you.  Very little effort was required – a smile, a wave, a hug, a word – but I could not be bothered.  I failed you and I failed the One who sent me to you.

I saw you standing along the roadside.  You were having a conversation but this time, you were not alone.  A man was holding your hands in his as he said a prayer for you….

That should have been me.

Advertisement

Reason to SMILE #46: Getting Back Up

I fell.

I knew it would happen as soon as I allowed the kids at church to break one of our rules –

Keep your shoes on your feet!

But it was Glow Night and I discovered that my white socks with tiny orange and green dots glowed under the black lights. How could I not take off my shoes?!? And if I had my shoes off, how could I make the kids keep on theirs? So, we all took off our shoes and marveled at our glowing feet!

Of course, as I was later navigating the room lit only by black lights and the glow from the TV screen, I tripped over a pair of shoes hidden by the darkness. (And that, folks, is why we don’t break the rules!)

Smack. I fell flat on my knees. I was fine – well, except for my pride. I ended up having to ask for help in getting back up, though. It was not a great moment for me but after being picked up and put back on my feet, I returned, with extreme caution, to the fun of Glow Night.

In my life, falling is inevitable no matter if the lights are on or off. Because of my muscle disorder, my balance isn’t the greatest. The slightest bump could make me fall and once I’m headed down, there’s really no stopping the descent. I’ve grown accustomed to banged up knees and a bruised hind end. What I can’t seem to get used to is my wounded pride. Knees heal fairly quickly. Pride takes a little longer. But I’ve learned to get back up and just move on. I fell. It’s happened before and it will surely happen again.

The reality is we all fall. The fall may not be physical but we all get pushed down by life at one time or another. Work, family, health, relationships can all push us to our tipping point and send us crashing down to the floor of life. It is inevitable. What really matters is what we do after the fall. Do we wallow in self-pity wondering why we are the ones who got knocked down? Or do we get back up, brush off our pride, learn from our situation and move on?

Yes, sometimes the fall can cause great damage. Sometimes we feel stuck at the bottom, alone and without hope of ever rising. But I’m here to tell you there’s always hope. It’s our wounded pride that keeps us from seeing that hope AND keeps us from asking for help. Getting back up can be difficult and may require assistance from others. That’s ok. Ask for help. Receive that help graciously. Then when you’re back on your feet, offer that same help to someone else who has fallen – they are all around us.

Falling is inevitable. But we weren’t meant to stay down. Get back up. Find your SMILE again. Then share that smile with others!

“We lose our way,
We get back up again
It’s never too late to get back up again,
One day you’re gonna shine again,
You may be knocked down,
But not out forever.”

Get Back Up, TobyMac

Pride and Breakfast

I sat on the side of my bed seriously contemplating whether I should crawl back under the covers. Then, I remembered –

Oooh, my favorite coffee creamer is waiting for me!

You see, I went to the grocery store last week and my favorite flavor was no where to be found.  With great disappointment, I grabbed a caramel coffee creamer, finished my shopping and went home.

It wasn’t until I was putting away the groceries at home that I discovered my egregious mistake. Instead of caramel, I had picked up Maple.

Maple! In my coffee?!? Ugh! That sounded almost as bad as Pumpkin Spice!

But today, sitting in my fridge was a glorious 32 oz. bottle of Peppermint Mocha coffee creamer. What a wonderful incentive to get out of bed! (I know. My life is sad. 😉 )

Oh, but the good vibrations didn’t stop there. The joy of drinking a warm cup of peppermint mocha flavored coffee after a week of suffering through the second worst coffee creamer in existence inspired me.

I’m going to cook breakfast!

Nope. I didn’t stop to enjoy a full cup of my delicious coffee. I didn’t wait for the morning brain fog to lift. I set out to cook a breakfast casserole. “This’ll be a cinch!” I thought. I’d made it tons of times before (using parts of the Fully Loaded Cheesy Breakfast Casserole recipe over at “The Slow Roasted Italian” and parts of the Baked Western Omelet recipe over at “The Seasoned Mom”) and it’s basically fool-proof.

… … …

… … Hang on…

… … … Give me just a minute…

I’m trying to stop laughing so I can finish this post!

Fool-proof! Hahahahahahaha…

Okay. I’m good now.

While gathering the ingredients for my breakfast casserole, I began to think of my victories in the kitchen this past week.

First, there was my cooking flexibility I discovered while making Sweet Corn Pie.

Then, there was the moment my husband declared that I could possibly have outdone him in the kitchen with my Chicken and Dirty Rice. (I’ll have to share that story with you on another occasion.)

And lastly, there was my brilliant idea to use hamburger buns for garlic toast to accompany our spaghetti one evening and then to use the leftover hamburger buns/garlic toast as buns for our sloppy joes the next evening.  After which, I proudly proclaimed myself “Queen of the Kitchen”.

Then from the deepest depths of my soul (or maybe the bottom of my coffee cup – I’m not really sure) came an idea born of my ever-growing pride.

I think I’ll try something new.

I decided to use crescent rolls as a crust. I had seen a recipe somewhere but didn’t want to spend the time searching for it. Phhhht. I don’t need a recipe!

Apparently, I did.

Maybe it was the brain fog. Maybe it was not enough coffee. Maybe it was karma biting me in the crescent rolls but my breakfast did not turn out anything like I had hoped.

After 30 minutes of the required baking time, I opened the oven to find that the crust was on the verge of burning but the casserole was not completely cooked. And there were these scary looking pustules growing on the top that reminded me of those horrible videos all over the web of –

Wait. This is a food post. You don’t want that image in your head. It’s bad enough that I had it in my head!

Anyway, I had to cook the casserole about 15 minutes longer and by the time I took it out of the oven, well, let’s just say the crust was mighty, mighty dark and mighty, mighty crispy.

Yeah. I was bummed. Almost as bad as when I discovered my coffee creamer mistake!

Perhaps, if I hadn’t been wearing that prideful “Queen of the Kitchen” crown…

Perhaps, if I had taken the time to look up an appropriate recipe…

Perhaps, if I had remembered I’m still a novice in this whole culinary world, the casserole would have turned out a little better.

Perhaps.

But that’s pride for ya. It puffs you up then leaves you hanging in the middle of a dart board while daring someone to hit the bullseye!

Well, the casserole wasn’t too horrible. In fact, after a few bites, my husband said, “You know, I like it crispy like this.”

I smiled sheepishly…

… then slowly straitened my crown! 😉

**Full disclosure. I finally realized that my husband had no idea there was actually a crust on the casserole. He thought I had overcooked it and was trying to make me feel better about my mistake! Nice move, hubby of mine. Nice move. **