I slid into the dentist’s chair and looked down at my feet. This was too obvious. I crossed my ankles, trying to cover one foot over the other. Then the hygienist pushed a button. Ever-so-slowly my chair tilted back. As my head reclined lower, my feet elevated higher. 

I noticed the lamp hanging over my head. I imagined the hygienist grabbing that spotlight, turning it toward my feet, and shining it down for all to see my glaring mistake. Enough was enough. Maybe she wouldn’t have noticed, but I wanted out of my mismatched misery. I may as well face it. I messed up. Everybody does, right?  

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m wearing two different shoes.” I tried to suppress the heat rising up my cheeks. 

The hygienist smiled. “I’ve done that before!” 

I felt relieved to share a good laugh over such a silly thing. As she went to work on my teeth, I thought about my day. It sure took a lot of work, trying to hide my feet all day. It reminds me of walking through life, trying to hide our sins from God. 

At first, sin seems easy to hide. We go about our days, hoping no one will see our little secret. We might even think we got away with it because we didn’t have immediate consequences. Like at the bank. No one noticed, so it wasn’t a problem.  

But God is everywhere and He sees it all. We can’t hide anything from God. Walking through the mall, I was almost obsessed. I knew I had made a mistake and was certain everyone else knew it too. And, like the dentist’s chair that elevated my feet, God can elevate our sin if we refuse to deal with it. It becomes so obvious, everyone will see it. Sooner or later, sin creates mayhem in our lives.    

Now here’s the good news. God gives us the opportunity to confess our sins. 1 John 1:9 says, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us of our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” 

I took this incident as a gentle reminder to inspect my heart for anything I might need to confess. 

And after that morning of mismatched mayhem, my heart isn't the only thing I’ll check. Next time I’ll conduct a careful inspection of my entire wardrobe before heading out the door.. 

In four short months my youngest will be heading into unknown territory. Her sisters have been there. It’s a mysterious place with lots of drama and awkward voice cracking around every corner. Some say it’s an orthodontist’s paradise. Yep. I’m talking junior high, folks. 

Madison hadn’t given junior high much thought. She wasn’t curious or concerned. That is, until the school counselor stopped by last week to chat with the fifth graders and put their minds at ease. Well, Maddie's mind was not at ease.

“Oh my gosh, I’m gonna get lost!”

I lowered the volume on the radio, listening to the conversation in the backseat of the van.  

“No you’re not.” Taylor snatched a paper off Madison’s lap. She grabbed a marker, popped off the cap and started scribbling. “Look, all of your classes are right down this hallway. Your locker will be here, and the gym is right there.”

Madison wasn’t satisfied. “Well, how much time do I get between classes? Would I have time to go to the bathroom?”

“Depends on what you gotta do,” Taylor said.

“Are the teachers nice? What about PE? Where do I keep my PE clothes? Where do I change my PE clothes?”

Over the next few minutes, Taylor shared valuable wisdom about all things related to junior high. Finally, she turned to her sister and offered the most heart-warming words of encouragement.

“Stop worrying already. You’re gonna be fine.”

I fought back a smile. Apparently those tender words were exactly what Madison needed. She shoved the map in her bag and changed the subject.

This kind of stuff warms a momma’s heart. You know, big sister helping little sister. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Taylor had walked this path a couple years ago. Today she’s just a little further down the road.

It reminds me of a time when I was heading into unknown territory: writing for publication. I’d had one story published in a “Chicken Soup for the Soul” book. Our local paper interviewed me and another writer from our area.              

Curious about the other writer’s story, I glanced through her article. Oh my. This lady had eleven stories featured in Chicken Soup books.

I googled her name, Shawnelle Eliasen, and stumbled across her website. I was impressed (and a wee bit jealous) as I scrolled down a long list of published stories. Many of them in publications I had dreamed of writing for. Like Guideposts Magazine. I had submitted a story to Guideposts several months earlier for their writer’s contest. While browsing her website, I discovered that Shawnelle had won a previous contest!

For five months I stalked her – I mean, read her blog. Then one morning something amazing happened. Guideposts called. I had won the contest! I was beyond excited. In a couple of months, I would fly to Port Orchard, Washington for their week-long writers’ workshop. I’d get to meet (and learn from) several of their editors.  

I was nervous and excited - and desperate to know what to expect. So desperate, in fact, that I did something completely out of character. I contacted Shawnelle and asked if she would be willing to talk with me about her writing journey.

To my delight, she graciously accepted. She welcomed me into her home with a warm smile and a cup of hot tea. That evening we talked, laughed and shared our stories. And I knew Shawnelle understood how I felt. She had walked this path several years before. She was just a little further down the road. 

At the end of the night, she gave me a hug and some wonderful words of encouragement. “You were chosen from thousands. It’s going to be great. You’re just going to love it.”  

Or as my daughter might say, “Stop worrying already. You’re gonna be fine.”

Either way, it was exactly what I needed. 

You can check out Shawnelle's website at www.shawnellewrites.blogspot.com. Or read the story that won me a spot at the Guideposts writers' contest:http://www.guideposts.org/inspiration/inspirational-stories/a-life-lesson-from-jimmy

Thanks for stopping by! Have a great week.

Madison grabbed a bright red folder from her backpack, pulled out some papers and positioned them across the kitchen table.

“Here’s where I printed all my letters, and I got a sticker and a smiley face.”

 “Good job, Maddie.”

“And this one …” Madison paused as she pointed to a coloring page. “Well, I would’ve colored the sky blue, but Logan* took my crayon.” Her face formed a frown. “I don’t like Logan.”

“Oh?” I nudged for details. “Because he took your crayon?”

“No, because he’s not very nice. He calls Jade ‘coo-coo,’” she said, twirling her index finger around her ear.

Jade was a little girl with Down Syndrome in Maddie's class. I remembered seeing her at back-to-school night a couple weeks ago. 

“You’re right.” I said. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

Weeks passed and we settled into an after-school routine. Each day Madison proudly displayed her school papers and shared stories about new friends. Many times, she talked about Jade. That little girl seemed to have quite an effect on Madison. This became even more apparent one afternoon when I picked Maddie up from school.  

I hustled into the classroom. Madison’s teacher looked up from her desk and smiled. “Madison, your mom is here.” Maddie gave me a quick hug and dashed to the hallway for her backpack. I chatted with Mrs. Marple.

“Madison just loves kindergarten,” I said, gathering her papers from the table. I noticed Jade’s name tag next to Madison’s. “She’s mentioned Jade a few times,” I said.

Mrs. Marple gave me a knowing grin. “Madison is so good with Jade," she said. "In fact, if you have a minute, I’d like to share something with you.”

I nodded and she leaned in closer.

“I had a paper without a name on it,” she began. “So I held it up in front of the class and asked who it belonged to. One of the boys said, ‘It must be Jade’s because it’s messy!’”

Mrs. Marple sighed. She glanced at the door, watching for Madison to return.  

“I was about to explain how his comment was unkind, when Madison stood up. She put both hands on her hips, stared up at that boy, and said, ‘She’s doing the best that she can.’”

I felt my mouth drop. I’d seen Madison speak up to her older sisters at home, but at school she was always quiet.

Mrs. Marple giggled. “Then another boy chimed in and said, ‘Yeah, she’s doing her best!’”

That’s my girl, I thought. Another great lesson learned in kindergarten.   

One spring afternoon Madison got off the bus and raced into the house.  

“Momma! Guess what?” She struggled to catch her breath. “I taught Jade how to skip!” Maddie flung her backpack toward the table. “See, I told her, ‘bring your leg up and hop, then bring your other leg up and hop.’”

Madison’s long ponytail bounced as she leaped up and down in slow motion. “I showed her, and she started skipping!”

Madison picked up speed skipping through the living room, circling the coffee table, and leaping through the air like a lively ballerina. Her joy was contagious. As I watched her delight in Jade’s achievement, I smiled along with her.

“That’s great, Maddie!”   

“Yep.” She plopped onto the couch. “Now I’m going to teach her how to tie her shoes.” I sat down next to her and twirled her thick ponytail around my finger.

“You know what?” I asked.

Madison snuggled closer, the faint smell of gas fumes and dusty roads still clinging to her clothes from the bus ride home. “What Momma?”

“I’m proud of you. And I think it’s so nice that you are Jade’s friend.”

Madison stared at me with a puzzled expression in her green eyes. She obviously wasn’t getting my point. I tried again.

“I mean, what did you think of Jade when you first saw her? You know, at the beginning of the year.” 

Madison shrugged. “Well, on the first day I thought she looked different. But then I got used to her, and now she’s my friend.”

I patted her little knee. "Maddie, If more grown-ups had that attitude, this world would be a better place."   

On the last day of school Madison lugged her backpack home one last time. She turned it upside down, gave it a couple firm shakes, and watched its contents scatter across the kitchen table.

I sorted through the remaining school supplies. Worn-out folders with tattered corners, half a bottle of Elmer’s glue, broken crayons, and one crisp white envelope with Madison’s name printed neatly on the front. It was from Jade’s mom.

Below Madison’s name was a note: These are a few pictures I took of Madison and Jade on our field trip. Madison has been so sweet to Jade.

I carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a picture of the two girls standing arm-in-arm on a playground, each flashing beautiful smiles.

Time passes so quickly. I can hardly believe our girls are now big fifth-graders. Their friendship has helped me think more broadly about my own relationships. How many times have I missed an opportunity to make a friend because I hastily judged from a first impression? Like Madison, I need to take time to find common ground – even with people I assume I have nothing in common with.  

When I reflect back on what Madison learned in kindergarten, my heart swells with pride. Her report card revealed academic accomplishments, but Jade taught Madison lessons for a lifetime. Jade helped Madison learn important lessons about character, acceptance and individuality.

Perhaps even better, Jade helped Madison fulfill a special need all of us have – the need for a good friend. 

The other day I came across a picture I hadn't seen in years. Oh. My. Gosh. Our family had such a good laugh over that one. Never mind that Maddie’s little fingers are digging into Curt’s leg. Forget about Curt’s goofy expression. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't look beyond Emily – and the look of sheer terror on that poor girl’s face.

Once I stopped laughing, my mommy brain started over-analyzing the situation. What if we’d made a big mistake? I imagined Emily as a grown woman, lying on a couch and reliving the whole frightening ordeal ...

“You see, doctor, when I was a little girl I went on this log ride at the Mall of America. My parents said it would be fun – and I trusted them. But it wasn’t fun. It was absolutely terrifying. From that day on, I never trusted anyone, and every night I have nightmares that I’m plummeting head-first over Niagara Falls.”

Okay, maybe I was over-reacting.

But I was concerned that we had officially ruined our chances of getting that girl on a roller coaster again.

Is it just me, or do most moms feel like this? You know, like one wrong decision will scar our kids for life. At one time or another, haven’t we all secretly wondered if we’re messing up our kids? 

After all, our little angels come into this world with a clean slate. Our job is to mold them into confident, well-adjusted adults. And we feel so ill-equipped for the job.

But here’s the thing. God knew exactly what kind of mom Emily – and Taylor – and Madison would need. I'm amazed (and grateful) that He picked me!

Do you ever feel unqualified for your job as a mom? Well, guess what? God knew you’d be the perfect mom for your kids, too!

He can take our mistakes and work them for His good and glory. (Romans 8:28) Kids will learn from us – and sometimes in spite of us.

And now the good news: We didn’t scar Emily for life - at least with roller coasters. Several years later she talked me into going on the Rock ‘N’ Roller Coaster at Disney World. In case you’re not familiar, this ride goes from 0 to 60 miles an hour in 2.8 seconds. It’s indoors and mostly dark, so every twist and turn catches you completely off guard.

I’m really glad we didn't buy those pictures. 

When I look at that picture of my frightened little girl, I am reminded of three important points. God is good. Kids are resilient. And even though parenting is serious business, sometimes you just need to lighten up and laugh. 

Interested in my blog or my writing journey? I invite you to like my writer page on Facebook! 
https://www.facebook.com/SheriZeckWrites