Tuesday, December 29, 2015


She pretends it's not important to her.

At age 10 it's all about being nonchalant, but the first place she looks  when she enters my office is my bulletin board.

Since she was 3 she's spent a week with us each summer. She left  this note when she was 5. Her dad came to pick her up early on a Friday morning, I'd already headed out for the day and didn't notice it until I returned late that afternoon.

It sat in the middle of my desk, where I'd be sure to notice it.

"I will miss you." 

Scrawled with a red crayon on a post it note, the edges were wrinkled where she'd tried to hold the paper down. 

It's been on my bulletin board ever since. 

When I start feeling smug and full of myself I swivel in my chair and look at it for a few seconds.

"Where is the wise man? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?" 1 Corinthians 1:20

There is a genuine sense of vulnerability in that simple, heartfelt  scrawl.

It says don't be afraid to admit that you need  other people in you life. 

It says that it's okay to admit you don't know everything and that collaboration beats the snot out of competition. 

It says there will be those days of weakness, doubt, and indecision.

It says it's okay to show your warts and your own weaknesses. 

It says you are loved and treasured and valued.

What my grand daughter taught me was: When you want to bite your tongue because you're afraid of what the person staring back at you might think, go ahead and tell them you'll miss them.

The worst they can do is run away.

Namaste dear ones