I was watching a baseball game with Bob. I commented on how much one of the players reminded me of my brother, Craig.

“I’m not seeing it. At all,” Bob responded.

“Because it wasn’t the face you knew. It’s his nine year old face. Before it morphed into his adult face. Still soft around the edges.”

Nine year old Craig still sucked his thumb. My mom was desperate for him to stop. I think Craig was just as eager to abandon the habit. She tried all kinds of tactics. Nothing worked.

One night she wrapped an ace bandage around his hand, making it impossible for him to get his thumb in his mouth.

When he took it off the next morning, his hand was freakishly large. Apparently, the bandage had cut off his circulation. He came into my room to show me his big hand, his curly hair all wild from sleep. 

He had his hand behind his back and when he got close, he brought it out with a flourish, “Ta-dah!”

It was hysterical! His hand was five times its normal size! We laughed and laughed. 

“Wait til Mom sees it! She's going to crack up. Put it behind your back, just like you did for me.”

We knocked on her bedroom door, barely able to suppress our laughter.

Mom opened the door and smiled, knowing we were up to something.

Craig whipped his giant hand out from behind his back, “Ta-Dah!”

My mom looked at it and started screaming. What in the world? Why can’t she see the hilarity of it all?

She was on the phone with a doctor within minutes, and per his instructions, she filled one pan with cold water and another with hot water. She alternated putting his giant hand first in the cold, then in the hot. She was choking back sobs, berating herself, saying she didn’t care if he sucked his thumb the rest of his life, she was done with the interventions.

I don’t know how many dunks it took, but his hand did shrink down to its normal size. Phew!

Disaster averted, my mom sighed her oft repeated phrase, “Live and learn.”

I’d heard those words a thousand times. I’d started to resent them. Why couldn’t we learn what we needed to know without living through one disaster after another? 

Now, I’ve adopted the same mantra. What’s the alternative? Bemoan every misstep until I feel properly chastised?  It’s actually a healthy habit. Own it, learn from it, and do the next right thing. Obviously, we can’t be too glib about it, or trivialize it. But we don’t learn by skipping blissfully through life. We learn through the stumbles and the sorrow.  Jesus began a good work in me the hour I first believed, and the work will not be complete until the day He takes me home. But until then, I'll continue to live and learn. My mom used to say, "Some people need to learn it the hard way." I'm one of those "some people,"who often need to learn it the "hard way." But I do learn it. Living and learning. And so it goes.

I walked a mile with Pleasure, 

She chattered all the way,

But left me none the wiser,

For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,

And ne’er a word said she,

But oh, the things I learned from her

When Sorrow walks with me!

                       —“Along the Road”

                            by Robert Browning Hamilton

 I don’t know how old I was when I became self-conscious. I know it wasn’t a good thing; I was too young to care so much about what other people thought of me. I used to love being silly and making people laugh. But somewhere along the way, I realized some were laughing at me, not with me. The slightest criticisms began to crush my spirit. Soon enough I was too timid to make a peep. Too worried I might sound stupid or look stupid. What a curse. I’m insanely jealous of those who don’t give a flip what other people think of them. My dad was one of those lucky people. He often told me, “You would care a lot less about what people think about you if you only knew how little they think of you at all.” Wise words.

Thankfully, my granddaughters (5 and 3) are still blissfully oblivious to a watching world.

The first thing Maisie and Annabelle want me to do is dance with them to “Dancing Queen.” They tear upstairs to grab some “grip free” socks so they can spin freely on the wood floor. 

We play the song loudly, I grab their little hands, spin them one direction and then the other, slide them through my legs, they squeal with laughter and I laugh right along with them. If anyone happens upon us (even Bob), I stiffen up. Please don’t watch us. I know I look stupid.

When it’s time to get ready to go out to lunch, I help three-year old Annabelle get dressed. She has many princess dresses….what I would call “dress up” clothes or halloween costumes. For Annabelle, they’re just one of her many everyday outfits. I try and dissuade her. “Why don’t we save your princess dress for later?”

“But Nana, I'm a princess!” Of course you are! And princesses wear princess dresses! Silly Nana.

She admires herself in the mirror, “I look beautiful.” Please, Lord, please don’t ever let her stop believing she’s a beautiful princess. 

I ask Caitlin if she’s okay with Annabelle’s outfit. Sure! Why not?

Why not, indeed? I think back on all the clothing battles I fought with Caitlin when she was three. Were they ever worth it? I remember running late for work and instead of the outfit I’d laid out for her, she came downstairs wearing a one-pice bathing suit paired with a plaid flannel skirt, and dress up sandals. I can still picture every detail, Caitlin so pleased with herself for assembling such a cute outfit. Okay, I guess some battles did have to be fought.

Annabelle flounces through the restaurant in her princess dress, smiling big at all the compliments she receives from every table she passes. 

On the drive home, Maisie asks if we can play, “Dancing Queen.” Of course we can. She sings along. I wasn’t aware she knew the lyrics. I know only a few. She belts out the line, “See that girl? Watch that scene! Dig it, the dancing queen.” 

Those sweet, innocent memories will be etched in my mind forever.

Please, Lord. Please let that lack of self-awareness stay with them as long as possible. Let them sing and dance unaffected by a watching world that can be cruel. Don’t let what other people think of them ever stifle their infectious joy or squash their creativity. Let them live only ever caring what You think…knowing they are Yours and You love them with an everlasting love.