I have so much to learn...
We all sit quietly side-by-side, hours of waiting, to process the renewal of passports. In a room heaving with people, other applicants, I am annoyed and impatient. She leans in, my sweet girl, and tells me that a woman behind me is about to break down in tears. My sweet girl wants me to know so I, too, will pray for this woman---because she is praying. She has been praying for those throughout the room whiles she waits. And, she teaches me.
They sit and share the ins-and-outs of a difficult conversation last night. Their future and livelihood are in jeopardy---ambiguity reigns in this circumstance. But, they shares their deep and confident trust in God's provision. They talk of the passion that wells up within them: it is God's job to fix this---to lead and to provide... not mine, not theirs. And, they teache me.
She doesn't comb her hair before she answers the door---a "bed head" mess from a quick afternoon nap. And no makeup has touched those lips today. And, yet she confidently, joyfully, and with out hesitation welcomes me in. It is as if she is completely unaware of her outward appearance. She rests in who she is and simple beauty exudes from her. And, she teaches me.
We sit quietly next to each other, reading. But, he just must share about what he is thinking as he reads. He can't help but lean over and show me, engage me in the "discussion" that is going on in his head as he wrestles with the writer and her thoughts about God. He questions and pokes. He doesn't just read and take it in as I might do... he "talks" with the author and His God. He prods and he argues. It doesn't sit right. "Something isn't right about what she is saying here," he says. And, he teaches me.
She stops, while on her way, to answer my question. A stupid question, really. But, she stops in her tracks and gives me her time. Her space. Her heart. She communicates with words and her eyes that I am her priority right now---as if she has all the time in the world. I know she doesn't. But, she gives of herself so freely, so naturally, so graciously. And, she teaches me.
She writes with such vulnerability it almost hurts to read. She allows me in as she shares her heart and pours out pain onto a computer screen. She is weak. She is faulty and fragile. She is in need of God and doesn't care who knows. And as I read her writing, she teaches me.
I have so much to learn today.
And, I have a world of people to learn it from.
My brothers and sisters are always teaching me, if I am ready, willing and able to see and hear. They teach me. And, today, I am aware I have much to learn. So, I listen to his silly song and watch the gleem in his eye, the joy in his heart. And, I learn a little today from this sweet boy.
I listen to her compassionate heart and ask the Lord to open mine. And, I learn a bit more today.
They teach me.