Waking up.

When I was 25, my mother died. Two and a half years later, I had a child. And I woke up. If it weren't for these two things, I don't think I'd know how to be a person. I'd still be a child myself. For much of my life, I never knew how to comfort people, or console them. I didn't really know how to give hugs. Empathy and compassion were in there somewhere, but not developed. Really, as a young teacher sending home demanding parent letters, I had no idea what parenting was all about. (These letters crack me up today. They would crack you up, too.) I had never tried to mentally walk in those parents' shoes. But I credit my family, especially my mother, with this: they planted this little seed in me. A clue to what life was really about, what God was really about, and they showed me great love. Thank you, Mom.

I bring this up today because my friend Anne sent me a beautiful piece she wrote about her reality today. And thinking on it, I realized that I surround myself with people who are awake. I love it. I love you people. We're all in different stages, but we're on our way. As I wrote Anne, "myself, it's like six am, I'm awake, but I have so far to go." Really it's more like 5:00 and I can just barely see the clouds turning pink on the horizon. My first chore when morning hits will be to love everyone like I love you.