Superheroes

girl: When I grow up I'm going to marry you.
boy: But I'm a superhero.

I try to remember what perceptions I had of myself when I was little. Not quite superhero, but definitely indestructible. Climbing up the very tree that threw me out of its arms the day before; racing around the bend of the street that tripped my bike just an hour ago; fighting back with my sister. What possesses children to be so brave? Their fleeting memory, perhaps? Or their natural resilience to injury and pain? Whatever it be, it is something to admire.

In this case, I admire the courage it takes the boy to not only see himself as a superhero, but to say it out loud to his peers with assurance and conviction. It is a bold statement indeed to call yourself a hero, deem yourself super, and willingly sacrifice friendship and love. I suppose superheroes bear a burden of responsibility that we cannot fully understand, forcing them to sacrifice the pleasures of love for their calling. And to realize this at such a young age. Boy, you are remarkable, and quickly becoming my favorite superhero.

I cannot forget the girl, though, who deserves applause for her bravery as well. She is honest with her feelings, and courageously declares them to the world. If only I could relate. There have been so many times when I wished for half of this girl's courage, to say exactly what I was feeling. However, to my own shame, if I had to compare the times when I desperately wished for courage to be mean or vengeful as opposed to the times when I wanted to be encouraging or loving... the latter does not even begin to tip the scale. So I admire you too, girl, for being loving, honest, and brave. Go find that boy and tell him that you are a superhero, too, and be happily married.





'boy' had this conversation when he was in preschool, according to mom.
He is currently finishing up 1st grade with flying colors.
He has the heart of his teacher, Ms. Park, in the palm of his hands
and his affections for her are the same.
He always tells her to have a good lunch and he cries when she is absent.

'girl' was 'boy's preschool classmate.
Though Ms. Park does not know her, she has no doubt this girl is still
as brave and honest today as she was in preschool.

This I Believe: Rainbow Sprinkles

I believe in sprinkles, sprinkles, sprinkles on everything! Adding color and crunch to a good-old anything always brightens up my day.

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

" Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

How I wonder what you're at!"

Up above the world you fly,

Like a tea-tray in the sky."

- - -

When you love something, do you see everything only through the lens of that love?

I have a friend who loves wrestling and instead of spandex, steroids and choreography, he sees glory, honor and valor beyond comparison. People who love babies do not see tears and diapers. They see curious eyes, tiny fingernails and tiny, tiny toes. And who could forget the dormouse in Wonderland, who loved tea. Instead of a star, he saw a bat. Instead of a diamond, he saw a tea-tray.

At dinner I shared this children's book website with my cousins. This website is the coolest and most fantastic site in every way, practically perfect like Mary Poppins. My cousins, who have no emotional connection to children's books (excuse: they did not grow up here) said So what's the age limit for this website? ... I don't understand the question. What's the maximum age of the viewers of this website?

...... Wait, who doesn't appreciate children's books?? I am completely baffled at this thought and for the rest of the night dwelled on the absurdity of a maximum age limit for children's books.

Tea-trays in the sky. We see what we want to see. And when challenged to look away, we are baffled.

(The teacher is, anyway.)

practically perfect: www.onepotato.net

Coffee to start the day

I need to remember this day I had. This morning I had, rather. I wake up feeling the refreshment of slumber, chipper from eight hours of rest, and am practically whistling zip-a-dee-doo-da as I head out the door. I almost burst into song at au bon pain when I am interrupted by the cashier. I reach out to pay and my arm knocks over a lady's cup of coffee. Coffee is now all over my pants, my boots, and in my socks.

I am incredibly annoyed, almost upset. My boots... and my socks... and lady, why would you leave your cup of coffee uncovered in a place that is so cramped and crowded?

Then I think, Oh well at least coffee is brown and my boots are brown. And my socks are black. Phew.

I get a look at the lady who used to have a cup of coffee. She doesn't look pissed off but... she looks like 8pm after a really long day. But it is 8am and I suddenly feel horrible. I mutter 'sorry' through my scarf and she softly says 'It's ok.' She does not make eye contact with me. As the cashier gives me my change, I turn to offer the lady another cup of coffee but she is gone.

It is a horrible, heavy feeling, to think you've just ruined someone's day. Especially when it was ultimately for no other reason than the fact that you are selfish. I could've said sorry right away, and offered her another cup of coffee right away, and potentially cheered her up from a huge act of clumsiness through a small act of kindness.. right away. But instead, I grumbled.

Looking back it is so plain that this morning was a wasted chance to be a faithful witness to Him. I was so challenged to consider just how many chances He gives me each day to be the salt and light of the earth... and how much patience it takes for Him to wait on me day in and day out. Because as opposed to being salty and full of light, I prove to be... peppery. And dark.

In school, when I have to remind my student for the third or fourth time "We do not run in the classroom"... it is really never in a patient tone of voice.

On that note, God has never sent me to my cubby.

And I do not deserve His grace.

Spike!

There is a boy named Spike in my class. He looks exactly like Dash, from The Incredibles. Blond hair, tiny nose & lips, and a square face. Spike has a crush on Olivia and wants to be close to her all the time. While they already sit at the same table he also makes every effort to sit next to her on the rug during teach times. His persistence is noteworthy, as he is but six years old. The other day, Spike tried to impress Olivia by recounting the things he did over the weekend. Specifically, he told tales of his bravery and courage, how he bravely pressed a butter knife against his tongue shedding neither blood nor tears. The pride on his face quickly disappeared when he saw that she was unimpressed. Fortunately, Spike has an adorable 'sad face'. Press on, Spike.
Unlike Dash, Spike is from England and his British accent, coupled with his slight lisp, makes him the most darling boy in his class. Just delicious. I desperately want to be his friend but it is clear that Spike is too cool for the likes of me. And my 'sad face', unfortunately for myself and everyone else, is nothing like adorable.

Spike: Fish 'n chips. That's a British word.

me: What about the loo? Like, 'I'm going to the loo' ?
You are so awesome. Let's be best friends.

Spike: No. I don't recognize that word.
Get away, I have a lot of friends already.

me: ... Whatever, your name is weird.

Kids are too immature to be friends with anyway.

To the bookstore

I just received a Barnes & Noble book catalog in the mail today. I was so excited because I love looking through catalogs. It excites the imagination. But as I flipped through it I started to not like it anymore and I will tell you why.

If there is any one part of Barnes & Noble that I would have to point out as 'What I Love The Most', it is walking in and seeing all the books displayed so attractively on their tables. Organization and strategery at its prettiest. And as much as I have been taught not to judge a book by its cover, I totally do. I love looking at book covers and judging from the increasingly alluring photography and graphic designs lately, it seems book covers have gained their status alongside storyline and prose.

It suddenly felt like such a waste to be looking through this catalog in my hands. This catalog did not do these books any justice. This catalog did not smell like books and did not overwhelm me with possibility when I opened it. When I walk into B&N I get overwhelmed at how much I could know and how much I will never know. Kind of like God. This catalog stifled every large, grand and beautiful thing about any Barnes & Noble bookstore I love so much.

That is when I realized this catalog kind of represents me. Trying to capture all these things in just a few pages and hoping to win someone over, as when I try to 'promote' faith, missions, or God to someone, is wrong and insufficient. There are some cases where pictures and words may suffice. But a lot of the large, grand, beautiful stuff of believing, is just something that person has to experience themselves. A person who has only looked at a catalog of books their whole lives will never know what they are missing unless they get up and go to the bookstore. And while part of me thinks the right amount of encouragement and nudging to get up and go will do it for a person... another part of me thinks it is more important for a person to realize it on their own. It needs to be their decision. Again, kind of like God. He encourages, nudges, even pushes a little, but ultimately He leaves it up to us to get up and go. Or not.

Catalog, bookstore. Catalog, bookstore. I suppose it is not necessary have to choose one or the other. I can always look at my catalog and then go to the bookstore. But if I were to choose, I hope that I never choose the catalog over the bookstore. That I am never too lazy to go to the bookstore, because the bookstore is a greater experience. Greater atmosphere. Greater detail. Greater gain.