Monthly Archives: March 2017

Z, my nine-year old nephew, set a goal for his Spring Break.  He decided, finally, to learn to tie his shoes.  Now, this may seem a bit late-in-life to some of you, but Z didn’t fall off the learning curve.  Nope, instead, he out-witted the curve by avoiding tie-shoes completely…until now.  Z’s cultivated his foot wardrobe carefully, choosing only the coolest Van’s, Crocs, and Velcro sneakers, but now, on the cusp of adolescence, my boy has declared himself ready to face-down his Hotspur Percy.  Z’s hand-picked knight to his squire?   My mother.

The tutorial and battle both began on the same day; no coward, our Z.  As he has no tie-shoes of his own, my mother donated one of hers as the sacrificial slaughter.  I envision Z huddled over one of my mom’s grey walking shoes, his little blonde head bent in fevered concentration.  But, as I know Z, I also knew how this first tutorial/battle would end – not well.  My little guy, he of the golden eyes, maintains a supremely low frustration threshold.  (Huh.  Now, I wonder from which side of the family he inherited that????)  At least the child didn’t throw the shoe.

Last night, I talked to my boy. “So, how’d it go, Z?” I asked.

He was quiet for a moment; then, he said simply, “I can only tie knots.  I only know how to tie knots.”

“Z,” I said.  “You can only tie knots now.  You only know how to tie knots now.”

I waited.  I think he was pondering what I’s said, but with Z you can never be sure.  “Do you know what I’m saying?”

I could almost hear him nod.  “I can learn to tie bows.”

“Exactly.”

He was quiet another moment.  Then, with hesitant excitement, “I tied three perfect bows today.”

“You’re learning to do it.  I’m so proud of you!” I said.

“Thank you.”  From the other end of the phone, I felt his glow.

My mother taught me to tie my shoes when I was four.  I was learning to swim at pre-school (I hated those lessons!  I lived in terror that I was going to drown or get eaten by a shark in the end of the chlorine pool in the middle of Allen, Texas.), and after each lesson, when I didn’t drown or get eaten be a shark, I’d sit on my mom’s lap, and she’d plait my blonde hair into two little braids then set me on the floor.  She’d help me slip on my shoes, and together we’d work on teaching me to tie my shoes.

I remember being all fat, fumble-y fingers and frustration.  I remember sticking my tongue out the corner of my mouth and scrunching my nose in concentration.  No bunny-ear-loop-the-loop for me.  No!  I insisted on the big-girl method; so, that’s how we rolled – the hard way.  It may have taken me longer to learn than if I’d allowed myself to be taught with the bunny-ear method, but I did learn.  (I’m pretty proud that I could tie my shoes before I left for college.  Thank you.)

Z’s similar.  He’ll learn in his own way, in his own time, and I’m positive this shoe-tying business won’t be the last time he sings this song and dances this dance.   I assert this with confidence as I’m still carrying that tune and swaying to the music.

I’d like to tell you that as I grow older I’m easier to teach, and maybe it’s true.  But He may think otherwise.  I also know that, either way, He’s okay with who I am because, after all, He made me –  the heart and soul of me, the parts that are easygoing, the parts that are…well, not so much.  He also made my little blonde, stubborn boy, and He made you.  He will take His time to teach us each in the best way He knows for the best way we learn.  And He loves every part of every one of us.  So, sing, dance.  He’s watching in delight.

I sat at a round table set with elegantly tarnished silver and thin bone china.  The room, paneled in rich mahogany, was warmed by the winter sun as it streamed through the wavy glass windows.  All around me, women spoke in hushed voices and laughed soft, musical laughs.  And I smiled.  I felt at home in this rich room with these women, many of whom had travelled a path similar to mine at least in some way.  We shared the uniform, the sharp salute, the desire to serve and defend, and we had come together to celebrate that tie.

Beside me, giant head on my feet, snored Jug, the tangible souvenir of my last military days; across from me sat the woman who had made Jug a possibility.  I watched as she lifted her stemmed glass and took a sip of white wine.  Then, setting the glass gently on the white cloth, she began to speak of her time at UC Berkley and how Jug’s organization took seed.

“I had a friend –  a roommate – who was a quadriplegic, and through her I met other people in wheelchairs.  Some of them had service dogs.  These dogs could do ‘party tricks’ like open refrigerators to get beers for the guys and sodas for the girls.  These dogs could get wallets out of purses and open doors before there were even handicap-access door buttons.  I pledged then that part of my first paycheck would go toward (helping organizations that raised service dogs.)”  She did exactly as she pledged, and, then, years later, deciding that she could and would do a better job than any service dog organization of which she knew, she founded Veterans Moving Forward.

As I sat listening to her story, the thought took hold and grew that there is always a plan; He always has a plan.  The very worst things that happen to us and around us – those things can and will be used for Beauty and Glory.  He knew that I would need Jug, that there would be someone who needed Buckles and Eagle and Finn and King and Prince (all VMF serviced dogs).  He knew that there would be a way to make something that was a tragedy in someone else’s life a Beauty for those of us who needed the dogs.  I ache to the core for the families that suffered to show that VMF needed to come into being, but the thought that tulips bloom from, uhm, “dirt” comforts me.

I think now of all the mess in my own life, all the things I have prayed against, railed against, agonized over.  I know it can be used, if not for me then for someone else, and that thought makes my heart glad – more than glad, shine.  I shine for Him.