I know I offended her.
But I didn’t mean to.
I thought wrinkles were beautiful.
They meant she’d lived long enough to earn them.
So I asked, innocently enough:
“How’d you get them?”
I wanted wrinkles like those.
Evidence of a life well-lived.
I’m happy to report.
I’m earning them.
And they’re beautiful.
I am not a winning Coach.
The loss this weekend shattered me when, with good intention, my husband commented of the other team, “They were coached well.”
They were. It was the God’s-to-honest truth.
Their coach was intentional, level-minded and strategic.
His girls performed to his expectations without much fanfare.
Meanwhile, I’m looking my worst player in her eyes and telling her I see her.
I see her insecurities, worry and anxiety.
I know she doesn’t feel good enough and at the end of the day, I want her to feel, she’s more than good-enough. She’s her best.
It’s me.
I see me.
I was never good enough and all I ever wanted was for someone to tell me I was.
I am not a winning coach.
But to someone, I matter.
They matter.
“You’re not LISTENING to me!” she exclaimed.
The light switch went off.
I remember feeling that way, too, when I was her age.
Misunderstood.
Her father and I reviewed our game plan and saw no error.
And yet, that’s the funny thing about plans.
They’re just that.
Plans.
We had good intentions.
But so is the path to hell.
I showed my hands.
“Ok.” I said.
“Really?” she replied, in disbelief.
“Yea. We’re just here to support you.”
And maybe that’s all we ever need to hear.
Happy New Year, my darling.
You know I’ve always been your number one fan.
It’s never changed.
It never will.
I picked well.
I also forced you to read a Dr. Phil book and face your past before committing to a future with me.
We are 10 years apart in age but I’d been through enough to know you had to know yourself before loving someone else.
And here we are, 16+ years and four kids later.
Still learning, still growing but forever and always, loving.
We are exhausted and committed to one another and to our family.
And honestly,
I burst into tears during our vows because I knew
I had found home.
There’s nothing better than that.
You, my home.
What do you say to the woman strong enough to stand alone?
Honestly, it doesn’t matter because
She still stands.
New Leaf Parenting 