My parents called to wish me a happy birthday. It’s no fun living as far away as I do from the family that I love. Hurray for all the modern available communications modes like wireless calling (we used to have to pay extra for “long distance”), and video chatting (something from the old cartoon “the Jetsons”), all part of this ubiquitous thing called The Internet. Mom and Dad bought my book, and then they actually read it. I flat out don’t deserve parents this good.
Then I found out they are reading my blog. All of it. Each and every page.
Before anyone snickers, I hasten to add that I’m really okay with that. In fact, I’m more than okay—I’m thrilled! If there are two people who have earned the right to correct me, disagree with me, and speak into my life, it’s Mom and Dad. (I repeat, I don’t deserve parents this good….) Here’s the thing: I’ve been reading their lives for many years. I know the pain, well…some of it anyway. I’ve seen the triumphs. I’ve heard the regrets (not all well-founded, in my not-so-humble opinion, but certainly sincere). And overarching it all, I see the love; I am a product of the love, the love that
“believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” like Paul talks about in his letter to the Corinthian church back in the day.
And I am then very pointedly reminded that others read my life also. Others that I’m not even aware of. In fact, everyone has a hidden congregation of sorts, ones we’re not cognizant of who are reading the blogging in our lives and deciding whether to click the star, tap on the retweet button, or most importantly, hit the follow widget.
And God reads our lives. Dad likes to tell the story of a few years back when he and his brother, Gene, each independently found a $20 bill laying loose in a grocery store. Separate incidents, separate cities, same reaction: both Dad and Uncle Gene walked up to the counter and turned it in. When they heard about each other’s encounters with a little extra cash, Dad said it was like my grandmother was watching from heaven to see whether her two boys were going to remember what they had been taught so many years ago. I can only imagine her smile, and God’s.
Today is a new day, or as they say, a blank page. Okay, so maybe mine has a few smudges and ink spots from past mistakes, but it’s still a new page. What I choose to write on it is ultimately up to me.
And may I choose my words carefully—Mom and Dad are reading!!