We forget our spouse was ever a blonde-haired, blue-eyed adorable little boy, some mother’s son.
We can’t even think that the arrogant barista who makes our coffee might have a story of heartache and grief to tell.
We get so angry at our kids that we don’t remember the days of quiet, nursing babies and rocking chairs.
We forget and we are blind.
Naomi, my five-year-old, floated on a cloud, it seemed, around the gathering room in the retirement community. Her class had taken a Christmas field trip to sing to the seniors. After Deck the Halls and Jingle Bells, Naomi delivered Christmas cards, candy canes and hugs to white haired women she’d just met. When most of her classmates were too scared to venture into the audience, Naomi led with confidence, grace and smiles that would melt anyone’s heart.
Beauty and love bubbles up in her, yet some of her instructors see only her misbehavior.
She holds friends’ hands when they are crying, the only compassionate heart in a sea of Kindergartners. Yet there are some who only tolerate her.
She is creative and beautiful and smart, but sometimes it is hard to see.
She throws occasional tantrums. She is naughty. She doesn’t obey, talks out of turn and she interrupts.
But then again, so do I.
And so do her teachers and babysitters.
So does her father and her sister. And so do most of us.
As we all walk the road to maturity together, let us each remember and see one another’s tenderness {even if it is below the surface}, each other’s story {even if it is yet untold} and each other’s intentions {even if it is muffled by pain}.
Let us each reframe each other with the eyes of love and notice beauty.
And let us each move beyond tolerance and begin to love again.
Do you have trouble seeing the beauty in others? Do others have trouble seeing the beauty in your own children? What helps you remember the humanity of others?













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