It had been a long day, and she could sense my exhaustion just by looking at me. It was evident, I am sure. Working long hours and trying to navigate the world’s new unknown had already started taking a toll on me, and we were on day one of the “social distancing” requirement that our community was experiencing. I was tired; there was no denying it.
I plopped on the couch, which has become my safe haven. There is something peaceful about being on the soft sofa cushions and resting my worries on the feather pillows. Usually when I get a moment to do so, I’m watching something mindless on the television that can transport myself outside of our current stressors and into the lives of others that make-believe.
This night was not unlike any other. I found my spot, I rested my head, and I prepared myself for the impending slumber I was about to drift in to. That is, until she found me like she always does. My little Lyndi — who isn’t so little anymore — ran up to me and wiggled in my lap. She found me at the precise time that I needed her more than I knew, and she needed me in ways I would soon come to learn.
The two of us hugged for what felt like eternity, even though it was probably just short of a minute, but when I let up on my grip, hers tightened and she spoke such subtle but perfect words following: “Momma, I never want this moment to end. I want to hug you forever.” “Me too” was all that my full heart could express. “Me too.”
Somehow, my little Lyndi always knows my hearts desires before I do. She can peer into my soul and deliver me a sweet message or a kind card when I am on the verge of tears or a hug just when I need it. She knows the words to say that fills me up when my cup feels quite empty and she uses her ability for good, to change the lives of everyone around her. And that day, likely the beginning of many long ones ahead, I needed her reminder of the power of a moment.
She doesn’t buy gifts, for she only has a piggy bank of coins that could allow her to do so. She doesn’t understand all the nuances of what the world is currently going through, for she is just a little 6-year-old-girl. But she doesn’t let any of that stop her from delivering ordinary miracles in the lives of those she interacts with. She uses what she has and what she knows to change you, from the inside out.
Just last night the two of us were cleaning out her room together — you know, since we all have newfound time on our hands — when I stumbled upon her “bags of goodies.” No, not sweet treats or unique toys … I’m talking her bags of seemingly junk. Since I can remember, this sweet soul of a child has been a hoarder, collecting what others would deem as garbage to use as gifts for people she meets. She collects fallen flowers at the local craft stores to gift in birthday bags. She collects instruction manuals so that she can use it as paper to write you a message or draw you a flower. But last night, I found her rocks.
Yes, rocks. Plain gray rocks were weighing down her many purses. She had not collected them for their unique shape or design. Instead, she was collecting them because she found beauty in their mundane. She celebrated the quantity she had collected over their unique qualities, for there were none. She loved her rock collection because she saw what others didn’t, something beautiful and miraculous in each of them.
I’ve learned a lot from Lyndi in her short six years in my life — and from her unique collections —and I’d venture to say you could too.
I’ve learned how to read people, to learn what they need before they do and be a solution to their problems … be an ear to their worries … be a friend when they need one.
I’ve learned how to make something from nothing. Watching her draw a picture by finding a piece of paper that I didn’t know existed merely to brighten your day is proof that we have resources around us that we don’t typically see to help accomplish what it is that we need, right then and there.
I’ve learned how to see beauty in the mundane … how to see it in the ordinary. A rock, something that is as simple as it comes, can be something worth celebrating if you ask Lyndi. Many of us feel somewhat ordinary at times … imagine if others found ways to celebrate us when we felt that way!
But what I’ve learned most from her is the power of love and how something as simple as a few words — “Momma, I never want this moment to end.” — can help it last a lifetime.
How can you be that for another? How can you see the resources you have and make beauty from them? How can you help someone cherish a moment during a time of worry? You’ve been gifted with the tools you need, and with a dose of perspective, truly anything is possible.
