A Crown of Blessing
Pleasant words are as
an honeycomb,
sweet to the soul, and
health to the bones.
— Proverbs 16:24
We're going halfway across the country to attend our eldest
daughter Jordan's college graduation. We're bringing loads of Kleenex and film.
We will wear bikinis and carry umbrellas for a typical May day in Chapel Hill,
N.C.
Like a million other mothers at graduation time, the
soundtrack in my heart is the song from that old Kodak ad, "Where Are You
Going, My Little One?"
And, like all those other moms, I'm wondering if I did my
job OK. Did I pack love into every molecule of our daughter's being, enough to
last her through thick and thin?
Can she function in a kitchen, the executive suite, or both?
Can she thread a needle, dance the tango and change a tire?
Does she have her feet solidly on the ground, and yet is
still reaching for the stars?
Most of all: did I praise her enough to polish her heart
'til it glows?
Sometimes, we mothers are more critics than coaches and
cheerleaders. And that's too bad.
All children desperately need words of praise from the
important people in their lives. That's how they get the crown of blessing . .
. the knowledge that they are somebody special, one in a billion,
irreplaceable, irresistible, unique, awesome, amazing and miraculous.
They get a glimpse of how God sees them. And that's crucial,
for a happy life.
My mother did it for me. She used to call me her "joy
child." Wow! I felt important! My siblings might have been smarter and funnier
and better-looking. But I was the one who gave my mother joy.
Ever since, I've tried to live up to that billing, and give
people joy. I don't always make it. But I try.
It's funny how my mom tagged me, so young. Or maybe her
words created that desire in me - the spark of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
All I know is, you can provide a turning point for someone
else's whole life with just one comment. And it doesn't cost a thing. That's
God's economics: a little goes a long, long way.
The praise can be from strangers, too: when Jordan was two
days old, my milk hadn't come in yet at the hospital. They could give her only sugar
water while we waited.
She was frantically hungry and crying nonstop in the
nursery, waking the other newborns. The nurses brought her to me every hour,
hoping milk production would begin so she'd eat, and quiet down, before they
lost their minds or their hearing, not necessarily in that order.
Consequently, I had gotten little sleep for 48 hours. My
anxiety was building moment by moment. In the middle of that long, terrible
night, one nurse carried Jordan, still screaming, out of my room, crooning
melodramatically, "Oh, you poor little thing. You're so hungry! So hollow!"
I burst into tears. I was a complete failure as a mother.
Better put her up for adoption. Maybe she can have a decent life with someone
who's competent.
But an hour later, a different nurse brought her in. There
was still no milk, but this nurse was patient and smiling. On the way out, she
looked at the baby's nametag, and exclaimed with a voice full of sincerity and
awe:
"Jordan Williams! That sounds like an AUTHOR!"
An author? Gee! What a compliment! The nurse couldn't have
known that I worked as a news reporter, and considered authors a cut above,
worthy of high praise and admiration.
It made me feel sooooooo good. I relaxed. I slept. Next
morning, Dairy Queen opened for business.
Now fast-forward 21 years. Jordan Williams is graduating Phi
Beta Kappa, with highest honors, as an English major. Her honors thesis on poet
Edmund Spenser was named the English Department's No. 1 best undergraduate
thesis this year.
That sounds like an AUTHOR, all right!
She lived up to her billing!
But what do you expect? It's in her blood. She's a joy child,
born and bred.
Happy graduation, Jordan . . . and all you other graduates. You're
wonderful! God loves you! Now, get out there and spread some joy! †
