* Sorry it's taken me so long to post the second half of "Sarah's Coat." Since the events of my last bloggable walk up North Market interrupted the flow of this story, I've posted the whole thing below. Enjoy!*
Sarah's Coat
Sarah King’s favorite season was springtime. She loved the songbirds and the warm breezes. But most of all, Sarah looked forward to the new violets, daffodils, and crocuses. Every winter, she stared out her frosty bedroom window and wondered when the sun would wake the world from its frozen sleep.
“Winter’s so long,” she complained as she pulled her quilted comforter over her lap. “I wish it ended right after New Year’s.”
“Winter’s not so bad,” Sarah’s dad grinned as he sat on her bed. “After all, Valentine’s Day is in winter. You love Valentine’s Day.” He flipped open a library book with pink hearts dotting the cover.
Sarah rested her chin on her knees. “Well, if Valentine’s Day was in springtime, people could pick flowers instead of paying for them.”
Her dad chuckled. “I suppose that would be cheaper. But don’t worry, dear. Spring will come soon.”
“Daddy, I think your ‘soon’ is different from my ‘soon’,” she sighed as she rested her head on the pillow.
One morning, Sarah’s dad marched into her room with a big smile on his face. “Sarah, I just saw some daffodils blooming near the mailbox! Let’s see if we can find some more!”
“Really!? A daffy-dil!” Sarah tossed her blanket to the floor and leaped out of bed like a bounding frog. “Spring is here!” she squealed as she put on her favorite yellow T-shirt --the one with the daisy on the front. She brushed her teeth, devoured her cereal, and pulled on her boots in less than five minutes. She loved walking with her dad.
“Where are we going, Daddy? Are we going to the park? Are we going to the pond? What about up toward Sue’s house?”
“I thought we’d take the wooded path next to the river. That is, after you put on your coat. It’s still cold outside -- too cold for a T shirt.”
Sarah’s dad retrieved her red pea coat from the closet and helped her into it. The color had faded, and the sleeves were half an inch too short. But Sarah loved it just the same. “Red like roses,” she said to herself.
In no time, Sarah and her dad were plodding down the path searching for any color amid the brown, snow-sogged earth. Sarah bounded ahead and stopped only long enough to declare her discoveries: “There’s a daffy-dil! There’s a violin-et! Is that a crow-kiss over there?”
“Careful!” her dad called from behind. “Don’t go so far ahead that you can’t see me. And don’t get too close to the water! I don’t want you getting muddy, alright?”
But Sarah barely heard her dad. She focused on the yellow flowers cresting the riverbank. “Daddy goes so slow,” she thought as she dashed off the path to get a closer look.
Suddenly, a tree root caught Sarah’s boot mid-stride. She stumbled forward to the edge of the bank. For an eternal second, she teetered at the brow-- arms out, her fingers grasping the air for balance.
But to no avail. She toppled down, down, down the riverbank into the ice-cold, sticky mud!
“Oh no!” Sarah gasped when her head stopped spinning. She stood up slowly. She hadn’t broken any bones, but thick mud coated her from the top of her collar button to the toes of her boots. She tried to wipe it off, but the mud only smeared to her side pockets and got her hands dirty. Sarah’s stomach tensed. Her coat was ruined.
“What will Daddy say?”
“Sarah! You need to wait for me! Where are you?”
Sarah’s heart beat like a trapped butterfly. Soon her dad would walk around the bend and see everything.
“I know!” she thought. “I’ll hide it. Then I’ll pretend it never happened and come back and get my coat later.”
So Sarah tore off her coat and plunged it deep into the mud. Like a frightened fawn, she high-tailed it back up the bank and onto the path just as her dad rounded the bend. A cool breeze combed through the trees and made her shiver.
“Sarah!” her dad frowned when he caught up to her. “Didn’t you hear me calling? Where is your coat? And how on earth did your boots get so muddy?”
“Well, I wanted to see the flowers and I tripped and… and the coat’s gone but I’m okay. I can walk now. Achoo!” Sarah sneezed.
“I told you not to go too far ahead and to keep away from the water. And you know you’re supposed to stay on the path.”
Sarah studied the worm wiggling near her boot. She felt something in common with this creature.
“You know I’m going to have to discipline you when we get home.”
Sarah’s stomach sank like bag of marbles. She knew what “discipline” meant. But it was no use arguing. She’d been caught.
“Achoo!” she sneezed again.
Her dad sighed. Then he took off his own plaid coat and put it on his daughter. The coat felt warm and comfortable, but Sarah didn’t notice much. All she could think about was what awaited her at home.
“Show me where your coat is,” he said quietly.
Sarah pointed toward the muddy riverbank. When they came to its edge, she could see part of a red sleeve poking out of the muck. Sarah’s dad carefully stepped down the bank. He tried to reach the half-buried coat with a stick, but it wouldn’t work. So he slogged his way toward the filthy garment, getting his shoes soaked in the process. He unearthed the coat (now brown) and slung it over his arm. Now Sarah’s dad was dirty too.
“Come on, Sarah. Let’s go home.”
Sarah hung her head and trudged beside her dad in silence. She felt nervous about her upcoming discipline. But now, as she watched her dad shivering in his cold and muddy clothes, she began to feel sorry, too.
After leaving their dirty shoes and boots on the front porch, Sarah’s dad gave Sarah a quick spanking and sent her upstairs to take a bath. When Sarah finished, she stepped quietly back to her room and stared out the window. The sun shone, but she didn’t feel sunny. She felt wintry all over.
Soon, she heard a knock at the door. “Sweetie, can I come in?”
Sarah sat on her bed. “You can.”
Her dad came in with one arm behind his back. “Do you know why I had to discipline you, Sarah?”
“Yes, Daddy. I didn’t listen and got my coat muddy.”
“It wasn’t so much that you got muddy, Sarah. It was that you tried to hide what you’d done and lied to me. That is much more dirty than what happened to your coat,” he said as he joined his daughter on the bed.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Sorry you got dirty too.”
“Well, I forgive you. I love you very much and I’m glad you didn’t get hurt out there. But I’m afraid I had to throw your coat away. The mud wouldn’t come out.”
Sarah’s lip trembled. “My coat is really gone now?” Her eyes felt hot. “But -- but-- but it was my favorite!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.
“I know, honey,” her dad soothed, patting her back. “It was a nice coat. But it just so happens I have a little surprise for you.”
“Huh?” Sarah looked up from her hands.
“I was saving this for your birthday next week, but I think you’ll probably need it before then.”
From behind his back, her dad produced a white box tied with pink ribbon. Sarah pulled off the ribbon and gently lifted the top. Then she gasped!
There, nestled amid all the tissue paper, was a new white coat!
“Stand up! Let’s try it on for size!”
Sarah stood on her bed and held out her arms. On went one sleeve, then the other. Then her dad buttoned all five buttons. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on her door.
The white coat fit perfectly.
Sarah twirled around once, then twice. Then she giggled and bounced on her bed in excitement. “I look just like a princess!” she proclaimed.
“And so you are,” her dad chuckled. “So you are.”
The following day, Sarah and her dad went romping down the same path they’d used earlier. But this time Sarah did not bound ahead of her dad.
This time, she held his hand.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Road Grace
This morning, I tromped down North Market Street, twice yelling at my kids. This afternoon, I plodded up Spears, incredibly thankful to still have them.
You ever have one of those days when your attitude just doesn't match your circumstances? This morning as I pushed my double-stroller down the sidewalk, I wondered how I could be so irritable when the sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the birds were singing.
And yet, when my son stepped into the road before I told him to cross, I lashed out with many more decibels than was warranted and scared my son. I felt kind of rotten and asked him to forgive me. About two blocks later, I did basically the same thing. But this time, it was worse.
In their crossing, my kids unwittingly veered out into the traffic lane. I yelled, caught Selah by the arm, and half-dragged, half-lifted her onto the sidewalk. I should have been walking on the outside of my children.
That's when the silent accusations starting darting through my mind: "Gosh. You're a lousy parent. What if your kids had been hit? You say that kids are supposed to a blessing. You've been treating them like a curse. What would the other parents at church say if they saw you right now?" Of course, this would happen right after we'd talked about Love being patient and kind in Sunday School.
So, again, I apologized to my kids and explained that they needed to stay in the stroller till we got to the playground. Once they were settled, I started walking again.
Now normally, this is the part where I would indulge in feeling like a worm for several hours, confess my crimes, nod at the cross, and still feel like a general disappointment to God and family.
But today, I actually skipped the wormy part and told God I'd screwed up. I wasn't just being unkind to the kids in my heart and words, I was also idolizing the world's approval. Yelling at my kids and their not heeding me 100% perfectly damaged my image. I needed more than a simple attitude adjustment. I needed forgiveness.
God gave it. I had this sense that he had basically said, "Yeah, I know. I've already paid for that. I really do forgive you."
Then... lightness. Of heart. Of mind. Of step.
Our time at the playground went fine. I kept the kids in the stroller on the way back just so we could be a little safer.
Then, at the corner of North Market and Frasier, we had a close call.
I saw the traffic signal give the go-ahead for pedestrians to cross. I saw the tan car wanting to make a right hand turn. But the driver in the tan car did not see me.
And as I crossed in front of her right front wheel, she started to turn. I yelled again -- this time out of alarm. The car bumped Selah's side of the stroller. Elijah fell out in the street.
Thankfully, the lady braked quickly, and I backed up onto the sidewalk again. The lady was obviously sorry and had a handicapped tag hanging from her mirror. She'd assumed from my position that I wasn't intending to cross her path. A couple ladies nearby asked if I wanted to call 911 or the police, but Elijah didn't even need a band-aid.
The emotion of what happened didn't actually catch up with me until a block later. And yes, I cried. I soon wheeled away from the main road and headed for the quieter street that runs through my neighborhood. I didn't feel up to chatting with the neighbors just then, but I felt grateful for God's mercy.
I know God still would have been good if we all had gotten run over, but it's much more pleasant to spend the afternoon in my living room with tea instead of in the ER with an IV.
I learned a lot about road grace.
P.S. I will post the second part of "Sarah's Coat" next week.
You ever have one of those days when your attitude just doesn't match your circumstances? This morning as I pushed my double-stroller down the sidewalk, I wondered how I could be so irritable when the sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the birds were singing.
And yet, when my son stepped into the road before I told him to cross, I lashed out with many more decibels than was warranted and scared my son. I felt kind of rotten and asked him to forgive me. About two blocks later, I did basically the same thing. But this time, it was worse.
In their crossing, my kids unwittingly veered out into the traffic lane. I yelled, caught Selah by the arm, and half-dragged, half-lifted her onto the sidewalk. I should have been walking on the outside of my children.
That's when the silent accusations starting darting through my mind: "Gosh. You're a lousy parent. What if your kids had been hit? You say that kids are supposed to a blessing. You've been treating them like a curse. What would the other parents at church say if they saw you right now?" Of course, this would happen right after we'd talked about Love being patient and kind in Sunday School.
So, again, I apologized to my kids and explained that they needed to stay in the stroller till we got to the playground. Once they were settled, I started walking again.
Now normally, this is the part where I would indulge in feeling like a worm for several hours, confess my crimes, nod at the cross, and still feel like a general disappointment to God and family.
But today, I actually skipped the wormy part and told God I'd screwed up. I wasn't just being unkind to the kids in my heart and words, I was also idolizing the world's approval. Yelling at my kids and their not heeding me 100% perfectly damaged my image. I needed more than a simple attitude adjustment. I needed forgiveness.
God gave it. I had this sense that he had basically said, "Yeah, I know. I've already paid for that. I really do forgive you."
Then... lightness. Of heart. Of mind. Of step.
Our time at the playground went fine. I kept the kids in the stroller on the way back just so we could be a little safer.
Then, at the corner of North Market and Frasier, we had a close call.
I saw the traffic signal give the go-ahead for pedestrians to cross. I saw the tan car wanting to make a right hand turn. But the driver in the tan car did not see me.
And as I crossed in front of her right front wheel, she started to turn. I yelled again -- this time out of alarm. The car bumped Selah's side of the stroller. Elijah fell out in the street.
Thankfully, the lady braked quickly, and I backed up onto the sidewalk again. The lady was obviously sorry and had a handicapped tag hanging from her mirror. She'd assumed from my position that I wasn't intending to cross her path. A couple ladies nearby asked if I wanted to call 911 or the police, but Elijah didn't even need a band-aid.
The emotion of what happened didn't actually catch up with me until a block later. And yes, I cried. I soon wheeled away from the main road and headed for the quieter street that runs through my neighborhood. I didn't feel up to chatting with the neighbors just then, but I felt grateful for God's mercy.
I know God still would have been good if we all had gotten run over, but it's much more pleasant to spend the afternoon in my living room with tea instead of in the ER with an IV.
I learned a lot about road grace.
P.S. I will post the second part of "Sarah's Coat" next week.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Sarah's Coat Part 1
Another original children's story...
Sarah King’s favorite season was springtime. She loved the songbirds and the warm breezes. But most of all, Sarah looked forward to the new violets, daffodils, and crocuses. Every winter, she stared out her frosty bedroom window and wondered when the sun would wake the world from its frozen sleep.
“Winter’s so long,” she complained as she pulled her quilted comforter over her lap. “I wish it ended right after New Year’s.”
“Winter’s not so bad,” Sarah’s dad grinned as he sat on her bed. “After all, Valentine’s Day is in winter. You love Valentine’s Day.” He flipped open a library book with pink hearts dotting the cover.
Sarah rested her chin on her knees. “Well, if Valentine’s Day was in springtime, people could pick flowers instead of paying for them.”
Her dad chuckled. “I suppose that would be cheaper. But don’t worry, dear. Spring will come soon.”
“Daddy, I think your ‘soon’ is different from my ‘soon’,” she sighed as she rested her head on the pillow.
One morning, Sarah’s dad marched into her room with a big smile on his face. “Sarah, I just saw some daffodils blooming near the mailbox! Let’s see if we can find some more!”
“Really!? A daffy-dil!” Sarah tossed her blanket to the floor and leaped out of bed like a bounding frog. “Spring is here!” she squealed as she put on her favorite yellow T-shirt --the one with the daisy on the front. She brushed her teeth, devoured her cereal, and pulled on her boots in less than five minutes. She loved walking with her dad.
“Where are we going, Daddy? Are we going to the park? Are we going to the pond? What about up toward Sue’s house?”
“I thought we’d take the wooded path next to the river. That is, after you put on your coat. It’s still cold outside -- too cold for a T shirt.”
Sarah’s dad retrieved her red pea coat from the closet and helped her into it. The color had faded, and the sleeves were half an inch too short. But Sarah loved it just the same. “Red like roses,” she said to herself.
In no time, Sarah and her dad were plodding down the path searching for any color amid the brown, snow-sogged earth. Sarah bounded ahead and stopped only long enough to declare her discoveries: “There’s a daffy-dil! There’s a violin-et! Is that a crow-kiss over there?”
“Careful!” her dad called from behind. “Don’t go so far ahead that you can’t see me. And don’t get too close to the water! I don’t want you getting muddy, alright?”
But Sarah barely heard her dad. She focused on the yellow flowers cresting the riverbank. “Daddy goes so slow,” she thought as she dashed off the path to get a closer look.
Suddenly, a tree root caught Sarah’s boot mid-stride. She stumbled forward to the edge of the bank. For an eternal second, she teetered at the brow-- arms out, her fingers grasping the air for balance.
But to no avail. She toppled down, down, down the riverbank into the ice-cold, sticky mud!
“Oh no!” Sarah gasped when her head stopped spinning. She stood up slowly. She hadn’t broken any bones, but thick mud coated her from the top of her collar button to the toes of her boots. She tried to wipe it off, but the mud only smeared to her side pockets and got her hands dirty. Sarah’s stomach tensed. Her coat was ruined.
“What will Daddy say?”
“Sarah! You need to wait for me! Where are you?”
Sarah’s heart beat like a trapped butterfly. Soon her dad would walk around the bend and see everything.
“I know!” she thought. “I’ll hide it. Then I’ll pretend it never happened and come back and get my coat later.”
So Sarah tore off her coat and plunged it deep into the mud. Like a frightened fawn, she high-tailed it back up the bank and onto the path just as her dad rounded the bend. A cool breeze combed through the trees and made her shiver.
“Sarah!” her dad frowned when he caught up to her. “Didn’t you hear me calling? Where is your coat? And how on earth did your boots get so muddy?”
“Well, I wanted to see the flowers and I tripped and… and the coat’s gone but I’m okay. I can walk now. Achoo!” Sarah sneezed.
“I told you not to go too far ahead and to keep away from the water. And you know you’re supposed to stay on the path.”
Sarah studied the worm wiggling near her boot. She felt something in common with this creature.
“You know I’m going to have to discipline you when we get home.”
Sarah’s stomach sank like bag of marbles. She knew what “discipline” meant. But it was no use arguing. She’d been caught.
“Achoo!” she sneezed again.
Her dad sighed. Then he took off his own plaid coat and put it on his daughter. The coat felt warm and comfortable, but Sarah didn’t notice much. All she could think about was what awaited her at home.
“Show me where your coat is,” he said quietly.
Sarah pointed toward the muddy riverbank. When they came to its edge, she could see part of a red sleeve poking out of the muck. Sarah’s dad carefully stepped down the bank. He tried to reach the half-buried coat with a stick, but it wouldn’t work. So he slogged his way toward the filthy garment, getting his shoes soaked in the process. He unearthed the coat (now brown) and slung it over his arm. Now Sarah’s dad was dirty too.
“Come on, Sarah. Let’s go home.”
To Be Continued...
Sarah King’s favorite season was springtime. She loved the songbirds and the warm breezes. But most of all, Sarah looked forward to the new violets, daffodils, and crocuses. Every winter, she stared out her frosty bedroom window and wondered when the sun would wake the world from its frozen sleep.
“Winter’s so long,” she complained as she pulled her quilted comforter over her lap. “I wish it ended right after New Year’s.”
“Winter’s not so bad,” Sarah’s dad grinned as he sat on her bed. “After all, Valentine’s Day is in winter. You love Valentine’s Day.” He flipped open a library book with pink hearts dotting the cover.
Sarah rested her chin on her knees. “Well, if Valentine’s Day was in springtime, people could pick flowers instead of paying for them.”
Her dad chuckled. “I suppose that would be cheaper. But don’t worry, dear. Spring will come soon.”
“Daddy, I think your ‘soon’ is different from my ‘soon’,” she sighed as she rested her head on the pillow.
One morning, Sarah’s dad marched into her room with a big smile on his face. “Sarah, I just saw some daffodils blooming near the mailbox! Let’s see if we can find some more!”
“Really!? A daffy-dil!” Sarah tossed her blanket to the floor and leaped out of bed like a bounding frog. “Spring is here!” she squealed as she put on her favorite yellow T-shirt --the one with the daisy on the front. She brushed her teeth, devoured her cereal, and pulled on her boots in less than five minutes. She loved walking with her dad.
“Where are we going, Daddy? Are we going to the park? Are we going to the pond? What about up toward Sue’s house?”
“I thought we’d take the wooded path next to the river. That is, after you put on your coat. It’s still cold outside -- too cold for a T shirt.”
Sarah’s dad retrieved her red pea coat from the closet and helped her into it. The color had faded, and the sleeves were half an inch too short. But Sarah loved it just the same. “Red like roses,” she said to herself.
In no time, Sarah and her dad were plodding down the path searching for any color amid the brown, snow-sogged earth. Sarah bounded ahead and stopped only long enough to declare her discoveries: “There’s a daffy-dil! There’s a violin-et! Is that a crow-kiss over there?”
“Careful!” her dad called from behind. “Don’t go so far ahead that you can’t see me. And don’t get too close to the water! I don’t want you getting muddy, alright?”
But Sarah barely heard her dad. She focused on the yellow flowers cresting the riverbank. “Daddy goes so slow,” she thought as she dashed off the path to get a closer look.
Suddenly, a tree root caught Sarah’s boot mid-stride. She stumbled forward to the edge of the bank. For an eternal second, she teetered at the brow-- arms out, her fingers grasping the air for balance.
But to no avail. She toppled down, down, down the riverbank into the ice-cold, sticky mud!
“Oh no!” Sarah gasped when her head stopped spinning. She stood up slowly. She hadn’t broken any bones, but thick mud coated her from the top of her collar button to the toes of her boots. She tried to wipe it off, but the mud only smeared to her side pockets and got her hands dirty. Sarah’s stomach tensed. Her coat was ruined.
“What will Daddy say?”
“Sarah! You need to wait for me! Where are you?”
Sarah’s heart beat like a trapped butterfly. Soon her dad would walk around the bend and see everything.
“I know!” she thought. “I’ll hide it. Then I’ll pretend it never happened and come back and get my coat later.”
So Sarah tore off her coat and plunged it deep into the mud. Like a frightened fawn, she high-tailed it back up the bank and onto the path just as her dad rounded the bend. A cool breeze combed through the trees and made her shiver.
“Sarah!” her dad frowned when he caught up to her. “Didn’t you hear me calling? Where is your coat? And how on earth did your boots get so muddy?”
“Well, I wanted to see the flowers and I tripped and… and the coat’s gone but I’m okay. I can walk now. Achoo!” Sarah sneezed.
“I told you not to go too far ahead and to keep away from the water. And you know you’re supposed to stay on the path.”
Sarah studied the worm wiggling near her boot. She felt something in common with this creature.
“You know I’m going to have to discipline you when we get home.”
Sarah’s stomach sank like bag of marbles. She knew what “discipline” meant. But it was no use arguing. She’d been caught.
“Achoo!” she sneezed again.
Her dad sighed. Then he took off his own plaid coat and put it on his daughter. The coat felt warm and comfortable, but Sarah didn’t notice much. All she could think about was what awaited her at home.
“Show me where your coat is,” he said quietly.
Sarah pointed toward the muddy riverbank. When they came to its edge, she could see part of a red sleeve poking out of the muck. Sarah’s dad carefully stepped down the bank. He tried to reach the half-buried coat with a stick, but it wouldn’t work. So he slogged his way toward the filthy garment, getting his shoes soaked in the process. He unearthed the coat (now brown) and slung it over his arm. Now Sarah’s dad was dirty too.
“Come on, Sarah. Let’s go home.”
To Be Continued...
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