Planks, specks and pillow talk

     I got angry today. I got mad when my husband told me my daughter was grief-stricken at rehearsals for the musical "Annie." 

     She's been a yo-yo of behavior lately — some days are horrendous; other days are exceptional. I'm not sure if this is diet-related or hormone related or growth spurt related or sleep related. But it's definitely a byproduct of living with ADHD. Long periods of predictability followed by slumps of the usual no longer working as it's expected to and some head scratching to figure out how to get back on track. 

     Go figure...this often happens every November — before her birthday and then Christmas. Plus, the excitement of the musical and the opportunity to be part of it. I think it's just because she's a bundle of nervous energy.  

     Apparently a woman told her to stop misbehaving at practice because "you know, lots of girls were lined up to be in 'Annie' and would love to be here in your place." 

     What the heck? 

     You don't know my child or understand her and yet you feel enlightened enough about her to throw that judgement on her. I don't know what your intent was but this is the message she took away: I'm not that good. I'm barely good enough. I don't belong here.

     She may be wild. She may seem like she is disobedient, rude and uncontrollable to you. But what you can't tell until you get to know her is that she is compassionate, trusting, loving, kind, creative and adoring. She isn't afraid of homeless people, drug addicts or orphans. She has served them all. She loves unconditionally, and I guarantee she wasn't judging you before you made that remark. 

     As I was letting these mad thoughts fester, it occurred to me that just moments earlier I had made snap judgements about other people. Literally, just moments before this. People who have good intentions, who are loving and kind. But they aren't perfect. Just like my Abby isn't perfect. Neither am I. Nor is this woman who decided to reveal her condemnation to my daughter. 

     Lately, I've been bothered by something. This little habit people have on social media to take photos of "weird" people doing "weird things. 

     It bothers me, even though I admit I have laughed on occasion at Awkward Family Photos and that website with photos of unsuspecting people in Wal-mart. 

     I'm concerned that suddenly with the explosion of phone cameras and social media that we get to take bullying to a whole new level. I'm worried because suddenly if you think someone is strange, you can document it and then ask your friends to agree by "liking" it. 

     Why does this worry me? 

     Well, probably because I'm afraid I'll be bending over to tie a shoe one day and someone will take a photo of my plumber's crack and post it online. Or that I'll be caught in some strange pose with some weird expression....you get the idea. 

     Actually, that earnestly doesn't bother me that much. It kinda makes me laugh. Because I'm pretty secure in my identity. But it makes my heart ache for Abby, who cares a great deal.

     So I wonder, "Who do you think you are that you are empowered to make fun of people in their weakness or poke fun of anyone — whose story you do not know — for any reason that seems to be justified in your head?"

     I don't laugh when I see those posts. I get sad. And skeptical of the human race. We think we've come so far, but really, we just use new tools to enforce old (and bad) behaviors. 

     We judge. We condemn. We shame. Especially people who are a little outside normal. People with disabilities, sensitivities. Anyone who sticks out from a crowd.

     Because we think somehow we are made better. 

     Shame on us. 

     Man (and woman) are created equal. ALL of us. EVERYWHERE. You are no better because you have a higher paying job, a degree, a special certificate on your wall, a longer resume, work more hours, stay home with your kids, speak three languages, etc., etc. 

     Jesus said to check the plank in your eye before you go messing with the speck you see in someone else's eye. And He extended grace and mercy to absolutely everyone. No one was better than another one. 

     Abby came home tonight and confessed something. She was exhausted last night. I read a chapter to her in a book, tucked her in, and she was out. 

     But apparently she woke up at 11 p.m. and never fell back to sleep. 

     It happens. A lot to her. 

     She crawled on my lap. I hugged her and told her that the problem isn't her. I explained to her that the woman had no right. I explained that sometimes people will say mean things. Things they don't mean. Things they do mean but are mean all the same. But none of that will change her unless she lets it. 

     "I know, Mommy, that I'm supposed to know that, but my love language is words of encouragement," she says in her so-grown-up, almost 11, bravest tone. "I try to build other people up, and I like it when they build me up." 

     The remark. It shut her down. Like an engine deprived of gasoline. The rudeness, the carelessness, it somehow turns off the part of her brain that helps temper her mood and her focus. She was motored by her ADHD all night after that. Wild. Uncontrollable. Daddy embraced her. They talked. Another kind woman helped. 

     She was doing better by the time she hit my lap. I embraced her, noticing how much longer her legs were than the last time we did this.

     I made her oatmeal with mashed up bananas and sugar. I told her to forgive the woman. That she probably didn't mean it. That maybe she was having a bad day. That we all have bad days. That she's also judged people the way the woman judged her. That it's our responsibility to extend grace, even when people don't deserve it, because God extended it to us even though we didn't deserve it.

        Then against my own desires, I pulled her dirty, stinky, fluffy pajama pants out of the dirty laundry and let her wear them for the sixth night in a row. Because they make her feel good. Secure. Comfy.

     And that made me the best mom ever. 

     I sat on her bed next to her and listened to her plans for rearranging her room while I rubbed lavender on her feet. 

     She began to cry. 

     "What if I can't sleep again? What if I pray to God again and He doesn't answer again? What's my plan B?"
     "You can get up and write in your journal. Sometimes when I pray for God to put me back to sleep and it doesn't work, I ask Him if there's someone else He'd like me to pray for. That usually does the trick." 

     I began to pray for her, but she quickly interrupted me. 

     "I know what to do, Mommy....

     "Heavenly Father, Please bring comfort to my brother and sister who are living in an orphanage right now. I know life can't be easy for them. They must be scared. I know you want them to be part of our family. Please let them know you care and give them even a little bit more comfort than they had yesterday. Amen." 

     I don't know about her, but after pillow talk like that, I'm pretty sure I'll have sweet dreams tonight.