Because I Said So

Coffee in hand, phone on vibrate, comfortably settled into a warm chair, enjoying the easy conversation and light laughter as ladies arrived for a time of prayer and study. For all of seven minutes.

With more than half a cup of coffee and before my conversations had barely begun, from within my purse the phone vibrated. It was the school.

With a touch of annoyance (this had better be an emergency) and a bit of fear (which child had done what and what were the repercussions), I answered the call out of earshot of the group.

"Mrs. Heisey, this is the school nurse. It's not an emergency." While I appreciate that preface in most circumstances, on that particular day the knee-jerk response that bubbled into my mouth - but was cut short by the biting of my tongue - was: "Then WHY are you calling me?"

She continued, "I have MD here with me and he's asked me to call you because he sat in something and needs another pair of jeans. Would you like to speak with him?" Well, since he's standing right there and hears what you are saying to me, you've kind of backed me into a corner. "Sure, put him on the phone, " I replied.

"Hey, Ms. D. We had donuts and I think I sat in some icing. I tried to clean it off and now my jeans are wet. Can you bring me another pair?"
"Was it someone's birthday? (like it mattered at this point how we got to the need for this phone conversation.)
"Yeah, well, I don't know. But can you bring me some pants?"
"I'm at a meeting. It might be twenty minutes until I get there." (giving him an out to let me off the hook.)
"That's okay. The nurse can call me down when you get here."
Dial tone.

On the ten minute drive home, I argued with myself. Don't I deserve that little bit of "me time?" With all the snow days and delayed openings our routine had been poked full of holes with scheduling and attitude adjustments. Tempers - yes, mine especially - were shorter, days seemed longer. This was a morning that was supposed to be worry-free; a few hours of unharried bliss.

As I pulled into the driveway, walked into the house and upstairs into MD's room, rummaged through his dresser to find a pair of jeans, the other side of the argument answered back. A reminder that this child has endured far too many empty words and broken promises.

This child had not heard from or seen his mother in six months. This is the same mother who told him he'd be home "soon"; that she now had a pool table in the house just waiting for him to come and use; that "at the next visit" she would bring him a phone, or a video game, or a new shirt, or one of his siblings who missed him.

None of those things ever happened.

This child needs to know that there are people who care about him, who are looking out for him, whom he can depend on. I want to be that for him.

So when I can demonstrate that with simply saying, "Yes. I'll be there in twenty minutes," and then actually showing up, I'm going to strive to do it every single time.