dots and stars and Disney World

When I was 12 years old, my family was given the gift of a trip to Disney World. The day we left, a member of my dad’s congregation died.  In the days before cell phones, the church put out an alert for our car so the cops would find us and left a message at the hotel we were stopping at for the night, asking for my dad to come back.

I vividly remember the dark hotel room, the 4 of us laying in the dark listening to my dad on the phone. My dad is a great pastor – fiercely loyal and cares deeply for the people in his care. In my 12 year old brain, I was consoling myself, resigned that Disney would happen another time, because we were needed back at home – and I was trying to figure out how to tell my sisters it would be okay.

What I didn’t know was that on the other end of the line was a retired pastor, urging my Dad to continue the trip and take us to Disney World. I don’t know what my mind has changed in the story, but my take away is that he told my dad that we, his daughters and wife, were dad’s greatest ministry and his call was with us. (I think Pastor Wolf  may also have said he would lock the church if we came back and that he would take care of the grieving family, but I may have made that part up in subsequent years).

But, what I really took away from that day is that my dad chose us.

This week, David is out of town, and I have had quite a few circumstances where I have been placed in a very real place of choosing my girls or the hospital. Not life or death – the children at the hospital are in very good hands with the people on call, but my presence may have been helpful or reassuring.

My temptation is to go be the heroine. To come in when I can be helpful, to be present, to get reassurance from peoples’ need for my presence. I read Max Lucado’s You Are Special with the girls this weekend. I got the book from my 5th grade teacher years ago, and it tells the story of wooden people who get and give gray dot stickers for bad or awkward or clumsy things they do and gold star stickers for talented or beautiful or clever things. One girl has no dots and no stars because she sits with the woodcarver, Eli, every day. When the main character, covered in dots, visits Eli, the Woodcarver tells him “The stickers only stick if they matter to you.”

(you can read it quickly here if you haven’t already The Wemmicks)

I want the stars and no dots from people, but in the end neither the stars or the dots should matter to me.  It will never be easy to know where I am most needed – what is essential and what is extra.

But I do know,  I want my children’s memory to be that I chose them over the hospital.  I know that the struggles I have had this week are because I often mark my success and worth by the stars I have gotten. Everyday there are things I can do and things I cannot. There are people that will think I have done well and people who want more from me. If I gives those things too much weight, I will drown in their perceived value. More than anything, I need to sit with the Woodcarver daily, so that the stars and dots don’t stick.

(*the image at the top is my dad with Madeline on the top of our car during their visit in July, the one below is him jumping with both the girls)