My dear friend Missy Durant is an amazing woman. Her life is overflowing with love and gratitude…and it spreads to everyone she knows. She wrote a book recently, What Matters, and I couldn’t be more excited for her.
I believe in what she’s doing with all of my heart…because it’s beautiful…because I cherish her and her heart.
So, today, I blogged on her web site…take a peek here!
I firmly believe that I’ve got something to learn from everyone.
But, even more powerful, is realizing that every person can inspire you.
Inspiration is what happens when we stop looking at human interactions as transactional. The moment we remember that everyone is a person with feelings…with a story…is the moment their life can change ours…for the better.
Learning from others is amazing. When we learn from others, knowledge fills our brains. But, when we’re inspired we’re compelled to act. Learning keeps us humble…it makes us wise. But being inspired each other helps us live…fully embrace life.
This week I met with a client, her generosity to give others credit for work well done reminds me to always shine a spotlight on others’ accomplishments.
This week a friend of mine told another friend of mine that she was making a difference, her willingness to share that 
reminds me that a few words of encouragement, even to someone I barely know, can mean the world.
This week I met a priest, his willingness to connect with me reminds me how important it is to keep an open mind and open door…even with strangers.
This week I had lunch with a new friend who shared a lot of her life story with me. Her candor and strength remind me of how important it is to be real.
This week I met with a vendor, his desire to learn more about my needs reminds me of the importance of trust.
This week my husband’s giddiness over seeing his family reminds me of how precious family is.
This week a friend of mine needed to unload some crap. His willingness to lay it all out there reminds me how important it is to not bottle things up.
This week I had dinner with friends who have poured a ton of themselves into a cause they believe in with all of their beings. They remind me of what people can do when they work together with people being their number one priorities.
This week I met a man who left his steady job while he did some soul searching to find something that resonated with his desires deep inside him. His courage reminds me of the importance of embracing who we are at our cores.
This week one of my best friends poured hours of his life into literally rebuilding
his family’s home and spent the rest of those hours inspiring a team of people…all while being an amazing husband and father. His dedication reminds me that people are what always matter most.
Those reminders were inspirations…of humanness…of belief…of life…a true depiction of what matters in life. I pray I never stop being inspired by those around me.
My dad is my hero.
It might sound cliché, but for years I had a hard time saying that.
It was hard because I was frustrated that few others knew the amazing dad I knew existed. It was hard because I was sad to think that my dad was feeling empty and lonely and there was nothing I could do. It was hard because I was angry that he couldn’t just throw away the lifeless bottle and spend time with people who loved him instead. It was hard because it hurt to wonder whether or not he even remembered some of the most important moments in my life. It was hard because I was pissed at him for throwing away his life.
A lifelong battle with alcoholism had isolated my father from the world…had hidden the father I knew that few others could see. Not even my husband knew my real dad, because alcoholism hid him.
I often tried to put myself in my dad’s shoes…and I knew his heart hurt. I imagine anger and resentment overtook him when he could never measure up to the expectations put upon him by others. I imagine he hurt deeply after experiencing unspeakable things while serving in the Marine Corps. I imagine he felt shameful after a failed first marriage and failed jobs. I imagine he felt lonely when those close to him were overtaken by death at ages far too young. I imagine he felt guilty for not being the son he thought his parents wanted. I imagine his heart broke for both of his daughters when they each, separately, experienced murders of their best friends. I imagine he condemned himself for things we can’t even fathom. And then, I imagine, those feelings spiraled to the point of unspeakable numbness…to a place where he could no longer allow himself to feel…anything.
I won’t lie. There were many, many, many hard moments over the years.
I remember bad arguments. I remember police cars. I remember hiding in closets. I remember mom finding empty liquor bottles. I remember staying with my grandparents. I remember jail visits. I remember being too embarrassed to have my friends over. I remember hurtful things being said.
But I also remember loving no one like I loved my daddy…and always felt that same kind of love directed right back at me.
I remember the dad who played with me. The dad who taught me how to ride a bike. The dad who taught me how to build things. The dad who helped me learn to spell. The dad who taught me to read. The dad who convinced me when I was young that I would marry him when I turned 18 (so that he wouldn’t have to deal with me dating!). The dad who inspired me with his love for writing. The dad who drove me to school. The dad who taught me how to fish. The dad who taught me how to shoot a gun. The dad who wanted me to use said gun to go hunting with him (but there was no way I was up for killing a deer!). The dad who worked hard for years to provide for our family in tough times. The dad who taught me how to drive a stick-shift. The dad who believed in me. The dad who was proud of me. The dad who introduced me to Jesus.
Twenty-one months ago, after an emergency hospital stay, we thought alcoholism might take his life. Sixteen months ago, we thought the same thing again. It seemed as if alcohol might overtake him in this lifetime, even though we knew his heart was directly connected to the divine manifestation of grace and love.
But then he fought back. He fought back by giving everything up. All of the anger, frustration, lonliness, hurt, resentment, shame, guilt. All of it. He experienced grace Himself. The Grace who taught him that he was not the sum of his past mistakes. The Grace who told him that he is seen as perfect and pure. The Grace who showed him that his life is not finished.
On Friday, my dad retired and walked out of the doors of the Minneapolis Post Office with 20 years of government service…chin held high…love overflowing everywhere. He closed that chapter of his life on his terms. It was beautiful.
Grace literally redeemed his life. That same grace rekindled relationships in our family.
His courage to own his story encourages me to own my own story. His willingness to continue walking out purpose at the age of 67 shows me that God never stops working. His tender-hearted humility exemplifies Jesus.
I couldn’t be more proud of him…or more inspired by him…a living, breathing manifestation of God’s grace.
So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. -Romans 8:1 (NLT)
“My name is Natalie. N-A-T-A-L-I-E. I’m four-years-old. What’s your name?”
“It’s Dawn. D-A-W-N.”
“Hi Dawn! I’m going to call you ‘friend.’”
And she did.
In the hour I spent with that sweet little girl, she called me “friend” probably 50 times…every single time she spoke with me.
I guess if you need a quick reminder of what really matters you should just ask a homeless four-year-old.
She didn’t care about task lists, finances, work, material items or even family drama. She cared about relationships.
Relationships built on a Jesus kind of love. Maybe Natalie didn’t know it was a Jesus kind of love. But I have no doubt.
You see…Jesus loved me through Natalie tonight. Natalie decided to be my friend. She didn’t know me, but it didn’t matter. She smiled at me. She hugged me. She held my hand. She wiped chocolate from my sleeve. She carried my dirty dishes to the kitchen. She introduced me to her family. She shared a million stories with me.
When you think about it, it’s totally backwards. You see, Natalie is one of eight kids. Her family has been homeless since October. She and her family live out of their car and at shelters. She was excited about getting a pair of shoes today that actually fit. Her entire family has to believe in the goodness of people and the goodness of God working through people to see hope for tomorrow.
I was supposed to be there serving her! Yet, she wanted to be a friend to me. Take care of me. Love me.
She probably never will know how much I needed that friendship tonight. She probably never will know that she made a permanent imprint on my heart. She probably never will know that Jesus loved me through her.
Her unconditional love reminded me of the importance of letting what Jesus pours into me, pour into the lives of others…a love that is unconditionally compassionate…a love that smiles at strangers…a love that genuinely cares…a love not impeded by worry or selfishness.
Thank you, Natalie. Thank you for becoming a piece of my heart. Thank you for reminding me what really matters.
And, God, thank you for Natalie.
* * *
Natalie and her family just found out that they’ve got housing. They’ll be moving into a newly remodeled apartment within two weeks. Thank God. You should have seen how excited Natalie’s mom was…seeing her excitement nearly brought me to tears.
The Family Place is a day shelter serving homeless families in St. Paul, Minn. The majority of their guests are children. Forty-seven percent of the homeless in St. Paul are children and teenagers. Often, their families have lost their housing because of medical emergencies, job losses and even landlord defaults and condemnations. They’ve unexpectedly found themselves in a new and difficult world, a world where hope and dignity are pushed aside to make room for daily survival. My church, Bloom, partners with this organization to serve their guests without agenda.
I know how it feels to get wrapped up in all life is throwing at you. You know, the times when it feels like you don’t have time to care about anyone because you’re too busy focusing on everything you need to get done for you, your job, your home and your checklist that has nothing to do with real people. Since you’re too busy to breathe, they should just know you care without you saying anything, right? You really do care, but you just don’t have time to say so. Don’t deny it. I know I’m not alone on this one.
Last week, the tables turned on me.
My dad went into the hospital with kidney failure, pneumonia, emphysema, severe dehydration and a bad case of alcohol withdrawal. Wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was horrible.
One morning, I thought the dad I’d known all my life was no longer. He could barely speak. He didn’t know who I was. He couldn’t eat. His oxygen levels were crazy low. He was hallucinating. He didn’t even know what a straw was or how to suck on one. Doctors were talking feeding tubes, ventilators and nursing homes.
I felt very alone sitting next to him thinking about how alone he must have felt. Feeling as if there were only a handful of people who cared. I assumed people were thinking that his lifelong struggle with alcohol and smoking brought this on, and that it was just too bad. I just wanted someone to care about him as much as our family did. I just wanted someone to see the amazing man beneath all of the struggles. It was as if walking into that hospital room that morning sucked the life, joy and hope out of me. I just sat on my dad’s bed holding his hand and swallowing tears.
Until Muna, the cleaning lady came in…
Muna’s smile was one of the most peaceful and encouraging things I’ve ever seen. She asked about my dad and our family. She mentioned how good he must feel because she could see that he was loved. She said he was too young to not get better. She came in several more times that day, sometimes to work, and sometimes to check on our family. In moments when there were no words, Muna just smiled. Muna visited with all of us throughout the week. We learned about her family, about her jobs, her dedication to her children and, without her saying so, we learned how much she cared for people.
Muna’s visit was just the first encounter with undeserved compassion.
People proved my assumption (about people not caring about my dad) dead wrong. Thank God. Despite his downfalls (as all of us have), loving souls gave him grace and showed how much they cared.
Throughout the week, people our family hasn’t spent time with in 15 years showed up at the hospital to love on my dad. Well wishes poured in from all over the world, and even from people whom we barely knew. Amazing reliable friends checked in on my dad as if he was their own dad. The compassion brought out smiles from my dad that I hadn’t seen in 20 years. Real, genuine smiles.
The powerful thing about taking the time to care about people is that it strengthens their faith and gives them hope. After Muna left the room on that horrible morning, I felt better. I felt hopeful. I felt relieved.
Caring for others is powerful stuff. You might not have time to visit a hospital or make a meal for someone, but that’s OK. A few words go a long way. And when there are no words, a smile or hug makes all the difference…not just in the way a person feels, but in a person’s desire to keep going.
Three days after that horrible morning I described, Muna popped in as she always did. I introduced her to my dad. She just smiled and said, “he’ll be going home very soon.” She was right.
I’m pretty sure that our entire family never felt as cared about as we did that week. I’d really love to get in my dad’s head, I’m sure he’s still trying to process the Jesus-like compassion and grace people showed. The compassion gave all of us faith. Better yet, it gave dad faith. He’s home now…and committed to getting better.
We’ve all been placed in this particular place and time for a reason. Don’t miss out on the chance to be the “Muna” for someone else…be the one who cares…the selfless act doesn’t take much…and it can change an outlook on life. Literally.