At last Thursday night’s swim meet, I stood at the side of the pool in front of the trash can, looking at the chart I have on my phone call of the kids’ events in order. I felt worn out and overwhelmed. We had spent each evening that week at Picadilly moving furniture and boxes in preparation for the big move on the weekend. We were going to bed too late and getting up too early, and both Rick and I had a million ideas about how to prioritize our work in order to make the transition as smooth and chaos-free as possible. But moving is chaotic. And our house is only about 2/3 ready for us adding another dimension to the upheaval. We can’t simply unpack because we don’t have countertops or appliances or painting done. The bathrooms aren’t finished. The closets don’t have shelves. The garage needs to be available for the worker’s saws and tools and construction materials.
As I flipped through the swim meet program, an announcement came over the loud speaker. They needed another parent to volunteer as a timer or they couldn’t start the meet. Every week swim team organizers send emails pleading for help because “our meets are run solely by volunteers, and every week I bum off other people’s hard work and generosity. I felt guilty for not stepping forward but Rick wasn’t there yet and I didn’t know if he would be coming that night. In addition to volunteering at meets, the emails also asked for food donations for the concession stand. Other than an obligatory case of Gatorade at the beginning of the season, I haven't donated. I justify my absence on the sign-up sheets because our family is under water with the move and remodel so Rick hasn’t attended most of the meets meaning we don’t have an available parent to volunteer while the other parent gets kids to events. And I don’t sign up to bring food because I can’t remember to buy one more thing at the store and put it in individual baggies and bring the individual servings of salad or cookies early to the meet. I’m barely getting our kids there on time with their goggles and towels. I could just give money, but I don’t have cash lately and I don’t know where to find a convenient ATM that doesn’t charge fees. If I did have cash, I wouldn't remember to bring it to practice to put in their donation jar. I know I could be more generous with my time and resources but I’m not. If it were important to me, I’d do it, but it’s not important so I feel guilty about it instead.
A lady had to handfuls of drippy garbage and needed me to move away from the trash can.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I chose a dumb place to stand.” I stepped aside.
She threw her trash in, and started to walk away, but turned back. “Can I just say that I love your hair? I love that it’s natural. I love your bangs. You’re just beautiful. Really, beautiful.”
“Thank you. That’s so nice.” That’s what I said, but her compliment was more than just nice.
This lady didn’t know I skipped a shower that day (I know, gross). She didn’t know that I usually cut my own bangs and that I think they’re nerdy and probably out of style but I look like a diseased hawk when I go bangless. She didn’t know that I don’t love my hair style but I don’t care enough to schedule hair appointments or even curl my hair or blow dry it or whatever it is people do nowadays to look put together. She didn’t know that I’m a little self conscious about my gray streaks, but I rather have gray hair than spend the money and time hiding it.
She didn’t know we are in the process of moving and I have been wearing the same outfits on repeat for almost a year with an added hoodie or sweater if it’s cold. She didn’t know that my makeup application routine was minimal before the pandemic but since the pandemic, I wear sunscreen, mascara and lip gloss. I never really learned how to choose or apply foundation in a way that doesn’t feel like cake face. So my acne and scars and freckles and dark eye circles are always on display and, like my hair, I know I can do better, but the costs in time and expense outweigh the benefit because, seriously, how much difference would makeup really make?
Sometimes I imagine that I win a makeover. A professional cuts and styles my hair in a way that accentuates my natural features in just the right way. This professional would then teach me how to apply flawless makeup. They would help me choose clothes that are comfy and flattering. And then I would take this knowledge and combine it into a daily personal care routine that takes less than thirty minutes. I know it’s unrealistic. But I don’t want to look like a slob all of the time. Maybe I could look good on Sundays?
This lady’s sincere compliment about my natural beauty helped see that maybe none of that matters so much. What you see is what you get and you get me doing the best I can and trying (not always successfully) not to worry about the rest.
I also learned what a genuine compliment can mean to somebody—especially when it comes so out-of-the-blue like that. I notice beauty in people and situations all of the time, but I don’t always voice it. Why not? What’s preventing me from telling people in the moment that I think they’re beautiful or I appreciate their goodness? With strangers, it might be because I’m worried they’d find me creepy, but I didn’t think that lady was creepy. I want to make more of an effort to share genuine compliments. To help others see past their insecurities and shortcomings and recognize goodness.
I looked through pictures on my phone to see if I could share a picture of myself in all my natural goodness smiling back at you, but I just don’t have pictures of myself on my phone. I’m not well-versed in selfie taking, but maybe I can share something else. Genuine compliments, in my opinion, are a form of gratitude. They’re an exercise in looking for the positive. So here are some good things I’ve recorded with my camera lately:
Andrew’s hair has been cut since this pic, but I love him and his wild hair and the roses in the background.
Kids held bunnies at the local fruit farm
Babies bring with them a special sweetness and the whole family loved meeting little Logan and we hope to be seeing much more of his family once we’re a little more settled.
I thought it was funny that Rick and Gavin both chose to wear orange on the 4th of July. Rick might not like the closed-eyes picture, but I still think he’s handsome (even if we do tease him about wearing a Cheeto-colored shirt).
Sean and Brooklyn holding hands after basketball camp.
Sweet kids who have put up with a lot of chaotic meals this past year. I think half of us don't like pizza, including me, but I like the convenience of it.
Even if I don't like pizza, I can be grateful that we have never not had food. We have food even if the kids have to forage through piles to get it.
I love that my kids love to read. Gavin and Brooklyn, especially, seem to always have books with them. This is a shot of us trying to get in the car to go to swim team and they're walking sooooo sloow because they don't want to put down their books.
I feel deeply grateful for our home, our family, and for a God that cares about the little things and blesses me minute by minute with glimpses of beauty.
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