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A Beginning of School Letter to My Kids

Dear Kids, 

Well here we are again. Another beginning of school. Another stressful few weeks of trying to figure out new schedules, new routines, new friends. Another season of firsts. 

It seems like these beginnings come faster and faster each year – one day when you have children of your own, you will understand. 

And because I can’t slow down time – no matter how hard I try – the next best thing I can give you is this – a letter reminding you to look for the fingerprints. 

You see, as you enter into this new phase of junior high and high school, those fingerprints become harder to find. I’m not sure why, but it probably has something to do with the world telling you to be the best, to never slow down, to roar and fight and conquer all. And because the world seems so loud and chaotic and consuming these days, we start to forget to look for the fingerprints. 

I know that as you go into this year, there will be so many wonderful things that happen. You will make some great friends. You will have fantastic teachers. You will climb mountains. 

But I also know that sometimes not so great things will happen too. You might get hurt by a friend. You may have a teacher who you don’t get along with. You will find yourself in valleys, I’m afraid. 

And that is when you must look for the fingerprints – On the days when you are walking through the valley. 

I promise you the fingerprints will still be there – they are everywhere really. But as we get older we quit looking for them. 

So kids, this letter is to remind you to never stop looking for them. Not when you’re 14 or 44 or 84. 

Seeing the fingerprints is what will save you. 

Where can you find them? And how do you see them? Well I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, but I can tell you that when you see them, you will know. 

When you sit next to a new kid at lunch because he’s eating all alone, and you don’t say much, but you give him a smile – there’s a fingerprint. 

When you see your teacher is having a bad day and you decide to not go along with the class joke of making fun of her, but instead you help her pick up papers – there’s a fingerprint. 

When you give up your seat on the bus for a kid who is struggling to walk – there’s a fingerprint. 

You see, we all have these fingerprints on our lives – we are covered in them. And they are fingerprints from something so GOOD and KIND that we never can get rid of them. And believe me, some people will try. Some people do some pretty awful things to erase the fingerprints, but they never can. 

Because those fingerprints are so full of LOVE that we will never be able to wipe them away.

And those fingerprints come from hands that will never lose us or let us go. 

Everyone has the fingerprints on them  – that’s what I want you to remember. Yes, even that kid who’s so mean to you he makes you cry. Even that homeless man you pass by every day on the street on your way to school. Even that teacher who gave you the worst grade you’ve ever made. They are covered in the fingerprints too.

Do you see them? 

I hope so. Because as long as you see them, you will be just fine. 

Have a great year. 

Love, Mom

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The Summer of Good

It’s summertime in the South. We are all intoxicated by the bluest of blue skies. We bathe in the brightest of suns. We eat the sweetest of watermelons. We hang out with the bullfrogs and cicadas on the back porch way past our bedtime, while the smell of magnolia blossoms perfumes our very souls.

There are pool parties and lake parties and beach parties and party parties. There are sno-cone stands on every corner. There are a million and one festivals, where we eat great food and dance into a dusky sunset. 

We Southerners move a little slower in summertime. Mainly because the heat of the afternoon sun will drench your shirt in 10 seconds flat. And if the heat doesn’t do it, the humidity will. But we also move slow because we know that summer is the very best of us – and we want to hang on to it as long as we can. 

Somewhere there’s a man getting ready to go fishing with his grandson. Somewhere there’s a neighbor drinking sweet tea on a front porch. Somewhere there’s a creek with kids splashing in it. 

And somewhere, either down the street or around the corner, in the next town over or at your mama’s house, there’s somebody doing something good. Helping a neighbor. Putting money in the offering plate. Adopting a shelter puppy. 

I’m sure of it. I’m convinced of it. I know it to be true. 

At least . . . I think it has to be true. I’m almost sure of it. Maybe? 

It’s been a long year. A really hard year. Along the way, I kind of lost my hope in people. I am having a hard time believing that people are out in the world doing good. Does goodness even exist anymore? Did Covid and politics and social media ruin us?

All I have seen on the news is hatred – acts of violence – yelling and anger. And around town? Well, people have forgotten how to smile at each other. And say hello when we pass each other in the grocery store aisle. We seem mad at something – or worse, scared of something. 

I have not seen goodness this year. 

So this summer, I am declaring it to be The Summer of Good. I have dragged out an old chalkboard. I have scrawled the words across the top. And I have instructed my family (as they look at me like I have two heads) that we are going to see GOOD in the world and then we will WRITE it down on the chalkboard when we see it. 

And I am declaring it to all of you – because I know there has to be GOOD out there. Right? 

Honestly, I’m a little worried we won’t have anything to write down on the chalkboard . . . 

Is this a little wacky? Yes. Is it a little cringey? Probably. Is it silly? Absolutely. 

But it’s also something I have to do – for myself and for my family. I must hang on to hope, cling desperately to its ankles. I can’t let it slip away from me. I have to see the goodness in our world before despair and desperation careen into all of us. 

And I want you to join me on this journey. I’ll be posting weekly updates and telling you what I am seeing. I’ll try to share photos of all the good that my family witnesses. I hope that you will do the same with me. Maybe we can find the good – together. 

What better time to do it than sweet summertime? 

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The Blanket

It’s 2 AM as I finally crawl into the hotel bed after sitting on the floor for almost 3 hours. Hugh’s blood sugar has plummeted after a long day at a school convention out of town. As hard as I try, his blood sugar stubbornly careens to levels that would put a grown man in the hospital. 

I give him 4 juice boxes to bring it up as I crouch next to the air mattress he is sleeping on. He wakes up on his second juice box, nauseated and disoriented from the crashing low. I bring a trash can over to his bedside. I wipe his forehead with my hands. I shove candy into the side of his mouth so it will absorb through his cheeks. 

He tells me he feels horrible, like his entire body is on fire. He groans and grits his teeth. I tell him he’s ok, that his blood sugar will be coming up soon. I don’t completely believe what I’m telling him. My hands are shaking, but I don’t want Hugh to see that, so I quickly tuck them under my legs. 

I google when I should administer the life-saving glucagon we carry with us at all times – the medicine I give him if his body loses the fight with his blood sugar. I know the answer, of course. I don’t need google to tell me it’s only when he is unconscious. But I do it anyway. Because I feel lost and scared and somehow, google knows all the answers. 

Slowly, painfully, Hugh’s blood sugar begins to rise. He is safe for now. Three hours of sitting on the floor has caused my joints to stiffen. I limp as I stand up. 

I feel his face one more time before I collapse into bed. I brush my hands over his forehead, his cheeks, his hair. He’s ok. We will sleep for a few hours before waking up at 7 for another full day of activities. We won’t tell anyone about the scare this night. Not because we don’t want to talk about it, but because no one will really understand. 

As I lay with my cheek on the pillow, facing Hugh in case he needs me again, I feel it once more. Anger. Hot, boiling, seething, red anger – and it settles around me like an old, heavy blanket. Cumbersome and oppressing, yet familiar and comfortable. 

I’ve worn this blanket before. And sometimes it feels good to wrap it around me. It feels deserving – even justified. 

I’m angry at myself, for missing the cues that Hugh was dropping low. Good heavens, Sally. You would think after 9 years of doing this you could get it right. You should be able to keep him safe. How could you have let this happen? 

I’m angry at you – all of you who don’t have to live this life. Everyone who sleeps soundly at night with no alarms and no blood sugar checks. All of you who have healthy children. My anger burns hot toward the naive and the un-tested. 

And I’m angry at the Man Upstairs, who could allow this to happen to an innocent child. A child who only deserves good and pure things in this world. What kind of God gives this burden to a boy?

I pull my blanket of anger tighter around my shoulders. I like the way it feels tonight. The blanket settles around me and keeps me warm. It gives me the excuse I need to spew flames into the world. 

As I grip my blanket tighter, as the justified anger seeps into my bones, as I begin to allow it to stick around, Hugh rolls over and looks at me. “Thanks, Mom” he says sleepily and then closes his eyes. 

“You’re welcome, baby” I whisper into the dark. 

And I slowly unwrap the blanket from my shoulders. I fold it neatly and smooth out the wrinkles. I give it one last squeeze, then I place it in the closet and close the door. I know it will always be there, but I also know there is only one thing that can free me from it. 

I’m sure you know what that one thing is too, but I’ll go ahead and tell you. It’s Love. 

Love wins every time. Love gently unwraps the heavy blanket of anger or fear or pride or hurt and replaces it with arms that embrace me instead. 

Love turns my head to see you – because you’re wearing a blanket too, sometimes. 

Love helps me notice that we all have blankets of anger. And while your’s may not be because of diabetes, it’s there just the same. Maybe it’s given to you after a divorce or a death or a failure or a betrayal. Maybe you try to hide it by hurting others or seeing the world as a dark and scary place. But Love shows me that what really is going on is that blanket – The one you can’t quite ever leave behind. 

And yet, Love whispers to me and to you again and again that when life is hard, when we hurt, when we are afraid, when our anger takes over, we can turn to Love. 

Love will hold our hand. Love will walk with us. Love won’t make us feel comfortable, but will give us joy beyond belief. And in this Love, we will want to share it with the whole world. 

So take off your blankets with me, dear friends, and join me in the One who Loves. I have been told that our lives will never be the same. 

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