'Mr. Clean' (from April 2013)

Do you ever wonder if certain people are supposed to cross your path in life for a reason?  Even those that come and go so quickly.  Well, I do.  I believe that there are those out there whom I will meet that will teach me, provide an answer to prayers, boost my spirits, influence my choices and change my life. Today, that someone was Mr. Clean.

You can find the face of Mr. Clean on the front of an all purpose cleaner bottle found at pretty much any grocery store.  He has a shiny bald  head, buff arms and white eye brows.  Perhaps, Mr. Clean represents what this product can do in your home, Mr. Clean can kill strong germs and he will leave things shiny. I have always loved Mr. Clean for the big smile that he always has along with the twinkle in his eye.  Well, today I met the real Mr. Clean. He has the bald, shiny head, strong mucles and he had the Mr. Clean smile.  Today, Mr. Clean came to my front door to pick up my fragile FedX package.

Just a few days ago, a special package was delivered to my home. In BOLD letters it was marked 'FRAGILE, handle with care' on all four card board sides and required exaggerated, special packaging. Inside was something priceless and  precious. Brannick signed his name and gently placed the fragile cargo in the hall.  It was a special package, one we had been waiting for for quite some time. As I stared at this package in my room for the next few days, I read and re-read the warning stickers up and down the sides. 'DO NOT DROP', 'FRAGILE', 'HANDLE WITH CARE'.  Those words began to speak to me as I thought about the inner struggles I deal with each day. The doubts that fill my mind of  if I am good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.  The thought of am I simply..... enough!

 Mr. Clean knew of the sensitivity of what I was handing over to him as I signed my name and released my grip. He had picked up such packages before.  As he began to turn away, he must have sensed my anxiety, and the heaviness that comes from worry. Mr. Clean stepped back up onto the top stair of my front porch, leaned forward and in such a gentle, tender voice with both hands caressing this precious package, he said these few simple words; 'Hey now, don't you worry, I've got this. Trust me!'

Perhaps I read into Mr. Clean's words a little more than most people would, but I closed that door and let a few tears run down my cheeks.  In those simple, brief words was the answer I had been seeking to those questions of doubt and feelings of simply not being enough.  It's simple, isn't it?  Our Heavenly Father has promised us that if we will simply trust Him and do our best, everything will be ok.  He knows what He is doing. His plan is magnificent, yet simple.  Yes, some days are harder than others. Some days I don't feel like I am enough to complete my role in His great design, and some days I want to give up. But Mr. Clean reminded me today that my Heavenly Father loves me and that I just need to trust.... Trust that I am beautiful! Trust that I am smart. Trust that I am truly enough because.... He's got this!

Thank you Mr. Clean!

Juli Riggs

Humble Red Tennis Shoes

I never get tired of waking up to the sound of birds outside my window.  Spring can't come fast enough after long, dreary winters. Outside my front door, my daffodils greet me, holding their heads up high after bursting through frozen ground and standing firm against bitter April showers.  I admire their strength and their beauty as I tackle the events of another day full of places to be and things to do. The sun teases of warmth as Canyon and I bundle up and make our way to the elementary school.  He wanders through doors he has never entered, into a world full of little people. His eyes glance from side to side as he stands their motionless and watches the children line up and walk by.  How the mother in me longs to know what his tender thoughts must be in this enthralling moment of excitement. 

I took a seat on the bench next to a friend, waiting for our turn to go to the principles office. It has been a year now since I have walked these halls. Saskya has moved on to the drama of Junior High and Canyon has a few more years before its his turn. I had forgotten the joy that is found in watching little feet and little faces.  Their world is full of adventure, of laughter, of learning.  I found myself getting lost in their little conversations with each other as they stood in line waiting, impatiently and energetically for their turn to get on the bus or find their waiting parents. This particular group of children that I was watching had to be around the young age of 6 or 7.  Their backpacks were nearly as big as they were, sure to tip them over if they carried much weight. 

I watched their teacher as she called them each by name reminding them to use their quiet voices and to stay in line.  There was something special about this teacher. Something touched me as I watched her interaction with these children, something magical as I watched their interaction with her. This beautiful teacher was born with an obvious physical challenge. Her right arm was much shorter than her left and her right hand appeared to be deformed with only four fingers.  I immediately allowed myself to feel sorrow for this woman. My mind quickly jumped to how hard it must be for her to keep up with these children.  How challenging it must be to do so many of the things that I take advantage of each day.  But, then it happened.  Quickly, without knowing it, she trampled over all those thoughts that I was having of pity and empathy for her obvious handicap. 

 He was quiet and well behaved. She hadn't called his name and he wasn't one of the ones she had to remind to use a quiet voice. I don't recall him pushing or shoving or ever stepping out of his spot in the line, but she quietly made her way over to him and leaned down in front of him.  It all happened so fast, in a matter of a few seconds her beautiful hands, both of them, reached down and struggled to tie his loosely hanging white shoe laces on his vibrant red, dirt covered tennis shoes. Her fingers worked together so eloquently  hiding any challenge this deformity would create.  She then placed her beautiful hands on his little shoulders and gently squeezed. He smiled and softly said 'thank you'.

I sat there realizing once again how pure and innocent little children really can be. I was guilty of judging someone I didn't know. I have never seen her, I don't know her name. I don't know the trials she faces or the challenges she has been dealt. I quickly assumed that surely life was harder for her. Surely she couldn't do all the things that I can do because of a small difference between her hands and mine. But, in the middle of my chaotic day, I learned from a small boy, that we are all the same.  He knows this woman. He trusts that she will be there to take care of him. He doesn't see what I saw, he see's whats on the inside. He feels the love of two warm and gentle, beautiful hands.

Thank you God for beautiful hands and dirty red tennis shoes that reminded me to look at the world through a child's eyes.