Serving

I came home that day, longing for peace and quiet. To go to bed early on this first night of a long weekend. To prepare for a strenuous, time consuming life to be played out through the next three days. I open the door, and find three giggly girls set up in the livingroom. I groan to myself.

Then I look closer, and see them in sparkly dress, with stations set out in little girl fashion. One for hair, one for nails, and one for "makeup." They pull on our hands, my Boo and her friends, me, J, and our friend.

She pulls out that little girl voice that bugs me so much. "Chwisty.." Goodness gracious, I'm thinking to myself, you're eight years old... a lisp is anything but cute at your age.

But then I had to pause. As I took in the scene, it made me travel back many years ago, to when I held such parties. I never had an older sister. I always wanted one. Still want one. I've always wanted someone who's gone through the exact same things that I have gone, can give me advice, can make me feel pretty, can encourage me, who can spend time with me.

And it hurts to turn that expectation and see it from her eyes. The Boo that looks up to me. The one with golden hair and blue eyes. The one that is obsessed with the cat. The one who longs to be a princess and look pretty all the time. The one whom I don't spend enough time with on her own level.

And so I took off my coat... and delved into Little Girl Land one more time.

 The Hair

My Boo...

 

She has some of the most beautiful hair I have ever seen...

She was so patient...

 

The Details

 

And then they did something totally unexpected (in the moment)... they wanted to do my hair.

I'm being taught daily, these days, about how much different thing really mean. Serving... It's a tough thing. It doesn't only require doing when you're feeling adequately rested and prepared. No... It calls when you are broken and tired, drained and grumpy, in the most un-servant like attitude. Serving is only serving if it hurts, if it digs, if it takes up time, if you give. But as I serve... something happens. The joy in their faces transfers to mine, and I get caught up in the frilly whirlwind of yesteryears as they pick a dress for me to put on and call me to their world.

Because it was mine not so long ago. And as I look back on those years, it's amazing how fast they flew past. And soon she will be grown, too, my little Boo. The one who looks so much like me, and yet is so very different in personality. These years... they are to be cherished, not rushed. Dragged down and held, sprinkled with memory glitter and treasured. I'm learning to serve... and dance with Cinderella.