This past weekend, I had the joy of surprising my sister with a birthday trip to Big Bear. It was so sweet to be able to shower her with a party that she didn’t have to plan!
Towards the end of the weekend, though, Marcie fell. We were sitting in the living room, watching my sister open her presents, when my 21 month old daughter, propelled by evident excitement, rushed across the room to her daddy. Unfortunately, she tripped over the rug and lightly bumped her head. Normally, my response to a minor fall would be to encourage her to brush off her hands and/or knees and to gently remind her that she’s okay; usually, she’s pretty courageous and will only cry if she’s truly hurt or simply tired. In those cases, I’ll ask her to point to her owie so I can kiss it or even put ice on it.
However, before I could say anything, one of the attendees informed Marcie, “Well, that’s what you get.” To some, that statement may seem totally fine…if it’s directed to someone who comprehends the consequences of an action. In other words, my toddler doesn’t understand the trip hazard that rugs pose because she is not accustomed to rugs or the slippery wood floors that they often cover.
Of course, Marcie quickly dismissed the fall because she was immediately enveloped in the strong arms of her daddy.
Nevertheless, I could not as readily ignore this comment that came across as thoughtless. And yet, as I processed her words, I realized that, woven throughout the poor delivery, hid a shred of truth: passionate vulnerability hurts.
Eventually, my daughter will learn that running in the house is not appropriate (in most situations), or that rugs, as stylish as they may be, can indeed pose safety risks.
However, more than menial information, I hope my daughter learns that, although embracing life results in pain, vulnerability is worth it. I hope she never allows fear of falling to shroud her palpable joy or prevent her from pursuing that which is precious. I hope she continues to let her contagious love motivate her, even if her passion garners inappropriate comments from people who don’t know her or have her best interest at heart. And I hope that she will continue running. Running to authentic love. Running to people who care more for her than she may ever realize. Running to Jesus. Because, while it may seem hasty to rush across a living room with excitement at the sight of your dad, it’s what toddlers do. Oh that my sweetly vulnerable daughter would never lose her tenacious spirit that propels her through challenges to that which is infinitely far more valuable and permanent than any owie that an old rug may inflict.
“Persistence can change failure into extraordinary achievement.”
– Matt Biondi
Daffodils and Diapers 