Over the last year or so, I've experienced a lot of firsts in my life. And when I think about it, that's rather amazing to me considering the fact that I'm not a youngster by any means. Some of those firsts were good ones ... like wearing a size 6 in jeans or participating in the Step Out walk to fight diabetes or going to the office holiday party or flying on an airplane or being honest about who I am (though some would say that should go in the not so good firsts category) or attending a fancy luncheon put on by one of our clients or watching my daughter run in her first 5K (and winning 2nd in her age division ... hooray, Megs!) or the best first of all ... becoming a granny to my precious little C.J. Some of my other firsts weren't so wonderful ... like getting stitches in my knee or saying goodbye to my son and his family when they moved to Canada or having more ear infections than there were months in the year or sobbing my guts out at work or having friends decide they couldn't be my friends any longer or having speaking engagements cancel or the worst first of all ... writing farewell letters to my children. Yep, this old gal has seen a lot of firsts in the last year and a half.
Both yesterday as I sat in the large banquet hall with several of my co-workers at the fancy luncheon listening to the young speaker tell her story and this morning as I stood at the 5K in the cold drizzle with my son-in-law waiting and watching for my only daughter to accomplish a big first in her life and cross the finish line, I was struck by the importance of something that has been brought to my mind over and over again in the last week. So much more than the enormity of some of those firsts in my life is the depth of meaning, the strong significance, the potential outcome of being part of a village of people who truly comprehend and understand what it means to love unconditionally. Last year, my children demonstrated a love for me that will forever humble me in every future moment of every future day. Matt, Brad and Meghann continue to stand firmly with me and around me and behind me and for me without compromise or regret, as do Becca, Shelby and Barrett as well. Those six young adults are the heartbeat of the village where I now reside, and their love and acceptance means more to me than they will ever know.
That whole standing with me and around me and behind me and for me thing ... I've come to understand within the last few months that it's not only my kids who do that, you know. Certain members of my family stand like strong and mighty oaks surrounding me, steadfast and unswaying in their acceptance and love for me as well ... family who will always stand with me through the good and the bad times of life. A few of my long-time friends have chosen to remain, and their feet are planted firmly on the steps of loyalty, commitment and faithfulness. As much as I hate to admit it, there's a life-saving head doctor who is part of my village as well. She's a key player, in fact, in spite of the really dumb homework she makes me do and the hard-to-answer questions she asks. And then there are the friends who give all-new meaning to the phrase, "It takes a village." They are the friends who push me, pull me, urge me on, encourage me, believe in me, listen and listen and listen some more, and speak truth to me even when I don't want to hear it. They are the ones who tell me I need to keep my ears wide open and listen for God's voice. They are the ones who tell me there's a purpose and a reason I'm still breathing, that there's a mission and a calling and something I'm supposed to do yet in my life.
A little over a year ago, I wanted to leave and never come back ... and today ... today, I live in a village of people whose love flows the purest, whose honesty speaks the loudest, whose loyalty holds the firmest, whose commitment runs the deepest, whose faith spans the widest, whose hope stretches the farthest, whose support stands the truest of any group of people I've ever known. They are my village keepers ... and they are keepers for sure.
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