Lisa notes

In-Laws

I try not to compare myself to my sister-in-law, Cindy. She does many things better than I do, especially in the in-law department.

Cindy is better at helping out in our mother-in-law’s kitchen; she brings better dishes to the family meals; she’s more apt to initiate phone calls and visits with our mother-in-law.

Although my mother-in-law (she’s the best!) never shows favoritism between Cindy and I, I sometimes think she has to be more pleased with Cindy than with me.

But then I remember one thing.

What’s the most important thing my mother-in-law wants from me? It’s to love her baby son well.

And while I even fail to do that perfectly, I trust that she knows I do my best. I do love her baby boy. Jeff is my favorite person. And I am his.

When she heard I agreed to ride with him from Alabama to Illinois and back in two days a weekend ago, she was relieved. She didn’t want him doing it alone.  

Because he is happy, I know it makes his mother happy, too.

To be a better daughter-in-law? Be a better wife.

All in the Family

My youngest daughter Jenna mentioned that she and my oldest daughter Morgan talked last week. I always love hearing that. I love when my daughters love each other.

It was important to me when they were young. It’s still important to me now that they’re adults.

It makes me happy.

Parents are pleased when their kids love each other.

Remind you of someone else we know? Isn’t God pleased when he sees his kids loving each other, too?

All his kids.

Loving each other is loving God.

It might be the best love we ever give him. 

Share your thoughts in the comments.

I didn’t know what to do. So I froze.

If I’d had more warning, more time to think about it, maybe I could have responded.

But instead, I just watched it happen, this adult interacting with a child in a way that made me want it to stop.

Why had I done nothing?

It was a gentle teasing from a father to his child, a playful interaction. It was nothing inappropriate in any way except for age. The little daughter simply wasn’t old enough to understand the game.

Another year, maybe two, and she would have laughed along. She would have participated in the game and perhaps won it. She wouldn’t have been confused. 

The room was full of people watching. We all laughed a little. But the longer it went, the more uncomfortable we grew, at least the sensitive ones among us.

The little girl began getting frustrated with her father. Maybe he would have broken in another minute anyway.

But a young lady stepped in. She emerged from the crowd and whispered something in the little girl’s ear.

None of us heard what it was.

But it worked.

The little girl walked away from the game and began to play with a friend. Her frustration was gone. The dad let it go. The party went on, no one the wiser.

I breathed a sign of relief.

Except I didn’t keep the relief.

I now had a guilt hangover.

• Why hadn’t I been the one to interrupt the game?
• Why was I intimidated by the number of people in the room?
• Why was I afraid I’d look like a party-pooper if I had interrupted the game between the father and daughter?

Why had I done nothing?

A few days later, I found the opportunity to ask the young lady what I wanted to know. “What did you whisper in the little girl’s ear to turn things around?”

She said she told the little girl, “Remember the lollipop I said you could have later? You can go get it now!”

I thanked her for intervening that day. I told her I was proud of her. She’d made me feel better, and I know she made the little girl feel better too.

Why had I done nothing?

Upon reflection, perhaps I had done something.

I had raised that young lady, the one who spoke up, the one who braved the crowd and saved the day.

She was my grown daughter, once my own little girl. Maybe I had done something right in the raising, by God’s grace.

Or, more likely, maybe in spite of my raising, by God’s grace, she was now doing the right things.

Maybe I still should have spoken up that day. Maybe I should have been the one who took action.

But then again, maybe I had already taken my action. I raised a daughter who will speak up.

I’ll count that as a team victory.

May my children continue to surpass me in every way.

May your past bear good fruit into your future. 

Have you ever had a guilt hangover from something you didn’t do, but wished you had? Share in the comments.