I Was Wrong

I thought my house was cramped until I walked into your apartment, where you house a family of five in two tiny bedrooms. I have never been anywhere that felt so peaceful. Thank you for teaching me that it's not about square feet.

I thought I was broke until I saw your cupboards, empty except for a box of Saltine crackers and a jar of peanut butter. You opened your cupboards to me in faith, believing I would be able to lead you to the resources that could help. I hope I didn't fail you. Thank you for reminding me of how much I have, and for trusting me to help.

I thought I had faith until I read about you in the newspaper, just a child, buried under piles of rubble after an earthquake, singing songs you'd learned at church, patiently waiting for someone to find you. Obviously, Someone found you and took up residence in your heart a long time ago. Thank you for helping me conquer fear.

I thought it was hard to be a mother, until I heard from a friend that you send your child to school each day praying he won't be hit by a stray bullet before he gets back. When I think what I do as a mother doesn't matter, I think of you, standing in your front doorway, being a safe place for your son to come home to. Thank you for reminding me what a mother really is.

I thought teenage girls could be difficult, until I met you. I saw you sit by someone who was struggling and quietly help. I saw you turn your back on others who wanted to make her feel uncomfortable, shielding her from their laughter. You looked as beautiful as anyone has ever looked right then. Thank you for showing me what it means to be strong and of good courage.

I thought I knew a lot, but it turns out I was wrong.