I See You

One of my greatest joys is cheering for my kids when they do something amazing.

Amazing being a relative word, of course.

It could be writing a lower case ‘g’ in the lines properly. Or swinging from the monkey bars. Or hopping around the room on one leg.

Amazing can quite literally mean anything.

Just last week, my almost-five-year-old daughter was in gymnastics class, and for some reason, they started juggling scarves. After a series of “tricks,” the coach asked them to toss a scarf into the air and try to catch it with their foot.

Well, let me tell you, my daughter is determined to a fault. Even with something as arbitrary and trivial as catching scarves on her feet. (She gets it from her momma.)

So for a moment, she stood there, her brow furrowed in complete concentration as brightly-colored patches of fabric floated around her through the air.

Finally, she tossed hers up and stuck out her foot. The scarf floated lazily back down.

Miss.

She tossed it again. Another miss.

Toss, toss. Miss. Miss.

Until finally, the sheer square landed directly on the bridge of her tiny foot.

The smile that exploded across her face could have lit the entire gym. With twinkling, blue eyes alive with accomplishment, she turned toward the coach.

But the coach wasn’t looking.

And all her gymnast buddies were too focused to notice anything other than their own scarves.

I see you, sweet girl.

I raised my hands above my head victoriously in the viewing area, and my lips stretched into a wide smile as I tried to will her eyes to meet mine.

I see you.

But she never looked my way.

And a little kid can only balance on one leg for so long. Soon, she tipped over and the scarf sailed to the floor as though the trick never happened.

Everything about her—who she is, what she did—went seemingly unnoticed. Unappreciated.

Invisible.

Mommas, I don’t know about you, but I feel like that all too often.

There are days—heck, even weeks and months—when it feels like I’m sprinting to take care of the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of my family. Trying to clean the house, fold the laundry, do the dishes. Trying to write this book. Trying to get this post-baby body ready for CG Games.

Trying. Trying. Trying.

I’m constantly tossing scarves into the air and trying to catch them on my foot.

And lots of times I miss.

But sometimes—sometimes—I do something amazing.

Amazing being a relative word, of course.

It could be folding the laundry and miraculously getting the all clothes in the appropriate drawers. Or cooking three meals a day that everyone in my family actually eats. Or writing a chapter—or simply one sentence—that I’m proud of. Or giving 120% of myself at a Camp Gladiator workout. Or, most amazing of all, playing with my kids instead of worrying about what task I need to take care of next.

With twinkling, brown eyes alive with accomplishment, I turn toward my husband, my kids, my peers. Editors, literary agents, publishers. My CG trainer.

But sometimes they’re not looking. Sometimes they’re too focused on their own scarves to notice the one dangling from my foot.

And that’s okay. It’s not their job to keep their eyes on me.

But I can only balance my life for so long. Soon, I tip over and my scarf sails to the floor as though the amazing thing I did never happened.

Everything about me—who I am, what I did—feels unnoticed. Unappreciated.

Invisible.

Until I remember the viewing area. The one far outside my periphery.

Finally, I turn toward my attention that direction. There my Father stands, His hands raised above His head victoriously. Turns out He’s been there the whole time, watching, trying to will my eyes to meet His. His lips stretch into a wide smile as he says the words I’ve so longed to hear.

I see you, sweet girl. I see you.

 

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6 Comments on “I See You

  1. Ah, Kelsey, I love this post so much! Maybe it’s because I like writing analogies too. I love the analogy of us all stood there with a scarf wrapped around our feet hoping that somebody will notice. And how sad that your sweet little girl was not noticed. I’m sure you had praise and encouragement enough for both you and the coach when you got home, but I can clearly see how this relates to the lives of adults too. My current blog, which I am writing this comment from, has posts similar to yours, but I also have an older blog which I have just started using for re:blogs. May I please re:blog this on that site? My heart is to promote other people’s blogs when I stumble across fantastic posts like this one.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. No doubt your cooking ability has improved since you made that concoction in our kitchen. You appear to be a great mother.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Reblogged this on Light-bites For Your Heart and commented:
    Time to Re:blog:
    Sensational posts by sensational people.

    Meet Kelsey.
    Amongst many accomplishments, this sporty lady is a successful journalist and author and although I’ve only just ‘met’ her myself, I was blown away by her post below because it is so real. I could easily visualize her cute little girl standing in the middle of the room with a scarf dangling from her tiny foot, desperate for somebody to notice. It reminded me very much of the little girl in my post Dance Classes, but I am not here to promote that – but hers below. Infact, that’s what it is all about: how we stand there with an accomplishment, wanting others to see it and give us the due praise, forgetting that we are only instruments in God’s hands. Blogging is a typical pursuit that can have us falling into that trap, especially if we are disappointed over how few LIKEs we have received or if we don’t get any sweet comments. So I hope this fantastic article encourages you, like it did me. Please check out her other posts when you have the time. I, for certain, cannot wait to read more! Enjoy.

    Liked by 1 person

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