“Kyle’s birthday’s tomorrow,” our son, Trevor, mentioned as Howard was asking about the boys in his phone conversation this morning. What? I had forgotten another birthday? I can’t believe it. The third grandchild’s birthday I’d missed this year, and another that I had remembered belatedly! I have always kept up with their birthdays religiously, even if there are 18 of them. I will get his card today; while I’m at it, I’ll get one for granddaughter, Michaela’s, whose big day is the 27th. Since that was my grandmother’s birthday, that one sticks in my mind.
Speaking of mind, I learned a new word this week, and it’s French, at that: haricot vert. A Mississippi friend on face book was sharing her supper menu of mac’n’cheese, squash and buttermilk biscuits, when she threw in haricot vert and rib eye. Turns out it is thin green beans, the kind I prepare occasionally, pronounced something like ar-e-ko-ver with a French accent. Must be something I missed while living around Cajun/French influence in the South.
Well, it’s one thing to miss something trivial, but children’s feelings are not trivial to me. I felt so bad on two occasions recently over a couple of oversights that were unintentional, but unfortunate, nonetheless. Our church had planned a youth activity, which was to include adults for a support group, and I was asked to bring cookies. The little girl I have been “mentoring” called to see if we could pick her up. The event started at 5:30, and my husband didn’t get off work until then, making it at least past six when we would get there. Not to mention that she lives about 20 miles away. Howard told me we would not be able to pick her up. I suggested other people she might call, but she said she had already tried them.
I couldn’t enjoy the gathering knowing that she was absent, especially when I saw someone she sometimes rides with was there by herself. She said “Brittany” hadn’t called her. Then Wednesday night the service was spontaneously re-scheduled for 5:00 p.m., to allow time for a fellowship meal with an abundance of food leftover from a reception the day before. Everyone was called with the announcement, except apparently, Brittany. She showed up at 7:00, when everyone was leaving, breathless and hair wet from the shower (I had given her a hair dryer, when I learned hers was “broke”, but she was in a hurry). She had tried to call us at 4:30 for a ride to evening church, but we missed the call.
Lord, let me make it up to her. I know children are resilient and forgiving, but they have tender feelings, too. My grandkids know I love them and will overlook my forgetfulness, but I do not want to offend “one of these little ones” who may be on the cusp of faith.
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