Eleven or Twelve

Have you ever just watched a kid? I don't mean a two or three year-old--I mean an eleven, twelve year-old junior higher. Have you ever just watched one be himself? I'm at E. Cypress Starbucks on the patio, and there's this family (at least I think it's a family) of three sitting in the opposite corner from me. A woman, a man, an eleven or twelve year-old boy. The boy has sandy blonde, wavy hair, and he's telling the adults a story right now. Hand motions and sound affects and giggles at his own jokes--this kid is alive with animation, and we're all the better for it. I can see his parents looking at him like he's both a mystery and someone they can understand far better than anyone else. I can see that they delight in his tales, not concerned at all with the time or the sun hitting them smack dab in the eyes. I watch all of this, and I think about how important it is to delight in a kid like this.

When I have a kid, I want to be that interested in my child. I want to be enamored by his facial expressions and impressed by the social skills he's picking up somewhere, somehow...
I want to remember those simple things about him when I walk past his messy room or ground him for saying a certain four-letter word he learned (somewhere, somehow). And I want to take him out to coffee--as a family. I want to hear his stories and jump into what's important to him.
I think maybe when I go to coffee with God, this is what He desires, too. Do I tell God stories like that? I am His kid--a little older than eleven or twelve, but to Him, about the same maturity level. Do I let my self relax and let the expressions of it come through to connect with my Dad? If I did, I'd probably have a much more content spirit.

Because what I'm watching right now is a kid with a content spirit. I can just tell by the way he sits comfortably with these two adults, who may or may not be his parents.

A habit I had (have)

My mom used to (and still does) tell me not to pick at my face. I tried to (and still try to) listen, but I have this habit... and this habit is hard to get rid of. Sorry for the un-lady like subject of this analogy (yes, this is going to be an analogy), but I've recently learned this habit mirrors something else I do way too subconsciously. In the same way that I look in the mirror for flaws on my face, I also look at my entire being for flaws I can pick at (and pick at and pick at...), as if they will be gone once I get every single one of them. This sounds like a good practice of self-awareness to someone who grew up in a culture where "self-awareness" and condemnation were all too similar. And even though I can distinguish the two now, it's still hard, sometimes, to feel the difference. So here's where the self-awareness line blurs and the picking goes too far...

Have you ever tried to get a zit that wasn't ready? Or one that would have been fine and left on it's own if you would have let it and left it alone?

The only thing left when you try too hard is more redness and irritation and noticeable scares.

So I'm trying to learn to see one thing at a time...
I'm trying to live out: "Picking too much doesn't make anything right."

This is what gets me, though. Picking actually makes my face dirtier - always trying to get the marks off. And if I would only wash it... Ha, if I would only wash my face every time I felt the urge to force something away... but the picking takes the place of washing, and the washing is too slow anyway...


And what's the point of all this? Here you go.

I need to be patient with myself instead of forcing all the "marks" away. I need to remember the things that HELP in the long run--- though the long run is exactly that.
I want to be aware of when I'm being self-aware or just condemning myself.
Because when I'm constantly, subconsciously, religiously instigating me... my flaw is being magnified. And my problem is actually growing.