I started working on a post earlier this week on all my new favorite things, including the fuzzy fuzzy pajama pants that could probably walk around by themselves because I’ve worn them so much and have to peel them off my legs to wash them – but somehow those things, even fuzzy fuzzy pajama pants, don’t seem so important today.
I have a to-do list 17 miles long and grand hopes of getting it all done this weekend so we can call a realtor next week and list our house. But that doesn’t seem so earth-shattering either.
I’ve been checking my email every 15 minutes since 7:30 this morning, hoping to hear from the charter school that held their lottery drawing yesterday afternoon. I already know that Nathan, who had the best chance of getting a spot, is an impossible number 115 on the waiting list, but I haven’t heard about the other two. (So much for that “best shot” theory!) But even that isn’t that big of a deal.
So many things that raise my heartrate. So many things I worry over. So many things that stress me out.
Yet across town, there is a nine year old girl without a mother. A husband without a wife. Two brothers without a sister, two parents without a daughter.
One incredible, amazing, awe-inspiring legacy.
I don’t know if Jenny Bazillion’s story reached your part of the world. I don’t know if you are one of the thousands who, though you never met her, have cried for her, prayed for her, wrote a comment on her CarePage. But if you were, I’m guessing that you, like me, have been grieving this week. And perhaps you, like me, have been challenged by the life of this remarkable woman to love more deeply, forgive more freely, hug more tightly.
And maybe you, like me, have listened to the stream of her memorial service with tears and thankfulness for this woman you never knew…and then quietly pictured your own memorial service and wondered what your own legacy will be. What your best friend would say during the eulogy. What your brother would say. What stories would be told. What words would be used to describe you.
It’s a humbling thought. One that makes all the other stuff of life not so important. Not quite so urgent.
So that’s where my heart is today. I still have the 17 mile long to-do list, and as I was writing, I got the email from the charter school (numbers 36 and 48). But what is more important today is playing keep-the-balloon-off-the-ground with Nathan and relishing his giggles, and calling my friend who is hurting and anxious, and holding my husband’s hand for no particular reason other than the fact that I love him more than anyone else on the planet.
Even more than my fuzzy fuzzy pajamas.