Or how giving our kids a soft place to land also gives us a chance to listen.
Walking through our small town, I stop in a local thrift store just to browse around, killing time. I push open the front door to be met with that familiar, old musty smell of well-worn objects and old books.
Meandering through thrift stores reminds me of the Island of Misfit Toys, the possessions others discard because they no longer fit into their ever-changing lives. Yet, even though these objects do not “fit” someone else, to another person they become an object of delight, even joy.
I survey the aisles, skimming my hand across a rack of jackets, picking up a dish or picture to put it down again and find my thoughts turning to my son Jace for several reasons.
First, Jace loves hunting through thrift stores for that perfect find as much as I do. He’s kind of my thrift store buddy, so there is an element of missing him on this day.
Second, when Jace was growing up I often thought of him as my misfit boy whom I cherished because of his uniqueness.
The third reason Jace is on my mind is that as I walk through the stores’ bookshelves, I spy the children’s book, Love You Forever.
I smile but can’t help my eyes from misting over a little while a lump forms in my throat as I swallow. I’ve found a favorite book from when both of my kids were little, read over, and over, and over, again.
Our copy is packed away in a box inside the garage where the yesteryear resides. But my memories, therefore my feelings, seem like they just happened yesterday.
Carefully I turn over the cover page of the glossy paperback…