Remember how after they pulled you pink and gooey into the world they wanted to name you after your daddy? Even though they had seen you and knew you were a girl. And that blessed woman that saved you from a man's name.
So instead they named you Cynthia Anne.
And in 8th grade you decided with so many Cindy's in your class that Cindee with two e's was more fitting. And it stuck all these birthdays later.
Remember how after birthday 18 you drove straight cross country and learned when you can't look back to just look up. And how uncle John taught you that sometimes the best way to look up was to lay flat on your back.
And at 23 with two tiny twins in that tin trailer home that was coming apart, didn't you tell me that you, in that place, you nearly fell apart. That depression was darker than shutters pulled tight and lonelier than a husband always traveling. That one day when the knock came and the woman left you realized this was life and the only way to live was to view the present as a gift. All of the present as a gift. And you gifted me with the reminder to do that, to slow down, and see the gift.
Remember when I was 8 and the melt down that happened after we came home and my type a personality was meeting with your plan b chore chart and we were behind the daily schedule and you just kept on with the daily grind. And that next week the schedule stayed up and we stayed behind and I thought you were so smart to teach me, with out words, that life goes on even when we're off. Looking back now I think we might have been learning that lesson together.
Do you remember the make shift baseball field behind the white house? The time you stepped up to home plate (literally a red plastic plate), you gripped the tennis racket tight and missed the shrunken, cotton stuffed, mini soccer ball and we laughed and you laughed too. You laughed because you knew part of your calling was to stand over a plate and miss sloppy pitches with humility, because how else would we learn? Okay, maybe you laughed because you knew that the odds one of us would inherit your lack luster athleticism was not in our favor.
When we drove straight cross Texas from Arizona to South Carolina do you remember the cat that sat on your headrest with the dog leashed to Noah's side and the boys went crazy and a know-it-all 15 year old told you how to control the circus going on in the back of that white mini van and you laughed and cracked the window and taught me in the moment that Peace has chosen us so life can get crazy.
And the night in that navy blue bedroom we sat around and prayed for daily bread because there wasn't any for tomorrow and do you remember how impressed people were when dad told them I had thanked God for hand picking this bread trial. But it was the impression trials made on you that have pointed me to the fact that the only way deeper into faith is deeper into trials. And isn't that how you've always lived and isn't that Romans? That suffering leads to giving up or going on and going on leads to growing up and growing up leads to head up, chin up confidence in what's coming and what's going on.
And the joyful trial of sweet Edna, and the day after day going on that you did and didn't I tell you it was too much and you told me with out words the times when we are pushed hard, stretched thin those are the times we see the preciousness of Mary's pushing a baby boy out into a barn and her son's stretching on a tree. And didn't he teach us, both on his birthday and deathday that a life laid down in humility has more influence than a life built high on achievements. And the time you chose to spend restless and poured out you were being privileged to lessons we missed; like no moment spent loving is a moment wasted and no life is a waste of time because that's what the author of time said.
