There's no such thing as failure, you are just warming up for success.You have to dig deep and you have to find your own passion. Sometimes,
with the right mix of love and faith and tolerance and support and mutual respect and patience, situations can turn in other ways. In positive ways. In hopeful ways. And that's what these tips are all about – helping each other to walk the path of purpose and possibility. Drawing on our shared experiences so that we can make better decisions and so that we can support them with better decisions of our own.
Finding the resolve and the reason to give ourselves the earned benefit of the doubt, to the point where we can't help but come down on the side of hope.
- Glenda
Expect the best from those you love and offer your best in return.
Here's a story from my own household to illustrate. My younger son, Chris, is a good basketball player. Chris has got a strong, all-around game-strong on defense, strong on the boards, strong to the hole. About his only weakness, like Shaquille O'Neal's, is his
free-throw shooting. It's his Achilles' heel. In this one area, Chris is not much better than hit or miss, to the point where opposing coaches know that he's the guy to foul when the game's on the line. To his credit, Chris recognizes this flaw in his game, and he's worked on some of the other weapons in his arsenal to compensate, but he knows that no matter how hard he works on his free throws he might never have that sure, soft touch from the line that some of his teammates seem to have been born with.
Okay, so that's the back-story. Front and center, there was Chris's high school team, time running out, meaningful game against a key rival, the other team up by a single point. Our guys had the ball and someone sent it down low to Chris, who was promptly fouled. There were just a couple of tics left on the clock. Chris went to the line for a one-and-one-that is, if he made the first free throw, he'd have a shot at a second. The crowd and the players on each bench were stone silent. There was just Chris, stepping to the foul line, getting ready to shoot.
He sank the first shot, to tie the game, and from my spot in the bleachers I could see him draw in a deep breath. His deep breath matched mine. He'd gone from everything-to-lose to everything-to-gain in the sure, soft flick of his wrists, and I could see the difference in his demeanor. He took his time before taking his second shot, let the gym return to quiet, then sank the next basket as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
The crowd went wild. Chris's teammates went wild. His poor, crazy cheerleader of a mother went wild. Chris collected me in a great big sweaty hug. "Mom," he shouted, above the din, "you and I were the only people in this gym who thought I could hit those shots! We showed 'em, huh?"
It wasn't a fluke, Chris going two-for-two with the game on the line like that. It wasn't dumb luck. It was the by-product of a lifetime of encouragement and nurturing and cheerleading and discipline and love-pure, unconditional love. Actually, to put a fine point on things, it's unconditional love with just a few strings attached. I don't believe it's enough to love a child and leave it at that or for that child to receive love and give nothing but his own love in return. No. It starts there, in our house, but it doesn't end there.
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