I've had quite a few people tell me that going to Africa is an achievement and they are proud of me and wished they could do something as important. Thank you all for these kind thoughts, and I before I go, I want to let you all know I am thinking of you and that not every victory needs to be a trip halfway around the world. You are all completing inspirational acts everyday, so keep it up and pat yourself on the back! This reminded me of an email I wrote a while back, and I hope you look for your own victories while I am gone trying to achieve a victory of my own.
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Victory is a word that often carries a heavy meaning as we older. You need to be the Valedictorian to be victorious in high school. Your college football team has to win the Rose Bowl to victorious in college football. Many even feel that to be victorious in life, you must make extensive amounts of money and be the best in your field.
Well, as I waded through the baby pool the other day with the little girl I babysit, the sun warming my back, the pee in the pool warming my feet (and killing any athlete’s foot), I looked around and got a true peek into a part of our lives that, as we get older, I feel we often forget or at least overlook- our victories.
My eyes noticed a little girl who scanned the pool with her eyes opened so widely, I swear, the whites were larger than a full moon in summer. She proceeded to inhale a large breath of air that could have easily allowed her to stay under water for twelve minutes. Her arms shot up in the air at 90 miles per hour, and suddenly she went under. I can only imagine the scene under the water, but above the water, two skinny legs flailed wildly, and a hazardous foot almost took out a child's newly earned front tooth. Approximately four seconds later, the half of her body that was underwater came up for air. With dark hair matted to her face, outlining her eyes and tickling the corners of her mouth, her lower jaw dropped and she caught her mother’s eyes from across the pool.
“Did you see that?! I just did a HANDSTAND in the pool!” she shouted excitedly to her mom across the pool, her voice full of pride. I don’t believe the smile ever left her face that day.
Victory.
I also noticed a little boy near the diving boards. I noticed him because he was both in line and out of line- just kind of hanging out and confusing those who actually wanted to get in line to take the plunge. He was there for a while, eyeing the diving boards with fear, confusion, and defiance in those small eyes, whose lashes were so saturated with water, that he looked as if he were wearing mascara. He finally stepped in line for the high dive, and his steps were a little smaller and a bit slower than the other diving dare devils waiting for the chance to be falling airborne for a brief moment. His chest was moving up and down at a pace that reminded me of the speed of a strobe light. Finally, his number was called, and he climbed up that high dive ladder with white hands and toes that appeared to curl completely around each rung. By the time he got to the top, his belly was scratched and bleeding because he practically shimmed his way up the ladder. Having reached the top of his own Mount Everest, he ran the marathon (I am positive it felt like a marathon to him) down the length of the diving board (I am also positive his sweaty feet made that experience even more delightful), and jumped- well, ran- off the board. The entire way down to the pool, his feet kept running, only to have his arms flap widely as if he were trying to fly back to the edge of that high dive. All of these efforts on the way down only led to the inevitable- a belly flop. I worried that his high dive experience might scar him for life (figuratively and literally, based on his scratched up belly). A head bobbed up to the top of the water and moved via doggie-paddle to the ladder. The boy got out of the pool with nothing but a smile on his face. He turned and looked at that high dive again with his mascara eyelashes and the look of “Hello, old friend” blanketed his face. He ran (and got yelled at by the lifeguard on duty) and this time clearly took his place in line for the high dive.
Victory.
I saw others as well. To the kid who talked his mom into a quarter for the snack shack; to the girl who stared at the boy from across the pool and finally said hi; to the little kid who stuck his/her head under the water for the first time and discovered they wouldn’t die- victory.
As we get older, the victories may not become easier and they may seem to come far and few between, but that doesn’t make them any less important or meaningful in our lives and who we are as people. Take a moment to think of any victories you have accomplished recently- big or small- and pat yourself on the back. You were once that kid at the pool whose chest puffed up because you actually jumped off the high dive, swam underwater, or did an awesome handstand, and you took pride in that accomplishment, so take pride in the ones you achieve now- no matter how big or small.
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See you soon, America! Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers! I look forward to returning with stories to share!
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