Today, something small happened that felt impossibly big.
It was the kind of moment parents quietly pray for—not for recognition, but for reassurance. For a glimpse that the values you’re pouring into your children are taking root.
Complete strangers went out of their way to tell us how kind, polite, and well-mannered our children are. Several people stopped us. Not in passing—but intentionally. As if they needed us to know.
But the most meaningful part of the day happened quietly, without any prompting.
Lucy noticed a group of children playing in the pool and, on her own, gathered the courage to walk over and introduce herself. Her dad was nearby poolside, but this was entirely her moment—her choice. She asked if she could play with them, and later we learned she even told them her brother would be joining soon too 😅.
What makes this moment so tender is what had happened the day before.
Just one day earlier, Lucy had gathered the same courage and introduced herself to two girls who were already playing together. She asked if she could join them—and they said no.
Her heartbreak was immediate and deep.
I held her while she cried and tried to find the words that might help her make sense of it. I told her something I hope she remembers long after childhood:
The world is full of people who say no—and that’s okay. You’re not searching for a “no” friend. You’re searching for a “yes” friend.
I reminded her not to let the sting of rejection harden her heart. Not to stop asking. Not to stop believing in the goodness of others. I told her that somewhere—maybe many somewheres—there are people whose day will be changed simply because she had the courage to ask them to play.
And then… she believed it.
The very next day, she tried again.
She risked another “no.”
She risked another ache in her chest.
And she chose bravery anyway.
When Anderson and I returned, Lucy took her brother’s hand and gently led him over to her new friends. With a confidence that felt both childlike and deeply wise, she said,
“This is my brother, Anderson. He’s going to play football with us too.”
And just like that, they were off—running, laughing, playing—for hours.
Two women sitting nearby watched the whole thing unfold. Eventually, they turned to us and told us they were overwhelmed—in the best way. They said they rarely see children behave with such kindness and respect anymore. That most kids they notice are withdrawn, rude, or lost in screens. But what stood out most wasn’t just Lucy’s manners—it was the way she introduced herself, and then so naturally included her brother.
They were genuinely moved.
And so were we.
Richard and I have been praying for a long time now that God would fill our hearts and minds with His joy—so deeply that it would spill over into the way we live, love, and raise our children. We’ve prayed that others would see Him, not because we spoke His name, but because they felt His presence.
Today, they did.
They saw God’s joy in our children—in their courage, their kindness, their softness in a world that so often teaches hardness.
What a sacred gift it is to witness that kind of bravery.
What a holy reminder that joy grows when hearts remain open.
What a beautiful, unforgettable moment 💛
