Vessel

The eight eager faces greeted me warmly as I trudged through the meeting room door.  “Can I help you with something, Miss Rachel,” my favorite asked.  I handed her the cupcakes my Mother had baked for our Valentine’s party and instructed her to put them on the side table.

“Yeah, a party!” the girls exclaimed.  Cupcakes, soda, and teddy bear napkins bring such delight to the average eleven-year old girl, and these girls were no exception.  For a minute I basked in their unadulterated happiness, and I considered how beautiful life is when we savor the simple things—like cupcakes with homemade buttercream frosting and pink candy sprinkles.

My exhaustion and physical discomfort melted away under the adoring gazes of the girls, who tease me about being “Craft Lady.”  I lost myself and my pain in the rhythm of the tasks at hand.

The girls happily worked on the gift we were making:  a glass votive holder decorated with ribbon and candy conversation hearts sealed with ModgePodge.  I sat at the table cutting the cellophane in which we would wrap our gifts. I listened to the girls whisper of the upcoming Sweetheart dances, and my favorite showed me that her crush signed her T-shirt.

She’s my favorite because she needs me.  She thirsts for attention and care like a houseplant neglected during summer vacation.  I, too, am empty and desire to be filled.  Parts of me are shriveled up like dry, brittle leaves.  I don’t know if any amount of TLC hydration will restore them.

When men find my volunteering silly or inconvenient, I often wish they could see the beautiful faces of the girls and understand how being with them makes me feel. 

When I’m with them I don’t feel empty.  I don’t feel broken.  I don’t feel unworthy. I don’t feel like less of a woman because I only have one child and no steady man in my life.

When I’m with them, I’m not undesirable, insignificant, or unworthy--I’m a vessel filled with love.