Last night, I was in the kitchen cooking, and I turned too sharply causing the heel of my foot to get caught between the floor and the bottom of the cabinet. My stomach clenched when the pain of a cut and scraped heel reached my body. I tried to do the "grit your teeth" method, but I soon realized that I had not felt pain like this in awhile, and there was no grit your teeth. Unable to walk I fell to the ground, and as stupid as I am sure I looked and felt, I began to cry. My body began to shake and the blood began to come. I look at it now, and it is really such a little cut for such a big pain. My husband immediately jumped to action. He grabbed a wet rag and knelt down on the heel to apply pressure. Inside, I wanted to say that the rag was dirty, but I couldn't speak by this point. He held pressure until I got calm enough to hold the rag myself. He then quickly jumped to bandage the wound with wrap and band aid. He walked me over to the couch where I curled into his arms. My husband...my hero.
Later that night, I was trying to unpack some things from my trip to Alabama. I started opening up bags from my thrift store shopping spree and revealed to my husband the four pairs of pants, several t-shirts, and countless other shirts ready for the summer. Each thing I pulled out of a bag became my husband's new favorite thing. I was a hero.
As children, we are taught that heroes wear funny clothes, fight big monsters, and fly. As we grow a little older we may recognize that heroes wear a police uniform or fight fires. However, soon, I hope we come to the realization that we are all heroes when we look outside ourselves and care for another person. My husband could have told me to take care of the wound myself, and I would have eventually been able to do as such. He was a hero when he jumped to my rescue. He is my hero everyday that he goes to work so that our family can be supported. I could have spent all the money in the clothing budget on myself, but instead, I chose to be a hero and give. Yesterday, a future landlady became our hero when she revealed to us that our rent was going to be cheaper than she had recently stated. I long to be a hero, but I forget that I am one in my own home when I take care of things and love others before myself.
This past week, I got to spend some time with some wonderful heroes in Alabama... the Varians. The Varians took me in several years ago without knowing anything about my past or even my present. They loved me and allowed me to spend holidays with their family. The first Christmas I spent with them, I was amazed that in their Christmas shopping, they had remembered me! Mrs. Varian spends so much time teaching me about becoming a woman of God caring for a family. She takes me to shops and teaches me how to cook yummy and healthy foods that are a blessing to my husband. She has taught me so much about building healthy relationships and being hospitable. She has opened up her home, her heart, and her life to me. She is transparent, revealing me when she is failing and rejoicing in my victories. She was at my wedding, and in my wedding. She is not afraid to go along with me on adventures whether that means to the store or just through my heart. Several years ago, when I first stumbled upon the Varians, I remember praying for a woman of God to teach me how to become a woman of God, and my prayers were definitely answered. I am blessed to the extreme by this woman. I never go to the Varians without coming back with a car full of practical things. This trip it was clothes and mason jars. Soon, this amazing woman just became Ms. Mary. She is Ms. Mary to many people, and I know when she gets to heaven, she will be rewarded for her service. I find it ironic that though her name is Mary she looks and acts like a Martha. However, sometimes I believe that Ms. Mary has learned how to worship like a Mary in her Martha life. I could only hope to live that kind of life.
Mr. V can be a scary human being at first. He is big, loud, and opinionated. Several nights I have sat in his living room discussing things about the word, politics, and life. Though we may not always agree, he still values my opinion and I love his wisdom. My little red car is a gift from God, but it was Mr. V that worked countless hours in getting it fixed up for me, and it was Mr. V that made me drive the dang thing home from Alabama even though I had no clue how to drive a standard. It was Mr. V that challenged me on the way that I treated guys when I was younger and very clueless. It was Mr. V that drove his family to Arkansas for my wedding, and it was Mr. V that allowed his family to go to New York with me so that I could finally discover my dream of being in New York City. Mr. V is one of those people that you just enjoy being around after awhile.
Ms. Mary and Mr. V are not my parents. I have those. These people are heroes. They have four children and without knowing me at all, they adopted me into their hearts and life. I even made their Christmas letter one time. They really are my Alabama family, and I hope that my children gets as excited as I do when we get to go visit. I also hope for a car with a DVD player because that is a LONG trip. The past few trips to the Varians have been different. I do not go to seek wisdom or practical things, but I go now to be an encourager and love them and their children. I go there now to pray and bring a little Paula personality into their lives. I still learn more than I could ever imagine. This past trip was all about grace. I guess this post makes little to no sense, but I wanted to give credit where credit was due.
Go be a hero today.
