Sometimes, I am surprised at the things that make me proud of my children. It’s not often the victories or accolades or awards. Those are nice but fleeting and soon forgotten.

No, those aren’t the things that I ponder in my heart.

It’s a random phone call, thanking me for my child’s recognition that another kid needed some attention on the sledding hill. Or a text message from a parent, with a picture of a meticulously detailed schedule created by my child to ensure a safe trip for friends into the city. Sometimes it’s watching how the Rowdy 7 care for Becky: teaching her a new sign, setting up an obstacle course out of canned pineapple to encourage her to walk, or crafting a crazy hair style. It’s watching a kid not make a team and respond with the statement, “I’m really disappointed because I thought I was good enough. But I guess I just have to work harder and try again next year.”

Today, it was a picture of an empty bus. A nervous child sent it and requested prayer for this trip to see a beloved teacher at a former school. Maybe that seems silly to be proud of this moment. For me, it’s a matter of deep pride to watch her recognize the emotion, openly share it, and ask for support. I find myself crying as I stir soup and toss Cheerios at Becky, knowing that this child is going through with a difficult but necessary visit. Hopefully with a loaded bus card, a raincoat, and a granola bar.

I hope one day that my children feel my pride in their very bones. It would send shockwaves through their bodies. Until then, on this dreary day, I will enjoy this picture and this wonderfully messy, fulfilling life.