Almost five years worth of compassion

So, Wednesday’s the girls and I leave the house @ 9am to head to the church. We arrive by 9:30 to unload the car of ourselves, our belongings & my gear (guitar, guitar stand, music bag & binder, purse & starbucks tumbler full of hot tea - gotta have a hot beverage!) and head up the concrete stairs to get our day going. The girls run around the multi-purpose room looking for their little friend Nathan. He gets there with his mom & her gear @ 9:30 too.

The kids usually head off the kids' area with a childcare worker by 10am. I'm on the platform from "go" setting up and tuning and sound checking and whatnot. Then we have our gig (HA), I mean, meeting. We're done by 12:30pm and out the door with my gear and my kids and any of their gear that they happened to sneak into the building (hopefully we get their gear). I'm usually a stickler when it comes to the girls and their gear. I don't allow anything into the building because inevitably it gets left behind in the room they've been playing in all morning. And honestly, as long as I have the kids in tow and my car keys, purse and guitar I don't notice much else.

So that's the set up for today's story about the girls, here's the account:

It’s now 12:45pm. We’re in the car journeying down the road. Ari begins whimpering about her kitty. She took it into the building. And there it sits. The whimper gains momentum. She is now crying full throttle. Tears and snot and excess slobber. I’m such a great mom; I begin with my rant about “too bad, you took it into the church. We’re not turning around. We’ll get it later. You have to learn…” I’m ranting. Loudly. And then I turn the music on to calm myself and drown out the wailing child (as if additional noise is going to accomplish these objectives). This is when the compassion of a four year old (who is nearly five) rises above the noise using an empathetic, quiet voice. She reaches for her sister’s slimy hand and holds it in embrace. I’m so sorry you left your kitty. I know it makes you feel sad. If I left my kitty I would feel just like you do. But it’s OK, Arielle; we will get your kitty next time. OK, honey? Don’t be too sad. Your kitty is OK.
And just like that, the wailing is squelched, the snot clears, the tears are wiped away. Kitty is safe. Ari is happy. Girls are holding hands. Mom is smiling and embarrassed. Oh kindness, compassion, empathy ~ do find your way towards me too, even if you're only five years old...