While I did lose count of the chapters in this story, I don’t want to lose sight that each part of my story is traced back to the King who narrates my being.   Sure, I am the fingers typing away, but remember I retell a story that is the heavenly Author’s.  Call me His scribe.

I just recounted.  This is chapter 8.  So welcome back.

Chapter 8

You must be caught up on some trivial plot development in this story. Tonight I had a pizza party with the people I call my family here in Texas.  Friday I spray-painted my hair black and danced like crazy at a party where they prayed at the beginning, middle, and end.  I love Baylor, but now my shower is stained black from my hair dye.  I think the reason is just to remind me of my sillyness.   Today I bashfully (with a tinge of respect for his lack of inhibition) watched Clayton test every pillow in Kohl’s to ensure he brought the perfect one.  I ate a blueberry pancake at ihop at midnight last night.  It rained all day, and now my TOMS are soaked for a week.  And, of course, I’ve had many a cups of coffee.

Plot development: Check.

Now a bit of character development. Shaping. Molding. Sifting. Disciplining. Eye-Opening.  Heart Renewing.

Setting:  I’m going to zoom into a circle of three chairs from tonight.  Warning:  There’s no climax.  No surprise.  It’s merely a small group of college students with a sheet to facilitate discussion.  We have one older adult leader in the Leadership Community and we invited him to our group (Note: there are now four chairs).

The man marked with humility sat down in our group, and by the end of the 40 minutes, he calmly had reminded us of the faithfulness of Jesus Christ and the genuine, lasting satisfaction of knowing this Redeemer.  He shared of tragedy.  Of unexpected losses.  Of life-changes.  He flipped through the worn pages of his Bible as if he’d spent hours upon each page of what I am again reminded to look freshly upon as THE Word of God.

He spoke of doing anything in our own strength as pride with a sobering reality.

He spoke of living a life full of gentleness and patience and showed it by merely being present.

He spoke of praying what you desire to desire.

And now I have a new glimpse of what I desire:  Humility.  Tonight the word humility has been stuck in my mind.  What does it look like?

I found an answer pretty quickly:  Dr. Robert Bernard Beach, Sr.—my Granddaddy.  He lives just across town from the house I’ll always call home in Springfield.  This man is not only well-read enough to help my sister write papers over books she hasn’t read, he can rattle off Cardinal’s baseball statistics to keep up with the fanatic fan I am proud to call a brother of mine.

Granddaddy and I would go to McDonald’s every Wednesday when I was in pre-school, and some of my earliest memories are swinging my legs in these concave, orange Missouri State chairs outside of his office.

He gives with unwavering selflessness:  Time, Piano Lessons, Rides, my beloved Baylor University, Wisdom, an Example.  He worries a bit, I’ll admit, but it’s always about someone else.

That’s humility.

I grant Granddaddy bragging rights for himself all day long.  However, I know he won’t use them.  Grandmother will have to brag for him (though I think she already does).