The Tuesdays were a little undone by my recent plan to go camping and hiking in Moab. I planned and cancelled without allowing an ounce of their input. (I knew they’d see reality and shut this thing down.)
In my telling after the fact, they elbowed each other, playfully mimicking my naievete. “‘Oh, sure,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, I’m up for it,’ she said.”
“Were you really going to go?”
“I was planning to. For a while, I was in.”
“Whatever, Tricia. You’re so full of crap,” they said. With love.
“You don’t have the emotional stamina to have lunch with people you like, let alone hike and camp under the stars. Full. Of. Crap.”
They have also played the other side of the argument. “Tricia, don’t back down from this. You can. You can do this.” They encourage me in great, realistic ways. And they are the voices that say, “You sure about this? ‘Cause we’re kind of not sure at all.” It’s good to have girls who can speak truth into one’s life, not always with a gentle whisper.
My mom said, “Oh, Tricia. Please tell your Tuesdays: If they intend to keep your big ideas in a box, they need to get in a line that’s nearly 33 years long. You aren’t easily contained. I handed responsibility to Robb when he married you, and the poor man died trying to rein you in. It’s no easy task.”
He was the string to my kite. I was the air in his balloon.
You can’t take the adventure out of the girl, especially if she’s on her game today.
My Tuesdays are gracious to hold me loosely and let me think bigger than I can do right now.
They know someday I’ll do bigger than we can see right now.