One day almost twelve years ago, a woman gave birth to a little girl. The little girl was given the nickname Beanie because her real name didn’t really have a nickname that made any sense. Also, she was just such a sweet little bean, like a particularly delicious jelly bean. Sweet and wonderful. Beanie grew and grew. She got pudgy thighs and smooshy cheeks and learned to eat real food with her new teeth. She even learned to walk on those pudgy legs, eventually.
Then, one day, she learned to talk. The mother thought this was an excellent addition to Beanie’s new rotation of toddler parlor tricks, so she encouraged the talking. She read her stories and helped her learn new words. She taught Beanie to speak with correct grammar, because the tendency to sound like a hill billy is a very real problem in their part of the world.
Oh, the words! Then sentences! It was delightful. Mostly. As Beanie learned to put all the words together and also grew a mind of her own, the mother realized she might have created some sort of a monster. Not only was Beanie smart and fun, she was also sort of dramatic. Some days the mother felt like maybe she had given birth to a diva who would one day grace the stage.
One day Beanie went to the sixth grade. Instead of saying, “Hi, Mom!” when she got home from school, she started nodding like a teenager and saying, “Sup?”
The mother blinked at the Beanie. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Cocking one eyebrow up, just like her mother, Beanie replied, “It means ‘What’s up?'” She said it again, including the nod, as some sort of encore.
The mother shook her head and let it go, knowing that seasons come and go with children. Her daughter wouldn’t be speaking like a hoodlum forever. No sense in dying on this particular battlefield.
But “Sup” became Beanie’s new greeting. It made the mother’s ears bleed a little, deep inside her skull. Finally the mother took to shouting, “Why can’t you say ‘Hello, Mother’ like a normal person?!”
Beanie would giggle and run away.
Then one day, one magical day, instead of calling the mother Mom, or Mumsie, or even Mother, Beanie addressed her as Poopsie. The mother knew she should probably insist on some proper title (see above list), but Poopsie was an awfully fun nickname. And it went so well with Beanie. Poopsie and Beanie, Beanie and Poopsie.
Poopsie has begun to accept that Beanie will probably always use all her words with wild abandon and a flair for the dramatic. In quiet, still moments, she realizes Beanie and Poopsie are cut from the same cloth and she really has no one to blame but herself.
It’s not Beanie’s fault that she’s spent more than eleven years watching Poopsie and then imitating her. Except Poopsie does have one little concern. One tiny, little, wee problem– Beanie is now writing. She’s already a vastly better writer than Poopsie was at her age. Poopsie is greatly afeared of what that child will become.
Pray for Poopsie.
Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life. Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. (Galatians 6:7-10)