I like to believe that the best moments in life are like lightning bugs. They flash on and off, on and off – sometimes you see them and sometimes you don’t. They are hard to follow and even harder to catch. But maybe life is the entertaining endeavor to catch those bright moments of deep belly laughs and quirky friends and put them in a jar and watch them glow. I know I’ll need the light of it all when the clouds hide the hopeful sun and when it’s dark inside of my soul as well as outside of it. I’ll need the light when I’m teetering on the edge of giving up, holding hands with forgetfulness and hopelessness. I’ll need the light as a reminder that the moments in life that matter shouldn’t be wasted but preserved. In a jar. In a scrapbook. In the sweet and inviting attic of my memory.

Thank you, Aretha Franklin, for summing 2010 in one little bumpin' phrase:

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me . . ."

Amuse me.
For me, this year has been all about redefining ___________ (insert your choice word here).

My choice word?
respect.

I find it annoyingly ironic that the term "respect" is thrown around so casually - like a newborn over a flaming bonfire pit. Careless. I find it annoyingly ironic that some people demand respect, yet they never define it - never give it.

I've heard the phrase that respect should be earned. Yet, I believe the manner in which you earn it is what is to be respected . . .

I think most people miss the point of respect. I think they forget that it's not something that magically appears in one simple poof with fog lights and a hearty "hoorah" and fist pump by the genie look-alike that elegantly graces the background of your mind.

My heart deeply believes that respect is a fragile thing. It's hard to gain, it's hard to give, but it's even more difficult to grow.

Respect, in its fundamentally raw self, is something that needs to be nurtured.

Respect, I believe, is like a beautiful tree. It needs to be nurtured so the roots have permission to explore the dark tunnels of dirt, create a firm grip on the deep soil. Nurtured so that it may gain its colorful hue from the moisture stored purposefully away in the ground. Nurtured so that when spring has sprung, it may survive the dry and stiff summer heat and the unforgiving winter. Nurtured so that when the weight of the stagnant ice bears heavily down on the branches, respect will not break, because it has been loved from the beginning root.

So here's to you, respect. Forgive us for being careless with you. I pray that you will continuously be redefined, gained, given - but most importantly, grown . . . in all of our lives.