Grit

Growing up we had our daily chores and weekly rotations on who had to feed the animals on the farm. It was non-negotiable. So as a sixteen year old girl who hated to get her hands dirty I protested in my own silent ways. It didn't change anything, but it made me feel a little better. I would feed the mules in my flip flops and the days outfit, regardless of what it may be. Opposed to when everyone else fed in their coveralls and muck boots. I didn't care, I wasn't going to succumb to those smelly animals by putting smelly dirty coveralls on that were covered in hay. All those times I had to feed the mules I hated every single second of it, but I did it anyway. I did it because that's what had to be done. Trace calls it Grit. Doing hard work, getting your hands dirty; building fence and changing wheel lines; chasing mules when they escape. Thats the type of grit on the farm and until recently it was strictly a farm term to me. But the older I get and the more trials I go through I realize that grit is more about life than anything else. Getting up in the morning when the baby didn't sleep all night long, I hope that's grit. Making it through one more day with a smile on your face even though your world is spinning out of control, I sure hope that's grit. Doing things that are hard and scary, but doing them because they are the right thing to do; that is grit.
I want to walk out of the storms of life with a little more grit under my belt and a bigger smile on face. I want to teach my girls how important it is to do the right things, to be somebody. To be happy and to work hard for that happiness. Life isn't always what you want it to be or what you expected, it just is and it takes grit to make it through.
I hope that through every broken fence and lost mules that the girls and I have enough grit to herd them back home.