YOU Are Invited...

(Originally published July 16, 2009, Wisconsin Sate Journal)

True confessions: I made a little girl cry last week. The child I distressed wasn't my own. In fact, this little girl and I barely know each other, nor do I know her mother. But I did make this sweet child cry. Because I didn't R.S.V.P. to her birthday invitation.

Why did I fail in this common grace? Very simply, when the invitation first arrived, I wanted to "keep my options open" for that particular day. "Keeping my options open" led me to lay the invitation aside for later consideration. Second, by laying it aside, the little postcard decorated with beach balls and palm trees soon became engulfed in the paper pile that morphs on my dining room table. The invite remained buried in that pile until the night before the party -- when I was sorting and tossing.

Finding the invite was akin to pulling an overdue bill from a scrap paper pile. I felt a stab of regret, realizing that the party had crept up on me and I wasn't ready for it present-wise. Then my daughter said, "Mom, I want to go to that party," which meant she should go. Because it was "late" in the evening and we'd see the girl and her family the next day, I decided it wasn't necessary to R.S.V.P.: We'd just show up, present in hand. After all, what possible difference could my one kid make in what was bound to be a crowd?

This is the second place where my reasoning failed. You see, little girls get invited to several birthday parties a year. I assumed that a lot of girls in this circle of friends would be invited to the party. Our presence and R.S.V.P. wouldn't matter that much, right?

Well, lots of kids weren't invited. In fact, only two other girls besides my own were invited. One did R.S.V.P. -- twice. The first time to say she was coming. The second time to say she was not. We and another child didn't R.S.V.P. at all. The end result: devastation. The honoree didn't think any of her friends cared about her or her special day. She cried and cried. Her parents, who had stayed up late finishing an elaborate pinata, were stressed to comfort her. It's hard to know what to say to a kid who thinks she has been rejected by her kindergarten friends.

Then we showed up -- just a little late -- to the family gathering. The honoree shouted with joy. She ran up to my daughter and gave her a big hug. The mother graciously told me how GLAD she was we had come. I looked around and saw no other classmates. Then it hit me. Oh my gosh, my daughter had been specially picked by this little girl to be part of her special day. My assumptions had been nothing but fiction blended with rationalization about not wanting to make a phone call the night before.

While the girls went swimming, I learned from the mother about her daughter's earlier distress. I apologized profusely. I felt terrible. But the mom hadn't told me about her daughter's tears to make me feel guilty; she was simply sharing the truth and her relief that the afternoon had turned out better than she had feared. After we talked, I downed a soda to drown the crow I was chewing.

This humbling event reminded me that every invitation we receive is a gift extended by people (small and big), who somehow value us enough to include us in their plans. Sometimes those people are off my little radar screen. But they and their plans are important. In fact, they're more important than I often consider.

So I owe a six-year-old a big thank you for the lesson she taught me last week. R.S.V.P. means what it means: Réspondez s'il vous plaît -- "Please Respond". One way or the other. Yes or no. All it takes is a moment.

If I had simply respected that request... If I had simply ditched all my assumptions... a little girl wouldn't have cried. And I wouldn't have either.