Lessons From A Slinky - Jessica Shook

With hopeful eyes looking up at me, my daughter interrupted my bill paying to bring me the slinky she had won only days before, now bent and twisted. Her hands held up this nearly broken toy, begging me to unwind the plastic knots and make it playable again.

I swear slinkies are made to teach parents patience. Or to teach children the pitfalls of disappointment.

Not to brag, but I’m usually quite successful at this task. But not every slinky knot is reversible. Just as in life, not every disappointment can be mended. Nor should they all be.

The slinkies of life teach us how to fail gracefully. How to accept the bends and twists, the kinks that almost break us but don’t. How to love those exact misshapen pieces of ourselves and turn those weaknesses into our strengths.

I’d like to be able to say that I fixed the slinky and it’s back to new with no visible flaws. I’d like to say that, but I can’t.

I wasn’t the hero this time. The slinky ended up in the trash and my daughter was heartbroken for a couple minutes. But then she moved on to the next toy.

Sometimes we teach our children things. And sometimes they teach us.

They teach us to be resilient and pick ourselves up from a failure and move to the next curve in front of us, asking ‘what new adventure awaits?’ And we must accept the kinks as a part of us now, love the imperfections that have made us who we are and taught us something new along the way. Because how boring would we be if we were just another broken slinky, giving up on ourselves and throwing our dreams out with the trash.

Love yourself, friend. Love each blemish, each curve, each piece, the same way God loves you. Because they make you interesting. They make you YOU.