Laughing at someone else's expense. But quietly.

Over the weekend, we attended an outdoor gathering where attendees were invited to participate in a number of Olympic-themed activities on the lawn. The games were designed for kids--there were sack races, an obstacle course, hoops shooting, and the like. Kids earned a sticker for every event they completed.

I acted as "official" photographer for the event, hoping to capture some shots of folks having fun and hanging loose. I camped out for a few minutes by the obstacle course. Kids were asked to hop in and out of some hula hoops laid out on the grass, then jump over a bale of hay, toss a bean bag into a goal, walk with an egg on a spoon, and a few other things.

I watched one young girl stumble through the course, all arms and legs and gumption and not an ounce of coordination. The poor girl was about, I don't know, seven years old? And she fell down on the course more often than the four-year-olds did.

I did not laugh at her. Instead, I cheered her on and let her know she was doing great, all the while racking my brain trying to remember her name, and to which family she belonged. She tried so hard--and was such a good sport, but just doesn't seem to have inherited any athletic ability whatsoever. I suppose her lack of coordination may also be related to a recent growth spurt or something like that.

So why am I blogging about this? It's because I remembered something that had me stifling my laughter (though it was sympathetic and affectionate laughter, I promise!)--and I honestly had to walk away to compose myself.

Her name?

Grace.