When we moved, my daughter Rachel was convinced she would never make new friends. Wanting her to quickly meet other 7-year-old girls, I signed her up for a book series party at the library in a nearby small town.
Arriving early that evening, Rachel found her assigned seat with the help of a librarian. She watched for the other girls. I took my place along the back wall and waited for her signal before I retreated into the library.
Soon other girls arrived. They came in spurts of twos and threes, giggling and talking. Rachel sat at her table, a smile etched on her face, and waited for the girls to find their assigned seats, but they didn't. They ignored the name cards and all sat around one table, ignoring my daughter.
As we drove home, Rachel asked again, "Why did we have to move?"
In the dark car, I listened to the hurt in her voice and tried to comfort her. No matter what I said, my words wouldn't erase the heartache from the night's activity, and I knew it.
"You don't understand," she concluded. After she went to bed, I cried myself to sleep.
Months slowly passed. Rachel joined a ballet class and made friends. The class eventually prepared for the spring season's final ballet. Before the first evening performance, her dance class greeted her at the dressing room door, and they chatted about the ballet. Happy to see her smiling, I kissed her goodbye and turned to make my way to the auditorium.
A woman stopped me. "Rachel was so sweet to my daughter at last night's rehearsal." She pointed to a petite girl standing quietly beside Rachel. "Emily didn't know anyone here because the girls in her ballet class decided not to dance. She's very reserved, and it was breaking my heart to watch her sit all alone while the girls from the other classes played."
She nodded toward Rachel. "That's when Rachel asked her to join her and her friends. She even asked her if she'd like to take her turn at the game they were playing."
I felt a mixture of pride and shock. "Rachel did?"
As we walked to the car after the performance, I repeated the story the mother had told me.
Rachel shrugged. "I remembered what you said."
"What did I say?"
"That night after the library party, you told me that someday I might be able to help some other girl who was feeling left out." She pulled the pins from her hair. "So when I saw Emily sitting by herself, I remembered how awful I felt and what you had said. So I talked to her. That's all."
She slung her ballet bag over her shoulder. Maybe our move wasn't the worst thing after all.
This article first appeared in the Discovery Years
edition of the April 2008 issue of the Focus on Your Child newsletters. Copyright © 2008 Focus on the Family. ThrivingFamily.com.