Nail-a-thon

Today my nine-year-old daughter ran a nail salon in a thunderstorm.

This summer, Joy heard about the plight of children in Burkina Faso...children who have little access to health care and therefore fall prey to a host of tragically curable ailments. Her "Kids' Camp" (really excellent children's program that parallels our summer assignment) has focused their giving efforts this year on helping these African children.

Joy's heart (I love her heart) quickly broke for these little ones, and she decided to tackle the task of running a nail salon in our summer apartment complex, with all proceeds going to aid in medical efforts in Burkina Faso.

When she pitched the idea to me, I literally had my mouth open to say "no" before I realized I had no good reason. It sounded like an odd plan, and I knew that the provision of supplies and support would fall on me, so I nearly defaulted to a self-interested refusal. But something--probably Jesus--caught my words before they escaped, and instead of dampening her enthusiasm I gave her a little bit of direction.

We brainstormed together. What would she need? Who could help? What day and time would work best? How much should she charge?

She launched with resolve into a poster-making campaign. She recruited other nine-year-olds to aid in planning, marketing, and execution. She scouted out a location and spread the word at Camp.

And today was the day. The traffic on the way home from Camp nearly killed her, but eventually she burst from the car, scooped up her supplies, gathered her partners, and set up shop on a brick walkway beneath an overhang.

I still had some reservations about this adventure. Foremost among them: she's not exactly an expert at doing nails. I was also afraid she might not get any customers. Joy entertained no such misgivings. She was all business, scurrying around with focus and energy, making sure everything was in place.

At one point early on she turned to me with wide eyes and gasped, "MOM! We. Forgot. The. Paper. Towels."

All drama, this kid. NO idea where she gets that.

"Hmmm." I responded. "How about I grab the paper towels, then?"

"'Kay." Satisfied, she immediately returned to her post and resumed her chairwoman duties.

And despite my lack of faith, customers materialized. Little girls with pockets full of change, patiently indulgent older sisters, a handful of my very sweet mom-friends...all arrived smiling and ready to have their fingertips generously dabbed with bright colors. Tiny toes were bedecked with blue sparkles and slick neon green. Professional manicures were discarded to make way for enthusiastically applied cheap polish. And I heard my daughter over and over again, speaking with conviction about the children she was determined to help.

"They have no doctors, and no medicine, so no one can cure them when they get sick. If they get an ear infection they go deaf. We need to help them."

I managed to not actually cry.

No one even commented when the thunder rolled in. They just moved further under the cover of the overhang and kept working. For about an hour they were girly and focused and adorable and I wish I had remembered the camera. Then it was dinnertime.

On my dresser tonight sits a box with the fruit of their labor: seventeen dollars and sixty cents. Tomorrow it will go into the fund at Kids' Camp. And sometime soon, a faraway child will avoid scarring and heartache because of Joy.

Oh, how I love this little girl.

The nail salon counts toward one of my "5 charity projects with kids." But I almost don't want to count it. In fact, today's adventure almost makes me want to drop that goal altogether. It was so organic, so unforced, so heartfelt...maybe, if they're already there, I should just let God do that work in their hearts instead of pushing them.

Or maybe it isn't they who need it. Maybe it's me.

I'll leave that debate for later. For now, though, the blotchy coral polish on my fingers makes me smile, and that's enough.