Solace There

Children, confidence, contentment, daughters, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, hope, mercy, Peace, sons, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Welcoming Peace

I drive the trio of two lane roads to my morning destination, a right turn, a right turn and another and a final sharp right that leads me on clay road with deep moss covered ditches holding up deeper rooted trees.

I think of my children. Mamas of adult children do this, just are less apt to share so much.

More inclined to keep the thoughts to ourselves as if we’re not supposed to have them.

I think of the vast differences of the two, a daughter and a son. Different locations, one like the mouse called country and the other called city.

Likeness in their initiative, their determination, their deeply instilled must have passed from parents and grandparents, work hard, work is a representation of you.

It’s an odd thing to want to quell honorable ambition, to encourage them not to do too much, to not exhaust themselves.

Hard because you remember the you they saw as a professional, the little girl and boy who didn’t quite understand it all maybe, just knew their mama worked hard at hard things.

So, you encourage self-awareness, you hint at balance, you warn of self-care and of being certain you know it’s not work that gauges your value, it is peace at the end of the day and again the next morning.

My mornings have a pattern now. Read something in my Bible, sip coffee, write some things down, circle the names.

On two or three days I drive in the dark and on good days I’m not tailgated or blinded by truck lights undimmed. I arrive and situate myself for the day, a visitor and helper.

If there is time and the Spirit leads, I pray. I watch the windows and listen for the waking child.

I anticipate the sun rising across the wide sky. I step outside and say “Good Morning, God”. Later, I do the same with the baby.

“For thy mercy is great above the heavens: and thy truth reacheth unto the clouds.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭108:4‬ ‭KJV‬‬

On Tuesday, the sky was only grey mixed with clouds dispersing to bring the morning. Clouds like in a children’s picture book, fat white fluffs with underbellies defined with thick crayon.

Made me think I could grab one.

The clouds that shifted all day that began with not a whole lot of tangerine hue, instead a spew of sparsely filtered white either coming down from heaven to us or reaching back up.

Either way, I noticed. I noticed God.

I stood and honored it, the way God substituted happy orange for quiet iridescence.

Solace.

I woke remembering today.

Remembering conversations with my children, the authenticity of them, the timing, the words unafraid to be spoken, the replies of gratefulness and of

you’re welcome.

Welcomed in.

There is solace there.

Gratitude immeasurable there.

Mercy for mothering mistakes, the truth of us now with God’s grace covering them all and the acceptance of new days.

Continue and believe. Continue towards peace today.

There’s just so very much of it waiting.

Mud and Moon

Abuse Survivor, Children, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grandchildren, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

The moon is my favorite along with the color blue, the crescent curve and the hue called cobalt.

Crescent moon like a tilted uncertain smile, saying okay hang on, hang on.

And the cobalt like the ink from a broken pen, the thick fluid, jam from a jar.

I love the others, the sky, the teal, the baby; but, the strong cobalt calls me closer.

The half moon or the full in its brilliance are spectacular.

Still, I favor the crescent one.

Today, I watched a toddler persist. The country path that leads to her home had puddles of rain yet to dry up.

We walked towards one, I reminded her of her shoes, not her boots and she approached and then walked on.

One puddle, the largest of all and she paused.

She turned to find a pebble and then “plop” it went in the water and then she found a big brittle oak leaf.

Intent on tossing it into the puddle, she carefully skirted the edge of the muddy water.

But, the wind swept lightly across her little knees and then again and again, the brown leaf was swept up in the wrong direction.

I heard a little sound, like “umph” but, I saw her not frustrated, simply understanding.

Then she came from a new angle and she dropped the brown brittle leaf in the center of the puddle.

There!

Then, we walked on, “ready set go”.

I’m wondering now if there’s a color of water that I love, a thick colored watery taupe.

An oak leaf resting as we walk back by,

The cobalt of the morning sky allowing a strip of coral in.

My day began this way.

I welcomed the beauty, flipped my phone towards the windshield and I sensed the tone for my day.

Persist.

But, persist calmly. Consider what you value.

What you’ve decided decides your value.

Muddy water mid-morning then a cloudless blue sky against white spindly trees, I am reminded of the value I place on things decided by others.

The things I believe might mean my arrival. I remember now the persistence of a toddler when the wind was against her.

The wind picking up the leaf so lightly and the little hand that decided quietly,

keep trying.

Thoughts of an expression, “lightly child, lightly” reminding me to not try so hard that my trying becomes striving, obnoxious, an idol, not a quiet and important mission.

I am remembering the first time I read this thanks to a blogger friend, David Kanigan.

“It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.” Aldous Huxley

A collision of faith, nature and wisdom plus the plucky persistence of a toddler.

What are you chasing? What have you not valued that is yours?

The writer of Ecclesiastes sounds much like Huxley to me.

Small matters matter.

More than chasing other, anything other than moon and sun and birds and mud puddles.

“I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind.”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭1:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Christmas, Come Soon

Children, Christmas, coronavirus, courage, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, Peace, Prayer, Stillness, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

The two homes on the cul de sac are inviting Christmas early. One changed overnight from a massive friendly ghost inflatable to a same size “Frosty” snowman waving at me as I walk by. The second, more subtle a view, the front door open to allow my peeking in, a tree lit simply in a corner. One reminding me of great big joy and the other a decided upon peace.

“Charlie Brown”

The tree is up early in my granddaughter’s room. My daughter, a teacher exhausted over what may come next for her students, watched Christmas movies with her baby, sang songs about jingling bells and dressed her in pink peppermint pajamas.

All of it, beauty!

The deciding to celebrate Christmas in November and groaning in our hearts and souls for a star, a sign symbolic of hope.

Jesus was born and everything changed.

And now centuries later, we are still longing for Christmas. We are so very weary, so very.

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” O’ Holy Night

“Baby’s Tree”

The air was crisp on our walk this morning. We danced along with music in my pocket, looked towards the sky and we rubbed our hands on the cool ground and moss pillows on the hill.

Christmas, I wondered last night before sleeping, how will it be? Will the animosity over politics, vaccines, mask wearing or not wearing ever end?

Will Christmas be quiet this year, requiring less frantic buying and limited travel, limited dining together?

Will we be home alone?

If so, will we know this is God’s will for this time, His idea?

Will we trust in Jesus? Will we keep believing God sees us?

“Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭77:9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Will we open our Bibles, find comfort in the likemindedness of the psalmist? Will we be reassured of His goodness because of the evidence of more goodness than we can possibly recall?

Will we see ourselves in the Gospels as we reacquaint ourselves with the birth to resurrection story of the baby born in a manger, Jesus?

Moss “Pillows”

I pray I am able, pray I avoid the trap of worry, of not knowing the last word in this season’s book and I pray the book becomes one of lessons with resolution not a cliffhanger waiting for the sequel.

Christmas, come early. Come sooner than later. We long for your star. We long for the peace it promised then and promises still.

“I love Thee, Lord Jesus
Look down from the sky
And stay by my side
‘Til morning is nighBe near me, Lord Jesus
I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever
And love me, I pray…” Away in A Manger”

Be near us Jesus, as we continue on the paths you place us.

Christmas, come soon. Find us as we find you again. Find ourselves remembering the meaning of Christmas, you, a Savior born for every single soul.

Future Plans and Surprises

bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grandchildren, heaven, hope, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom

I’m not sure why God, or maybe it’s life that did it, made my hopes and angst and wishes always be from the perspective of my children.

On earth as in heaven, I suppose I ask God for this. Quite often, I ask God to surprise my children, make them certain it was Him.

There are countless hopes my heart holds for them, some of them things they long for, some are ideas of my own.

I’m a mama of adult children. I can’t hold or control them. I can only pray with open hands and unnamed hopes with their names circled in my journal.

I give God control. He is a buffer of protection. He loves them more than I.

I want to know they are well and that they are loved well.

I want them (and me) to embrace heavenly things as pursuit in a time when earth is so uncertain.

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”
‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I want them to see me trying, admitting it is hard and yet, waking up to try again.

Even on days and days on end when what’s ahead is unclear.

Put one step forward not backward. One step on days when a greater distance feels difficult or detoured by these crazy days.

Step forward, think forward.

Set your intentions on being intentional in the days ahead of not knowing much at all.

Considering maybe God is breaking our addiction to control this year to show us knowing everything doesn’t keep us safe.

It is only knowing Him that is safe at all.

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭26:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with others prompted by the word “ahead”.

Ahead

Yet Believing

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, Peace, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting

My daughter texted me to share that her daughter, 16 months old yesterday, had put her pants on by herself this morning.

I asked if she’d noticed other things like making her own decisions about inside or outside play with a sweet little “nope”.

I asked if she’d taken her to the bathroom with her and seen her tear a sheet of tissue as if to wipe. Yes, she had, my daughter answered but sweet little “ELB” wants nothing to do with the potty. I answered,

“She’s observing and strategizing.”

Last week I followed a flow chart created to help me understand the flow through the Book of Genesis. The kind of chart with lines dropping down interrupted by some action or moving forward through the process.

I began to imagine the route of a prayer, a prayer that cries out for resolution or a prayer that longs to be known by God.

Maybe the simple one that says thank you, another morning I am well or a more spontaneously overtaking one that comes from a song you join in the praise, you are so grateful to be connected with God.

I wondered about the delivery to the throne of God. Is Jesus able to one by one say, “Father, Lisa just had a moment, she’s afraid or Father, look now, she just got a glimpse of you and she’s better.”?

I wonder such things.

Why some prayers go unanswered.

Why some are answered when we’ve decided they weren’t heard. Why there must surely be some strategy in God’s timing that we are asked to trust.

To trust what we can’t see yet.

Last Sunday, the pastor talked about certainty and asked how long it had been since we remembered big ways in our lives that God showed up.

Remembered the answered prayers. I thought of a few.

My son was certain he would not pass the PT test at the military college his “knob” year. He’d been told sit-ups are a challenge for someone as tall as you, at least when they’re timed. A few people, the pastor who baptized him, his little boy Sunday school teacher and I prayed. God woke me up at 5 that morning, the test was scheduled soon after. I prayed. He passed and let me know in a text. He is now a Citadel and grad school graduate working for an accounting firm.

My daughter’s heart condition lingered several years, the place in her heart the surgeon called a little “stick of dynamite”was in a delicate place. Every procedure they simply couldn’t ablate it. Every procedure, we waited and prayed.

The final one, I was waiting with her sweet husband. The surgeon came out and as with each time before, he just couldn’t synchronize his instrument with the misfiring in her heart.

I nodded in acceptance as he told us he wasn’t giving up yet and then I walked away. I found the tiny chapel prayer space the size of a closet.

I cried and I prayed.

Shortly after, I sat with my son in law in acceptance and waiting. The surgeon returned and he told us so very explicitly the strategy he used and then he told us in words we could hold on to. He’d gone in to the location he knew from her records the malfunction occurred and he “schnockered” the area he told us.

He was optimistic.

A few years later, they are parents of a girl that wouldn’t have been advisable before. Her heart is well.

Other prayers have been unanswered and while they bring sorrow upon remembrance, I’ve accepted the response God chose was better based on His observation of the whole picture, the sovereign strategy I am not capable of understanding.

I just need to believe that my prayers are heard. I have some big ones these days.

I need to believe the incomprehensible truth that every single other person’s are heard in equal measure.

I need to believe because I have seen and I need to never doubt because of those things I did not see and won’t ever until eternity.

“Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.”
‭‭John‬ ‭20:29-31‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I pray you believe in new ways today.

God, You See This

bravery, coronavirus, courage, Faith, grandchildren, kindness, painting, Vulnerability

I see God in the sky. This evening, the view was varied. There was strength. There was jubilant fullness. There was wide expanse with layered color.

I longed to be stronger because of seeing.

But, not so much. Not this evening.

If I’m honest.

My thoughts are likely controversial. I’ll be called selfish. It may be an opinion of many that it’s not such a big request, to require my face is masked.

I used to so very much enjoy outings, no particular reason trips to Target or to little shops or the art center, even the library.

Now, I’d rather not go.

I know not everyone else feels the same.

Today, my granddaughter not once but twice or more, looked into my eyes and smiled and she pulled my mask away from my face so she could kiss me on the lips.

At first, I thought, so sweet and then, I thought,

So odd. So very odd that someone who loves her so is “masked up” as if in disguise.

Thankfully, smart little baby wasn’t having it, she wanted to see her grandma.

A heavy weight bearing down, so very sick of all of this.

I walk with music.

The clouds are humongous.

The heron flies away the minute I walk by. To my right the sky is spattered sunset orange and to my right the fat clouds have a foundation almost purple.

And I hear a song called “Job’s” and I truly want to be comforted.

I’m sorry to say, I continue to wonder.

“How long?”

How long will my granddaughter see her grandma wearing a mask?

How long will we all be afraid and conformed to fearing even more every single moment.

How long until we trust our Sovereign God who made us fearfully and wonderfully and numbered our very moments…how long must we wait until our faith in His knowing of us gives us the courage to be free, unmasked and trusting the timing, the living, the hope…

To live without hiding, to live unmasked?

Fear will grow, keep growing until we are confident and trusting in the God that Job knew, the God we are all being beckoned to consider.

He knows.

“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.”
‭‭Job‬ ‭42:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

23rd Psalm and the Nearness of God

birds, Children, Faith, family, grandchildren, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom

I saw God today in the tiny hand that reached for mine, the searching and saying “yellow” as we spotted leaves lying in late summer sand ready for new season.

My morning drive, an early one considering the four months of no rushing necessary, was a good one. A podcast I love on Tuesdays, ended with a gentle recitation of Psalm 23, The Message version.

“GOD, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from.

True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction.

Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I’m not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd’s crook makes me feel secure. You serve me a six-course dinner right in front of my enemies.

You revive my drooping head; my cup brims with blessing. Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life.

I’m back home in the house of GOD for the rest of my life.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23:1-6‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Today included some garden hose water play followed by chalk art on the porch and then coloring with fat crayons on an old cardboard box.

Then lunch, then counting the seventeen stair steps together, then a book and then her midday slumber.

Then, quiet.

A house so quiet.

I remembered a time when the phrase was common, a question meant to bring self-assessment.

Where did you see God today?

I knew for sure I’d seen God in the sweet sleepy eyes of Elizabeth and in the light landing on the wild fuzzy fern. I saw God first thing as I drove up the hill to their home, listening to the 23rd Psalm.

I had lowered the window to capture the sunbeams through the lean early morning trees.

Later realizing that wasn’t the most beautiful thing.

The most beautiful sight captured was the little image of the mirror and the winding road behind me, the place I’d come from on my way to where I was going.

Beauty and love have been chasing after me all the days of my life.

Today, I saw God and I saw them both.

Where did you see God today?

A Gift, Wonder

Angels, birds, birthday, Children, contentment, curiousity, daughters, Faith, family, grandchildren, happy, hope, love, Motherhood, Peace, Stillness, Uncategorized, wisdom, wonder

Here’s a granddaughter inspired post about “wonder” I wrote a few weeks ago.

Today is her 1st birthday. I call her “morning glory” among other little things. A baby who changes a day from gray to blue, a baby girl who has changed our world. Happy Birthday, sweet little curious thinker, “ELB”. We thank you for making us so much more sure of every single thing. You cause me to rest. You increase my joy. You are a gift. You are the embodiment of certain hope. You are silly, you are wise.

What We See

The hearing ear and the seeing eye, the Lord has made them both. Proverbs 20:12 ESV

As if our bodies were synchronized, our necks craned and faces tilted towards heaven, we stared through the sheer drapery and we tried to find the opening. We wondered if it was as tiny as the point of a pin. We longed to see and were left questioning, “What is up there, what is causing the lingering of her stare?” We were fascinated. We were perplexed.

The baby was tiny then. We decided the veil must surely be thinner between babies and heaven. Occasionally, as her mama cradled her after feeding and before sleep, she raised her tiny arm towards the ceiling in a newborn hello wave. Something was there, someone, a presence only baby girl was capable of seeing. We were captivated by her vision. We researched angelic explanations and discovered mystical and somewhat biblical explanation. My daughter and I agreed, she is in awe of her new world, she sees either angel, God or we hoped, her great-grandma.

Then, she began to grow and curiosity for other was all about what she could touch, feel, manipulate, and discover. We noticed her looking towards heaven less often. She became more fascinated with the cool earth beneath her knees and feet.

Her longing for understanding seemed to be bigger than simply seeing. I watched as she discovered discovering.

I began to discover again.

We sat together in the cool grass of Spring. I watched her fascination with leaves, pine straw, and the big dog.

We sat together.

So serene. I braided the pinestraw in a way I may braid her soft hair one day. She watched me and her chubby fingers tried the same.

“Bird”, I said and she looked at me and then towards the sky. For a moment or two she was enthralled, we looked up together. I held her hand and we sat still.

I am thinking now, posing a question, sermon to self-type evaluation, “Where will you see God today, Lisa?” because it has been something I’ve been wondering in this pandemic. I have taken stock of the things God has not stopped. Babies are born. Birds are cavorting. Even the wind seems more melodic. The flowers are brilliant. The clouds are puffed and fully inflated. I find it confusing these spectacular symbols of living in a time of speculation and dread of death.

How is there such splendor in such a time of fear? How is my wonder over such beauty so fulfilling? What is God’s intention in this juxtaposition of grief and beauty? Are we to hold both, one hand clutching uncertainty and the other, splendor? Possibly, I believe. Perhaps wonder is simply faith we see only through childlike eyes.

The baby will be here momentarily. I’ll spread an old quilt on the grass in the back corner. All the toys will be toted out and she’ll play until she is bored with blocks and colors. Then she and I will look and listen. We will mimic the crow. We will toss the ball to the dog and we may sing her favorite song, “Deep and Wide”. She’ll guide my hands because she knows the words now. She’ll remember long ago when her grandma opened her arms, deep and then wide and sang to her over and over about the fountain flowing, one full of love for her and me. 

We will look together. We will listen and then have a lunch of sweet potato. I’ll be attentive to her seeing and she will be to mine. We will look in wonder for God today, the sweet baby girl, and I will remember our creator, the one who gave us our eyes and our ears and our favorite thing of all, our wonder. 

Where will you see God today? 

May your seeing be as mysteriously clear as a baby’s.

Happy 1st birthday, Elizabeth Lettie, we love you more than any words can express. We love you for changing our seeing. We love you for increasing our wonder.

The Sun Will Rise

Angels, Art, birds, bravery, Children, confidence, coronavirus, courage, Easter, Faith, Good Friday, grandchildren, hope, painting, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

It’s been said of me, “you think life is a fairy tale, Lisa”. Maybe I’m not cautious enough, don’t plan for disaster, take hardship as it comes and don’t worry too much until I have to. I accept that. After all, I told God yesterday just how much I’d love to see an angel.

“For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.”
‭‭Psalms 91:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It’s also been said and it may be true that I avoid the tough questions, I disassociate to feel safe from truth.

Seems to me this way is closer to faith than a companion of fear. So, I’m unlikely to change, if I do I hope it’s an even stronger bend towards faith in what’s not clear. Faith in God nurtured through quiet prayer and observations of His creation, birds, trees, moon and sun.

From my front yard I only get the remnants of the setting or rising of the sun. Our house rests hilltop and the view across the road is a wide open field, a gift to me making me feel like I still live in the country.

I walked out to see the pink glow spread wide like a veil across the horizon. There’s been a steady breeze, the trees with brand new leaves are rubbing against each other and in the quiet of very early, I sit on the steps to listen. I hear the chorus of birds, remembering something I read that said it’s the birds that tell the sun to come up. I love the idea of that, a happy alarm in birdsong saying “Get up!” we have another day.

I ventured to Target yesterday. Needing to go the grocery store but not having it in me to face other faces. It is our granddaughter’s first Easter. I needed a card and maybe a new sleeper. Target felt odd and I got tentative looks for wearing my mask. Something about our serene little city is either in denial or choosing to be hopeful more than careful. I’m not sure. We love our independence and we lean towards caution or careful hope. We decide which place is best to live. A little girl looked at me in my mask and I smiled and waved; but, she only looked afraid and wrapped her arms around her mama’s leg. She couldn’t tell I wasn’t scary. My smile was masked.

Back home, I’m reminded I’m less scary and less scared here. The dog to greet me, my walk to enthuse me, my art to invigorate and the stability of now to be enough. Shielded in my abode. I’m not scary here.

A question keeps lingering about what this pandemic means to our futures and our faith. What I’ve noticed is that the flowers keep blooming, babies keep excitedly growing, new ones keep being welcomed into the world.

Birds keep singing, dogs keep welcoming us home, Springtime keeps being pretty. God keeps giving us reason every morning to believe.

Naive? Uninformed? Maybe. I don’t watch the news. It’s too hard to decide on what is truth. I’d rather just trust the morning sun. The sunrise that caught me this morning and gave answer to my question as to why I woke so doggone early.

“As sure as the sun will rise, His mercy will not end.” Ellie Holcomb

As Sure as the Sun

Later, just before sunset, I plan to set up my laptop, listen to words about what today meant to Jesus and then have some juice or wine and a cracker as I join an online community in Communion.

“And as they were eating, he took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to them, and said, “Take; this is my body.””
‭‭Mark‬ ‭14:22‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Then tomorrow, Good Friday, as the sun rises I’ll set my heart and mind on doing my best to increase my understanding of the death of Jesus, to better live in a loving way what I believe. Not to be scholarly or an expert writer of Jesus, to be more like Him more often.

There is goodness. There is a promise.

Continue and believe.

He is risen. There was and is a reason.

Grey in the Window

Children, family, grandchildren, hope, surrender, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I’d love to tell you the favorite part of my day was my morning thought of how faith is like the elusive bluebird. Of how I told myself that God uses birds throughout the gospels to teach us most everything, tell us to be light, not to worry. I thought that was a worthy thing, the way I pulled it altogether, the idea of faith requiring recall, not being dependent on the recurring miraculous. I’ll blog about this faith revelation later I decided. And I’d pull it altogether with a fascination with bluebirds I hope would allow me a photograph, even land and make a nest of my open hand. If I asked God for that and He gave it would that mean always and forever my faith would more likely be certain?

That even though it’d be an uncommon miracle type thing to have a bluebird land and settle in my hand, I might want something more, something one might call a miracle. Something sort of like today. I’m a serious one and yet, I laughed in a silly way today. I laughed unprompted by another or just to go along.

I stretched out across the playroom floor, the baby coralled by my extended legs. She sat still at my waist and over and over I positioned her little stuffed kitten on my middle. She was still.

“Ready?” I asked and she watched wide eyed and attentive as I pretended the little kitten was walking to the edge and then “Uh-oh!” the little grey kitten fell and fell again. My torso blocking her view, it would seem the little kitten flew!

I laughed at the thought of my play and she laughed along with me, eventually, not right away. No, not until at least six or seven tumbling kitten games.

It occurred to me she was seeing a new thing. She’d never ever seen her grandma laugh so spontaneously and I saw her smile widen and then as she held the little kitten in her tiny hand, she laughed with me. We laughed together.

Then I lined up the other animals and she crawled to chase the dog towards her little nursery.

Then, I called “Elizabeth” and she turned to see me once more letting the little toy kitten dance to See ‘n Say music and she bounced her little butt and she smiled and clapped her hands.

The thoughts about the elusiveness of faith, the blog I’d planned to write. Noble and true and realization that matters.

But, I’m still thinking about the kitten I bounced off my tummy then gave it a special spot in the window. The clouds were bringing cold tonight, the meteorologists were wrong, God had a different plan. The wide uncovered window upstairs kept the gloomy skies where they belonged. Inside, warm and dry we laughed and laughed again.

And Elizabeth smiled. So did I.