The soy-beans tower over him.
It won't always be so.
I had one of those hours yesterday, unexpected moments of pure joy that just rolled by as the wind whipped through our farm field. Spontaneous laughter and unplanned adventure. A sun that felt warm on our backs and seemed to burn more brightly than usual. Dinner already planned, brewing
and bubbling at home in the crock pot.
No appointments or rushing.
No lists to mark off, phones to answer.
Just a slow stroll down the long, straight, tree-laced lane. The smell of fresh, warm air. A chance to breathe deeper.
To see more clearly.
The farm was surprisingly vacant. My parents on the Island, out together. The farmer gone for the day. The landscaper waving as he steered his muddy truck down the lane heading toward home.
Just us. The field. The sprouting crops. The acorns and the bugs.
Just us, me and the three best of me, living fully awake,
in the precious presence of God.
An unexpected blessing on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon.
A gift, another chance to name and number the ways in which this BIG GOD loves us, loves me.
They dig for treasure and delight in gathering His simple presents, wrapped in brown dirt.
They unearth gifts.
Gifts that look so small, just as tiny as each of them started in the depth of my womb, but will one day sprout up, gingerly growing into mighty warriors.
So fragile and fresh.
So easy to trample, to ruin.
Needing just the right sun,
rain and nourishment to make their mark.
We talk about the ones with green stalks and small petals, poking out of the ground. So small and mangy as they sprout. So close to the dangly arms and legs of my little girls, growing at a rapid daily pace.
I watch each one of them closely and wipe tears from my eyes. I take notice. The way her wet, warm curls hit the back of her neck. His bleach blond hair, looking almost angelic as the sun hits his scalp. Her dimple, the same one my husband has when he smiles that certain way. Oh how beautiful are my children.
How beautiful is God.
"What will this acorn become?"
I ask them as they hold on tight to each other, squealing with each new one they find.
"A tree Mama," she says, the sunlight shining through her glorious gaped teeth. "A big tree, like that one!"
Her little finger points up to the sky.
"Ree," he said, pointing up too. His little mouth unable to keep up with his growing knowledge. "Ree Mama!"
Another new word. Another blessing.
"Yes, Tripp. And like this acorn, you will grow too. Grow into a boy and then a man one day. A man who will be confident and bold like your Daddy. A man, who like this great oak tree, will be rooted in the love and power of the Almighty God."
He giggles, I hope he understands but know he does not yet. I speak strong words into him anyway, knowing this habit will penetrate a soaking soul.
He holds out his hands to his sisters, wanting to be lifted up off the ground. They carry him through the field as they sing. Catch a caterpillar and carefully walk through the plants.
I pick up the tiny acorns, put some in my pocket, wanting to remember this moment.
This reminder of the smallness that
will soon become the magnificent.
This is how I pray for each child. That each might blossom into strong, loving, always growing followers of God. That their hands would be always held open and up,
always looking for inspiration from above.
That from these small little trusses, warriors might sprout up.
Warriors who will radically change this world by their reliance on Christ.
Carrying each other through the thickness of life, waiting on each other as they grow, sharing their journeys with me. Thank you dear God for the blessing of your creation. For the three precious lives you have gifted me to mother. Give me the wisdom to love my two daughters and son with the fierceness that you love them.