I got home really late last night from spending the evening with old friends, watching and listening to some gorgeous music, talking, and eating that pie I was talking about the other day.
I drove home on the freeway, listening to Sting blaring in my car speakers, and found myself a bit wistful about life. I got home and ended up on my bed with my guitar, writing a new song. I'm not really sure where it's going yet (sometimes a song ends up surprising me), but I think it's about seeing the ways your life is full of love and blessing.
Not what you want or hope for. Not something in the distant future that seems far away.
Just right now.
Like this:
I've been reminded in some tender ways lately that I am being taught by young hearts and blessed by small hands.
I drove home on the freeway, listening to Sting blaring in my car speakers, and found myself a bit wistful about life. I got home and ended up on my bed with my guitar, writing a new song. I'm not really sure where it's going yet (sometimes a song ends up surprising me), but I think it's about seeing the ways your life is full of love and blessing.
Not what you want or hope for. Not something in the distant future that seems far away.
Just right now.
Like this:
I've been reminded in some tender ways lately that I am being taught by young hearts and blessed by small hands.
One such happening was the other night.
I absolutely blew my lid at my boys.
It was one of those moments you feel bad about as soon as right when it's happening, but you're super frustrated and it all comes out anyway, full of venom and your voice ramped up.
And then you feel horrible and have a discussion and apologize, more than once, for losing your cool.
Yeah, one of those.
(I hate those.)
But.
During all of that, I heard someone up in the kitchen.
Heard dish noises.
I figured it was Mia and didn't think much of it.
But it wasn't Mia.
The boys and I found Little Miss Claire in the kitchen---and she had unloaded the entire dishwasher for me and stacked everything neatly on the counter to be put away, and put the big bowls up on the table.
That's a tall counter for her, and she's only two.
The three of us looked at each other, smiling, wonder and amusement in our eyes.
I have no idea what made her think to do it, or why she was up in the kitchen in the first place.
No 2-year-old of mine has ever done something like that.
I picked her up and asked her why she'd done that, to which she replied,
"I didn't mean to," with a smile on her face.
I thanked her, more than once, and her simple reply was:
"You're welcome."
It gave me pause, and it still does.
On an evening when I was feeling stressed out and I overreacted, a small person in my life, probably unknowingly, did something for me.
It was a small, simple thing, but I needed it---and it reminded me how acts of love, kindness and service can diffuse frustration and reset a situation.
I don't know how she knew or what put the thought into her head, but her little hands brought blessing to our house that night.
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