Trust in the Lord and
do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe
pasture.
Take delight in
the Lord,
and He will give you the desires of
your heart. Psalm 37:3-4
We are called to faithfully sow seeds that will take
root and sprout in the promised days that are surely coming. So be curious and
watch for those sprouts of hope and be alert to the wonders that abound today.
May your marvelment inspire you to keep on sowing. -K. C. Robertson
Last night, like every Thursday night, is Mimi night with
the girls.
And there are lots of little routines that have developed
over the years, If we are having a sleepover at Mimi’s, the first thing that
happens is that we light the fire and the two green candles, and Simone marches
over to the bookcase and gets her special books, a tiny boxed collection of
Maurice Sendek’s: One Was Johnny, Chicken
Soup with Rice, Alligators all Around and of course, I don’t care Pierre. This little set is tucked under one arm and
the snuggly bear under the other the whole night long.
We make pasta, putting a little bit of milk in it, just
like the Italians do. And we eat berries. The most important thing about dinner
is the tea served in the small Iraqi engraved glass teacups with saucers, and
the tinkling sound that the spoon makes when we stir in the tiniest bit of honey.
Then we play a BINGO game that involves E. reading the sight
words on the cards and then matching them to our cards and shouting BINGO as
soon as we get three in a row. After the cards are all neatly stacked back into
the box, each girl gets to pick out three books. Well, Simone has her four and
we pile them onto the bed before we brush our teeth, use the toilet or get our
diaper changed. Sometimes there is time for a bath in the clawed-foot tub, but
sometimes not. Sometimes Maria the housemate is there, and she is always fun,
but sometimes not.
Now at Mimi’s, E insists that the very last book is
always Tolstoy’s Papa Panov’s Christmas
about when a lonely Russian shoemaker drinks his soup and coffee and waits for
Jesus to visit as He promised, but the only ones who comes through his door is
the poor street sweeper and an unmarried mother with her infant, and still he
waited. Did he miss Him as he served them soup and gave away a small pair of perfect
shoes?
When we are at Momma’s and Daddy’s the routine is pretty
much the same, except the books are always a fresh lot from the weekly trip to
the library.
Last night we read a book about Mrs. Maple, a woman so
small that she rode a bluebird on her journeys. Her life was all about seeds.
She traveled the world gathering lonely, abandoned seeds and carried them back
to her very cool treehouse. She stored them all winter long in her tiny cozy
home, waiting for the darkness to pass. And just as the light of spring dawned,
she sent her seeds floating in the air, sailing down the streams and digging
deep into the damp forest soil. Then her job was over.
Her job was the seeking and noticing and gathering and
nourishing.
The sprouting wasn’t her job.
That belongs to Him.
May I be alert to the wonders that abound today.
