Tim took the kids geocaching this morning. Thankfully he brought the camera with him. At last night’s outing we had only the pathetic pixels of my phone in which to capture the moment.

So where is Tim in this time of blogging famine?

Typing up a storm?
Writing pithy captions for the intriguing pictures he snapped along the dusty trail?
No, he is NOT!

He’s sacked out on Dough Boy, eyes closed, an empty ice cream bowl dangling from his finger tips. Dough Boy is our couch, not some random prescription drug. Just wanted to clarify. But since I couldn’t resist from plattering about what is a suboxone doctor and how such doctors are useful, in one of my blogs, that could also allude to the fact that I might not be completely clean. But I digress.

So, instead of an interesting blog on the intricacies of geocaching, we’ll have to settle for some pictures of Sarah’s outing.

Sarah and I were invited to pick cherries at a friend’s house this afternoon. Tim, with an eye on the birthdays rapidly approaching, swooped the rest of the children off for a shopping expedition. Joshua and his posse are off at a Counselor’s In Training (C.I.T.) retreat this weekend.

On our way, Sarah and I discussed fruit, both of us admitting that we don’t really care for cherries. “Let’s not tell Mrs. P,” I said to Sarah, “it might hurt her feelings.” Sarah looked puzzled, “What do we do, if she asks us?” she inquired. “How about we say, ‘They’re not my favorite.’” I suggested helpfully. Not wanting to encourage Sarah in duplicity, but hoping to teach some social skills, I had her practice.

“Let me hear you say it.”
Sarah responded haltingly, “They’re not my favorite.”
“Perfect,” I chorused.

Sure enough the first thing Karen said, as we found her down at the end of the garden, was, “Sarah, do you like cherries?”

Sarah is always ready for an adventure.

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“It’s my birthday next week,” she said helpfully looking up at Karen sweetly.

Ah good, I thought, misdirection. Nothing like an adorable 6 year old to change the subject.

That’s an awfully big ladder!

“How nice!” Karen responded enthusiastically. “Are you excited to try some of these cherries?” Karen is not easily distracted.

“It’s my mommy’s birthday too,” Sarah informed her, “we share a birthday.”

“Wow! That’s wonderful.”

Sarah did not go unaccompanied up the tall ladder.

At this point, I was pretty sure Karen no longer cared about Sarah’s interest in eating cherries and was ready to direct us in actually picking them. As she handed us a bag and pointed out the low lying branches, laden with cherries, Sarah piped up cheerfully, “Cherries are not my favorite.”

“Really,” Karen said, looking at me.
“Nope, Sarah continued eagerly, “or Mommy’s. We don’t really like them.”

“Well, heh heh,” I stammered, “David and Tim love them, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to spend some time with you in your beautiful garden.” Thankfully those things were true, no misdirection needed.

As it turned out, fresh Rainier cherries are delicious. We both ate handfuls of them, still managing to fill up two bags to take home with us. I went on to eat another small bowlful that evening. A cherry convert.

We even saved some for the boys, barely.

Kathy

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There is a beautiful little girl who lives in my house. She has long golden hair and delicious chocolate eyes with lashes that sweep up and down with her smiles. Her older sister is rushing out to face the world, but this princess stays close to home, often tucking her small hand in mind.

“Would you do my hair, Mommy?”

Today I caught a glimpse of this baby of mine swimming in the pool; her hands carefully holding on to a slip of plastic, moving down the lane with confidence, turning her head aside with every other stroke to breathe. Goggles pressed up against her face. Later, when I wrapped her in the sunshine colored towel, I smelled the lingering wisps of chlorine in her tangled hair.

“Could you put it up in curls, Mama?”

Every day I open my Bible to find new treasures – words of comfort, encouragement, conviction. My reading is vast and varied, and more and more I am holding within my heart the richness of the Word of God. I hear Him speaking into my life, I beg Him daily for wisdom and understanding.

“Would you renew my heart, Father?”

In the face of my youngest there is purity and sweetness. She looks to me, trusting and hopeful. Her faith in me is sure, her love true. She is comforted by my hugs, reassured by my words. She has confidence I can create beauty out of tangles. When she is rebuked, her heart is eager to restore our friendship. When we open the Bible together, she soaks in the precious words of life. She delights to know more about the King of Kings.

“And in the morning, Mommy, I’ll be beautiful, because you did my hair.”

When I am jaded and cynical, my faith wavering in the face of an unjust world, I cling to the Word. I renew my hope through this living book. I remember the child-like faith of my precious six year old. I pray that my eyes would look to the Lord with this same confidence and belief, placing all my trust in Him.

You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing.
The LORD is righteous in all his ways and loving toward all he has made.
The LORD is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.
He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them.
Psalms 145:16-19

Not curly yet…

“And in the morning, Heavenly Father, I will be beautiful.”

Kathy

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