Her heart is warm, her smile gracious, always inviting you in, asking you to freeze this moment in time and remember her. She longs to please, her countenance sensitive to her mother's tone. I long to build her up, assure her that she is loved just as she is so that no fragility of heart remains, only a place where tenderness makes it's home.
This discovery was hers, a remnant of once warmer days, newly clothed in icy waters. The beauty here was that the past still serves us in this our present; what once dressed and imbued our dinnertime salads now awakens us to the allure that still blossoms even in winter's harsh grasp.
Her words, a love letter weeks too early for the yearly holiday, came right on time to a mama who just this afternoon balanced precariously on the edge between firm teacher and fiery preacher. She knew nothing of my need to write today for 5 minutes, nothing of the word that spoke the challenge. Just as she tries her best, so I try mine. As her words bring sweet reward to my weary feet, so I trust my example provokes hers to follow where Jesus' trod.
