"She's so soft," he says as he gently strokes her cheek, and hair, and hands. "Why is she so soft? I'm not so soft. Annie is still soft and Mackenzie is a little soft, but I'm not very soft."
"She's still very new. Her skin is new and hasn't been changed or damaged by the sun or swimming pool or other stuff in the environment."
"I like how soft she is," he says, his six-year-old voice almost a whisper.
Me, too. I know that it won't last, this softness, this tenderness, this sensitivity to every sort of stimulation.
It is the nature of our world; the nature of life; the nature of experience.
Over time we lose our "softness". We lose our sensitivity. We become more rough, more hardened, and it changes us.
I silently pray again to be a little more like my children...to view the world with simplicity, to hear and receive God's word without doubt, to love with abandon, to laugh uncontrollably, to dance any time and any place just for pure joy, to hug with all my might, and to forgive quickly without long-term recall of wrongs committed against me.
I want to regain, or maintain, some of the softness.
3 comments:
I'm currently working on a series of posts about the things I've learned from my kids, even the littlest one. We can learn so, so much from them, can't we?
P.S. and most importantly: She's beautiful!
I love this
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