In the midst of this presidential election, sinking economy, housing crisis, debilitating unemployment, rising food costs, soaring gas prices, and increasing woe, there is still hope.
I sat down the other day and watched my four-year-old daughter engage in play. We had just returned from our afternoon ritual of taking her six-year-old sister to kindergarten. The time of day was perfect for quiet activity. I was on the sofa reading a book, she was on the playroom rug holding a doll.
She looked so beautiful with her still-chubby cheeks and preschool innocence. Her entry into the fours barely two months ago, she still finding her way in the realm of the almost-schooled. I eavesdropped on her conversations with the dolls. They talked of the recent snow day and how much fun it was to play in the snow. She alternated her voice between dolls as she dressed them and bounced them on the rug. Her world was so loving and complete there on the floor.
My daughter has a distinctive husky, deep, yet squeeky voice. I couldn't help but to capture a mental picture of the moment. It held me in rapt attention, she was obvlious of my stare. In my heart I knew these moments were precious. She would one day grow up and might not be content to sit for hours with a toy bin full of dolls. I silently prayed a prayer of gratefulness for that precious girl, my last child.
There is hope for the future. She is not the only little four-year-old who has captured her mother's rapt attention. I have the audacity to belive in a better future for her. Her world, as she sat on that floor, didnt' contain the constant media dronning of the economic crisis, the unending war, the high cost of living, the impending recession, none of it entered the little cocoon of her playtime. It was a time for which I am grateful, a time for hope, a simple moment.
I sat down the other day and watched my four-year-old daughter engage in play. We had just returned from our afternoon ritual of taking her six-year-old sister to kindergarten. The time of day was perfect for quiet activity. I was on the sofa reading a book, she was on the playroom rug holding a doll.
She looked so beautiful with her still-chubby cheeks and preschool innocence. Her entry into the fours barely two months ago, she still finding her way in the realm of the almost-schooled. I eavesdropped on her conversations with the dolls. They talked of the recent snow day and how much fun it was to play in the snow. She alternated her voice between dolls as she dressed them and bounced them on the rug. Her world was so loving and complete there on the floor.
My daughter has a distinctive husky, deep, yet squeeky voice. I couldn't help but to capture a mental picture of the moment. It held me in rapt attention, she was obvlious of my stare. In my heart I knew these moments were precious. She would one day grow up and might not be content to sit for hours with a toy bin full of dolls. I silently prayed a prayer of gratefulness for that precious girl, my last child.
There is hope for the future. She is not the only little four-year-old who has captured her mother's rapt attention. I have the audacity to belive in a better future for her. Her world, as she sat on that floor, didnt' contain the constant media dronning of the economic crisis, the unending war, the high cost of living, the impending recession, none of it entered the little cocoon of her playtime. It was a time for which I am grateful, a time for hope, a simple moment.
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