If only

I know we're not supposed to count the "if onlys" in life.  I know we're supposed to live in the here, the now, the present of what God has granted today.  That doesn't seem to stop our fragile human hearts from exploring the dead end road some days.

Our garden is going; not strong, but it's there.  And, we spent a few hours out tonight with a rake in the hands of our son, who is about half the size of the rake.  A hoe in the determined six-year olds arms of our daughter, struggling to help.  The sound of the lawnmower in the distance as our oldest took care of that weekly chore.  And, our third daughter, Syvannah, asked an interesting question, in the way that only a child that age can do:  "What if we were weeds, mom?"

I could have gone so many directions with that.  But, instead I put it right back at her.  And her answer was that we're not weeds; we're special.  I told her I wouldn't want to be pulled, but she was more focused on how special each of us is in this family.  So, she proceeded to list each person by name, "you're special, mommy, and I'm special, and Lexy is special, and daddy is special . . ."

If only her father could have watched and heard those words.  It's not the same to share them on the phone or an e-mail.  Though they might be appreciated, what was caught in the tone was the tender developing of a beautiful heart.  This girl feels so deeply.  Everything.  And, in the dusk, she passed along her touch to a stranger walking by; a woman we couldn't see too clearly in the fading light of daytime.  She called out "hi" to this woman, and then said in the same, loud tone of voice to be heard, "I don't know who you are, but you're very pretty."

If only I could convey the enthusiasm she had in her voice sharing with a total stranger that she was pretty.  Instead, it's relegated to words on a page for now, but a memory nonetheless to share with daddy on the next call.

If only I could share it in person tonight, in the slow murmurings that happen just before sleep.  Those last minute, "did I tell you . . ." sleepy revelations.  Now it's almost like I am trying to fill a pail with all the things he needs to know, would want to see.  Verbal pictures painted with the stories in words instead of action.

One month down.  Roughly 8 more to go or so.  218 days . . .