Pancakes with Snoopy

Spinning eight squealing little girls and cheering as they blindly bat the air- hoping for the crack which forebodes a deluge of dumdums and Reese cups.

Lunging after a baseball in the sand, hours pass in a vain attempt to reach a hundred passes without contact between baseball and beach.

Re-reading The Grouchy Lady Bug for the twentieth time, as she begs “Again, Again” and begins to recite the words.  “If you insist”

Thirty plastic fruit smoothies and invisible pancakes for Snoopy and friends.

Waking up to her unblinking eyes. 6AM: “GOOD MORNING, MS. AUS-EN”

My summer has been colored in Crayola pip-squeak markers, sculpted by little hands with purple play-doh, and illustrated by baseball-shaped bruises on my shins and wrists.

Waking up to his feet padding into our room and her flannel nighty tangled up on the trundle beside me- the Sun could not provide the warmth of their unspoken affections. 

After the “Tooth Brush Song” and quick exchanges of PJs for pants, we walk three blocks to Shoops for breakfast.  A lopsided pony tail and dozens of cow licks march hand-in-hand on the sidewalk. 

Just when I think my heart has met its quota, a set of fishy lips posing in my rear view mirror, goldfish bones stuck in the crevices of my car’s seats, and piles of sand in formerly unknown pockets remind me that love’s expansion precludes division.

I want to bathe and breathe in every detail of this delightful exhaustion.  Casting out all other notions, I want to belong to these little ones as they have belonged to me, even if only momentarily- the fingerprints wrought by small hands resonate infinitely.

Crawdads and Lightening Bugs

A garland of musical notes is tangled around my rib cage.  Sometimes I fear a quarter note will puncture a lung, and I'll deflate into a colorful puddle on the sidewalk... Other times I covet those translucent little pools with nothing to hide.

When I was a little girl, my Papaw taught me how to catch crawdads in the creek beside our old home place in the Smoky Mountains.  I would wade into the water with my barefeet and search for creepy crawlies lurking beneath the stones.  Scooping up the biggest and ugliest creature that I could find, I would wave it in my sister's face, delighted as she squealed in disgust.

I think that creek stole a part of me forever.  As the world lends its burdens and takes its captives, I find myself desperately trying to return to the crawdads.  My mind wanders to the Smokies, and I'm tempted to reenact myself- hiding in the sheets dangling on Mamaw's clothesline, then stripping naked, so that the sheets could become my ball gown as I pranced through the yard.

Millions of memories buzz and flicker like so many fireflies on an Alabama summer night.  It's magical, and I can't seem to let go of the little girl in the linen ball gown. 

After supper, my Papaw would pull out his guitar and pluck cords, as I danced with Ashley beneath the aluminum carport.  Hymns and gospel tunes sung off-key; to me it was a glimpse of Heaven- my bare feet slapping the pavement as we swung each other round and round.

When a place possesses so many memories, I can't help but feel that a part of me resides there as well.  Whenever I wander through my Mamaw's yard, my heart slips into the sheets, and I long to find my Papaw rocking beneath the carport. 
For me, it's proof that God paints our lives with moments that foreshadow Heaven.

As my mundane responsibilities increase, I find myself missing more divine moments.  God tells us to seek Him like a child- unashamed with eyes open to the magic of His world, but somewhere between driving to work and running errands, I exchange crawdads for pennies and dimes. 

Minutes, hours, and days pass, and the little girl in the linen sheets is relegated to naïveté. 

I can't leave her behind anymore.  It hurts too much to forget what I was made for and where I came from. 
Every morning, God covers our failures with new mercy, and I believe He composes ten million more opportunities for us to dance with fireflies.
As consistently, as I disregard His wonder, God is constantly at work reminding me of who I am- a little girl in a linen ball gown searching for crawdads.

"Because of the Lord's faithful love
we do not perish
for His mercies never end.
They are new each morning;
great is your faithfulness!
I say: The Lord is my portion,
therefore I will put my hope in Him"
Lamentations 3:22-24