free spirit

Yesterday we went to a craft class at the local Michael's. They have these demonstrations on how to do certain things and I decided to take The Girl to see them do painted glass ornaments. They did then allow the five little girls to paint an ornament to take home. My Girl did hers slightly differently. Shocking, I know. The rest of the little girls followed the exact directions to make a sweet little Christmas ornament. They decoupaged on sweet little snowflakes and glitter and such. My girl? Well, she decided that she wanted to make an Autumn ornament. So, she painted it red and she then painted green leaves on the ornament. The green leaves happen to also look like chicken feet, but she was quite happy with her creation. Though, I will admit that the other little girl's ornaments looked quite a bit more polished and "finished," I will also admit that My Girl's ornament was all HER.

She is a free spirit. She doesn't typically care if you are not supposed to read books on the bench during soccer. She reads them cause she wants to.




She creates games that get little girls running and all using their imaginations. During her brother's soccer games she would rally the troops and lead treasure hunts using maps drawn on her little sparkly purple etch a sketch. Then all the little girls were asking their moms for etch a sketches for Christmas.

She is often in another world. Sparkling and dancing and moving and doing her own thing.

Her own world is different. The only problem is when it collides with someone else's world. Or someone else's desire to actually play baseball and get people out... rather then pick clover.

Free spirits may not actually make good second base players. Frankly free spirits don't bother much with baseball. Free spirits enjoy other pursuits like finding those sneaky little fairies that hide in the clover.

I hope she does not lose her free spirit. Ever.

granted reprieve

Yesterday evening I was tucking my little boy into bed and praying with him. For years he has said the beginning of his bedtime prayers as, "Jesus, Jesus day. Bless Momma, bless Daddy... etc... etc. Amen."

It may sound weird but that is how he prays and always has. He has prayed this way since he could talk. Since the day that he could lisp out the name Jesus, this is how my son started his prayers. I do know generally how this happened. You see when he was young I started off many a bed time prayer with, "Dear Jesus, Thank you for today."

He merely smooshed it so it was easy for his little mouth to say. He is now seven. Yes, seven years old and still saying, "Jesus, Jesus, day." Most of the time I do not even notice it. It has simply become part of praying with the Boy.

My problem is that yesterday evening that whole thought went up in smoke when he started by saying, "Jesus, Jesus, day..." and then he stopped. He paused and then said, "Dear God..." and he finished his prayer. When that happened I squeezed my eyes shut tight in shock and surprise. I know that my seven, almost eight year old, should not still be saying, "Jesus, Jesus Day..." BUT it is such a part of him. Such a part of his littleness. Such a part of the baby I used to snuggle and scoop up with such ease. It is such a part of so very many memories of us praying together, night, after night after night.

Nights when it took patience for me to even pray with him. Nights when I would pour out my heart to God in prayers that left me in tears. Nights when I would pray for help in leading this boy in the correct way and many nights spent praying with him for Daddy to be safe in Iraq. I have spent nights praying for sweet bunnies who have died and nights spent praying for aunts and uncles in China and then years later the same aunt in a hospital just hours away. I have spent nights hearing his sweet prayers open with, "Jesus, Jesus day... " and have heard him continue on to pray for young friends suffering with leukemia, and to hear him thank God for the trees and the flowers and the bushes and the bugs. All the innocent childhood prayers for years and years were encompassed with that opening phrase.

My momma heart felt slightly torn as I knew that he was realizing that his opening for prayer wasn't "right." That there was a better way. A more acceptable way... in his young mind.

It was hard for me that night to give him a soft kiss on his still soft cheek and to just walk away from his bed. There was actually a part of me that wanted to curl right up there with him and beg him to stop growing up. That would be a weird parenting tactic, but I can't deny that the urge was there.

I felt wistful looking back in on him later that night. I made sure he was covered up well and all was well in his room and kissed his cheek again knowing that, "Jesus, Jesus day..." would probably not be heard again.

Tonight, I prayed with him and I talked with him and in the process he actually licked me right across the nose, which was disgusting and wet and just plain gross and was so very little boy like. Then we prayed and he opened the prayer with, "Jesus, Jesus day..." and never paused and never seemed to think about it twice.

I however did pause and I did think twice and I did hug him close and know that I was granted a reprieve. It will not be long I am sure but I will treasure every time I hear, "Jesus, Jesus day..."