"Ouuuuuch!" I squeal and slink lower in my chair, waiting for the scalding tea to finish its course through my esophagus.
"You look like a teen ager like that," she grins, shaking her head at me, compassion lining her face also.
The pain has passed, and I straighten in my chair. This life of raising a woman brings laughter, humility, and joy.
On the weathered grey deck outside, we catch a sunset's hues and the last glimpses of her childhood, as time flits away with the sun. This willowy daughter stands taller than me now, and has a full-sized Holy Spirit in her. He speaks to her and through her, like he speaks to me or you. And I catch myself watching her lately.
"Mom, you're staring at me," she smiles quizzically those days. "What?"
It's just that I see myself in her, and yet so much more, I see her! A woman in a child's body, a child in a woman's body, and a sister in the faith beside me.
How do I raise this woman beside me? With my man-child off to college this fall, time melts before me.
|Trying to see if the timer worked, we surprised ourselves once.|
Placing my favorite mug into the microwave for more tea, I press a minute twenty, and the seconds flash by.
Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose and Ann at A Holy Experience.