We are our habits. I watch her pick up pens and markers and hold as many as she can fit in her hands. She is turning twisting lids, pushing the spring end of the pen, tapping the markers as drum sticks on the plastic kiddie table. Snot drips from her nose as she stands one-legged with her multi-colored baby legs crossed exposing her chubby feet and toes. Pulls open a drawer and deposits the explored markers inside to feel something novel: two paintbrushes. Takes them to the artist easel and paints - gliding invisible paint slippery on the whiteboard. Her brushes drop to the floor and she squats down retrieving them only to bump her head on the easel frame before standing back up. Back to the treasure chest-like drawer (she can only reach and feel her way around it but not clearly see what's contained inside), paint brushes retire, grabs her favorite two markers back out and heads back to create, closing the drawer, as an observant astute student, the same way she found it. Facing me, smiling and chit chatting in immature baby consonants. Telling me all about her explorations. Rolling markers in between her two hands...so many fun things to do with markers. Does God smile down and observe me in the same way? A loving parent observing my daily contrived motions. Patient. Heart filled with joy. Waiting, listening, arms wide-open.
Be more Deliberate about life. Be Intentional.
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