19 July 2020

a thousand words

Sweet Guesica wrote me this morning, telling me that our goddaughter Yasha will be presented at church tomorrow, and she wishes we could be there. Her sweet face is a perfect mix of our two dear friends, and right behind her is the painting of tulips we moved to Haiti with in 2007, duct taped to an ironing board. Those early days of dating and marriage, I was always "Tulip" to Matt, and the gift had seemed too precious to leave behind.  

On the wall still hangs my guitar, older than Matt and I go, and every night I grabbed it and returned it right there, walking two steps to the girls bedroom for bedtime worship. The pack-n-play at the foot of our bed that Yasha now sleeps in was given to us by the Millers, dear family friends still and since I was a toddler...given when I was pregnant with Lily, used as a crib for all four of our babies. 
Tomorrow's her big day, godparents taking a major roll, and I'm not.

The sweet and thoughtful picture of her dear smile hits me like the Mississippi heat and takes my breath away, and stupid tears spring to my eyes stupid again.

Several times a week when Sofie needed some extra attention, to cool off, to slow down, to vent all her passionate little heart, I knew I could find her with Granny.  Plucking peas or picking little pebbles out of rice, braiding hair or washing dishes, Granny would pull her into her lap and into the work, and how many years did I search out Sofie only to find her pouring out her heart and being well-loved.

As I tuck her in tonight she tells me how she misses always having a place to go, how she misses her Gran and how she loved her peaceful and steady, and I've got nothing to tell her but me, too.

I don't know when this is going to stop being so hard. 


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