Wednesday, January 12, 2011
One day when I'm old and sweeping, remind me of when my broom always found Hot Wheels under the cabinet's edge.
One day when I'm old and singing, remind me of three little voices joined in unison in my back seat singing, "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Acts and the letter to the Romans..."
One day when I'm old and cooking, remind me of spilled milk, and tall tales, and laughter at our table each night.
One day when I'm old and writing, remind me of handwritten "I love you's", and countless scraps of paper with carefully drawn robots and monster trucks and dinosaurs.
One day when I'm old and spending, remind me of the wealth of having a single penny carefully tucked in a pocket with rocks and Legos and the occasional roly poly.
One day when I'm old and praying, remind me of little heads bowed, little eyes sometimes closed, and little voices talking to the Father with full assurance that He would answer.
One day when I'm old and waiting, remind me of the flurry of activity each morning as we brushed teeth, brushed hair, grabbed backpacks and rushed off into another day.
One day when I'm old and trembling, remind me of how my arms shook under the weight of a sleeping boy.
One day when I'm old and dreaming, remind me of midnight feedings and fevers and tummy aches that could only be soothed by my nearness.
One day when I'm old and worrying, remind me of unexpected hugs from arms that were too short to stretch all the way around me.
One day when I'm old and cleaning, remind me of countertops smudged with watermelon toothpaste, doorknobs coated in mysterious goo, and glass doors perpetually coated in boy-sized handprints.
One day when I'm old and walking, remind me of chubby hands holding mine and little feet trusting me not to lead them astray.
One day when I'm old and counting my blessings, remind me that, for a time, I was their world.
I don't think I could, but if somehow I do forget - remind me. One day.