Queen Frostine- of Candy Land fame
My son Lake is a lot like me-- we are both early risers. In these early mornings we often play Candy Land. Queen Frostine is the jackpot of Candy Land. In the last couple of days Lake has taken to stacking the deck, in mom's favor.
"You go first mom. Look! You got Queen Frostine!"
I've often puzzled over the meaning of "grace." Other people seem to understand grace more intuitively than I do. I've had some first hand experience with Grace- in fact I perceive it is a rolling theme that I struggle to understand in my own life. A few months after our daugther Milly died, a little girl showed up on our doorstep-- literally. She was an adorable, clean, well-dressed baby of about 18 months. She was too little to talk, but could walk. I didn't recognize her from the neighborhood. Alma (then just 3) and I took in this baby- changed her diaper, played with her. I called the police. When I tried to hand her over to the policeman she cried and clung to my neck. The officer asked if I could keep her until her parents were found. After a couple hours the frantic mother burst in my front door and scooped her baby up (she had toddled away during her nap time). "Grace! Oh my darling Grace!" the mother sobbed into her baby's neck.
Lake extends Queen Frostine "Mom! You got Queen Frostine!" surprise- surprise. And it is grace-- it is grace handed to me at 5 am by my 4-year-old son. Grace in the form of his disposition towards kindness.
And for me the lesson somehow lies in the acceptance of that grace. That God's gifts can be manifest through me--imperfect and frail.
My son Lake is a lot like me-- we are both early risers. In these early mornings we often play Candy Land. Queen Frostine is the jackpot of Candy Land. In the last couple of days Lake has taken to stacking the deck, in mom's favor.
"You go first mom. Look! You got Queen Frostine!"
I've often puzzled over the meaning of "grace." Other people seem to understand grace more intuitively than I do. I've had some first hand experience with Grace- in fact I perceive it is a rolling theme that I struggle to understand in my own life. A few months after our daugther Milly died, a little girl showed up on our doorstep-- literally. She was an adorable, clean, well-dressed baby of about 18 months. She was too little to talk, but could walk. I didn't recognize her from the neighborhood. Alma (then just 3) and I took in this baby- changed her diaper, played with her. I called the police. When I tried to hand her over to the policeman she cried and clung to my neck. The officer asked if I could keep her until her parents were found. After a couple hours the frantic mother burst in my front door and scooped her baby up (she had toddled away during her nap time). "Grace! Oh my darling Grace!" the mother sobbed into her baby's neck.
Lake extends Queen Frostine "Mom! You got Queen Frostine!" surprise- surprise. And it is grace-- it is grace handed to me at 5 am by my 4-year-old son. Grace in the form of his disposition towards kindness.
And for me the lesson somehow lies in the acceptance of that grace. That God's gifts can be manifest through me--imperfect and frail.
No comments:
Post a Comment