"How did God make those mountains?"
The Little Man does not wait for my extra-strong coffee to snap synapses together in the wee morning hours. How can his brain spin like that at this hour? I wonder somewhat bitterly.
"How do you think He did it?" I return the volley, sipping and glancing out the window at pink-topped sunrise mountains.
"Well," he says matter-of-factly. "He just zoomed 'em up there and blammed 'em down!"
I can't help but laugh, a bit groggily. "And those mountains are like your bathroom stool to Him, just little footstools..."
It's his turn to laugh. He climbs onto my lap, the mug of coffee tipping precariously as I juggle toddler and caffeine in two hands.
"Mom, you look bootiful today," he says, always the charmer. I'm sweatpants-and-slippers glory this morning.
"So do you, Son," I reply, deep lungs of thanfulness still sighing audibly after yesterday. "I'm so glad I have you."
For a three-year old, he's pretty attentive and knows what I'm talking about. "Mom," he says. "Thanks for saving me."
He's dramatic and expressive. I chuckle. "God saved you, baby."
"He did?"
"Yeah!" I answer, getting excited and forcing myself to lower my volume in the early morning hours. "The same God that 'zoomed and blammed' those mountains out there. Somehow, He saved you. I don't understand it all, but I'm so glad."
His swinging legs and frantic arms - it's an image I will never forget. Thankfulness roars over me like a gust of wind.
We've talked about details - ropes and rules and top bunk bed regulations. Now is the time to point to mountains and God. Until the Little Man moves on to other interesting topics...which takes all of one minute. There are hows and whys that only a three-year old can fathom at that hour. And I move with him, cozy in this chair.
Resting in the Grace,
Karen
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