Saturday, November 9, 2013

Mud on the Radiator.

I see it:
mud on the radiator.

I know whose footprints those are.
Her feet are smaller than ours and she can't see out the windows.

I vaguely remember that feeling:

too small to peer out of  house windows,
or even to see very well out of the car window at the houses flying by,
the roar of "Punch Bug" rarely being hers;

scurrying around down by everybody's knees,
trying to keep up while feeling like always looking up.

The radiator is her step up into the world she cannot see.

"Daddy is burning the trash."

"Mommy is digging at the dirt pile."

"Daddy is getting on the gator."

Mad scurrying follows as she flies out the back door to join him.

The irritation I feel at having to clean those footprint covered radiators diminishes as I put her dilemma into perspective.

Someday very soon, I will no longer see those muddy prints on that radiator.
Someday she might be too busy to notice who is at the burn pile or the dirt pile.

I say a prayer for those muddy footprints' owner,
that her curious little heart would grow in wisdom and stature...

but not too quickly.


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