Cares and Hairs

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

—Matthew 10:29-31 

I saw it fall.  

Right there in front of me the striking blue blossom loosened its grip on the orchid’s stem and floated to a landing in the center of my kitchen table. 

“Aww…” I moaned, pausing from my work just a moment to mourn the demise of my gorgeous centerpiece. 

Then I returned to the task at hand—tidying up the kitchen. But I left the blossom there. Maybe because it matched my mood. My kitchen table once decorated with smiling faces at each place was now set with piles of bills and a fading flower in its midst. 

A speck of green on the bench caught my attention. As I leaned down, I realized it was a tiny hair band. 

That’s where that got to. I remembered earlier in the week I had picked up my pony-tailed two-year-old granddaughter Addie from day care, and she wasn’t at my house long before the pony-tail disappeared. 

Near in the New Year

“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.”—Psalm 94:19

It’s one of my favorite Christmas gifts—a handmade (with the help of technology) 2013 “Addison” calendar. On the cover my 10 month-old granddaughter holds a 2013 sign, her big blue eyes wide with wonder.

Flipping each page of the calendar sporting a picture of Addie taken in the same month of 2012, I recall those precious moments—her debut in February; her first Easter in March; Mother’s Day when my whole family gathered for a photo on the church steps. And the summer months when I took care of Addie while her parents worked.

I remember cradling Addie in the crook of my arm, rocking in the old porch rocker, both of us lulled by the sounds of the morning, birds chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and a tractor chugging in the distance.  Addie’s curious blue eyes brightened, as she babbled in response.   I remember trail walks, Addie strapped snug in her stroller, mesmerized by bright green foliage and yellow butterflies, soothed by the rhythm of the carriage. I remember car rides that without fail calmed Addie to sleep. I came to know Addie’s cries, signaling food, sleep, or attention. I knew what would make her smile and gurgle and what would comfort her. Except for one day.