Beloved

The way she pads down the steps after quiet time, one halting footstep at a time, hand slithering down the banister, she is beloved.

The way she tells me this story, “Isn’t this silly, Mom?  I went to the bathroom and I told myself ‘don’t shut the door’ but you know what?  I shut the door anyway!”, she is beloved.

The way her hair flops over her eye, and with two years of practice, she flips her head and brushes with her hand to clear her vision, she is beloved.

The way she returns downstairs, clutching a pink and purple unicorn with obscenely large eyes, to wonder with hands raised and shoulders shrugged almost cartoonishly, “Wait, how am I going to do the rest of my quiet time if my door is closed?”, she is beloved.

The way her eyes twinkle, she is beloved.

The little ways that are the She of today and only today, she is beloved.

And I think to myself what a tiny grain of sand it takes to be loved.  Our tiniest of gestures, flicks of hair, twinkle of eyes, these things are worthy of loving.  We don’t love them enough.  We don’t stop enough to love them in another.  But in the small, quiet moments when we do stop…do notice…how great, then, is the tide of love that swamps all else?  It’s life’s greatest present that comes in the tiniest package: to love and be loved.

This five minute portrait of my afternoon is brought to you compliments of Lisa Jo Baker’s weekly Five Minute Friday writing prompt.