X's and O's

Yesterday, I took Ria, my nearly-one-year-old daughter, to Burlington to look for coats for next year. I pulled out several sized 3T coats (because big coats mean at least two years of usage) and let her choose. I was glad she chose green and not Pepto-Bismol pink (which most of the girls' coats are) because it is a lot easier on my eyes. Though I would have supported the pink had she wanted it.

After choosing one for her sister, we went up to the front to pay. I let her carry her coat. When it was time to ring out, I told her to bring her coat so we could buy it. She toddled over with the world's largest grin on her face. I swooped her up and put the coat on the counter so the girl behind the desk could ring it up while I searched for my card.

Suddenly, Ria began covering me with kisses and hugs, her little body straining against my arm. She was jumping up and down and wound her little arms around my neck, squeezing with every ounce of energy in her. She was kissing and hugging so much that I couldn't swipe my card.

It was the absolute best feeling in the world. Totally made my day.

"I Want Ariel!"

I'm not a fan of television. Movies are marginally better, but the sound of the TV still grates on my nerves. Unfortunately, my life has lent itself to rather more television/movie watching lately than I prefer. We have only a bare handful of animated, 2-year-old-friendly movies, among which are the Care Bears.

Ely is a Care-Bear-aholic. She absolutely adores watching the cute little bears bring love and caring into the world. This is wonderful, because of all the cartoons out there today, I'd much prefer she watch something with morals and meaning and storyline, like Care Bears. The problem with this is that we only have two, 30-minute tapes.

I am utterly sick of Care Bears.

So, imagine the depths of my joy when Ely declared "I want Ariel!" The best part about The Little Mermaid, as produced by Disney, is that there are parts of the movie which are hilarious to a two-year-old. I'm not talking about little-girl snickers funny, but deep, belly laugh funny. Few things gladden my heart as much as watching Ely laugh so hard her little body shakes when Scuttle uses the dinglehopper to fluff his hair, or when Max licks Ariel's face over the side of the ship.

This utter joy in the simple beauty of life is echoed when she observes the real world, too. This morning, as we stepped out of the house, she gazed up at the sky and said, light voice filled with wonder, "Stars, Mommy! Stars!"

I glanced around, and said back to her, "Yes, you're right! There are stars. Aren't they pretty?" all the while thinking how sad it was that only a dozen or so stars were visible in the city light.

It was then that I learned a very humbling lesson as she said, "Yes! Pretty! I like stars. Do you like stars, mommy?" I realized that she did not see what wasn't in the sky, she only saw the stars which were there, and she rejoiced in them.

Too often lately, I've been focusing on the empty spaces where stars should be, neglecting to notice the beauty that is there. I've been letting resentment and fear blind my eyes and keep me from trusting God.

I can't yet take her to the country at night, to show her how many more stars can be seen when observed from the right place. Yet, I ought to be able to remember that they are there, whether I can see them or not, whether I can share them with her yet or not.

And meanwhile, I can belly laugh at the simple silliness of life, and rejoice in the stars that can be seen from where I am now.