She loves to play, jump, run, sing, dance, and cut her own hair. And of course she loves to decorate with markers.
Now, she thinks it’s so much fun to color on something, run get a baby wipe and get it cleaned up. I don’t think there is any part of her that realizes it’s not really a game! And she really isn’t supposed to color on walls, refrigerators, non-coloring books and, of course, her body.
It really is becoming quite old.
The other day, once again, I found myself holding my tongue, marching my little Picasso to the bathroom to wash permanent marker from her hand. I was feeling quite annoyed that we were doing this AGAIN.
While B was happily chattering away about the beautiful design on her hand, I quietly bit my lip and scrubbed away.
It took a while.
And while I scrubbed a funny thing began to happen.
I started to notice how soft the inside of her hand felt. I looked closer at all the pudgy lines that ran across her palm. I became acutely aware of how tiny her hand was in comparison to mine.
And my heart began to melt.
I thought to myself how lucky I was to have this little hand to wash. I felt such a love and tenderness for this small person Heavenly Father put into my life. And all too soon, her hand was clean. I felt the coolness of her wet hand and longed to keep washing it, to keep holding it.
At that moment, heaven touched earth and I knew I had a precious gift from God.
So, what if she colors all over my walls.