on my mind: little hands

They can always find the goodies in a lineup.

Impressive, no?

a red jalapeño

A red jalapeño in our garden? What can this mean?

Nice of you to join us, bell peppers. Get growin'.

Corn silk is lovely. I want a bouquet of it.

Dear corn stalks,

Please don't grow much taller than me.

Love, Veronica

Don't ever let anyone tell you you can't, cantaloupe.

Can't wait to hold a sliced watermelon smile up to my face.

A squash escapee scales the six-foot cinder block wall. I have a feeling he will become mayor of a town, assume responsibility for a young orphan girl, and turn his whole life around.

Our red potatoes are dying. Help, someone?

Just praying the pigeons and doves prefer crickets to corn on the cob.

Angel Deacon

There I was in the hall at church with my nine-month-old, going on two years. She had fought a good fight with impressive strength I couldn't hope to subdue in the pews. The poofs of her pink dress made her look like an angelic flapper at sunset. Now she was content on the floor in the vacant hallway advancing the crumpled state of a church program. She scooted like a trainee in the army. She clapped her chubby hands. She squealed with joy, all as if nothing had been wrong 20 minutes prior.

I picked her up to avoid a 12-year-old class from tripping over what they'd surely mistake for a bundle of cotton candy on the floor. She let out a holler in protest. I could feel everything escalating as the hall filled with more and more bodies as classrooms let out. Darcy was screaming, I was panicking, and the fire-hazard population continued to grow in waves of children and adults.

Suddenly Darcy was still, and I looked up to find that she was eye-level with a young, smiling face. A smile with braces. Darcy sat quietly, eagerly waiting for what the 12-year-old boy would say to her. He was paying attention to her. And she was thrilled. She loved him immediately.

"She probably likes my braces," he said, purposefully grinning for her. He was tall for his age, but appeared lower, as he was hunched down, speaking to my little girl.

"What's the matter?" he asked in the truest sincerity I've ever heard come from a 12-year-old boy, or any man, for that matter. I knew immediately he had to have been an angel sent to calm my unhappy child. And he was a 12-year-old boy! If that wasn't enough, he turned to me and said, "Don't worry. When I was a baby, I cried too. My mom was probably out here in the hall 75% of the time in church with me." I almost expected him to proffer a shoulder for me to cry on, but he waved goodbye and hurried to rejoin his class. To say I was touched would not sufficiently cover how profoundly this young man impacted me. Tears filled my eyes. This young man did what Christ would have done. He had the countenance of Christ as he lowered his tall frame to show kindness to a mother and baby.

I am grateful for this young man's ability to see the young mother drowning in a crowd. I am grateful for his example of loving someone you've never seen before. I am grateful for his example of doing what Christ would do.