A usual day for me can be filled with such hussle, and bussle. Sometimes with unfortunate neglect of my daughter and her wanderings. I can get cooped up inside all day, and not realize I have not open myself to the sun at all.
My daughter can get passed from kid-to-kid throughout the house for the entire day without me worrying, and (thankfully) I get caught up on an evenings worth of sleep, laundry, and housework.
However, I was caught red-handed in not giving her day's worth of divine attention. Nothing seem to remedy her fussy-business today; not the bottle, not her toys, not one individual within the household. I heard family members throughout the room walls, being passed from one person to the next. It seemed the rotation of phrases became more impressionable each time I heard her name.
I grabbed the over-sized, red beach blanket; scurried to the door. I sprawled the towel right out under Father Birch Tree on the front lawn. I went back inside and grabbed the baby, and let we both layed out. It seems like I do it at least a few times a day; freedom from vanity, and keeping a light moderation for my sanity as well.
I believe I do this, because the outdoors tranquilizes my doubts. The assauging power of nature just does that; brings traquility where and when I need it the most. There is nothing more bounteous, and freely generous as Father Birch Tree and his LOVE. There is a deep connection rooted between my daughter and him. She loves to twiddle-and-twaddle with the surrounding foilage. The grass tickles at her little feet, and she's set to eat some of it as well.
Today though...She gently braces her little head against my tummy as if she knew there was another blessing on the way. She was all smiles and aptly cooing along, and all that Father Birch Tree could do was watch over us, and embrace us like he always did.
Thank you. Thank you, Father Birch Tree.
