I’ve noticed something just two days into this sweet get-away: slowing the pace has improved my eyesight. Oh, I don’t suppose my optometrist would necessarily agree, but I am, without a doubt, seeing more clearly today than I did seventy-two hours ago. For instance, this morning as I roamed the mountain-lined trail beyond our resort, I spied at least one hundred shades of brown glittering on the rocky peaks. From rich espresso to milk chocolate to camel-back tan, the mountains displayed a rainbow of earth tones in the early morning light. And then there were the bushes boasting tiny purple blossoms with pink centers just like the crayon flowers my kindergartener designs along the edges of her school work as she doodles her way through the day. Of course, it’s not just color I’m seeing more clearly, but people, as well. Yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice the way the elderly vacationers respond to Magdalene. We are under-aged by a solid twenty- perhaps even forty- years at this particular resort. Most of the population lounging around the pool have silver hair and laugh lines to spare (what did we expect when we chose a resort named for Lawrence Welk?). But I don’t mind the geriatric company; after having had my last baby at thirty-six, I’ve heard the label advanced maternal age enough times to believe that I really am an OLD MOM. So, I’m enjoying being the “young one” for a change, and I’m treasuring the fresh perspective I can glean from the elders in my midst.
Yesterday, I was reminded of how quickly I take for granted the blessings right in front of me. As I roamed YOUTHFULLY about the resort with Magdalene sleeping in her stroller, I noticed with intrigue how every single golden-ager whom I passed slowed down to look at Maggie’s feet. The silver-haired man on his three-wheeled bicycle, the shy woman hiding beneath a wide brimmed straw hat, the bathrobe-clad couple sitting on their patio with steaming mugs of morning java; the tanned woman bustling towards the tennis court; each one paused as I drew near. In an attempt to keep Maggie from burning, I had draped a purple baby blanket over the canopy of the stroller. The makeshift tent ensured that the only visible pieces of my baby were her ten chubby toes and petal-pink feet. Yet that small testimony of new life generated great pleasure. Every single silver-haired saint I met stopped to savor the sight of Magdalene’s little feet. Few words were exchanged, but their smiles spoke volumes: “How precious,” their sparkling eyes seemed to say as they gazed at my youngest. “How beautiful,” their tender touch decreed as they reached out to stroke her chubby toes.
Long after our stroll was over, I found myself marveling afresh at the ten wiggly toes that just one year ago had been kicking INSIDE of me. And since my new-and-improved eyesight was allowing me to see more clearly, I confessed that too often I take for granted those precious feet-and the child attached to them Then, with fresh-awe, I thanked God for the privilege of walking beside, not just Magdalene’s, but all ten of the sweet feet that The Lord has entrusted into my care. I spent the day praying that my children’s feet would walk boldly down the path that the Lord has planned for them. And that the Creator of those toes would protect each one from stumbling. And, finally, because I know that my own steps may falter, I prayed that my feet would unceasingly follow Him. For the greatest FEAT this mother can imagine is to leave behind footsteps that lead my children straight to the heart of God.
Today’s Treasure:He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the Lord.–Psalm 40:2-3
