Jesus, life

Six

If I were six again, I’d spend a perfect Indian Summer Day in the Son.

I’d stand in the center of the swing set gondola and pump it really high and sing at the top of my lungs.  I’d sing to the sun, and I’d sing to the Son.  It doesn’t matter that I’m tone deaf, I’m six.

Then I’d go exploring.  I’d examine a caterpillar’s cocoon.  I’d run compass circles all over the neighborhood, the trees would be the spikes and I would be the pencil.

I’d run home just long enough to grab an apple, some cheese and some graham crackers and then run out again.  I’d sit on the gondola and eat, marveling at the way the air cools and the sky dims slightly whenever a cloud slides in front of the sun.  And how quickly it brightens and warms the second the sun is revealed again.

I’d talk to God the whole time, asking Him questions – tons and tons of questions – and telling Him how much I love Him.

In the late afternoon, I’d come home and take a nap on the living room floor, right in the center of a sunbeam.  I’d wake to the aroma of onions sautéing in butter and I’d stand next to the stove to watch my mom cook, unaware that I was passively picking up skills.  I’d ask her tons of questions and babble about my day.

Then I’d sit down to supper – something comforting like goulash.  My dad would talk about his day and I would smile, wolf down my food and sprint across two backyards to my best friend’s house.  We’d lay in her hammock and laugh.

At the end of the day I’d have a nice bath, put on some clean jammies, crawl into my trundle bed and fall asleep talking to Jesus.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Life’s a Candy Store.”

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14 thoughts on “Six”

  5. When I was six, I captured fireflies in my grandparent’s field and kept them in jars. Then, I found out fireflies only live one night above ground and they flash, searching for love…one night of love. I killed them on their one night–their one chance–at love.
    Thankfully, my seventh year was better.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  7. Pingback: Feasting at a Troubled Table | Light & life

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