Deacon is on my mind today. He is such a sweet expression of God’s love and I have been touched lately each time he prays. Often we pray over our meal and then Deacon will say “Wait, I want to pray too!” then he has us all hold hands for a second time and says “Dear God, please heal Phoebe and make her good.” Last night after he prayed he leaned over to me and said “And I pray for Phoebe that she will be nice so she won’t pinch me like she did before she went to the doctors.” Silly boy! I personally would love nothing more than to see Phoebe well enough to torture him with her little pinches again, but I didn’t tell him that. So in honor of my sweet little Deaconator, I’m posting a poem I wrote about him while we were living in Mexico when he was Phoebe’s age.
I have escaped unnoticed to the trampoline.
Pride and Prejudice in hand, I slink away like a guilty thief to steal a piece of quiet.
I settle in. Ahhh…
“Mama! Are you??” I hear the sweet muffled voice inside the house.
My heart wrenches toward my small enquirer.
But no, I will give myself at least a few pages of respite.
I spy his small frame at the back door window pane.
I freeze, like stunned prey.
Maybe he won’t notice me.
b r e a t h e s l o w l y
Make no sudden movements.
I smile despite myself as he flattens his nose against the glass.
He vanishes from the door.
Alone. Me and Jane Austen, Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth…
A burst of excited giggles rain down on me like tiny bubbles of sheer joy exploding in mid-air.
I have been discovered, and it is sweetness to my soul.