What They Forgot
A lot. I often lament how little my kids remember from the years of high school Theology lessons I labored to instill in them and other poor souls.
What He Remembers
Recently, my adult son plucked a honeysuckle bloom from a wild vine on the chainlink fence in his backyard. He walked toward where I was sitting with his infant on my lap.
“Look mom!,”
he said as he gently pinched the flower at the base and slowly pulled the stamen through the small opening, dragging with it a tiny bead of nectar, just like I had shown him as a child.
“I remember,” he assured me.
As a single drop of sweetness landed on his tongue, a river of peace washed over me. An equally singular thought settled, welcome in my soul:
It is enough.