Every Good Gift

We’ve just said our “the ends” to three stories and I’ve rocketed my big boy up into my arms. I ask my little princeling for the kindness of a hug and kiss and he bestows his mother this grace with reluctant charm. And then I look into his eyes and ask him, “What was your favorite part of the day?” He says without missing a beat, “You!”

I’m sure he must have misunderstood the question so I put it to him in another way. “What did you like best today: playing in the snow (our first here this season—and what I’m sure must have been the highlight), making snowflakes (our paper-cut re-enactment of morning delight), or cuddling up to the Tigger movie with hot cocoa (not something we do every day around here)?”

He looks at me with his earnest blue eyes and points a resolute finger to my face and stands by his earlier answer: “You, Mommy!” My heart turns gooey like those melting marshmallows making snowdrifts in our hot cocoa and I’m pretty sure its answers like that which keep me going in this mother-gig.

As I lay my head on the pillow at the end of the day, I recount the event to my husband and I’m pretty sure it’s the warmth of that kind of childlike love that’s the reason the snow’s almost melted outside. “That’s the good stuff,” my husband says and I close my eyes trying to hold on to the goodness of this day, like the too-quickly melting snow outside. And in the stillness, I hear God whispering to my heart. He’s asking me a question.

“Sweet child, what was the highlight of your day?”

“What do you mean, God?”

“What did you like best: the sweet look of joy on your little one’s face as he played in the snow, the heart-felt thanks of your husband for your support in a difficult day, when baby boy stayed still long enough to cuddle and rock good night?”

I think about this question. I think about these good gifts—the much longed-for gifts of marriage and children and days of joy. And I think about the Giver of these good gifts (James 1:17) and I wonder whether I’m able to say with the same gusto as my two-year old, “It’s you!” When I come to the end of my days and God asks me again, “What was the highlight of all your days on earth?” Will my first thoughts be of the day I said, “I do,” or of the moment I cradled joy in my arms so tiny and frail? Or will my first thoughts be of Him, the Giver of all good things?

I ask myself these questions as I drift off to sleep and whisper, “You, God. You,” my declaration and my prayer, “Let it be. Amen.”

My question for you dear reader, “What was the highlight of your day? Is God your best gift? Can you say it with the gusto of my two-year old?”