Picnic

It was a perfect afternoon.

David didn’t poop in the bushes like he did during a previous family picnic in an east coast garden. In fact no one even had to interrupt the event to dash to the restroom for  a poop break as is the usual custom. That in and of itself was miraculous and made for a lovely time.

Add to that a heavenly breeze tickling the giant windchime dangling from elderly branches, butterflies dancing and dappled light caressing. Pumpkin cookies and little boys spread on mismatched blankets with not a hint of a quarrel to subtract from the bliss. It was one of those fleeting moments where everything is perfectly right with the world. Not just God’s grace in the daily mess but a pure glimpse of paradise.

The daily trudge tries hard to hide them but really . . . how do I not stand always entranced by the miracles unfolding before my eyes? Little souls and smiles, hands and feet growing from mystical seed.

Precious, perfect picnic with no poop.