My husband has decided to be obsessed with Indian food these days so chicken tikka masala simmers on my stove while I dream of  spiced winds, tearing off pieces of naan and dipping it to sneak a taste. Every time we are at the grocery store, the beautiful Indo-Canadian ladies in their bright saris gently laugh at my Joe when he tells them with stars in his eyes that they are “so pwetty” and at Anne who breathlessly asks if they are princesses.

Joe is playing trucks at my feet, roaring contentedly. The sun is setting outside and our big living room window is wide open. Anne is perched on the window bench, staring out.

I make a move to close the curtains in the dim and Anne pipes up, “Don’t close them, Mum. Look at the sunset.”

It’s our rainy, cloudy season and we’re unused to seeing the sun. That very morning, when the sunlight streamed in the windows, my poor little BC boy jumped up and ran over to the patch of sun to exclaim “Mumma! Look! Flashlights! Flashlights!” January and February are clearly long, dreary months when the little laddie can’t recognise sunlight anymore.

I look out the window and the sky is ablaze. The clouds are reflecting the colours of the saris – turquoise, magenta, blood orange trimmed with gold.  The sun is setting behind the pines and skeletal trees that stand around our little neighbourhood, far above the roof lines.

When we first moved home and I saw the sun set behind the pine trees, etching them like black lace relief against the northern sky, I cried for being home at last, for how my soul needed that very beauty.

“God made that,” she whispers.

“Yes, He did,” I say.

“So, Mum, you can’t close the blinds. When someone makes something for you, the right thing to do is to look at it. You can’t just act like you didn’t get the gift. Otherwise, they don’t know that you see it. You say thanks but you also need to look at it. And God made it for us so we need to look at it and see it.”

Small girl, thank you for giving me the eyes to see the gifts.

I sink down into the glider rocking chair, just behind her and say nothing.  Joe comes over to sit in my lap and we all stare out the window, looking just above the dark bones of the trees at the sun setting, gliding silent in the now-dark room that smells like spices.

It feels like a sudden lavish gift, poured out like expensive perfume on my soul, like water on parched earth. They are quiet and I am quiet and then it is gone, leaving only an indigo glow.

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In which I am a biblical woman
In which I choose to feast; this is Kingdom Come
thank you for sharing...
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  • KathleenBasi

    Gorgeous, Sarah. Just gorgeous.

  • Your child knows the heart of God. 🙂

    • Indeed. And is revealing it to me more and more.

  • *sigh* beautiful

  • Jill@ClearestGlimpse

    Lovely. Thank you, Anne, for giving us eyes to see.

  • sometimes the best Truth-tellers are the littlest ones:)

  • This is just so, so beautiful and touching. I love the imagery you paint with your words, I felt as if I were there 🙂
    Your little girl sounds as though she has inherited your strong faith – just beautiful.
    Thank you for sharing x

  • Mizmelly

    Your girl is an old soul… How profound and true… Tell her she’s wonderful from me… and thank you for sharing this…

    • I will, Melly. I like that descriptor “an old soul.”

  • Anne J.

    We saw that beautiful sunset yesterday too! Little B and I were walking to the mailbox, and on the way back to the house, I caught a glimpse of orange sky. B’s favourite colour is orange (he likes to say that EVERYTHING is orange even though I’m pretty sure he knows his colours), and yesterday was his 2nd birthday, so I truly felt like it was a birthday gift to him…and me, his mother, who felt especially sappy about his birthday, and my birthing day.
    So I agree with Anne, that the sunset was definitely God’s gift to us.

    • it was amazing, wasn’t it? And gone now! *sigh* Another grey and rainy weekend.

  • Mrsmellalieu

    i wish i had something beautiful to say because this post deserves it. she is going to do amazing things for Him and i am sure she will be forever grateful for the gift of her amazing mumma. xo.

  • That is so sweet- I love how children help us to see things that have been there all along…. and sunsets. Beautiful post, thanks.

  • Ah, so often we forget to look—*really* look. Especially those of us who are adept with words, and want to say or write our bit and then move on. I love the image of you just sitting there, gliding, looking. Thanks to you (and Anne) for sharing it.

  • Nothing to add here, except (sincerely) Thanks for sharing.

  • Stephanie

    What a wise little girl you have, Sarah. Truly.

    Also – I love naan…served warm as a side dish w/ dinner.

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