FOODFORTHOUGHT

I was in a hurry. I came rushing through our dining room in my best
suit, focused on getting ready for an evening meeting. Gillian, my
four-year-old, was dancing about to one of her favorite oldies,
"Cool," from West Side Story.

I was in a hurry, on the verge of being late. Yet a small voice
inside of me said, 'Stop.'

So I stopped. I looked at her. I reached out, grabbed her hand and
spun her around. My seven-year-old, Caitlin, came into our orbit,
and I grabbed her, too. The three of us did a wild jitterbug around
the dining room and into the living room. We were laughing. We were
spinning.

Could the neighbors see the lunacy through the windows? It didn't
matter. The song ended with a dramatic flourish and
our dance finished with it. I patted them on their bottoms and sent
them to take their baths.

They went up the stairs, gasping for breath, their giggles bouncing
off the walls. I went back to business. I was bent over, shoving
papers into my briefcase, when I overheard my youngest say to her
sister, "Caitlin, isn't Mommy the bestest one?"

I froze. How close I had come to hurrying through life, missing that
moment. My mind went to the awards and diplomas that covered the
walls of my office. No award, no achievement I have ever earned can
match this: Isn't Mommy the bestest one?

My child said that at age four. I don't expect her to say it at age
14. But at age 40, if she bends down over that pine box to say
good-bye to the cast-off container of my soul, I want to her to say it
then.

"Isn't Mommy the bestest one?"

It doesn't fit on my resume. But I want it on my tombstone.

DEAR LORD, my children are only little for a time. Make me
faithfully spend the time with rhem -- to play pretend, to dance, to
read or tell a story, to sing, to cuddle. All too soon they will
grow away. Time passes by so quickly. And there's no rewinding,
there's no replay. Let me gather memories with no regrets. While I
have the chance, let me show my love for them the best way I
can. Lord, for the rest of our lives, make me their "bestest" friend.

--~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~

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© 2006 FoodForThought

-~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---

I was in a hurry. I came rushing through our dining room in my best
suit, focused on getting ready for an evening meeting. Gillian, my
four-year-old, was dancing about to one of her favorite oldies,
"Cool," from West Side Story.

I was in a hurry, on the verge of being late. Yet a small voice
inside of me said, 'Stop.'

So I stopped. I looked at her. I reached out, grabbed her hand and
spun her around. My seven-year-old, Caitlin, came into our orbit,
and I grabbed her, too. The three of us did a wild jitterbug around
the dining room and into the living room. We were laughing. We were
spinning.

Could the neighbors see the lunacy through the windows? It didn't
matter. The song ended with a dramatic flourish and
our dance finished with it. I patted them on their bottoms and sent
them to take their baths.

They went up the stairs, gasping for breath, their giggles bouncing
off the walls. I went back to business. I was bent over, shoving
papers into my briefcase, when I overheard my youngest say to her
sister, "Caitlin, isn't Mommy the bestest one?"

I froze. How close I had come to hurrying through life, missing that
moment. My mind went to the awards and diplomas that covered the
walls of my office. No award, no achievement I have ever earned can
match this: Isn't Mommy the bestest one?

My child said that at age four. I don't expect her to say it at age
14. But at age 40, if she bends down over that pine box to say
good-bye to the cast-off container of my soul, I want to her to say it
then.

"Isn't Mommy the bestest one?"

It doesn't fit on my resume. But I want it on my tombstone.

DEAR LORD, my children are only little for a time. Make me
faithfully spend the time with rhem -- to play pretend, to dance, to
read or tell a story, to sing, to cuddle. All too soon they will
grow away. Time passes by so quickly. And there's no rewinding,
there's no replay. Let me gather memories with no regrets. While I
have the chance, let me show my love for them the best way I
can. Lord, for the rest of our lives, make me their "bestest" friend.

--~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~

You received this message because you are subscribed to the daily "F O O D F O R T H O U G H T". To subscribe: subscribe@dailyfoodforthought.org or to unsubscribe from this group, send email to DailyFoodForThought-unsubscribe@googlegroups.com

For more options, visit this group at:

http://groups.google.com/group/DailyFoodForThought

DISCLAIMER: FoodForThought shared this message as submitted and do not claim to own any copyright privileges on it. All the messages are believed to be free for circulation or public domain. All messages come in either by email in original form or copied from the internet sites. The work was submitted to us as an item for distribution, and it was posted solely on the basis of its quality. It's a FREE service.

© 2006 FoodForThought

-~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---