I often call my boys with a whistle. It can be a dinner call. A call to come home. A call to the dining room or front porch or even the picnic shelter at the park.
Sharp and shrill.
It's the way my dad would call my sisters and me when we were little. We'd be dispersed throughout the neighborhood and Dad would stand on the deck and whistle. We'd run, barefoot and summer-sticky, over the lawns until we met Dad's kind smile.
It's the way his dad called him, too.
Makes me think about how the Father calls us. How He speaks through His Word to His children.
What beautiful grace.
Here's the link to my recent Family Grace at Guideposts:
Have a beautiful weekend...