Bless The Work of His Hands

We're at the sink. Working together. Zay's standing on a small chair.

And he smiles up at me.

"I'm helping," he says. Four-year-old joy. He's a treasure.

It makes me smile, too.

The berries are round and red, filling his whole hand. He rinses them with water and carefully pats them dry. Then he arranges. Rearranges.

And smiles up again.

I admire his smallness and wonder what those hands will do. As they grow. When he's grown. This son of mine. By my side. Perched on a chair. So pleased to serve.

Bless his work, Lord. Now and then. May his heart and hands be turned to You.

We shut off the water. I pluck him from the chair.

His arms circle my neck.

And we sit down to enjoy.