sitting on her bed, tears spilling over eye lashes that melt a mama heart.
we talk about kindness and love.
we talk about choices and free will to treat people as we choose.
i hold her tight, careful with my words.
desperately wanting to speak beauty to her tiny soul.
soon giggles follow and i wipe her tears, slowly, knowing their value.
he bottles them. i will at least acknowledge every one.
she asks to read her bible book and jumps up cheerfully to bring it over to the bed.
she walks like a beauty queen balancing it atop of her head, so proud.
i giggle, grab her up and squeeze her tight telling her she is mighty talented.
her story of choice, the one about the important people and the sinful woman.
she is fasinated that this woman pours tears and perfume on jesus' feet.
she questions why the important people are mad, mad enough to kill jesus.
she then flips the pages to the crucifixion story.
why does jesus stay on the cross when he can come down mama?
i explain how great is his love.
why can't god look at jesus mama?
i explain, trying hard not to regurgitate what has been taught all of my life.
i think hard. choosing words like fragile glass, handling them with care.
i'm not sure how to answer, and i resort to what i've always heard.
jesus takes on all of our bad stuff, that's called sin, and god is perfect and he has no part in sin, so he looks away.
she wrinkles her face to the side, but i thought god was the good guy.