the little moments matter

The light peeked through the windows as heavy gray clouds danced across the horizon. Raindrops slowly fell, leaving splatters of dampness on the deck.

Samuel sat on his knees at our worn oak dining table. His little feet hung off the back of the bench, his yellow nuk alternating between his mouth and resting on the table. Carefully he balanced while eating his bowl of cereal splashed with lactose free milk. A late afternoon snack for my hungry boy.

{sweet blue eyed Samuel}

I watched him.

I watched as his little hands, his right wrist still sporting the hospital arm band that he keeps asking to have back on, grabbed the spoon and worked to get those round gorilla munch puffs in his mouth. A couple would fall, but he'd keep working. Sighing sighs of contentment between drippy bites.

My heart felt at peace.

As I watched that sweet boy of mine eat I began to remember. I remembered how just a mere four months ago he had no energy to eat. I remembered my eyes welling with tears as I saw him rest on the floor -- with no energy to play. I remembered how he slept throughout the day. His pale, pale face. The vacant eyes. And I remembered the pain and the look of sadness in his eyes pleading with me to make it better. The slow horrible fade.

{then}

Humbled by memory, I looked up again. His attempt at neatness was done. Now the faded lime green bowl bought years ago at Ikea was upside down. Samuel was raking round morsels of gluten free goodness into his hands bit by bit. Some made it in his mouth, the rest onto the birch colored floor below.

I knew then that I should never take him eating for granted again.

It hit me so strongly -- the need to remember -- to be grateful for the little things like eating a late afternoon snack in late May.

He couldn't do it in January.

But now, by the grace of God, now my boy can.

That is a joyful thing.

Alleluia to God, our Healer.

Thank you for healing Samuel.

{now}

{I've linked up with what is on your heart}