Delicate

Life is so very fragile. Hearts are delicate. Flowers are the perfect symbol for days when you can so easily remember that you are carried by grace.

Some days, days like today, I remember only that I'm the little girl who never wanted to clean her room...never. I could sit for hours and think of practically nothing, and feel like I'd accomplished something. Grown up girls make themselves do things that never came naturally when their little girl selves got their way...but there's always a little girl inside who says, "do I have to?"

On days when that little girl heart feels like throwing a tantrum, this grown up girl has a good cry. She talks about how impossible it will ever be to do everything that has to be done, and she speculates on what it would take to go back to living in one little room and listen to music, draw pictures and write bad poetry all day.

I'm grateful Mr. Contraptioneer loves me so much. I'm pretty sure I just described a spoiled brat...

What sweet little girls are like...