Father love.

I saw a little girl racing along a path through a park on her scooter this evening- doing it because she loved it, with the wind blowing back her hair and widening her huge smile.

And then she hit a rock.


All of that momentum stopped and she hit the ground with her scooter.



Her dad was up and running toward her with a timing that would make you wonder if he had known future things. But he's a dad - anticipation and protection go hand in hand. His fatherhood was made in response to her daughterhood - even when she was just a hope.


He loves her with father-love. He kissed her forehead, as she straightened herself, and her scooter, up.


He picked up the rock that had stopped her fun, and the wind in her face. He threw it far into the grass, away from the path.


Then he picked up the peices of her now-broken bell. The two of them chatted about that broken bell, because she was upset about it.


To the on-looker, it was just a bell and a scuffed scooter - but it mattered to this dad because it mattered to his daughter. Just as it matters that his daughter loves riding the scooter and ringing the bell. His daughter loves riding the scooter and ringing the bell.


With his kisses and words, she was back on the scooter - riding out dreams and energy with scuffs of remembrance on it's handle bar and one on her knee.





Today, I give Him thanks for:

• warm afternoon naps.


• the sound of water over rocks.


• voids that make you curious.


• His Fatherhood.


• daughter-living.


• my own father-love, who called me when I was buckled over by papers, work and life a few weeks ago - who spoke his words of fatherhood over me, and who sent me flowers as good as kisses.