Here’s the thing with my blog. I’m a writer -- well a wannabe writer anyway -- but as of yet, all I have to my credentials are a few published short stories and a couple of manuscripts under consideration (meaning they haven’t been accepted yet, so they aren’t really credentials). But hey! I’m hopeful. Still need an agent (Anyone? Anyone?)
Since I don’t have the experience to convey profound words of wisdom on how to make it as a writer, I’ll just do what I do best: blab. I will confess though, my blabbering stories aren’t without purpose in mind. My hope is that you will find them so endearing that if I’m ever published, you’ll rush out and buy my book.
And that’s my disclaimer. Now on to the story.
My youngest child is a whistler. I can always tell when she’s happy because I hear her whistling—unknowingly--as she goes about her daily activities.
Now, she’s also stubborn. So when she has her mind set to do a thing, or be a certain way, you better just accept it and stand back.
Our family had talked about moving from the city to the country for about two years before we finally took the plunge. During that time the kids anticipated the change with excitement—especially my youngest.
“Can I get a horse?”
“Can we have cows?”
She even amassed a collection of colorful, stuffed representations of all her future pets. But once we made the move her attitude took a sudden change. And she wanted everyone to know it! She’d walk about with a scowl, announcing in a disgruntled voice how much she disliked, or missed, the most peculiar things.
“I miss our stairs! I miss carpet. I don’t like all of the trees. The mountains are too small. The pastures are kind of boring to look at….”
A bit of remorse was understandable. Moves are a huge change, and we all missed a part of our old life. But with Kaylee, I really began to worry. Not one positive remark escaped her lips. So I tried to coax a few; first, by commenting on the taste of fresh spring water.
“I liked our old water better.”
“The cool mountain air feels so good. It’s a nice change from Houston’s humidity.”
“Humidity makes me want to swim. I miss swimming.”
“The changing fall colors are just beautiful.”
Had we made a terrible mistake? We’d only been in our new house for a week, and already our seven year old had decided, no how, no way, was she going to like it. Being the stubborn little angel that she was, changing her mind would take a miracle.
That evening my husband and I took a walk down to the creek that runs next to the house, and I voiced my concerns. Mid-sentence I looked up and witnessed something amazing. Our baby was walking down the hill toward us. As she closed the distance, her walk turned into a skip; her little lips puckered and she began to whistle.
Sudden joy filled my heart and I knew we’d done the right thing. I didn’t dare tell her she’d been whistling for fear of rousing her stubborn side. No, I just let God do what He does best: changing hearts so gently, so soothingly, that we don’t know it’s happened until He’s done.
Fast forward a few years and you’ll find that same child hanging from the gate in our pasture, proclaiming to all of the world, “I was made for this farm!”