Sacred Cheerios

 It happened by accident really, catching her from around the hallway corner. It was early still, the sun not yet up and risen.  Ice flakes surrounded the back windows of our war-time home.  She sat adjacent, beside her craft box, tucked away in our kitchen nook.  Quiet and concentrating.  My daughter, alone this morning, accompanied by her bowl of Cheerios.

At first she didn’t see me watching, and I’m thankful, because in it, a moment was captured much like a candid photograph.  I peaked quietly as I first heard the crunching.  The scraping of the O’s, the slurping of the milk.  Our dog, Molly, came to lie at my feet.  And together we witnessed. 

Her chubby small fingers grasped the large silver spoon.  Cutlery too large for her little pink hands as unwashed dishes bubbled nearby in our kitchen sink. Her face partly hid behind our stoneware crockery.  The 3 and a half foot presence sat atop our dinner bench.  Head barely gracing the table.  Little legs dangled with pink leotard toes just stroking the brown tiled floor.  Humming a song, a self composed tune, as she often does when she’s lost in wistful reverie.  All before seven thirty a.m. on a well treed street, in a simple home, at breakfast time.

My daughter is teaching me about what it truly means to live in the moment.  To be present in all that is right now. And as I watch her, as she teaches me, my head leans a little as she gives her full attention and spirit to whatever is set right before her.  Her big brown eyes focused intently on the river of circles.  How many she has left to rescue.  The ones on the riverbank she has yet to choose.  She carefully positions her hands and the crook of her elbow makes space to ensure she has gulped up each and every last one.  The clanking of metal to the glass bowl is rhythmic.  The slurping of the milk, poetic. 

And after several more moments, her eyes glance up and meet mine.  Her smile breaks now, her toothy grin almost looking for an answer. Her face is filled with complete joy.  She tips her bowl over to show me her Cheerio victory.

She shuffles and tottles as pre-schoolers do, past me to wipe her face as she quickly steals a look at her well deserved mustache made of milk in our bathroom mirror.

And as we drive off to start our days, I press the button to close our garage door and whisper a cold breath of “Amen” to the Father who is part of these sacred moments.  To the Father who knows our simple home, on our well treed street at breakfast time.  To the Father who brings sacred and holy moments to the extraordinary, and the very ordinary.  This morning over her bowl of Cheerios.

 

~Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days

Psalm 90:14