You smell like apple pie this morning,
a little nutmeg, a sprinkling of sugar.
I fold a palm to your chin and wipe at your tears,
and my kiss lingers on your freckle-dusted skin.
Were you the baby I suckled all those long years ago?
Were yours the feet I pressed to my face, was yours the soft skin?
Such softness had seemed otherworldly, then.
Now you cry, and your fingers are not the only fingers smashed in a door this morning;
your voice not the only one wailing.
It would be so easy to afford you just the smallest-harried-cold-hearted-mother glance.
Some mercy, though, stills me; some grace
catches
leans me into that apple pie scent.
I see you, Son.
I see you;
you and your boy-cheeks all sprinkled with cinnamon.
Love this. I’ve needed the reminder of grace today too. Yelling comes so easily some days!
Oh Benjamin, I love you beautiful boy!
I LOVE this Harmony. Oh, how I miss my apple pie-scented, freckled face thinker and boy filled with dreams….my heart lurches at the thought of his tears of pain..at the very thought of his chubby little too-soon-to-be-man hands being crushed in the door…Oh Lord…protect these Benjamin hands – may they continue to change the world…as they already have. Because they have indeed changed mine. So glad you were able to stop and love on him when he most needed your tenderness.