I leaned over his little sleepy form to kiss him good-bye. My time in the desert was coming to an end, but his would continue for another week. For the first time, my child’s children were meeting the S** refugees who have become so much a part of our family’s life.
He stirred, and opened his eyes. “Won’t you come under my blankie, Omi?” How could I resist? Rubbing his back, his big dark eyes soon closed, and it seemed that he had fallen asleep. I quietly began to move off of the simple mat, only to find that his little fingers had entwined into my scarf.
“Won’t you come close, Omi?” he whispered as he pulled me near. “Closer….closer…”
Each time I would move, thinking he had fallen asleep, he would whisper, “closer….closer…”
The sweetness of that one little word…that invitation…that request…brought tears to my eyes. How precious to be asked by this dearly-loved little one to be near…to be close. I love to be close to him. But his whispered invitation made it all the more precious.
God, is this what you long to hear on the lips of your children? On my lips? In my whispers in the night? In the darkness? When I’m not even fully awake or consciously intentional? That kind of spontaneity from my heart?
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