There she goes again, bounding gracefully by as she wisps through the room like a deer in the forest. Her two little legs continually hop-skip wherever they take her, and as every leap separates her feet from the floor, she doesn’t miss a note of her singing. Prancing and singing, prancing and singing, her little song of “La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la” leaves the depths of her little sweet soul, exits her lips, and fills the airwaves with glad tidings.
Olivia watches Mommy, memorizing her every move. In the very short time that we have had her she has taken notice of how Mommy reads a story to her and all of her brothers and sisters. She is quite the actor. At almost three years old she opens the book and performs as follows:
“One ‘tory said.” Turn the page, deep breath. “One ‘tory said.” Turn the page, deep breath. A pause comes, and then she turns to one side or the other, puts on her stern Mommy look, and says louder, “Now be twiet!”
She then turns the page and resumes with “One ‘tory said, one ‘tory said, one ‘tory said.” Her best impression of Mommy reading a story goes through many cycles, complete with “the look” and the stern voice telling whoever is listening to “be twiet!”
As I lay my head on the pillow the other night, a deep calm invaded my entire body. At last the busy day was over and I could relax in my warm bed and doze off to sleep as if sauntering leisurely down a winding path in a wooded forest. The darkness was comforting as I began to close my eyes. The silence invoked in my ears was gradually slowing my breathing and heart rate, sleep was near. Then…
My body convulsed. My blood pressure spiked. What the heck was that? Were we being invaded?
“Thwap, thwap, thwap!”
I was suddenly transported from my heavenly resting place into the middle of a racketball court. From around two or three corners of hallway a sound was emitted, repeatedly, from our little angel in her room. As our little Olivia pursed her lips together and applied a slight amount of inward pressure from her lungs, a loud smacking sound, the “thwap” I should say, was exiting her lips, travelling down the hallway, and beating my eardrum like a hammer.
Enlightened that sound waves could travel both ways, and before I could have the privilege of hearing any more of her “thwaps”, I said in my kindest yet firm voice, “Olivia! Be quiet! It’s bedtime!”
Peace and tranquility began again. I was certain that my command for silence would be repeated back to me at a future time of her choosing in the form of “be twiet!” but until then, the silence was golden. Olivia’s lip smacking practice finally subsided and I was soon able to get back to a resting heart rate.
We almost lost her. In fact, we almost never had her. She is a living, breathing miracle. She is evidence that God blesses obedience.
Written by David Steen, with God smiling, February 15, 2011.