Sacred creation in the everyday
In my three-year-old son's bathtime play, the Spirit still hovers over the water.
Here is your ice cream cone, he declares. Satisfied and soapy, he hands me a cup full of bubbles. He eyes me intently, underneath wet curls.
“What flavor is it?” I know to ask. The joy sparks: she sees it, too! “It is chocolate-ish strawberry vanilla. It is served in a cone and a dish.”
“You are KIDDING,” I gape. “That is my favorite flavor in the world.” I slurp and snarf, devour the whole airy nothing in front of his damp beaming face, which dazzles into delight.
