These Little Ones

Remember the Sears Christmas Wish Book? 

Oh, the excitement/longing that turning those pages would bring to children's hearts?!!

For my grandson the Living Waters Catalogue seems to stir the same kind of response!

Get this!! the day after they got it his best friend came to his house to play; 

(someone he has not seen very much due to the times we re in (COVID-19)

Well, he informed his friend he couldn't play until he was done 'looking at my new maganazine'!

This week he asked a little girl playing at the park

"wanna come to my house? I have a new maganazine' (his way of saying magazine)😂

And this catalogue is stress free! 

no need to worry that they might be exposed to something negative!

It's so important to guard their little hearts

and nourish their minds with upbuilding things!

Train up a child in the way he should go,
[a]And when he is old he will not depart from it.

Prov.22:6

Yesterday...

This morning...

last week...

Sometimes I wonder as I watch you 

Run and laugh and play 

What your pretty, sturdy hearts 

Will dare to dream someday 

 

I wonder what will dash and cheer you 

Comfort or dismay 

Will you trust the Lord to hear you 

When you kneel and pray 

 

What will shape you, hurt you, heal you 

Through days dark or fair 

Will you trust the One wo keeps you 

In His loving care? 

 

Sometimes I wonder as I watch you 

Innocent, carefree 

Watching those who watch and teach you 

Who you’ll grow to be 

 

© Janet Martin 

Sometimes I wonder as I watch you 

Run and laugh and play 

What your pretty, sturdy hearts 

Will dare to dream someday ...

  

  

For Homemaker and Childcare-giver

 Inspired by today and other days much like it...

Pee-puddles, sweet cuddles, study of a bug
Tuck in for a nap then called back for kiss-hug
Rain-laughter and after it slows, barefoot splash
A picnic of popcorn, Popsicle mishmash
A dash after mister who shed all his clothes
A leap to snare missy and wipe runny nose
One rag for all spills, a face-cloth for each kid
‘Crunch’ say the toast crumbs, spaghetti cries ‘skid!’
Boogers and snooger bunnies, me-oh-my
Swing till the tippy-toes tickle the sky
Hair-tangles, bear wrangles, spoon on plate-drum
Wondering what (soon grown up) they'll become
Cup refill, cup re-spill, patience gets riled
Some things never change when it comes to a child
Where Teacher and Learner are both young and old
But one is the pourer and one is the mold
Where messes and happiness mingle unplanned
Innocence and experience hand in hand
Toy trucks in planters and blooms strewn awry
Oft-repeated answers for oft-repeated ‘why’
Toys, noise and simple joys gone in a blink
Girls and boys poised on an echo-world’s brink
Unicorns, teddy-bears, picture-books, dolls
Gossamer glimmers on yesterday’s walls

© Janet Martin

Work Waits!

'Why are you holding me? I'm a big boy' said Grandsonny 

as I scooped him up in my other arm as we walked across the yard. 

He looked across at his sister who is The Baby 

and wanted to make sure I wasn't mistaking him as one! 

'Oh, I know you're a Big Boy' I reassured him as I kissed his curls.

 'but sometimes Grandma wants to hold the world in her arms'

A bit of a challenge to capture nice keepsakes at this stage...

youngsters don't necessarily look at the camera or smile on command😀
especially if there is a cool tractor going by!

Work waits; but not the little lad or lass with silken curls

And not the bloom where petal-plume its brief bearing unfurls

And not the scene of June’s lush green soon scorched by July heat

And not the tune tapped by the metronome of child’s bare feet

And not the he or she that pulls toward life’s wanderlust

And not the frame dawn hoists and dusk folds back into the dust

Work waits; but not the season spilling wonder wild and free

Work waits, thank God or else there never could be poetry 

So take the time to climb the hill, dash through Wander-lands gates

Or hold to heart's content the child and be glad that work waits

How sad if all we have to celebrate at End of Day

Is to-do lists completed while the fledgling flew away

© Janet Martin