She is little and softness and gentle and beauty on beauty.
She is perfection as only God can create, that little granddaughter across the hall.
And I go in to talk to her and pat her fanny, rub her tummy gently while cooing to her how dainty and sweet she is.
And she wiggles, looks up and coos back.
And she owns my heart.
Yet I may not hold her.
And I realize that, maybe He is teaching me.
Teaching me that spoiling my child created a mess I must now contend with.
Teaching me that, as long as He is with me, everything will be okay.
Teaching me to find joy in the small moments with that tiny angel.
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