Clearly he didn’t know the rule about never talking to strangers. His cheerful greeting was enthusiastically and immediately followed by, “Guess what I got?”
I looked down from the rack of baby clothes I was perusing in search of a gift for a colleague’s newest family addition. He stood expectantly: blonde hair wildly pointing in all compass directions, hands securely concealed behind his back, blue eyes earnestly seeking my response to his invitation to play the guessing game.
“Well, I’m really not sure. What did you get?” Of course he didn’t really expect me to know. The fun was in pulling his treasure from its temporary hiding place and displaying it proudly in upraised hands.
“Oh, a Minecraft toy! How fun!” His grin confirmed that I had portrayed the appropriate amount of enthusiasm.
“Are you a grandma?” Such an innocent question. It stirred some natural longings in my heart. Someday perhaps. But not right now.
“No, I’m not a grandma,” I smiled.
“Are you a mom?” It was the next logical question after all. It stirred and mixed the joy and grief compartments of my mother-heart.
“Yes, I am a mom.”
Yes. Yes, it is. It is very good. Not a have-a-good-day, looks-like-good-weather-today, or this-tastes-good sort of good. More like the deep, abiding sense of good that comes from knowing that I have been given a gift that I in no way deserve. It is a humbling goodness. A gracious goodness.