She leaned over the edge and peered into the deep, blue water. I could read the uncertainty and anxiety on her pudgy face.
She looked back at me for reassurance and I pointed to the fountain on the shallow shelf of the pool.
My two year old smiled. And she stepped into the water.
We were at my parent’s pool just a few miles from home. My toddler’s fear of the deep water kept her close to my side, but she loved the sparkling fountain on the pool’s ledge.
I smiled as I watched her try to stop the water shooting from the spring.
She used her bright green bucket to catch the forceful flow. She giggled and clapped.
The fountain was safe.
I laughed at the look on her face when she sat upon the rush of water.
She asked to go potty.
I pointed to the grass. (Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same).
As I looked again into the fountain bursting forth with water, I saw certainty, without a beginning or end.
I thought about my life: The dark days of infertility, the lonely life of a Pastor’s wife, the ache of unfulfilled dreams, the fear of motherhood. and my constant companion, mother’s guilt.
And in every situation there was one constant: hope.
It was the steady glow in the bottom of my soul that could not be extinguished by the storms in my life, both past and present.
It is God’s promise. And it is enough for every tomorrow.
Mine and yours.
She splashed in the fountain once more and I saw hope.
(I also saw my daughter peeing in the grass again.)