Seated at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a pencil, he writes.
Quietly his mind is practicing creative.
After awhile he tells me that he is writing a book. With multiple chapters.
I see a sketch in there, too.
The way his mind works and he chooses to write, it just amazes me.
This Boy who once was overwhelmed with fatigue just to write a little bit, now sits and writes a lot--on his own.
This Boy who dresses in all crazy costumes and has a mind meant for make believe.
This Boy bubbling over with creative.
I See how the quiet gives him space for his mind to stretch wide and breathe.
I watch him hold his head with one hand, elbow resting on the table.
His mouth moves with the words he writes.
He sniffles and wipes his nose, often I realize, too busy to stop for a tissue.
My own need for quiet is heavy.
I'm reaching for Rest today and falling into it.
And it isn't the nap kind as much as the choice kind.
I hear the clock tick and hear his page turn.
This quiet is truly delightful.
Seeing this is my gratitude, and choosing it is my worship.