Imagining Things in a Little Gray Room

The room is quiet now, though not for long.

I sit in a small, orange chair with a footstool, taking it all in.

The room is full of the nicest light, filtering in through large windows that barely separate it from the world outside–a world alive and dressed in the brightest spring green, where vegetables are only beginning to take root in the garden since spring comes late here.

There is a loosely woven basket sitting on the floor, home to tiny things, among them a gray rhinoceros, a pink pig and bunny and a tiny giraffe–all gifts of love, I imagine.  Leaning against a simple, white crib is a guitar.  Across the room sits a beautiful old chest, and above it, two colorful animal prints.  A sturdy-looking jogging stroller sits next to the chest.

This is my granddaughter’s room.

She was coaxed into the world just a few hours ago by the two who will be her whole world for a long time–until they show her an even bigger world and give her their blessing to explore it.  She will always be their whole world, though.  Funny how it works.

And so I find myself with the blessing of quiet time this morning, to sit in her room and imagine her here.

I imagine her mommy holding her in this little orange chair, reading to her in soft and gentle words, because that is her mommy’s way.  I imagine her daddy strumming the most beautiful chords on the old guitar–my old guitar–as he sings her a song she’ll learn to sing on her own one day.  Though I haven’t peeked inside, I imagine the old chest, which belonged to her great-grandmother, to be full of the softest blankets and sweetest tiny clothes–new and hand-me-downs from cousins she’ll soon meet.  I imagine how very soon this little one will go for the grandest ride in her stroller, weaving up and down the avenues–her mom and dad introducing her to fresh air and blue skies.  To purple flowers and desert mountain trails where grasses blow in the breeze.

So it is, on this lovely day in June, my first granddaughter  decided to make herself known to the world.

Already she is hope and light and joy.  Already she holds every kind of good there is in this world in her tiny little hands.

She is among God’s finest creations.

As I knew it would, her name rolled off my tongue for the first time as if I’ve practiced it forever.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

You can call me Dovie.