Soccer, Thumb Sucking, And Other Deep Thoughts

Thoughts scribbled in my little notebook today while watching Blair play soccer with the boys from church. This picture has nothing to do with anything. Maybe you can find some sort of literary symbolism. I doubt it.

I love our perpetual land of summer. The sky is an innocent shade of blue, the grassy field tickles your shins and conceals the soccer ball being kicked around. The boys are slipping and falling as they play soccer in the mud-painted field. I can't help but double over into a fit of laughter every time I look at little nine-year-old Trevor. His pants are hiked up over his belly button, exposing his scrawny legs and knobby knees. His shoes are over-sized toboggans hooked to tooth-pick legs. The mammoth shoes are three sizes too big, likely handed down from someone twice his age. Every time he kicks the ball his shoes fly off his feet and go soaring through the air. We're halfway through the game and he has now resorted to playing with one shoe. The grass must have gobbled up the other one.

He's standing in the middle of the field now sucking his thumb. I can hear Blair teasing him and asking whether he wants to play the game or go sit on the bench next to me with a warm bottle of milk. How do you get a nine-year-old to stop sucking his thumb?! I think we should super glue his thumb to his pointer finger. Too harsh? Hmmmm....

I can't believe we'll have to say goodbye to our friends here in just a few short months. I feel some comfort in knowing that we'll keep in contact with our medical student friends. But I know that we'll likely lose touch with our Grenadian friends. We'll forget so much of this and though we can't imagine it now, all of this will someday seem like a dream that fades in and out of our minds - never leaving detailed trails or specific clues. We'll hardly be able to piece it all together.

This morning Lyndzee and I cleaned the church with Rholda and Rimba. Rholda has been an example to me of cheerful, persistent, and dedicated service. Every Saturday she cleans that church, even when she's the only one that shows up to do the job. She smiles and laughs all the while, leaving contagious sparks of happiness all around her. When I grow up, I hope to be Rholda Williams, one of my many Grenadian mothers.