There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends. Shel Silverstein
I love soft spring nights. Emily and I have begun to walk at night again. I love the company. We talk about everything; school, friends, time, when she was a baby, prayer. She joyfully holds my hand and confesses things I did not know. She will break free every now and again and run ahead. Red hair flying in the breeze, bruised knees leading her. She smiles her big, warm smile and says kind things to neighbors who are out tending their yards.
Tonight, she ran ahead and then stopped quickly. She waited and when I got to her she asked sweetly if we could go to the very end of the street, "where the sidewalk ends". And though she was asking literally, figuratively, I am so glad when we go where there is no path and create a new one. I love to adventure with her. The years are numbered for the childlike wonder that now blesses our days. God's design was so perfect to permit such a time as this, to jump from the hard, unchanging cement of the sidewalk to explore the soft yielding grass and flowers that await where the sidewalk ends. I feel like God does this with my heart; requesting that I soften and expose that He might create a new path, and adventure with me.
Emily will be turning eight next week...how thankful I am for a time such as this.
