I’m awakened by the sound of my daughter’s voice, “I want French Toast, mama.”
Through sleep-dimmed eyes, I notice she stands next to the bed–a peace-offering in her hands and a wide grin on her freckled face. “I’ve brought your coffee.” Reluctantly, I leave the warmth of the bed.
Less than gracious, I stumble down the stairs and assemble the ingredients. Milk…eggs…bread…cinnamon. I wish I were still sleeping. “Is someone grumpy?” she asks. “Yes,” I respond honestly. But, I smile as she wraps tiny arms around my waist and I’m reminded of how different life would be without her.
This one small act may be more important than so many others.
Work? Someone else could fill my shoes.
Sleep? It’s guaranteed twelve hours from now.
This moment? Fleeting.
My family? An eternal investment.
I feel my attitude change and I ask, “Three or four pieces?”
