I have no idea why it’s not growing, I mutter mostly to my self.
Ask God, Angelina shouts, I always do, I ask him to help me every time I need it to grow. She looks at me quizzically, What? She asks, then she says, these are not my hands they are Gods hands. He lives inside of us so these are Gods hands and He is building this snowman.
I listen dumbstruck to the wisdom of my daughter. If I where only that wise.