Garage Sale Goodness

For two weeks my 3-year-old, Silas, has asked for a shovel.

"Mama, I don't have a shubble. Can you get me a shubble?"

"Mama, I want to dig, but look, I don't have a shubble."

"Mama, please, please get me a shubble."

Friday morning he started in again. "Mama, me and sister don't have shubbles. We need shubbles. Will you please buy us some shubbles?"

I said, "I think you need to talk to Santa Claus about that."

"Who Santa Claus?" he asked.

"Who do you think?" I said.

He grinned. "My daddy."

A short time later Billy came in and said, "Let's hit some garage sales."

The first was around the corner from our house. An old man and his wife who have collected things for years. Heavy blue mason jars, champaign glasses, ancient rotten baby dolls, marbles, antique hammers, ax handles, handkerchiefs, vintage china, cast iron. And on the ground, two short shovels. Old and a little rusty. Tips worn from many hours of use. Thick sturdy handles, just the right length for little people.

"Mama, look, shubbles!"

The shovels came home with us, of course. Silas dug in the back yard all day. The next morning before breakfast he was at it again.

God cares about little things. He cares about lost sheep and small birds. He cares for 3-year-olds who dream of dirt and shovels.