The Distribution of Beauty

The waves tug at my heart as the breeze tugs at my hair: I’m home beside the Atlantic Ocean. Charlotte is fearless, bravery wrapped in pink, loving the rush of the water over her legs. Dada has gone out near the dolphins, and he brings us back a friend, Mr. Minnow, who swam right into him with a soft bump. We wade back out together, my baby in her father’s arms. He holds her close as she splashes and laughs; Her bathtub will seem minute now compared to this water, as endless as the purple sky. We play together until the sun sinks too low, and then we head home for warm baths and snuggles in the rocking chair while the summer fans dry our hair. 

Sometimes I peek into other people's lives in the big city or near the snow capped mountains, and jealousy or covetousness creeps across my heart unchecked, but once we climb to the crest of the dune and hear the soft roar of the ocean, we're reminded again to be thankful for the distribution of beauty and God's gift of home.

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