Our house is full of acorns.
The girls have recently discovered these nutty little treasures, and they cannot walk past an acorn without squatting down to admire it and then pick it up, regardless of how full their little hands might be. It often becomes a point of contention--they want to look at the acorns, and I just want to want them to get in the car already. We live on a street full of live oaks, so we have acorns in abundance. Every stroll around the block, every trip to the mailbox, every time the front door opens, they have to look for acorns.
They have little tin pails that they put the acorns in, and these get dumped, sorted, shared, stolen, brought to the dinner table, hoarded, lined up, and carried around all day. Evie packs them in her pockets when we are out, and I often see that she has at least one little fist clenched when we get into the car because she is holding onto one of her finds. Yesterday, as I was changing Evie's diaper, several little brown things rolled out of her shorts...acorns. I saw something brown and suspiciously bug-like under a basket in the bedroom this evening...acorns. I stepped on something hard in the dark...an acorn.
I have the feeling that I am going to be finding acorns stashed and lost around the house for years to come. But just when I start to get exasperated with the acorn invasion, I remember that they were brought into the house by the curiosity and awe of a child--of my children. One of these days, they will drive by an oak tree on their way to school, to college, to homes of their own, and they won't notice the acorns that litter the ground. But I suspect that every time I see one, I will remember the image of two little girls squatting on the sidewalk to look at an acorn that Jazz is pointing out to Evie. I don't think I mind picking them up anymore.
Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of acorns.
