The Meaning of Blue Roses

One year for my birthday, shortly before the birth of my youngest daughter, my sister gave me a copy of The Christmas Box, by Richard Paul Evans.  I started a tradition of reading the book aloud, later having the girls participate as well.   I love this book as it significantly touches on the love of a parent, and God's love for each of us individually as his children.  As the years have passed, it's become very much a part of the holiday routine.  Of course this year the children are grown,  so I read aloud to my cat, Ebenezer Rouge.   It's my hope that the girls will remember the quiet time and bedtime stories of The Christmas Box as they continue with their own lives and build their own family.   Much love to you all.

Today I miss my daughters.  It's raining here.  My feet are stiff and there's a dull ache in the top of my back.  I peer out the window at the tiny raindrops that landed on the glass.  Slowly two small beads of rain slide down the glass as I just stare in a daze, remembering my daughter telling me once that in the car on drives to the Carolinas, she would watch two raindrops slide down the glass as we drove and pretend they were racing.   I used to play in the rain with soap with my girls.  Outside we would go, lathered up and dancing in the rain wild and free feeling it pelting against our warm flesh.  We would laugh and sing and stomp in the mud with bare feet, burying our toes in the sandy soil.  It was so much fun.  To me the best part was coming in and peeling off soaking wet garments, usually a slip or simple dress.  We would wrap ourselves in warm soft towels and feel fresh and dry.  My oldest would act like a wild bird....