God is Good. All the Time

For you regular readers, you may notice I reposted T's friendship story from the second day of school (below). I had deleted it because I was trying to clean up my blog for the BAThW party, and my husband thought it was a little sad for a party. But I saved it. Because I do write this for them, my children, and I wanted to stay true to the sentiment I wrote within the post that one day they, too, may become brokenhearted over a playground mishap with their own child. And I want them to see how I (God) handled myself (me). While every absolute fiber of my soul screamed foul for my little boy.

But the story continues. As is so often the case when God is involved. (And He should ALWAYS be involved...)

T tumbled down the steps of the bus the other day with a face-splitting smile on his face. He ran, backpack jiggling behind him, across the sidewalk and leaped into my waiting arms. His words were brief. But his joy was evident.

He had offered that olive branch to the same boy again. (Who among us would have tried again...Mr. T is my hero.) The little boy said yes! And now, truly, they have become instant best friends.

I actually ran into Little Friend's mom in the cry room at church on Sunday (no surprise to find me there ANY given Sunday with Baby S!) And when she shared the effect T's friendship had had on her boy, I beamed with pride. I told her I had a story to share with her. For another day. On this day, we merely basked in the glory of two sweet, young 7 year-olds whose paths have crossed in first grade. And my life will be forever changed.