To which she replied, "What number was it?"
Another time at an extended family dinner the adults were deep in conversation about selling arms to China - a topic in the news at the time. I glanced over at two wide-eyed horrified children. They were clutching their arms to their bodies, while their imaginations conjured up piles of human arms being packaged up and mailed to China. And what on earth did China need arms for?
It's an art, being able to see things from a child's perspective. But an art that brings a freshness to any writing. And that kind of freshness brings me joy.
There's a story I need to write - someday. I can't do it right now. It's still too painful. There's nothing there. The words won't come.
But I don't see this as writer's block. I know God will tell it through my pen in due season and I am content to wait for His timing.
In the meantime I choose joy, and I will write about other things.
Joy blossoms from a thankful heart.
It says, "God, I see what you did there. Thank you!"
Joy in the gift of writing.
Joy in the act of writing and all that it entails.
Joy in creation and creativity.
Joy in fresh perspectives.