That Smile and the Little Dog That Leads It

That smile says it all. You are Daddy’s best friend, buddy. And here you are, with your adorable dog Lucky, who you call “mMm, mMm,” the cute barking noise you make from the top of your throat.

My little leader in Christ.

Your joy never ceases to amaze me. Your Mommy says it’s so pure. She says your smile is so wide. Like God’s love.

There is no way God didn’t put his imprint on you, buddy, when he made that smile, that face, that joy. This awesome guy curled up next to me who puts his two little hands on my chest in the middle of the night, who tucks himself in the crook of my arm when we’re sleeping so we can feel each other, who subconsciously clutches me when he hears my alarm go off too early in the morning.

What mMm mMm is to you, kiddo, you are to Daddy. Except without the frays, because we wash you more. I love you.

Never lose that joy. Never lose that wonder, that sense of anticipation, that smile. I suppose you never will, because God placed it in you.

But as people grow up, I often see their smiles tighten a little, their lips bend down, their joy slip away. Perhaps they notice the frays. You never noticed them in Lucky. He’s perfect to you — he’s never changed in your heart, and that doesn’t have to change about life.

You don’t have to lose the joy because you gain the frays. We get dirty in life, lose a little fluff, it’s true. But joy goes far beyond that. It’s part of who God made you to be, and no frays can change that. They are a chronicle of the memories, they remind you of the joy rather than rob you of its luster — those frays — and become the character you tuck away under your arm to lug to your next adventure.

Someday, two hands will subconsciously reach out to clutch you when an alarm goes off in you and you scoot out of our bed and onto your next adventure. They will be Daddy’s.

But even then my frays will go with you, and me the little mMm mMm you won’t be able to shake — the tales reversed, with frays on the ends, the story no longer mine you are following, but yours to lead.

And my heart will still go under your arm — with a little tail swaying — just as you are now tucked in mine.

Some mornings I don’t get out of bed, because I want to hold this a little longer. Your tiny hands clutching me. Your head against my forehead. Your body curled up next to mine. A little dog at your feet.

I’ll always have those two hands, even when the alarm clock comes. A little dog, frayed but locked under your arm, will remind us.

And you’ll always have that smile.