Somewhere between Denver and Minneapolis I decided to re-open Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, back before kids when I could read on planes.

I couldn't read past the first twenty pages without scribbling new words to add to my modest vocabulary or underlining nearly a whole page of her narrator's sharp observation.

“It is a dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won’t stoop to pick up a penny. But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It is that simple.”

That we would live the healthy poverty of simplicity and space.

My first little guy is now two and injures himself about 12-20 times a day. Each time, no matter how small the hurt, he stops what he's doing to find me so I can kiss it. If we're in different rooms he won't stop looking for me. I've kissed cheeks, fingers, hair, and dirty toes. I usually ask permission to kiss it but I know he'll say "yes." Always, and sometimes still through his crying, he says "All buh-ooh" (all better). His crying may continue but he resumes business as usual, returning to his snack or toy or pestering his little brother. In the middle of the day, this rhythm feels more rote than anything, but there is magic in it when I slow down. There is healing power in a quick kiss, in the acknowledgement of his hurt, and in the love that persists despite his toddler-mistakes and even disobedience. Yes, I kiss his hurts when he hurts himself doing something I asked him not to. Toby comes alive in this love that persists through disobedience rather than the classic I told you so or That's what you get. So do I. How often I've avoided taking risks out of fear of being rejected or disavowed. How often I've feared trying something new or putting time into that one thing I really love, all because I don't want to fail or get hurt and hear I told you so or That's what you get. If I stop long enough to listen, I instead hear:

I look at you and I am full of delight. You make me smile when you rise and when you lie down. When you're unsure, I don't worry about your next step. I am waiting with open arms. I do not run out of chances. I have not written you off. You can try and fail and try again. You can fall and fail safely with me. Be brave. Jump in. Run to me for a hug, a kiss, and a reminder of who you truly are.