a blessing in my head

She was in my lap, and she sneezed. I playfully warbled, “Bl-l-l-l-l-less you!” “Bless you,” she corrected me. “Yes, bl-l-l-l-l-less you.” “No, bless you.” “ Bl-l-l-l-l-less you.” Whereupon she finally leaned into me with some exasperation, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’ll whisper it in your ear so maybe it will stay in your head,” and she put her mouth to my ear and whispered, “Bless you.” And I had nothing more to say, as her words did—as they accomplished—what she said. She is, after all, at four, created in the very image of the eternal God.


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