For these wooden blocks, I give thanks. They lay scattered across our carpet, line up like dominoes on the hardwood floor, and sit stacked like Jenga atop the dining room table. With afternoon light pouring through the windows, I see a village constructed with rectangle and square blocks. Matchbox cars are parked along the edges and Little People keep guard.
For these blocks, this village, this train station, this train track, this space station, for all this imagination and the creations to come, thank you.
Everyday, I walk tentatively, eyes peeled to the ground and dodge one block after another. There’s no clear area; the blocks are everywhere.
These blocks came to us as a gift, piled in one white laundry basket. “Here, take these for your kids,” the woman said. “May your children enjoy them as much as mine. We spent hours upon hours building, constructing, and imagining.” She placed the filled basket in our living room and I pictured small hands that built and played. I could almost hear the blocks telling me — we’re filled with stories and memories, now just you wait to see what emerges.
For every creation and story, thank you. For the eruptions of laughter and joy, thank you. For the toppling of towers and the determination to keep building, thank you.
Thank you, beloved wooden blocks for this glimpse into the world my children will create.
For these blocks, this village, this train station, this train track, this space station, for all this imagination and the creations to come, thank you.
Everyday, I walk tentatively, eyes peeled to the ground and dodge one block after another. There’s no clear area; the blocks are everywhere.
These blocks came to us as a gift, piled in one white laundry basket. “Here, take these for your kids,” the woman said. “May your children enjoy them as much as mine. We spent hours upon hours building, constructing, and imagining.” She placed the filled basket in our living room and I pictured small hands that built and played. I could almost hear the blocks telling me — we’re filled with stories and memories, now just you wait to see what emerges.
For every creation and story, thank you. For the eruptions of laughter and joy, thank you. For the toppling of towers and the determination to keep building, thank you.
Thank you, beloved wooden blocks for this glimpse into the world my children will create.
Kimberly Knowle-Zeller is a mother, writer, and pastor living in Central Missouri with her family. She’s the coauthor of The Beauty of Motherhood: Grace-Filled Devotions for the Early Years (March 2023). You can read more at her website: Kimberlyknowlezeller.com. If you’d like to read more from Kim, you can sign up for her monthly newsletter, Walk and Talk here. As a gift to her readers and subscribers who sign up, she has a free downloadable resource: Walk and Talk with God: Reflection, Scripture references, and a how-to for your own contemplative walk.
Debut book coming March 2023: The Beauty of Motherhood: Grace-Filled Devotions for the Early Years
