Can you see it? Look carefully.
Never mind; I know you can't. At this point, I can't even prove it unless I pull in eye witnesses.
When my children look back at my photos, they will remember only this: we gardened on a beautiful day, once, with our papaw.
So I submit to you: sometimes the truth--especially the whole truth--doesn't matter. Children are unpredictable. Very often, they're also a pain in the hiney butt. I wonder, sometimes, why I seem to be collecting them.
Then I remember a millisecond of panic at the lake, last summer, when I counted and came up one short. They were all there, but they weren't, so I whispered: "Just one more, Lord, please."
I don't have children because they're cute and fun; sometimes they are, but sometimes they're really not. I have children because I feel called to grow them.
Whatever I do or don't, at any given moment, my children are as apt to disappoint as to delight. Still, I can't help but believe: what matters, most, is that my family is complete and together. And I think that will matter most even if I forget the stories behind the pictures...even if, God forbid, I forget the very people in them.