Mira balanced on the porch banister. Her toes flexed against the dark stained wood to maintain her footing, and her sundress seemed suspended around her, leaving her movement unimpeded.
"I guess what I'm try to say is that I'm concerned. I'm not passing any judgments yet, I just want you to think about who you’re spending your time with.” He delivered his warning humbly, concern for his daughter in every word.
“You don’t know my friends, Dad,” Mira stopped traipsing on the banister while she looked her father dead in the eye, speaking softly. Not defensive, but not understanding.
“This is true. I just want you to be careful.” He was sizing up his pint-sized daughter, already so old, and he hated having this conversation.
“My friends love Jesus. What’s so horrible about that?” Mira was back to putting one foot in front of the other, carelessly, pacing the length of the porch railing while her father looked on.
“No one is perfect. I will fail you, your mom will fail you, your friends will fail you. I don’t want you to be caught off guard when that happens. Please honey, just, don’t put yourself in a position of walking the line of dangerous influences.”
He had said what he intended to say. He had no fingers to point, just quiet wisdom, and Mira could take it or leave it. He turned and walked inside the house, leaving his daughter walking the line of the porch banister.
So unassuming she balanced, acknowledging gravity, but never fearing it. She could not guard her heart; they were her friends and she had nothing to fear. The warning, though well-meant, she was certain, did not take seed in her heart, and she balanced on the porch banister.
And then she fell.
"I guess what I'm try to say is that I'm concerned. I'm not passing any judgments yet, I just want you to think about who you’re spending your time with.” He delivered his warning humbly, concern for his daughter in every word.
“You don’t know my friends, Dad,” Mira stopped traipsing on the banister while she looked her father dead in the eye, speaking softly. Not defensive, but not understanding.
“This is true. I just want you to be careful.” He was sizing up his pint-sized daughter, already so old, and he hated having this conversation.
“My friends love Jesus. What’s so horrible about that?” Mira was back to putting one foot in front of the other, carelessly, pacing the length of the porch railing while her father looked on.
“No one is perfect. I will fail you, your mom will fail you, your friends will fail you. I don’t want you to be caught off guard when that happens. Please honey, just, don’t put yourself in a position of walking the line of dangerous influences.”
He had said what he intended to say. He had no fingers to point, just quiet wisdom, and Mira could take it or leave it. He turned and walked inside the house, leaving his daughter walking the line of the porch banister.
So unassuming she balanced, acknowledging gravity, but never fearing it. She could not guard her heart; they were her friends and she had nothing to fear. The warning, though well-meant, she was certain, did not take seed in her heart, and she balanced on the porch banister.
And then she fell.
6 comments:
Mark Littleton would be proud.
Pretty sweet. You held me until the end, which admittedly was only 300 or so words coming, but still.
How come I never get to read your stuff? Is it because I don't NaNoWriMo? Humph. :/
Hayley, all I can say is wow. ;]
This is something we all need to hear.
Andrew, you "never get to read my stuff" because I don't write [fiction] that much. When I write something worth reading I'll let you know. :P
I've decided I'm a visual person, and how I loved the mind picture of Mira (captivating name, by the way)
balancing on that porch rail. And oh that sundress, how I can imagine it!
sorry, I know that wasn't the point of the story. but no worries, I loved that as well. :]
How have I never seen this before?
Post a Comment