Sometimes it's the little things

At our Ash Wednesday worship service last night, a young couple with a toddler and a nearly new infant were last to approach my side as they came up for ashes and Holy Communion. The two year old was curious and watchful, her brow furrowed as I carefully traced crosses on each member of her family. I showed her my small dish of palm ashes and asked if I could put some on her forehead, remembering suddenly and vividly that the last time I had touched her brow was at her baptism.

Because she was reluctant to agree, I offered to put the sign of the cross on the back of her hand instead - which she allowed. After examining the black mark on her hand, she looked from her mother's face to her sister's to mine - concern on her own, the gears in her head hard at work.

She quickly came to a conclusion - and rubbed the back of her smudged hand onto her own forehead. That single moment might be the gift that tides me over until Easter. Thanks, little one.