How Beautiful

"Reagan." I say her name and wait for her eyes to meet mine. "Would you like to have pretty piggies like Mommy?"

Its almost as if I can see the thought being processed as I watch her look at me. The slowly, seriously, quietly she says, "Yes."

We run upstairs in excitement, trying not to wake baby Madison. But Madison is awake and so I lift her slowly from her bed and snuggle her for a few minutes before I put her down in her bouncy seat parked in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Sit down," I tell Reagan as I point to the rug. She sits and faces the wrong way - still unsure of how exactly this pretty piggy business happens. I grab her ankles and swing her legs toward me, and I get out the bottle of nail polish. The same color as mine.

"Oooo!" she squeals as she reaches a finger out to touch it.

"Don't touch it! Mommy does it. Otherwise it will make a big mess."

"Messy messy," she says as she shakes her head at me, letting me know she understands. I wonder if the curiosity will overpower that knowledge, but set to work just the same.

I paint each tiny toenail with a thin layer of sparkly glittery pink polish, marveling at how tiny her toenails are even though she seems to be getting so big so fast. I only have to fill the brush one time for an entire foot - not multiple times per toenail like mine.

As I glide the paint on each toenail I try to savor this moment. This little blip in time where I paint my daughter's toenails for the first time. Its a subtle, but sweet wave of joy that sweeps over me as her toenails transform from baby to little girl in front of my eyes.

All too quickly I am finished, a set of perfect little pink feet wiggling in front of me. I begin blowing on her feet, the same way I do when her food is too hot, trying to speed up the drying process. She watches me for a brief second, meets my eyes, and bends over to blow too. I smile and keep blowing.

She reaches out to touch the finished project and I quickly intercept her hand. "NO! They are all wet! Can't touch yet!" So I slide my feet up on either side of her and she touches them for a while.

Throughout the day, I'll see her stop and look down at her feet. She bends at the waist and leans over - lifting her toes off the floor just the littlest bit. She loses her balance and catches herself. But then she looks for a few more seconds. Sometimes she crouches way down so she can touch them and get a better view.

"Pwetty piggies!" she exclaims to her Daddy when he comes home from work. She kicks her leg up so he can see them.

"Oh boy!" he says - feigning excitement, but smiling at her and then at me.

Reagan walks away from us, staring at her feet as she goes.

I pray that she will always have beautiful feet. Not so much beautiful because they are painted in pink glittery nail polish, but because they are the feet that carry the Good News. Yes, beautiful, gorgeous, beloved feet that carry His love wherever she goes.

Precious, sweet, beautiful feet...that belong to Jesus.