Curiosity

Ah. Yes, curiosity.

Just how do they put the cotton on the end of Q-tips?

How does that magnificent spray of water come out of that nozzle?

How do birds fly?

For me curiosity is lifting and peeking inside every closed lid I can find.  It is walking through the fabric store touching every piece of fabric--- gently fingering to test the weight and texture.  It’s shopping with my friend and getting lost in the store and she has to call me on her cell to find me.

As a child I was curious about everything, as any child is.  I have two wonderful scars on each of my palms as testimony.  It was climbing a metal cabinet to get at the candy on the top shelf… cabinet tumbles on top… my palm is sliced open from a broken mason jar.  Curisoity is climbing onto a gas tank supported by t-posts and ‘riding my pony into the wind’.  That pony was one wild ride; I caught the palm of my hand on the top of the steel post and now I have a y-scar on my other hand.

Those scars have long healed and are almost hidden into the creases of my skin.  They are good scars of good memories.

Curiosity.

Now we have ‘How It’s Made’ & ‘Mythbusters’ on television.  But what about ‘Cooking With the Neeley’s’?  Are they that loving to each other when the camera is off?  I hope so, because they are so sweet.

Curiosity was my son eating antique Christmas ornaments, drinking paint water and perfume and exploring the sewer ditch.  Just how does that smell manage to permeate everything—including my memories?

Curiosity is turning down that gravel road to see where it goes, and usually it turns into some muddy mess through a flood plain.  It’s the furrow lines on both of my children’s foreheads when they are contemplating or puzzled by something.  Only I can see those lines… and know exactly what they mean.  They are little dimples in the lives of my kids.

Today I go to a Lenten retreat; to study and be curious about Jesus and his journey in the desert.  I hope my curiosity for life never fades.  I keeps me growing and learning…