The litterer

My daughter is a litterer.

Coming home from work at night, or taking out the trash, or while picking up fallen branches in the yard, every so often I’ll discover a piece of bright construction paper perched in a bush or laying on the lawn. I smile each time I see one, for I know I’ve just stumbled upon a message meant for heaven.

Each paper, you see, is a card meant for her Pops or for Jesus. Strategically placed on the front stoop or somewhere on the lawn, waiting to be whisked away by the wind, their intended destination is heaven.

Each card captures the mind of a young child not wrestling with death, but joyfully and innocently reaching beyond it. Rainbows, sunsets, oceans, and trees – they adorn each card in colorful crayon.

I spy one of these heavenly messages tucked under an azalea bush one evening. It is folded in half and taped at the sides as if to create a pouch. I prop the card open and peer inside, only to find a single yellow crayon.

Are there no crayons in heaven, I smiled and wondered. Perhaps the crayon was simply so she could once again color together with her Pops – she coloring away on paper while he brightens the sun above.

With yellow crayon in hand, I look back at the card and read her message:


I smile and shed a joyful tear, for her grasp of heaven triumphs mourning. Hope, like life itself, springs eternal.


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