Luk 18:16
But Jesus called them [unto him], and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

Today I watched children swim, and I thought of the nature of the blessings You would have seen and spoken over their play.

First, this one: with the water sheeting off him as he trots alongside the pool, his wet trunks hanging just below his tan line. Bless him.

Then, another one, who giggles at a joke her father tells while they lay sunbathing side by side. Bless her.

And do such blessings come in pairs? For here is one child who looks on in amazement at the boldness of his friend. For his friend is a child who swims easily, a swimmer who barely notices that this one so like a brother has never done any more than to simply make a quick dunk of the head under the water. Still, when the frightened one sees his swimming friend in this new wet environment, sees him go full under and swim; well he squints his little eyes thoughtfully for a moment, seems to make an important decision and then himself begins to swim--faltering at first, but it is a sure start. Bless him, bless them.

And finally, most of all and the last one I saw today. Bless her particularly.

I looked up from where I read my book and noticed her during the pool's equivalent of a Sabbath: the hourly ten-minute break. Normally, many children hover near the edge, waiting anxiously for the whistle to blow the signal of their freedom, freedom to leap again into the water. And that deserves its own sort of blessing, for the restraint is a challenge. Some pools even put red lines two feet back from the water's edge on the cement decking, clearly marking the law of the pool on the stone.

But today was different. Few were at the pool, and during this break, when I looked up from my book, only the one little girl sat at the water's edge. She was dark and lovely, wearing a sparkling pink suit, dangling her feet in the water as she quietly waited. I put my book aside and watched her for a while. Bless her for the reverent quiet and patience of her wait, I thought. May her wait not seem too long to her. (It is a thing that matters in the larger story that the children tell so well.)

And even as I thought these things, the shooting fountains that signal this pool's end of break began their joyful rush of water. She looked over her shoulder, beamed a huge smile, clapped her hands three times, resettled her pink goggles on her eyes and jumped awkwardly into the pool, diving under and throwing her little feet clumsily up to the sun. She was utterly endearing. For a while she had the water all to herself. (It was a day unlike any other in that respect.) I got up to leave the pool's edge at that moment, so I never saw when or if she came to a place of sharing the glory of the sun-kissed waters, but for the time that it was all hers, I thought one more time: bless her!