Timmy is the epitome of the innocent child, willing to accept love at the drop of a hat.
"It's raining," he wailed early one morning in late summer, waking us. "How can we have a picnic if it's raining?"
"Let's think about that," I answered with a yawn, rolling away from my husband. "In the meantime, it looks like a good morning for scones."
"Scones?"
"Yup. You'll love them. I guarantee."
Karen poked her head in to see what was going on. "Did grandma make scones?" she asked predictably.
"Yup. There's a recipe down there somewhere." She left for down stairs.
Timmy remained unappeased. "I'm still mad 'cause It's raining."
"Don't be mad at me. I don't make the weather."
"Who does?"
"God," I answered as I crawled from bed, leaving my husband. Timmy waited dutifully while I used the bathroom, then we both went down to the kitchen.
Karen's arms were already dappled in flour and it was sprinkled on her floppy slippers and flannel PJ's.
"I'll write God a letter," Timmy said as he sat at the kitchen table.
"Like that will do some good." Karen grumbled as she searched for baking powder. I took over the baking chore after supplying Timmy with paper and pencil. Karen plopped down on a chair next to her brother.
The heaven-sent epistle he showed me was brief but specific. It was penciled in practiced block letters. It said, "Dont Rain."
Karen first feigned indifference but glanced at the message over Timmy's shoulder. She rolled her eyes but didn't resist when he scrambled onto her lap. She surreptitiously added the apostrophe.
"We better be careful," I added over my shoulder. "We want it to rain sometimes."
"You finish it," he said to his sister. "Say 'on picnics.' I can't spell that word.
"I'll add 'please' too," Karen said. "God likes it when you're polite."
"Your printing is excellent!" I commented to Timmy, bending down to kiss the top of his head, not quite avoiding sprinkling my boy with flour.
"Don't you think you should sign it?" Karen asked. "You don't want God turning off the rain in all the places that really need it, even if there happens to be a picnic scheduled there. If you sign it, he'll know it's here in Summerside."
"There's too many letter in 'Timothy North' ," he pouted.
"You could compromise. Just sign 'Tim.' God will probably recognize who sent it."
"I know how to write that!" he said and proceeded to do so.
Timmy is a ball of energy and as loveable as he is, it takes a lot to keep up with him and his emotions. Karen is as placid as a monk in meditation. Her patience with him is a delight to witness. Regardless of what she is doing, she is ever watchful of her little brother. When I commented on this to Paul, he answered with pride.