Wordless Wedensday
Fishers of men.
A year ago my Sister sent me this turned wooden vial of fishing hooks. It once belonged to the Man I thought had been my birth dad. I may never really know. His name was Don. Well, this fishing vial was his, his hands touched it . I have very few things of my parents and this may just be the only thing I have of his. They are all dead now.
I have been finding mornings with Dash on my lap. I have taught him of hook and snags in life. To day we spoke of being fishers of men. This little vial has become a morning fascination to Dash. We have many conversations about the greater things.
I know it is not wordless , but I think that it is a treasure to share.
A year ago my Sister sent me this turned wooden vial of fishing hooks. It once belonged to the Man I thought had been my birth dad. I may never really know. His name was Don. Well, this fishing vial was his, his hands touched it . I have very few things of my parents and this may just be the only thing I have of his. They are all dead now.
I have been finding mornings with Dash on my lap. I have taught him of hook and snags in life. To day we spoke of being fishers of men. This little vial has become a morning fascination to Dash. We have many conversations about the greater things.
I know it is not wordless , but I think that it is a treasure to share.
3 comments:
What a great story to go along with it Donetta!
What a wonderful way to bond and talk about very important things.
Good story.
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