These Boys

As I sit here at my computer, I'm also watching my two middle grandchildren playing together. The little one absolutely adores his older cousin and the big one absolutely loves "the baby." At this moment in time, they are happily playing together.

Of course, the whole scene can change in a New York minute. They can go from laughing to fighting to laughing in the blink of the eye. (Feel free to add any of your own trite, over-used phrases here.)

I think of how blessed how all four of my grandchildren are to have each other. They will grow up to have shared memories of Christmases and Easter egg hunts. They will share stories of nights spent in Camp Honey, days spent in Fort Papa and adventures down in the woods. They will laugh together at the ridiculous things their grandparents did, and they will cry together when sorrow shows its face.

But no matter where these country cousins and city cousins make their lives, my prayer is that they will always remember where they came from.

That they will know their family tree has deep roots and broad branches to shelter them from both the sun and the storm.

That regardless of the paths they take, they will never forget the way home.

And that no matter what anyone else says, they have always been loved.

And they always will be.