Sunday at the Bohnhoff house means family dinner. Usually my 93 year old mother in law, my oldest son, his wife, and their two and a half year old daughter join my husband and me. During the summer we eat out on our shady, east-facing back porch. The granddaughter goes back and forth between the dinner table and the swing set. My husband gets out the T ball stand and we watch a little batting practice. But as we ate last Sunday, we watched the sky darken with rumbling, boiling clouds.
The skies opened up just after dessert, drenching the thirsty lawn and cooling the air. After a while the rain lessened and a glorious double rainbow filled the eastern sky. Wanting to get a better view, I scooped up my granddaughter and headed out to the street. Once we were there, I realized that the gutters were running - something that doesn't happen often here in the desert. I put my grand daughter down and showed her how a leaf placed in the water would zip away, and we ended up spending the next ten or fifteen minutes hunkered down in the gutter, me sending leaf boats downstream to a little girl who squealed with delight as she pulled them back out. The experience was free, and perhaps one of the richest and most precious of the summer. I hope she will remember the day long after I have passed from this life.
I'd sent Ross an announcement when my youngest son graduated from West Point this spring. Enclosed with the announcement was a paper asking no gifts except the gift of prayer for my son and those he would soon be leading. Instead of honoring my request entirely, Ross sent a package with this magic wand and a letter explaining why he sent it. You can bet I'll be holding on to this magic wand. It will be in a prominent place if and when my son is deployed.
Here's the letter Ross sent. Here's wishing you some magical moments.