Bittersweet

I live in a fall/winter house. Spring and summer we make do and try to add a flower here or there to bring in a little of those other seasons, but I feel like my little home rolls her eyes at my attempts. "Just wait," she says. "As soon as the days turn crisp, I'll welcome you inside and you'll never want to leave again." And she's right. Just when it becomes imperative that we stay inside more than out, our home begins to really show her glory. Jeremiah makes fires every night the temperatures drop below 70 :). I (begrudgingly) drape the big elk skin over the back of our couch (You see Jeremiah skinned this thing when he was living in Montana, and we came to a marital truce over the abundance of skins scattered throughout our home by saying they get tucked away for spring/summer and redistributed every fall/winter).And I get to buy a bundle of BITTERSWEET (close-up in first picture)! My friend Lauren (Natalie's mom across the street) is the one who first introduced me to this most glorious fall decoration. Every year I anticipate when Leaf 'n Petal will put our their sign announcing the vine's arrival in their shop. The oranges and yellows and reds make me smile...just like the unsymmetrical little swirls and dips in the vine itself. If I could afford all the knobby, crazy colored pumpkins the shop also has, you can believe I'd show up there with my truck at the start of each fall. Since I can't, these sweet little speckled ones from Wal-mart do just fine...I think. Especially when accompanied by my one seasonal indulgence--a brand new bundle of bittersweet.I also like to mull over the name of this little vine. It's hard sometimes, not to be burdened by all the heartache of this sin filled world. It's bitter--the things people we care about...people we don't know...endure. But it's sweet too. Those moments when you experience deep joy or lasting friendship or beautiful creation...or when Locks looks at you like this:This morning at breakfast, I was explaining to Pace how there were other little children in the world who didn't have a playroom filled with toys, or sparkly flip-flops, or even enough food to eat. I told her we were going to go shop and fill some shoe-boxes with toys and candy for those children so that they would have some presents to open on Christmas morning. I guess her response was good. It at least shows that she recognizes where all of our food come from, but it was bittersweet for me. She said, "Mommy, why didn't God give those other little children, who live far away, any food to eat?" What would you tell her?