I am bad with kids. I am especially bad with kids I don’t know. But I couldn’t help be charmed by this little girl in Petra. After hours of walking and climbing, we had stopped at a quiet ledge up the sandstone mountains, and were gazing at the views in companionable silence. I have to confess that at first I wasn’t very pleased to see her when she came bounding down the hill. We had met kids who wanted to sell wares, and it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. My natural caution warred with her friendliness as she chattered in broken English. And her charm won. I couldn’t help but laugh with her as she came close to me and giggled and snuggled close to me. Yes, she did ask me for chewling gum. And biscuts. I didn’t have any. She peered into my face trying to figure out if I was saying the truth, then went back to snuggling against me, as she now talked with the hubby.
I am bad with kids. But I couldn’t help feel warm as those tiny fingers wrapped around my neck and caressed my hair. I couldn’t help but smile as she skipped across the rocks and bounded away into the hills. I couldn’t help but grow as her innocence won.