Inspired by a riddle @Tortuga shared. July 7, 2016

The wind blew.

Not a storm, not a gale — just one of those sudden, cheeky gusts that slips through the house when a door swings wide.

The frame on the shelf wobbled.

A photo of a little girl, maybe five or six, holding up a fishbowl with both hands and a grin you could hear.

The frame fell.

The glass bowl shattered.

And Mary —

Mary was the goldfish.

She didn’t make a sound. She never did. But the silence afterward felt heavier than it should have. Heavier than something so small and orange and ordinary.

 That day, someone cried.

Not for the cost. Not even for the mess.

But because love, when it attaches itself to something tiny — a fish, a hamster, a turtle named Speedy — doesn’t measure in years or species or size. It just loves.

Isn’t it something that Jehovah notices sparrows? (Matthew 10:29)

Do you think He smiled once at a girl naming her fish Mary?

Do you think He remembers?

What if… the One who made the oceans also noticed the drop that held Mary?

Just something to wonder.