My Boy with the Yellow{White} Hair…

That yellow hair.  Or white. However it looks shining in the light.

“WHERE did he get that white hair?”

The question always comes from those who see us for the first time.

That white hair.
It is my lovey.
I love to hold him close and feel it against my face. It is soft, like little chick feathers.

That white hair.
I look for it.
When screams of laughter are all I hear outside, and bodies all I see scampering around….I see that white hair run by, flapping up and down in the breeze with each step, and I am comforted.
He is happy. He is playing.  He is there.

That white hair.
I love seeing it first thing in the morning, with a mind of its own, each strand pointing in a different direction.
Signs of a deep and comforting sleep.

That white hair.
I love seeing it all matted down, smooth as cream, on a Sunday morning all dressed up for church.

That white hair.
It is my comfort. 
It is my treasure.

Because it belongs to him,  my baby.

Where did he get that white hair? they ask.

From God.  
He got it from God.
And God gave him to me.

My treasure.
My baby.

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