Heartbeat

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The little girl’s eyes got big. She whispered, “Did you hear that?” “What was it?”

She tiptoed to the doorway, peeked through the opening and looked around. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. She looked up then quickly turned toward me as she made that short gasping sound kids make when they pretend to be surprised. Her whole face lit up.

“Do you hear the heartbeat of the house? It went thump, thump. Thump, thump.”

Then I was the one who looked surprised

I thought, “How can a little five-year-old girl be so smart? She’s a tiny genius philosopher.”

She was absolutely right. The sounds she heard were the heartbeat of the house. It was the sound of footsteps, footsteps who belonged to people, people who love her dearly. The heartbeat of the house means there is life. Without the footsteps of those who live together and love one another, a house is void and cold.

The next time you hear footsteps coming in the door tracking in mud or leaves, or the footsteps in the night of someone checking to see if the little ones are covered and warm, or the running footsteps of those playing hide and seek, or the footsteps of one preparing and serving a meal, or tiny footsteps at the glass door smeared with tiny fingerprints on the just cleaned glass, remember that is the heartbeat of the house!

Thump, thump! Thump thump!