Slowing down, I glanced in the direction of where the enthusiastic girl pointed: a table on which sat a large blue pitcher and behind which sat her older sister—selling lemonade. I pulled over then walked towards their table in the shade, a fair distance back from the road—not where a marketing expert might have suggested they place it for the most traffic.
"How did you know this was just what I needed?" I thanked, exchanging my quarter for a cup of outdoor temperature lemonade. I sipped it there for a few moments, delighted to be in their energy field.
"Look a truck!" a little boy, also holding a green paper, shouted excitedly.
"A truck! A truck!" his little sister repeated jumping up and down, waving her sign.
I was so moved by their sense of possibility. Every vehicle coming down our relatively unbusy road represented the possibility of someone wanting lemonade and stopping. I remained long enough to watch the truck drive by. Instead of lamenting—I didn't even hear a sigh—the young crew turned its attention to "A blue car! See that blue car!"
All I could feel coming from these four children was the pure unconditional joy of being there—not diminished by sales being slow, by trucks and blue (or whatever color) cars passing them by
I suspect their mama has nurtured and protected their hope—her children's Yes. Even very young children can become intimate with deep disappointment and start to cap their joy and unconditional faith in life. I did not sense that shadow over this bunch.
I drove away with just a bit of lemonade left in my blue plastic cup, but filled with the joy of possibility, for which I was thirstier than I realized.
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