The little girl climbs up on the back of the seat and leans her head towards me as I munch on a sandwich at the mall.

“Hi,” I said. “Did you just eat some chocolate?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, the rim of chocolate crumbs smiling around her lips, then hops down to the playground again.

A little while later she’s back. This time I decide that her hair, brown with slightly frizzy curls descending from one ponytail, might be the same type of hair my niece Madeleine ends up with. Madeleine’s got the genes for this style, that’s for sure, and, as the token straight-haired child on my side of the Lawton clan, I’m just a little jealous.

“I like your fingernails; they’re pretty.”

This one’s a cutie alright. Striped pants with a cute top. Fingernails all painted in bright colors with flower and heart appliqués.

“I got a man-cure and ped-cure at the mall,” she blurts before hopping down to the playland.

Mom, Dad and I continue to eat our lunches while keeping our eyes on Livia.

The little girl comes back, this time breathing over my shoulder as I sit on the bench.

“Where’s your mommy, honey?” my mom asks.

“I don’t have a mommy. She’s dead.”

Oh. We all pause and wonder, really?

A dark haired young woman walks over and asks if the little girl said something about her mom. We affirm it and learn that this four year old’s mama died a year and a half ago, and that today, December 27, is her birthday. The lovely caretaker is a friend of the family and mentions plans to celebrate the day in remembrance.

How does one not burst into tears in the middle of the mall playground? By gulping very hard, avoiding any deeper thoughts of suffering (not to mention avoiding any more glances at this precious, outgoing four year old), and by focusing intently on washing down one’s sandwich with sips of Diet Coke.

Today my sister-in-law’s boyfriend is celebrating his birthday, as is my uncle. This week our nations mourns the passing of two very different famous men and our church family mourns the death of one of our own. This is life. These joys and sufferings, these celebrations and commemorations, they are what binds us together. They remind me to love hard on my toddler and appreciate the gift of my husband, to hug my parents and tell them thank you, to be grateful for great brothers and sisters-in-law and new babies in the family. They encourage me to recall the birth, death and resurrection of my Savior, to drink deeply of this gracious salvation I do not deserve. This is life.

Pass on the lovin’ today, folks. There’s someone near you who could use kind words, a slice of cake, a loving phone call, a tight hug.