The conversation in our car went something like this:
Me: Foster, are you excited about getting a pet fish?
Me: What are you going to name your pet fish?
Me: Oh, that’s nice. Isn’t that what you named your special duck at the city park?
Foster: Oh, yeah. I guess the fish can’t be named Jimmy. Instead, I think I’ll name him . . . Sportsy.
Foster: No, Sporty.
We had to go to three different places to find a Betta fish. The first store only sold reptiles. Lots of slithery ones. Needless to say, we didn’t stay long.
Foster: Can I have a pet snake instead of a fish?
Me: Get in the car. You’re getting a fish.
The second store had everything we needed. Fish tanks, supplies, food, even a nice little bridge for the fish to play on. But no Betta fish. Apparently, we could come back in two weeks. Or, we could try one more place.
I bought the supplies, and we headed for the third place on our list. Bingo! Right when we walked in the door, we saw a row of Betta fish, all lined up in their little cups. There were red ones and blue ones and black ones and rainbow-colored ones.
Foster: I want a boy. It has to be a boy fish. No girl fish.
The lady at the fish store: They’re all boys, so you’re in good shape.
Foster: Can I have two?
The lady at the fish store: You can’t put two of them together in the same tank. They’ll kill each other.
Foster: Cool! Can I have three?
I paid for one fish. Yellow and white, with blue fins. Foster held the cup carefully as we got into the car.
Me: Be careful with Sporty. We don’t want him to slosh too much on the way home.
Foster: Mom, his name isn’t Sporty. It’s Goldie.
Me: I thought it was Sporty.
Foster: That was before I saw him.
Made sense to me. We arrived home and placed Goldie on the kitchen counter, where he could watch us prepare his new home. Foster lovingly poured the blue and green rocks in the bottom of the bowl, then gently positioned the bridge so it wouldn’t tip over. I went into the back yard and snipped some ivy to place in the bowl.
Foster: What are you doing?
Me: I’ve heard Betta fish tend to jump out of their bowls. If you put an ivy in there, it blocks their path so they can’t jump out.
Foster: You’re crowding him.
Me: Nonsense. He’s got a lot more room in here than he has in that little cup.
Foster: (Heavy sigh.)
Finally, without much fanfare, we placed the cup in the bowl and set Goldie free. Sort of.
For the better part of the day, Foster kept his face pressed against the glass, watching Goldie’s every move. Poor little guy. Must be pretty scary to have a six-year-old giant watching your every move. Before long, Goldie discovered that the ivy leaves made great hiding places.
Foster was both thrilled and frustrated with the hide-and-seek game. Finally, he gave up and gave Goldie a break.
I can relate. Some days, I need a place to hide. Sometimes, it feels like the giants are after me. But during those times, I remember that I do have a
Before bed, I asked Foster, “Did you feed Goldie?”
Foster: Mom, his name is Jimmy.
Psalm 32:7 “You are my hiding place. You will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.”