“That makes my tummy red.”

This was one of my daughter’s favorite expressions when she was a toddler. Having to pick up her toys made her tummy red. Having to sit down and eat made her tummy red. Correction or discipline definitely made her tummy red. Being told to do something that she didn’t want to do? “My tummy is red of doing that.” Oh look, it can be conjugated.

 Hearing her say those words did not typically make me happy. As the mommy, the one trying to guide and direct and wrangle the little red-tummied toddler, I was more often frustrated. But even at that, I had to admit it was a magnificently descriptive phrase.

It was anxiety and unwillingness and unhappiness all rolled into one statement. More accurate than “I can’t,” more emotionally evocative than “I don’t want to,” and definitely more politic than a flat-out “No.” It was just something…more. And it was adaptable to numerous situations.

Thinking about having to call the insurance company? That makes my tummy red. Paying bills makes my tummy red. My tummy is red of fixing dinner. I feel ya, kid.

My nephew also had a homemade phrase. Before he learned to say, “I love you,” he had his own way of expressing affection.

“I like you face.”

It was a phrase he used for those people in his life whom he adored. Mommy and Daddy. Granmommy and Papaw. I might have rated it a time or two. Like the descriptive red tummy, “I like you face” contained a world of meaning.

We say “I love you” to spouses and children and pets and our morning coffee and the guy who finally fixes the copier at work. And sure, it means something different in all of those settings, but that’s the point. “I like you face” doesn’t change. It’s always an expression of warmth and affection. It’s always an expression of joy at being with someone.

The face is each person’s unique presentation to the world. The face is also a powerful metaphor. God’s face is described as something too magnificent for mortals to behold; but having God’s face shine upon you is a blessing. And even though we often disparage our own face as we critically study it in a mirror, seeing it brings so much pleasure to our family and friends.

I miss faces a lot right now. I miss all the faces that I used to see every week at church. I miss the faces of little kids on Sunday morning about to hear a story read by that week’s Guest Reader. I miss the faces of Guest Readers and the way everyone’s face lights up when they’re sharing a story with a child. I miss baby faces and I miss old faces. I even miss strangers’ faces.

I understand that masks and distancing and careful gathering are just something that we have to do right now, but my tummy is red of not seeing faces. When we are finally able to be in large groups again, I’m planning to just look around and soak in the sight. I’ll probably be grinning, and I’ll definitely be thinking to myself, “I like you face.”