Her tired brown eyes beckon me from the top of the stairs. She’s been put to bed twice already, but there she is again. “Momma, will you lay with me?”
He is cool in front of his friends, answering questions with a nod and inside jokes and noises, funny only to 8 year old boys. But he writes me a beautiful Valentine’s letter that is so full of love, it takes my breath away.
She is half grown. As tall as me, hands the same size, feet bigger. We share the same temper. But she still stumbles into my room late at night, only two of us awake in the quiet, wanting me to hug, pray, be with her.
One day she may not ask.
One day he may not write.
One day she may not come.
I will apologize for my sharp words.
I will share my faith with my friends.
I will chase my God-sized dreams.
...May never come.
There will never be another today.
This is it.
What will you do with it?
*inspiration on my bookshelf