Squeaks, shuffles, and stomps snap my selfish anxiety and jolt me into the only thing that will matter all day. “Good morning!” I greet sleep-dazed eyes through a smile that I had prepared myself to force. Yet, their little stampede makes it as natural as breathing; as easy as old, wise love sharing silent morning tea on the porch in an enlightening sunrise. I love when they run to me in the morning because they can’t wait to tell me about their basketball game from the night before. I love when they insist that they need my help even though I know it’s more of a want than a need. There is not one part of the day that they don’t make better. That is why I fight for them. I fight for their voices. They’re little voices, but they stay with me; becoming part of my own. Voices. Words that need me. Words that plead with me. Words that (try to) defy me. Words that encourage me. Voices. Sounds that keep me grounded. Sounds that remind me that I am here for something far greater than myself. I fight also for love. Love that sees me, asking me to see them too. Love that stares at me with faith and trust that makes my own sight clear when circumstances muddy my heart’s once crystal clear vision. Voices and love that point my compass to the One that gave me these voices that convict and grow and strengthen my resolve to stay with the One who bends my will toward the light. Though uncertain, I will not be shaken.
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Author4th grade teacher. Writer. Justice-seeker. Encourager. CrossFitter. John 11:40. Archives
July 2017
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