in the quiet hum of early morning, i think of my littlest child, my almost-son living opposite days on the far curve of this earth. i ask for sleep weeded clean of nightmares, for God to whisper a lullaby into his bones.
and when the sun burns low in my sky, and dusk bleeds the day of color, i think of him rising, fresh and drowsy. i ask for someone to smile when calling his name today, for someone to kiss his fears out, for someone to expect big things for this small son of mine.
i pray for his days and nights and in-betweens, and for someone to make it a point to let Jesus show up in their skin and hold him safe, love him so close.