Kissing each child’s forehead

Dancing to the sweet echoing laughter

Squeezing them like a lemon before bed

Reminding them they’re creations of the Maker

And writing about it.

 

Chasing them in the hot sun

Stirring up clouds of red sand

Tickling each and every one

But never without holding a hand

And writing about it.

 

Traveling all around the world

Eager for Love to lead

Constantly around God’s pearls

Calming the rumbles I feed

And writing about it.

 

Most live without a father

But their world is far from over

Many live without a mother

But I will be there to cover

 

Writing for a magazine

Or maybe just a website

To show the rest what they haven’t seen

That living by faith trumps so by sight

 

It’s not the journaling that drives me

Or the adventurous experience,

But their ever calling plea;

Perhaps, I was just given a special sense.

And write about it.