Faith and Giggles and Love and Burps

When did real become forgotten?

Twelve?

Thirteen?

Teenage years and lies, flirts, secrets, and glances.

A baby can't help but cry and desire love. Reaching up up up when she's fallen to the floor. A scream to mean hungry, a hand on a finger to say just come with me, a covering of eyes to mean you're embarrasing me, a soft, loose kiss to mean you're the world to me.

Faith and giggles and love and burps.

We feign conversation to avoid confrontation - headphones and cellphones and big, dark sunglasses. The shuffling of awkward feet and hands - we hide when clouds pour down rain on our outfits - when did we forget that we all need a washing?

Drenched so we all feel a little bit silly.

First steps and teeth and words so tender.

He's reminding me softly to just be His child - reach up when I've fallen, babble at His feet, cry out when I'm hungry, and let the rain soak in.