I keep waiting. And then after two hours I finally stop waiting.

And only then—when I give up waiting and lie back to stare into the indigo blue sky eclipsed by marshmallow clouds, do I stop wasting time. Because time severed by divided attention is atrophied time–starved of all its potential.

I can’t find him. I hear his cry, still such a new sound to me. He’s weeks old, and I hear him in distress. My heart is now in full panic.

I rock the chair front to back. Your eyes remain locked on mine, blue orbs swaying left to right within pools of white, dancing in perfect cadence to our rocking. I can’t believe I almost missed this.

That morning as I had donned my makeup and curled my hair, I had not anticipated giving an impromptu speech to a room full of strangers and my favorite author, especially a story of this delicate nature. Five minutes produces a rather naked story.

You have a story too, we all do. Everywhere around us there is a story to unearth from beneath the surface of the obvious. But first, before we share them, let us find ourselves kneeling before the cross with these words wetting our lips and forever aligning our hearts with His purpose…

Today you are four, and you are big, and you are brave, and you are strong.

But there is something I need you to now about that big boy strength…