She draws with her imagination.
Her creations leave messes.
Her messes are an extension of her.
She is not a mess but a creative wonder.
My bent does not lead toward messes, but my heart bends
toward her.
As she reads her stories, her toothless smile lightens my
heart.
Her tender heart prays with passion knowing that God
listens.
She is turning 8 next Monday. I know just yesterday she was an infant in my
arms.
She loves people. She
loves her family. She loves having
friends. She loves God.
I love my little one.
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