There are moments where I feel I most certainly do not deserve them.
When they skip together ahead of me as we walk to the store, making up a game counting cracks in the pavement as they go along. My heart bursts. I do not deserve such joy.
When I’m a mess and trying so hard to get things together and get them where we need to go and be on time for once and I’m losing it all over the place and those eyes look at me so exasperated and flustered. My heart breaks over my sin, over the pain my hurry has caused. I certainly do not deserve them. They deserve better.
When she lay on her bed at night and tells me the details of a book she’s read over and over and is reading again, explaining every little detail about the backstory and the family tree of Oliver from Oliver Twist. My heart bursts. How could I possibly deserve to witness such passion for literature from an eight year old?
When he begs me to help build a new robot and refuses to let me give up despite the wires repeatedly not wrapping around the coils correctly, and he gathers random kitchen utensils as tools to aid in our quest. My heart bursts. I do not deserve to mother this child. I am most certainly ill equipped.
When she presents me with a bouquet of dandelions, chest puffed up with pride from plucking them all by herself, smile wide, eyes big and blue. My heart bursts. I do not deserve such kindness.
I count every moment as grace. Grateful beyond measure for grace I do not deserve.