a thousand words.

I posted this picture on Twitter the night the Hub got back from a quick business trip to NYC. "Safe to say this girl's more excited about seeing Papa than getting an I Heart NY t-shirt," I said. And she was.

I took the photo on my phone. It's grainy and blurry. The color is dull.

I cannot get enough of it.

Three year olds can be demanding. They are persistent and daring and brutally honest. They process emotion in a split second and their words come out like rapid fire. It's easy to feel wounded when a stray bullet grazes your skin, even when you know it is the product of an inward struggle.

You know it because you can see it. Three year olds wear their hearts on their sleeves. They are learning to feel, learning to respond, learning that their words have the power to hurt or heal. It's a beautiful thing to witness firsthand, these first sparks of awareness and self-control. This small, fascinating, autonomous person engages her self in a struggle and wins. A tiny fist unfolds. A clinched jaw relaxes. Eyes soften. The tension in the air is usurped by freedom.

Sometimes those bullets can be hard to take, even amid so much joy and laughter and finger painting and towers made of blocks or sand. And sometimes as a parent you fast forward in your mind and wonder what other struggles your child will have to face. What will be at stake the next time she fights her self and wins or loses? Will she let you be her ally, or will she wage the battle on her own?

The unknown can be an unsettling thing. When it involves your children, it can be downright terrifying.

If you ask me how I know that my daughter will be okay, I will tell you of my faith in God. For, on my best days, I know that it is the umbrella under which the whole of my life rests.

But then I will tell you, it is this picture. It is the way she looks at him every part of every day. It is the adoration for him so firmly cemented in her three and a half years that a century cannot undo. This picture is how I know that my daughter will be okay.

The bond they have is something I will never covet. [Lord, help me never covet.] This bond is just for him, and I will gladly take a bullet to protect it.

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What brings you comfort when you worry about your children's future?
What image gives you hope when your heart aches for a friend?

If you'd like to share, I'd love to hear. Happy Tuesday, friends.