Crying at Stories

Did I write something that made you cry? Good. If, while crying, you dreamed of becoming more than you were before you were reading, very good. If it’s a spark in your heart and then tears come, good. If it’s laughter, I am glad too. 

Tonight I cried after receiving, in a film, the work of a man’s art. It worked itself into my heart. I made commitments then, jotting them down through blurred vision and sniffles. And I thanked God for it and him and I thought what a gift this life is. What a gift is receiving and giving and I feel more blessed to have been privileged to give something of my heart to precious people, many of whom I will never meet in this life. But I love them. And I bless them for the gift they’ve given me, the gift of receiving my heart and art into their homes. 

How precious is a child? How blessed are you, if you love and protect and provide for these little ones? Thank God for you. Keep on. Keep on living, loving, and crying. Keep on deciding and trying and fighting for their lives. Keep on letting them be children, and keep on feeding their souls with stories. Keep on giving them light. 

I love these kids. I’m so grateful for them. I’m so grateful for you who love them. Their need is keen. You aren’t enough, and neither am I. But we go again every day and lean on the only one who is enough. We trust him and go again. Keep on going. Keep on believing. Keep on leaning. 

And cry, sometimes, because something beautiful moves you. And after being moved, you look around and see you aren’t where you were. And you go again. 

Cry and smile and carry on. Life is beautiful and fleeting and full of mysterious meaning. I commend joy. And gratitude. And humility. And hope. 

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