I notice the shakiness in his voice as he came down from bed requesting a drink of water. "What's wrong?"I ask, kind of surprised.
"I hate moving!" his voice cracks, he hurriedly gets his water and heads back to bed. I follow.
"Why are you so sad tonight?" I keep my voice quiet, neutral.
"I'll miss my friends," he breaks into tears.
"You'll see them at church tomorrow," I remind him.
"But tomorrow is the last time," he retorts.
"I know, but we'll come back and visit," I remind him. Remind myself.
"Okay," he settles in his borrowed bed for the weekend, turns toward the wall, conversation over.
"Love you buddy," I say softly, creeping out, my heart slayed by the tears of a six year old boy. (The same boy who I witnessed spitting several times today, who insulted his granny's cookies quite rudely, and punched his sister in the back).
He never fails to surprise me.
Seasons (and the need of the moment)
3 weeks ago