My heart breaks constantly because I can capture moments like these and fall under the illusion that I am actually able to freeze time, but by the time I look up from admiring the snapshot, they are off and running, moving faster and farther from my reach.
The boy you see towering over his little sister is smart and kind. He is goofy and patient. His laugh is contagious, his imagination relentless, his curiosity unquenchable. He is cautious and self-aware, but has an uncanny ability to march into any situation with a straight back and a joke on his lips.
He is a blur, a whirlwind, a tiny tornado of noise and dirt and a thousand questions and twice as many answers. He is a brain, drinking up information about presidents and ocean habitats and multiplication tables.
He is my heart, the part of me that wonders how I got so lucky, how the whole of him is so much greater than the sum of our parts.
And then there’s the girl, content in her brother’s shadow. She is funny and sweet. She is quick and affectionate. Her smile is heart-warming, her brilliance evident, her curiosity insatiable. She is daring and adventurous, but can be watchful and quiet when things are quite unfamiliar.
She is pure charm and magic, a tiny ball of giggles and sticky kisses, generous with her cheerios and squealing laughter. She is a funny bone, showing off her latest trick and making sure you are amused.
She is my heart, the part of me that aches to be near her at all times, that aches to slow down time, that aches beneath the weight of a love so heavy it steals my breath.
This boy and this girl, they are my heart, the part of me that wants to write poetry and sing songs and watch clouds drift by. They are the part of me that is better, that is inspired and awake, the part of me that knows what the grass smells like after it rains, the part of me that dances barefoot in the kitchen.
They are the part of my heart that is most fully aware of a grand and generous God.