i told him i wanted to be a news anchor. i wore bell-bottoms and the day was spring and we were in bible school walking home the road that was never long enough, and trent wasn’t like the others. he didn’t look at me and say “you’d be great at that.” the flowers in people’s gardens grew while he stepped strong and slowly asked, “why?”

“i think i can speak into people’s living rooms,” i stumbled and he didn’t say anything. “i think i can make a difference.” and he looked at me. “but you can make a difference doing anything.” and suddenly the road was way too long and i just wanted home, to cry, realizing it was all superficial, this dream, and what did i truly want?

it’s sunday now and naptime with bunny and you haven’t fallen asleep on me since you started walking, and i never became a news anchor. instead i write the news from my desk at home for christian publications that don’t pay me enough and the only people who see me some days are you and your father.

but that is enough. and this is what i truly want. and he knew that, all along.

(shared with one stop poetry)