I will bless the Lord at all times,
his praise always on my lips;
in the Lord my soul shall make its boast.
The humble shall hear and be glad.
They lean closer out of their chairs, slightly closer:
they are listening to God’s Word.
They are seeing and hearing Jesus as He speaks the stories,
His words that send the universes reeling:
lines of light hooking our souls, always winding them in.
And I am learning, sitting and speaking joy and love but also the harsh and mean things they already know in fourth grade: the wall of windows darkening.
Suffering comes and goes even in little ones. We know its contours darkly crossing our paths or curled on the ledges of our hearts.
But they lean toward the light like the tender shoots of green from dark places because that is what they are wired for, this leaning toward Jesus, toward our Father.
Because of our varying suffering we are on the edge of our seats trying to learn the ways of this joy that is cracked open by our Lord and passed around so abundantly.
We receive this light and synthesize in moments of now:
electrons spinning food for the deep roots in darkness,
for the flowering from tendrils reaching.
And I am teaching what I need most to learn:
to memorize on the sinews of my heart, that turns imperceptibly toward the light of His love and these children radiating their own blossoming blazing and blinding,
that I am another child speaking with children about more than what is said;
listening for His voice passing softly
through the halls of our hearts.