kitri runs through the house after asking me to put a small delicate cape on her small barbie. it proceeds to fall off two seconds later. I put it on. it falls off again. so I teach her how to put it on. it falls off again. I ask her to try. she says she can't. she tries at my prodding. she can't. so I do it. then she asks, "where's our lunch?" and takes off, head first through the house toward a movie playing in the living room.

Kitri will always be cared for my her parents, by us, by her elders. it is just a truth. and we will fail her. we will. over and over again, but still she will come up to us, and request help. it is the way of a child. and I expect to always be willing to help, to teach, to encourage. it is the way of an adult.

she walks in, and I say, "hi baby." She ignores me and proceeds toward whatever toy she had her mind set on. it doesn't bother me, because, she is a child. I hear her little feet pad through, with a telephone on wheels scraping behind her. she doesn't look at me, or talk to me, or acknowledge me because her eyes are set on her toy. she announces, because I am still typing, that she "is going to find cereal." she "is going to sit right here." she "is going to have this kind because Grandma said she could have it." this is the way of a child. so assuming of love and care. and she should assume it. she is healthily loved and cared for by my brother.

I pour her cereal. "pour me some milk too." "I will baby. don't worry." "And I need a spoon." "I know, Love. why would I get you a spoon?" "Because." she says. "Because I just love you." "Yeah, because you love me."

and like my Father would look at me and does look at me, in all my shortcomings - and all my imperfections, in all my weirdness. I look on with adoration.

remember that you are child. remember it is hard to be a child. but our Father adores child-like-faith.