A letter to all the Children

Dear child,

My emotions are ripping right through and I have to say this.

Once, I heard about you. I heard about your life and your struggles. I heard about your heartache and disease. I heard about your broken life and bleak future and death and destruction.

I heard about you. I knew, I wasn’t naive. I didn’t like the way your life looked and wanted things to change for you but I wrapped it up in a box with a nice bow and hid it in a dark corner to forget about.

Because I didn’t want to change. I didn’t want to seek further, dig deeper, and wrestle these things out with the Lord. Wrestle out the things in my own dark heart. I didn’t want to get it. Didn’t even know what I was missing with God to even get.


But then all that changed. I went, I saw, I knew it all face to face.

I saw you.

I saw your life, your struggle, your heartache and disease. I saw your broken life. I saw your bleak future and death and destruction.

And then I couldn’t un-know it. I couldn’t un-see. I can’t un-touch and un-love and un-experience the broken and crumbling. Even if it hurts so bad that I want to wish it away. I can’t. And I would never dare.

Because now I know. Now I see. Now I am responsible. I am your voice, your storyteller, the one relied upon to tell it all.

Me, simple old me. Nothing spectacular about-cha, me.

These are big shoes to fill…

You are depending on me. Your very life and breath and future depends on me saying something. On me doing something. Even just one small tiny step of something.

It all matters. Because God chose me and He doesn’t intend to un-choose me.


And so I say. And I do. And I hope that just one hears, that just one really hears. Not to hear me, but to hear you.

Your story. Your life. Your future.

And when they don’t hear like I once didn’t? It hurts. Hurts because they are closing their ears to you. Because what they are really wishing away, what they are really asking for no more of isn’t me, it’s…


They don’t want anymore of You.

And the breaking, of your heart and mine, doesn’t stop. Won’t mend. Maintains the ache that drives down to the ugly core of our sin.

We don’t care.

We don’t care about You. We don’t really love You. We don’t want to change our lives to do something about yours.

And we don’t want to hear anymore about you, thank you very much. Wiping our hands clean of all responsibility, of all hope of tender, breaking heart. Of all hope of a heart that bends and reaches out to just, you.


I am so sorry.

Can you please hear me on this one?

I am so, so very sorry.

If I could snap my fingers and help us all to know and fully see, I would. Because I know how much your very life and breath and future depends on it. Depends upon their caring. Depends upon my caring.

I love you. I really do love you. Do you know that?

Even when I don’t show it, don’t live it, don’t speak it. Even when I fall so incredibly short of what you deserve from my heart and life. I do, sincerely, love you. And I will keep fighting. Against this world, against my very flesh. I will fight for your love because you are worth it.

You are worth it.

Did you know that? You, dear one, just you…

You are worth it all.


5 thoughts on “A letter to all the Children

  1. Pingback: A bracelet | The Threaded Loom

  2. Pingback: Because our hearts will never mend | The Threaded Loom

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