I'm not sure if I offered for her to sit in my lap or if she just did because she wanted to. She was tall and skinny and her big deep brown eyes that were striking against her small, light brown face barely brushed across mine before she nudged into my lap.

And she just sat.

She didn't speak, she didn't squirm; she just sat and watched and listened Honestly, I forgot that she was sitting in my lap a couple of times because of how quiet she was when there were at least five other children around me asking me questions and hopping in and out of my lap and on and off my back. I didn't even know her name or where she'd come from. She just appeared.

And so it began.

I don't know what her name actually is. It was different everyday and no matter how many times I tried to understand her when she said it, it was indistinguishable.

She clung to my neck and secured a firm grip on my heart for the rest of the week. As soon as I had to stand up, she would get out of my lap and reach up for me to carry her. She would cling tighter and tighter to my neck, always wanting to be sure she was firmly held. I would hold her all day as tight as I could. I told her that I loved her and that Jesus loved her more than that.

I helped her with crafts and opened her lunch for her. I wiped her mouth after meals and squeezed her in my lap.

She was feisty, that one. I think that only made me love her more.

She stole my heart and Jesus stole mine. It was in those moments with my cheek against her sweet head; her arms holding tight around me; her little hand clutching mine--these are the moments that I learned grace deeper.

____

I relive these days more often than not and I still close my eyes and feel her tiny hand in mine. I smell the mustiness of the clothes she wore everyday that week and I see her eyes looking into mine.

I haven't posted since July and that's really because I haven't found time. My summer came and went in a whirlwind and all of the sudden I'm a sophomore in high school who does homework from the time I get home until I go to bed.

And I hate it.

I hate how mundane it feels and how I can't catch a break between homework and projects and tests and essays and worksheets. I haven't sat down at a family dinner in God only knows how long and there has not been ONE day since August 22 that I haven't had something to study for, an assignment to do, a story to analyze, blah blah blah. I'm so busy and my head is spinning 98% of the time with things to do, obligations, expectations to fulfill, and tasks to prioritize.

I don't know what this post is, really, but I do know what it's not: it's not something that I care to wrap up in a pretty bow and end with some cliché sentence about how I see Jesus working in me in high school. Because I don't.

That's the honest truth.

I don't know what Jesus is doing in me or my life right now, and to be quite frank, most days I don't have the time or energy to know or care.

(And now you're realizing that I probably liked that little girl and her feistiness so much because I'm feisty too.)

I'm taking it one day at a time and treading water, trying to keep my head (and my GPA) up. These days are a stark contrast from what I just shared with you about being in Memphis, I know. But I can't pretend that they're anything but a contrast.

This is a raw piece of my gnarled heart tonight. Thanks to those of you that love me anyways.