i want the dirt of my childhood under my fingernails
to hear you knock on our front door
with our secret FBI knock
asking to play
to hop on our bikes and ride away and around the block
to let our imagination wind and wander
like the streets we ride and run
let’s play a game under the sun until we see the stars
tell me i’m out
but a new game is starting soon
Some people live in the present.
Some in the future.
Most days I think I am stuck in the past.
My mind is rich with nostalgia, while my heart and hands long to be six-years-old once again.
I know I’ll never get back to being six-years-old, but I can’t help but close my eyes at night and dream of climbing trees, riding bikes, and running without a single care.
From time to time I’ll find myself thinking about heaven and wonder if God lets us pick our age.
I think I’d ask God if I could be a six-year-old.
Preferably with a bowl cut and a vintage Orlando Magic t-shirt.
I think a child remains in us somewhere.
There is this contagious joy, endless fear, and innocent love that remains deep within us that once thrived with life.
There is this beautiful weird and ongoing string of honest questions that can’t help but roll off our tongue.
There is a hopeful spirit and a dream we never want reality to get its hands on.
And today I think I’ll look for the child inside and invite him to join for today.
And maybe tomorrow.
And maybe you should, too.