Who am I that you are mindful of me? My mind reaches to the heavens and my dreams soar on the wings of my potential. I get so far ahead of myself I forget the reason I’m reaching for the stars. My head gets so big I can’t see anything else.

Yet when I come to you, and humble myself before you. When I forget my ego, my dreams, my anything, and grovel before you, stuttering like a dehydrated vagabond–what amazes me, what absolutely floors me–is that you stoop down and pick me up. You brush off the ego, the inflated dreams, and the sin. You let it all fall away with the wind, and you see me as I am. As who you created me to be. And you hold me tight. I stammer like a four-year-old, and you listen intently as if I were a theologian.

Father…

That we could be called the sons of God.