If you ask how old I really am, you would never believe my age.
I am 16 when I see my son so thrilled at the sound of one girl’s name.
I anticipate the sun rising and believe the stars shine for us alone.
I find magic in the ordinary and thank God for the day I was born.
I am 25 when I come upon a challenge and find courage to be more than I am.
I will climb another mountain or cross another stream for a worthy cause or plan.
I will listen to the voice from deep inside of me and open my soul to what I need to see.
I will offer my life, my gifts and power for what I believe should be.
I feel 18 again when I see my daughter, so full of promise and so full of life.
I stand tall and stride with purpose and lift my chin up even when I want to cry.
I can dance the dance you thought I never could and sing at the top of my lungs.
I transform myself and the world around me just because I sing my own song.
I feel 30 when I cradle a newborn babe, protecting the fragile life I hold.
I can put aside my dreams for a moment, and offer my life for a child alone.
I may have birthed her with blood and tears, or found him on side of the road.
I will lift up every child for each one is sacred. Each one must have the chance to grow.
But there are moments when I feel I am over 50, moments when the world seems old.
It seems we have forgotten history and have not learned the stories our ancestors told.
It feels like we have lost all compassion and serve only ourselves and our own.
They break the young who have passion and trample on the seeds the old have sown.
Still there are summers when I feel like a child again, swimming and running aimlessly.
Listening to jokes and funny stories; dancing and running; just being carefree
Being cradled and trusting I am safe; sleeping soundly and being carried to bed.
Believing in magic and seeking adventures, pausing only to take a breath.