Tag Archive | growing up

Please Promise Me

Please Promise Me


Please promise me you will never change. Tell me you will still be you no matter what the world throws your way. Assure me you will guard your heart against the trials, the sorrows, the detours and the roadblocks you will stumble upon as you travel through life.

Please promise me you will always look for rainbows after every storm, tell me you will search for the good when it is buried beneath the bad, and tell me you will always see the beauty of the tiny flowers beneath your feet when everyone else sees only weeds.

Oh, please promise me you will never let your voice be silenced when the crowds try to drown it out. Promise me you will walk alone if everyone around you chooses to stray from the path. Promise me you will turn away when temptation beckons, and promise me, please promise me, if you have to change it will be only for the better, like the little caterpillars who trade their legs for wings.

Promise you will believe in yourself when something or someone makes you doubt, tell me you will lean on faith when you are weary and share your strength when you are strong. Promise me you will never forget to pray. You must promise you will never forget what a precious treasure you are.

Promise me, please promise me . . .


Goodnight Sweet Prince

I used to love taking pictures of my kids while they slept, they looked like little angels . . . I was feeling nostalgic this morning and thought it would be sweet to recreate some of those memories. I ended up feeling like a creepy stalker though. Taking pictures of grown men sleeping, even if you did give birth to them, is just kind of weird.

While deleting the stalker-esque photos, I remembered how precious my babies were, how their soft wisps of hair would tickle my nose as I kissed their little foreheads goodnight. I thought of how my heart filled with their love when they wrapped those little arms around my neck. It still feels that way when they hug me, except now it feels like they are the ones holding me.

Every once in a while, I look at them and see them as they once were, like time stood still. Bittersweet moments. They grew, like they were supposed to, it just happened so darn quickly. I miss tucking them in, story times and lullabies. I miss hearing their innocent little prayers being said. I can still hear them in my heart.

On second thought, I think I’ll keep some of this mornings digital memories . . . I may just print them out and send it to them in an unmarked envelopes. That is what stalkers do, isn’t it?

Crystal R. Cook

Goodnight Sweet Prince

Sleep Little One

I forgot to freeze time . . .

I forgot to freeze time like I said I would.

My baby is 17 years old today. I swear when I tucked him in just yesterday he was still my baby boy, but when the sun rose again today he stood before me, almost a man. He still smiles at me with the same precious grin, his eyes still twinkle the way they always have, and when he puts his arms around me, they still wrap around my heart. It’s different now though, before, it felt like I was holding him, now it seems he’s holding me.

I still look at him and see the little man he used to be, I’m sure I always will, but I also see the young man he has become. He is smart and kind, gentle and generous. He fills me with pride and joy and the purest of love.

He is his own person, unique and courageous, forging his own path rather than following one well-worn by others. His wears his faith for all to see, he leads instead of follows, and he takes every step with confidence.

He’s always been the baby brother, but he somehow knew in his earliest years he would sometimes have to gently guide his older brothers every now and then. He learned patience and compassion before he could understand the concepts of them. His brothers taught him many things while he was unknowingly teaching them. I know it isn’t easy to have siblings with special needs, but he embraced the role with grace and love.

I respect the young man he has grown to be, I admire him. I know there will come a tomorrow when I awake to the simple silence of an empty home, so today, I will cherish the fullness it still holds.

Crystal R. Cook