lovisenla
at times one may feel smaller than a speck of dust meaningless defeated then i would feel a hand so tiny tugging at the helm of my soul
a child is always looking up at us to make them feel loved understood victorious
the child in the margins marches into our duplicity humbling us with simplicity Christ the Child presents a child in our midst of pride apathy violence He is gentle and lowly of heart
Let the children come to Me He cries! For My Kingdom belongs to them none with pride can enter
'Blessed are the pure For they will see Papa' Lo, their angels always see His face!
