Sometimes it's hard to remember they aren't mine.

Sometimes it's His voice that reminds me.

Sometimes it's their little voices lifted up in worship of this God who is so powerful that He has the whole world in His hands.

Sometimes I want to be able to carry them all home with me.

Sometimes it's their stories- stories of resilience, and of hope.  

 

 Sometimes it's just watching them.  So trusting, so loving, so joyful.

They aren't mine.  They are His.  I don't need to worry about their futures, because God is already there. I am privileged to love them.  To hold them.  To learn from them.  They aren't mine, but how I love them.