Sour Patch Kids?

What makes me laugh?
What makes me smile?
What makes my heart feel so vile?

Stop playing in the dirt!
Stop dreaming in the clouds!
Stop — reality is here on the ground.

We know what’s best,
we know what’s safe,
we know dreams — for heaven’s sake.

How dare you play,
how dare you smile,
how dare you ignore the dreams of a liar.

But my dreams are not your dreams —
not a little, not at all.

My heart is vile,
My heart is sad.
My heart is a hindrance
to something so pure — so mild.
Cast a stone around my neck,
Cast me into the ocean.
Cast me from the sight
of the One who loves His creation.

Make me love as they excavate.
Make me love as they soar.
Make me love like the One
who loves His creation more.

Make my heart fill with glee.
Make my soul smile for eternity.
Make me see You in the eyes of my child.

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A shadowy pride hangs over me, whispering in my ear and feeding the illusion that I was more than I truly was and that I’m more than I truly am. I was sitting at my son’s most recent tee-ball practice. I’ve coached kids from ages 5 to 18 in baseball, but lately, the joy I once got from coaching had disappeared. The reason I loved coaching tee-ball specifically was the joy, fun, laughter, and smiles. It was the very thing missing that led me to quit baseball: win at all costs, no joy, no fun.

Tee-ball is different — kids just love playing in the dirt, hitting the ball as hard as they can, running backward down the first baseline, or moonwalking to second base. But somewhere along the way, that joy gets lost. It’s not the kids’ fault. Then whose is it? It’s mine.

This poem is a confession that I need Jesus — the same Son of Man who said, “Let the little children come to me.” We must be like them, He said. Not because we are innocent like children, but because we are helpless and in need.

I pray to see the world and the children through Jesus’ eyes.