Voices I Hear by Andrea Howard Hawthorn

The voice of self beckons:

Get out there and do something important and worthwhile.

The voice of my blond-haired daughter invites me:

Mommy, let’s play house. I’ll be the Mommy, you be the Daddy.

The voice of self lures me:

Stand up! Be counted among the useful and make the world a better place.

The voice of my infant son cries from his crib:

I pick him up and we rock together in the silence and stillness.

The voice of self bids me:

Work hard and seek the praise and applause of many.

The voice of my grown-up four-year-old daughter announces proudly:

Mommy, I colored this picture of Pooh for you.

The voice of self tempts me:

Make sure your talent is noticed and appreciated and bask in the spotlight.

Three small voices plead:

Mommy, we’re thirsty, will you get us a drink of water?

The voice of self cries out as I wipe a little nose for the twentieth time:

Lord, isn’t there a more glamorous job for me than this?

The voice of my Lord assures me:

“If anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones … I tell you the truth, she will certainly not lose her reward.—For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to these little children.”

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