Yesterday Silas was tired

and needed a nap (he's almost 2 years old),

so he cried and cried and would not be consoled.

Nate (his dad), took Silas out of the coffee shop we were at while we were still getting coffee and sat down in a grassy area with him across the street.

When we found them, Nate was sitting cross-legged with Silas draped over his shoulder.  The subsequent close proximity of Silas' screaming mouth to Nate's hearing meant his cries rose and rushed unhindered into his dad's ear (it amazes me how parents can do that).

Nate just sat there and held him tight and let him cry it out, so patient and quiet, even though people were staring and the volume of his cries swelled in immense emotion.

I have days like that sometimes, except instead of Nate and Silas, it's God and I.

And He'll sit and wait till I'm done, even though my overwhelmed spirit doesn't recognize the comfort He Himself is.

But soon enough, I'll find myself carried on His frame, lulled to sleep by love and tiredness,

one day closer to growing up.