Dear Unborn Child,
If you are reading this, it means you now buy your own “Christmas clothes”. You are at a point in your life where “end of the year” means more to you as the silent sober reflections at star time than the sun-sprinkled shenanigans.
My dear, man’s greatest tragedy is growing old. While he is expected to grow and find himself, life happens and he loses himself. He becomes a walking product of cause and effect. His childish innocence that once birthed belly-deep laughter and belittled the sun’s brightness is replaced with an oldie that thinks and sighs more than he laughs. If the truth were know, the kids would not be in a haste to grow up.
But when you have one of your reflections, I hope you can count many times you had that laughter this year. If you didn’t, I hope you find the courage to laugh so well in the New Year. For it is then you’ll stop to pursue happiness – you’ll find it. After all, that is what the Creator willed from the start.
Grow up all you will, dearest, but don’t grow old. There’s so much in being a child a letter cannot capture.
Begin now, love, by having a laughter-filled Christmas.
Image Source: SoulInterpretations