There are four people I see every day who are reckless, reckless with my heart.
They smile at me in that special way, say a meaningful little something, hold my hand. They pick me a dandelion or come home from work with chocolate. They color me a picture or they write me a love note.
They pour into my heart until it is full to bursting, stretched to capacity, positively overflowing. They are downright reckless with it.
They get hurt. They get mistreated. Their feelings get hurt and their dreams get crushed so my heart breaks for them.
They look up at me with wide, loving eyes. They hold my face in their hands and kiss the top of my forehead or the tip of my nose. They fall asleep on my shoulder. They hug me tight. They are reckless, so reckless, with my heart.
They are tired or hungry or frustrated with something and they snap at me. They roll their eyes, sigh in exasperation, whine and bat me away. They say they love Daddy better. They hang out in the garage finishing a project though I feel needy and emotionally fragile. They hurt my feelings. They are reckless with my heart.
They call me pretty, thank me for cooking dinner, tell me I’m a good wife or mom. They share a bite of their snack with me. They ask how my day was. They thank God for me, out loud so I can hear them.Loving imperfect mortals is a risky gamble. It is downright reckless. Maybe that makes it all sweeter.