I turned to look back as I walked out their bedroom door. Clint was leaning over Evee, whispering good-night, pushing the hair out of her face, kissing her forehead... having just done the same to Iris.

As I walked out a picture flicked through my head... My own dad leaning over my bed. One morning, in the hours before I normally woke, I remember waking to a gentle weight on my back, the hand of my father, and to flickers of words, my father's prayers over me.

I remember looking up, seeing him knelt beside me, his soft smile and whisper telling me to go back to sleep. And I did, with such peace in my soul.

I can't tell you whether this happened once or over a number of mornings. I don't know how long he was there on that particular day, what season it was, what else was happening in my life, or how old I was at the time.

All I know is that one morning, probably 25 plus years ago, I woke to my father whispering his prayers over me.

I hold this to my heart.
I carry it with me
as we continue our own journey of parent our little ones...
remembering that it is often what we do when no one is watching that matters.