What You Are Missing

Yesterday, I came home and my 10-year-old son, Dastan, met me at the door with a drawing in his hands. He didn’t offer an explanation, only his creation with such stillness as an instruction ...

—a hand reaching toward a cross, light radiating outward, and the words written above:

“What you are missing.”

I paused. I softened.

I didn't raise him with religious ritual. We don’t religiously attend church. Yet, what I teach him, instead, are the simple truths of peace, kindness, and listening for the unseen currents of life. And yet, here he was, offering me an image that seemed to come from somewhere beyond both of us.

Children have a way of speaking the language of Spirit without effort. Their symbols are not borrowed but born. Their messages often bypass the mind and go directly into the heart.

His drawing felt less like a question and more like a reminder—one carried through his hands for me to see:

That in the midst of all our striving, there is always something we are missing. Not as lack, not as failure—but as invitation.

The cross, in its radiant shadow, became for me not just a religious symbol, but a living threshold. A meeting place where the human hand stretches toward the mystery, unsure if it will touch—but reaching anyway.

What if what we are “missing” is not outside of us, but hidden in plain sight, waiting for us to pause long enough to see it?

What if the missing piece is the unseen thread already pulling us toward wholeness?

What if, like a child’s drawing, the reminder comes through innocence, not doctrine?

I placed his drawing on my altar. Not as an answer, but as a living question.

Because sometimes Spirit speaks in sermons.

Sometimes in silence.

And sometimes—through the hands of a child.

This validation arrived in time ...

My Shelter of the Wayward one is opening a devotional stillness for our young ones.

Let this be a living question in your stride.

Much love from my heart to yours🤍