I'm so proud

When I was in the third grade, we were asked to find and memorize a poem and present it in front of the class. I remember going home that night scared because I didn't know how to find a poem, or even where to start looking. I don't know how it came about, but my dad ended up writing one on the history of Mexico. I set my mind to memorize it, and I did. I don't remember all the details, but not only did I present it to the class, but was one of the top in the class. My teacher asked me to present it at the end of the year program.

I was so nervous that night. I was sitting in the front row going over the poem repeatedly in my head. Then it was my turn. I walked up on stage. I remember how bright and hot the lights were. Suddenly, my nerves were replaced with the thought that my dad had written this poem. I remember feeling so incredibly proud as I said the title and my dad's name as the author. I recited the poem. I don't remember making mistakes; I don't remember the crowd's reaction. But I do remember seeing my parents through the lights in the audience. I remember both of their faces beaming up at me with enormous smiles. I am reminded now of the realization that hit me that night: they were proud of me.

So now, at times, I feel like a third grade girl, scared and nervous, like everyone is watching and I might fail. But my Father has written a story for me, one he wants me to show off. When I present it, I am filled with pride as I read the title and His name as the author. The amazing thing is that He is on the front row, beaming a huge smile. For He is so proud of me.