rev·o·lu·tion

Moments earlier she was asleep on her father's chest. Blissfully oblivious to the state of affairs in the world or the significance of days on the calendar. Unaware that her shirt was purchased, by a friend, for a purpose higher than she. Unaware that she, too, was purchased, by a King, for a purpose higher than she.

Now she lies peacefully, practicing smiles. Still unaware of much of the world and her place in it. Behind her bright eyes are hopes of prompt meals and avoided baths. On her chest, one word. On her heart, one purpose.

A Tuesday earlier, her fourth, she laid cradled in the arms of her mother. Dozing, careless, blissful, oblivious, content. Her parents heard these words: "Every revolution that has ever been fought started in a room like this." (Ashley Scott as Emily Sullivan, Jericho 2:4 "Oversight")

How true they are. Nearly 2,000 years ago it was an Upper Room. More than 200 years ago it was a pub or a printing house. When and where will the next room be as a girl stands up a woman and calls for change? Brings about change? And what will be that change? {God, let it be peaceful.}

But how can a mother look in those bright eyes and see revolution? How can a mother see bright eyes that betray passion and heartache and danger and bold leadership? Can a mother then put aside personal fear and wishes for her daughter in order that her Father--her daughter's Abba--may fulfill His grand purpose in her little one? {God, keep her safe.}

Her sister is Grace. Her bright eyes find beauty. They betray joy and hope. She makes beauty out of ugly things.

But this one . . . her eyes say something else.