And there's even one who runs across the grass just to give me a huge hug every afternoon

I shall be very happy to make my weakness my special boast that the power of Christ may stay over me. 2 Corinthians 12:9

One of the great stack of books at my elbow is Brennan Manning’s Abba’s Child. And that Benning is a great little reader and gatherer of well-told stories. One is Thornton Wilder’s play, “The Angel Who Troubled the Waters,” based on the pool of Bethsaida. And the angel spoke to a doctor battling depression, who longed to be healed. But the angel speaks, “Without your wounds, where would your power be? In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve. Physician, step back. This moment is not for you.”

And wounds result in tenderness, and thus I am grateful. Because each day I wade through the welling-up tenderness for each of those young souls in my care. The young man painstakingly copying the assignment into his book. The girl rushing off to the bathroom with thick mascara running down her face. Another slipping her phone under the edge of her skirt. Even, or especially, the one slouching in the back with his feet up on the desk. Because while he was still a long ways off, the father threw off his cloak and ran to his son and embraced him.