Everyone talks about "the whispers," but no one talks about the screams.

They speak of the whispers of your heart and those from whatever God you believe you in.

They speak of the whispers from loved ones who have passed and those of your trusty intuition.

But, why doesn't anyone talk about the screams?

I can't be the only one who hears them.

My heart, my God, my loved one in heaven and even that nosy gal, intuition, they don't speak softly to me -- they yell at me!

And guess what?

I.

Don't.

Mind.

Not in the least.

In fact, I kind of prefer being guided by a loudmouth.

Is my attention needed?

With three volume-challenged, excitable and chatterboxing kiddos surrounding me on the daily, who or whatever is trying to get through to me is going to need to max out the volume if they want me to hear 'em.

And, so, I appreciate the screams.

I'm grateful for

a God,

my daddy in heaven,

and a heart and soul

that all care about me enough to yell over the noise of a busy life and a quick-to-judge society to ensure that their essential messages reach these over-tasked ears.

Everyone talks about "the whispers," but no one talks about the screams.

But they should.

Every day, there are screams behind the literal screams of our children.

They are screaming for

attention,

love,

affection,

guidance,

routine,

adventure,

freedom,

comfort,

respect,

and

forgiveness.

And, the only reason my impatient, quick-to-react, easily agitated, anxious being now knows to listen for and decipher the scream behind the scream, is because I listen for screams.

Every day there are screams reminding me that I am

worthy,

valued,

needed,

loved,

intelligent,

strong,

a good mother,

improving,

and the absolute right woman to be living THIS life and raising THESE kids.

Everyone talks about "the whispers," but no one talks about the screams.

That is until now.