Ms. Anderson was beautiful with jet black hair and bright blue eyes. Maybe it was her similarity to my big sister that made her so appealing to me. She wore the same black cats eye glasses but she was older in an indefinite kind of way. Progressive in her thinking, that's why we had to address her as Ms., not Mrs. or Miss. She was my grade three teacher and she was kind to all of her students, including the class bully. Which, in itself, put me in awe of her because the rest of us couldn't even stand the way he smelled. He was dirty and unkempt, whereas even the poorest girl in our class kept herself clean, her thick blonde hair hanging down her back to her waist.
Today I was sitting alone in front of my beloved teacher hoping that she had singled me out for a bit of praise but suspecting that I might be in some sort of trouble. The truth of that came out in her first question; 'Why do you chase Spencer all the time?'
The girl with the long hair must have told on me hoping to get Spencer to herself while I was occupied with the teacher. Nonetheless, shame for my actions filled me for the first time, and I found myself unable to tell her of my deep love for the boy with freckles over his nose and fine red hair that hung straight down all over his head. I did chase him all the time I was at school, and I knew it was not something he enjoyed because he ran away from me every time he was chased.

'I don't know.' I mumbled.

'What would you do if you caught him anyway? she queried.

Truthfully, I had never thought about it because I had never caught him. So wanting to impress her with my bravery I told her the most daring thing I could think of, 'I would kiss him!'
I knew as I said it that it was the deepest desire of my eight year old heart. It was foolish to tell her though, as she crushed my hopes with her next words. 'What if Spencer does not want to be kissed by you.' That thought had not occurred to me either, and the truth of it ended all my hopes of capturing the heart of that beautiful boy.
Since that day I have never chased again after anyone or anything in the hope that I would be loved back. The fear is too great. So it is with disbelief and hesitant awe that I have come to acknowlege a God who pursues me. It is with tremulous hope that I allow Him to draw near to me. Hope that He loves me, knowlege that He does. It is such a miracle to me, that the one I love would love me in return. So when I imagine myself approaching His throne I picture that eight year old girl again. My hopes have been dashed and yet He renews my hope. My heart has been crushed, but it beats strong in His presence. He accepts my touch and allows my kiss. Indeed he waits for it.