She wished it the way a child wishes for adulthood — fluent in lack, blind to the bill.
Fresh today · Saturday, 4 July
New Wishes
A handful of wishes pulled from the cabinet this morning. Pick one up — copy, save it to your pinboard, or send it on.
Her wish was the cousin of every wish her grandmother had filed away unsaid.
She'd settle now for being interrupted less and paid more, anatomy unchanged.
The wish belonged to a season — the season ended without ceremony or announcement.
She wished it once at a job where her ideas kept arriving in other people's mouths.
Her wish was confession, not desire — a quiet inventory of what felt unequal.
↑ pick one up
Browse by occasion
What are we writing today?
Cabinets sorted by occasion. Open one — pages are arranged by warmth, not algorithm.
- Anniversary
- Baby
- Belated
- Best
- Birthday
- Boy
- Boyfriend
- Christian
- Christmas
- Congratulation
- Diwali
- Easter
- Eid Mubarak
- Engagement
- Farewell
- Fathers Day
- Friendship
- Funny
- Get Well
- Girl
- Girlfriend
- Good Morning
- Good Night
- Graduation
- Hanukkah
- Heart Touching
- Holiday
- Invitation
- Job
- Love
- Miss You
- Mothers Day
- New Year
- Recovery
- Retirement
- Romantic
- Thank You
- Thanksgiving
- Wedding
- Well
- Women's Day
- Sympathy
- Valentine's Day
- Halloween
- Veterans Day
More from today
It was the kind of wish you outgrow but never quite throw out, like a first apartment.
She'd kept the wish the way you keep an old key whose lock has long since moved.
Her wish was about authorship — being the subject of her own sentences, finally.
She thinks about the wish less now, mostly when someone explains her own field to her.
The wish taught her what she actually wanted, which turned out to be something else entirely.
Some wishes are dress rehearsals for the real question — hers eventually showed up.
Baby girl, may every morning find you cradled in a peace older than this world.
May the Lord set His hand on your forehead before any other worry arrives.
Welcome, small one — Heaven counted your name long before your parents agreed on it.
May your faith outgrow your shoes, and your shoes will outgrow plenty.
Psalm 139 was written with you in mind — every bone, every breath, already known.
May the Shepherd walk your path before you, gentling the rough places into meadow.
Sweet girl, may grace teach you to forgive faster than the world can wound.
May your laughter be the kind that praises without ever using formal words.
Welcome to a family that prays for you in the early hours when you cannot yet hear.
May the Word become a lamp small enough for your hands and bright enough for any room.
Tiny one, may angels learn your favorite lullaby and hum it through your harder nights.
May the love of Christ rest on you the way sunlight rests on still water.
Welcome, daughter — your Father has counted every hair already, with delight.