Music video
The story
I've been quietly grieving something for the last couple of years...something I imagine many of you know too.
One by one, each of our children has grown up and left home. We're proud of who they've become, but we deeply miss our littles. The little hands, the giggles, the wonder of a Saturday together. We miss being their whole world...far more than we ever imagined we would.
So I sat down and wrote Our Littles. It's a song I needed in my own life, a way to hold on and let go at the same time.
If you're living through the long days of parenting right now, I hope it reminds you to linger a little longer tonight. And if your house has gone quiet like ours, I feel it with you.
When it came out, many of you wrote back with your own stories: a son recently sent to South Africa to serve a mission, babies recently heading off to college, an oldest little turning forty. Thank you. That's exactly who this song is for.
Kevin
Lyrics
Verse 1
Little hands around my finger,
little footsteps down the hall,
one more story, one more question,
one more prayer to bless them all.
Oh, we were tired, we were busy,
dreaming of a quiet night…
never knowing we were standing
in the sweetest years of life.
Verse 2
Trampoline in summer twilight,
throwing ball till supper call,
tickle wars and backyard wonder,
grass-stained knees and “watch me!” calls.
They would ask a thousand questions,
we would answer half of them,
and the days felt like forever…
we’d give the world for one again.
Chorus
They were our littles,
and we were their whole world—
every scraped knee, every giggle,
every freckle, every curl.
Oh, the days crawled by so slowly,
but the years just wouldn’t last…
They were our littles.
How did little go so fast?
Verse 3
Now the hall is still at bedtime,
and the trampoline is bare,
and we catch ourselves still listening
for small footsteps on the stairs.
They’re out building lives we prayed for,
strong and kind and on their way,
and we love who they’re becoming…
but we ache for yesterday.
Bridge
There’s a last time that you carry them,
a last time up the stairs,
and it slips right by unnoticed—
no one tells you to prepare.
If we’d known that it was ending,
we’d have lingered longer there;
one more story by the nightlight,
one more “amen” to their prayers.
Final Chorus
They’re still our littles,
though they’re grown and in the world,
and someday they’ll rock their littles—
every freckle, every curl—
and when their days crawl by so slowly,
and their years won’t seem to last,
we’ll smile and tell them softly:
“Hold your littles while they last.”