Four Years Old

 

Spoken Word by Mikey & V

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I was four years old.
Just me and my mother,
in a world already bruising me into silence.
I wasn’t the easy kid.
Not soft.
Not still.
Too much fire,
too much storm
for a frame that small.

But I remember...
I remember the day I walked out that door
without being told,
without knowing why,
just following something louder than logic,
stronger than fear.

---

A neighbor’s apartment.
A preacher’s voice.
The sound of gospel pouring through cracked walls
like sunlight through broken blinds.

And I—
the angry kid, the “too much” kid—
just walked in.
Sat down.
And listened.

No one forced me.
No one invited me.
But my spirit heard something
and recognized home.

---

I didn’t know the Scriptures.
Didn’t know what sin meant.
Didn’t know theology,
didn’t know why I cried at night
when the weight in my chest had no name yet.

But that day,
He called.
And I answered.
Not with words.
With presence.

---

Because even at four,
even with fists clenched and heart confused,
my soul remembered the frequency
of the One who formed me.

---

My mom came looking.
Worried.
Confused.
Probably angry.

But Heaven?
Heaven smiled.
Because that was the day the prodigal’s feet
took their first steps home.

---

Final Word:

“I was four years old,
but eternity whispered,
and I moved.
The fire in me wasn’t rebellion.
It was remembrance.
It was a son returning before he even knew he had left.”