My son climbs up into my lap, and I ask him a question:
"What should I write about today?"
"How about I write about you? So, what are three words to describe Copeland?"
"....I don't know, Daddy."
"How about....Copeland is strong?"
"Copeland is kind."
"And...Copeland is loving."
"Yeah! Yeah, write about that."
[Referring to one sentence] "Wow, that's a long one! That's almost a boat!"
"Is that the end, Daddy?"
"What do you think? Should that be the end?"
He jumps off my lap, runs after his little sister, and picks her up after she's slipped and fallen. He comforts her, laughs with her, guides her, protects her.
He is strong and kind and loving, everything I've just spoken. They are prophetic words, words of vision and destiny and providence. Whether those words are descriptive or aspirational, it doesn't matter. They are true, and he is living into them.