My son, my youngest of the four arrows in our quiver,
You bring me such delight deep in my heart.
Your smile--the one that has not diminished through
the loss of two of its members this week--
oh I wish I could capture that smile in my mind forever.
Your laugh, a giggle over the sound of funny words strung together
in a tongue-twister book, or your daddy's joke--or your own.
Your voice, the one that says, "awww....awww, isn't it SO cute?"
whenever you see a kitty. How you long for one of your own,
but will have to "just imagine it."
Your fingers that draw sports cars and sports figures,
both in full gear. The fingers that fit and unfit tiny Lego
Star Wars pieces together, a feat of engineering that
both charms and baffles me.
Your arms which hug me tight 'round the waist
and squeeze 'round my neck
with all the love you've got and can't contain
for your mama
and you say, "I love you more than you
love me and that's true!"
and I reply, "That's impossible.
No boy can love his mama more than this mama loves her boy!"
The boy whose deep blue eyes dance with furtive joy when
he fetches the mail and finds an envelope addressed to him,
and sees that it's from
his sister,his only sister, who is living away from home.
He exclaims "It's from the best sister
in the whole entire world!"
Your feet that seem to grow with each step you take
The feet that no longer demand Velcro straps
because you're learning how to tie real shoelaces.
(I want you to learn,
but I don't, for that means you will take yet
another step of independence on your way out the door
Today you and I started your first official Bible study.
Just the two of us, shoulder to shoulder on the sofa.
The book of John. "That you may believe," it says.
(My prayer for you.)
You are drawing a storyboard, starting with a picture
of the Word, and then putting words to your picture.
"You are the Lamb of God!" John exclaims, pointing to Jesus
who is on a rocky cliff above him. "And I am not." Your
cartoon bubbles are priceless: John has rips in his jeans.
Jesus wears patches on his.
You point out they're both wearing sandals that tie up.
For a moment I think of Jesus when he was seven.
His own mother must have wondered as she
sewed on a patch or two for her mud-puddle stompin' boy,
"Yeshua! Please don't grow up so fast!
Yeshua! Wasn't it just yesterday you got your first tooth
and now you've lost two? Before I know it, your voice
will change, and you'll have big muscles like your dad,
and you'll carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."
And she must have had the other same thought, "No boy has ever loved his mama the
way this mama loves her boy."
But knew she was wrong.
How many times did she tie her boy's sandals and think,
"I'm not worthy to be doing this"?
Yet, God chose her to mother His Son,
And God has chosen me
to mother you,
our last son, a task for which I do not feel worthy
as I tie up your laces.