Boys

"Behold, how good and pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity." Psalm 133

I get a kick out of those wide little boy hands and the veins that run steady through your feet.  I inwardly chuckle at your torn jeans and seemingly always scraped knees. 

You are boy.  And you're loud too.  Louder than the girls that is.  Your laughter is like a burst of sun exposing truths on a finger printed window. Honest, forgiving, authentic and true.  You beg for me to stop and then ask again for more.  "More tickles, Mama," you say.  When I read in scripture that we are made in the image of God, it proves true in your laughter.  For I know our Heavenly Father created such sounds to echo His reflection on earth, bringing deep satisfaction to my soul and presumably glory to Him on high.  

You are strength.  From early morning into night you run, jump and dig, pretending to be a super hero, a character fitting of honor and reputation.  Your imagination carries you onto pirate ships sailing over the deep sea.  With sword in hand you slay invisible ocean monsters to rescue the princess.  Which often turns out to be me.  A privilege to be your pretend princess it is - I'll gladly play the roll, for one day I know your true princess will steal your heart from my cradling arms and I'll have nothing but the memory of days gone by to feast on.  
​

You are sensitive.  Not always naturally but you're learning to hold a keen ear and eye to those around you.  There's a compassion growing in you that draws your actions toward kindness, gentleness and care.  I'll always guide you toward this as I know it's not your instinctive response. 

​
You are treasured.  Not just by me, but by God.  You're worth every nighttime snuggle and early morning bowl of cereal.  Each prayer spoken over you is more than my duty, it is my pleasure.  I'm not defeated by skinned knees and bruised elbows, they are an opportunity to kiss you once more and rock your aches away.  I will not grow weary when I find you in need of two baths a day or when my floors show signs of forgetful shoe wearers.  You are worth it to me to lose sleep and Christmas tree ornaments over, I will not focus on what's been lost or broken.  You are worth the last bit of energy I have to play and in my most tired moments I will not withhold correction from you. 

---

You are my mission.  To pour into daily.  To encourage moment by moment.  To walk with through each struggle and all the triumphant cresting of mountains.  Motherhood is a journey and you, my boy are my most precious mission.  

"And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." Galatians 6:9