Friday, November 2, 2012

Boy, you are my son.

Man of the woods,

Just last week as Daddy was leaving for work you began screaming that your underwear was too tight, that is the clean pair we asked you to put on.  You know the one that came from the same package as the dirty one you had just taken off.  The package we bought six weeks ago so there is no chance those undies freakishly shrunk.  Yep those ones.  You screamed.  It didn't matter what we said or if we punished you (because we tried both) only you could stop the tantrum. 

Your father and I were in the next room over, I couldn't help but smile and say, "You know I did this exact same thing.  Only mine were over socks.  Why do you think I write X's on my socks?  I label them so each pair can feel the same on both feet.  You know, rather then getting an older sock matched up with a newer sock.  I screamed like this when I was his age too.  Only he can decide when and how to stop."

Child, you are mine. 

I asked God for this, for you.  I asked for a boy who would think just like me.  I was scared out of my mind to think that I would be entrusted with you.  It felt safe to ask for a son I could understand.  Even though God granted me this request the fear has not left.  I am still afraid maybe even more so because I understand that mind of yours so well. 

Each day I mature a bit more just like you.  Each day I am faced with the reality that because you and I are so much a like you are going to make some of the bad choices I made and suffer from the same weaknesses.  So I do the only thing I know to do I talk to our Maker, the one who knows you and I better then we know ourselves.  I pray for you in this way: 

I pray that God will give you more wisdom then He gave me. 
I pray that somehow He will show us how to deal with the little frustrations that at times control us. They don't have to and it's wrong for us to allow them to. 
I pray that He will bring somebody into your life for you to connect with, like He did for me with each growing season.  I pray that this person will say the same things your father and I have said but that from them you'll get it the first time.  I don't have to be the one to see the pieces fit together, although after watching you learn how to hold a pencil or write the letter A it's a pretty amazing thing to watch, but I don't have to be the one.  I simply want you to get it, to grow, to be more. 
I pray you will choose to use your gifts to the fullest and never take advantage of them. 
I pleadingly pray that this darkness that has invaded my mind will pass over you.
I pray that you may be a faster learner then this Momma of yours and may I find the best ways to love and shape you. 
Most of all may we both use that detailed focus of ours to glorify the Maker.  If we figure out how to do that then you and I will make it just fine through this crazy journey. 

I love you my sweet boy.


You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!  Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.  You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.  You saw me before I was born.  Every day of my life was recorded in your book.  Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
~ Psalm 139:13-16 (NLT)
I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours in thwarted.
~Job 42:2 (NASB)

2669.  A God who says yes to my fear of raising a boy like me to teach me that only He can replace my fear.
2670.  A son I can sympathize with and understand.
2671.  The sparkle his eyes get and the way his lips turn up just ever so slightly when he gets a new concept such as correctly holding his pencil or writing the letter A.
2672.  That I was given the privilege of being his mother.
2673.  A breakfast of Pop-tarts just the two of us.

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