This morning was no different than the several hundred before it.
Wes and I woke up and snuggled with Nate for a bit before he got ready and headed off to work. We ate breakfast; a strawberry-banana-peach-spinach smoothie for me, bananas and yogurt for Wes. He drank some milk, but more than anything just laughed and threw his sippy cup on the floor. He finished eating and we went to “find the dogs” (we corral them in the next room while he eats since otherwise he’ll just hand-feed them instead), folded laundry and played hide-and-seek.
A normal morning. Nothing special. Except for every single miraculous moment in it.
After we played it was time to wind down, so we grabbed a sippy cup of milk and sat on the floor in the living room, watching a live concert on TV. Instinctively I sat there with my nose buried in Weston’s hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and clean sheets. Feeling the heat from his little space-heater body, sitting in my lap. Laughing silently to myself as I noticed that, once again, our legs were crossed at the ankles out in front of us, unintentionally.
A moment to breathe and sit still with my little guy is fairly rare, so when it happens I can scarcely move should I disrupt that stillness. Not because I don’t want him to move, but because I so love sitting with him like this with a chance to just feel his little body next to me.
He stood up, and I started to cry. Not sobbing, but tears formed and softly fell down my cheeks. I know one day that he will move in bigger ways than just across the room to pick up a toy. He’ll move toward independence and becoming his own man with thoughts and feelings and a voice of his own. And I know this world – this world that has sucked me in at times and made me question my worth and my intentions and my true heartfelt desires. I know this world and I hope beyond hope that we can steward this little boy with the sweetest heart, the most genuine smile and the funniest sense of humor away from the things of this world and into the love and grace and mercy of Christ.
I cried this morning. I cried because I realized in a small and normal moment that a small and very special little boy won’t always be protected by his mommy. I won’t always be here to hold him close and kiss the boo-boo and drown out the bad with my love. But I also cried in joy because I know that God is here. He loves him more than I do, which I can’t fathom, but know to be true. And just as He scooped me up out of the mud and the mire of a life of sin, I know that He will do the same for my little boy.
The memory of today I hope will forever be etched in my brain and on my heart. And I pray for millions and millions and millions more like it.
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