Eight

My boy will be eight in just an hour. I know I do these posts every year, and I hope they don’t become redundant; it just becomes ever increasingly more difficult with each passing year to swallow the bittersweet pill of my oldest child growing up. I feel like I am growing right alongside him. I hope he never thinks I have it all together . . . Oh who am I kidding?!  No chance he will think that. Ha

Still, I hope he sees that life really is a life-long learning. The learning can never stop, because if it does, we stagnate and start to rot from the inside out. Let my life, his life,  not be like Latin, simply a reference point for things that were but instead let it be like English – ever-changing, ever-growing, ever evolving into this person that God desires for me to be.

Jonah – I still don’t know why I picked that name. I guess I just liked the sound of it. I certainly don’t want him to be a Jonah like the one in the Old Testament, unwilling to accept that God is good and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in love. Lord, please don’t let me find my kid fleeing from your grace, but instead running to it.

He’s all questions now, questions I cannot begin to know how to answer. His eyes are so bright with seeking and finding. Sometimes he wears me out with his quest to know more and more and more. I need more patience, less laziness, more grace and the will to push through the tired so I can do more than just humor him and his intelligent little self.

I went to pick him up from the daycare the other day, and he didn’t see me standing in the doorway. I love these little stolen moments when I can observe him with his peers. He touches others shoulders, their hands when he talks to them. He engages, genuinely. He is a point of light, this kid. I love him so. He looked up and saw me and flashed that snaggle-toothed grin. I am a proud mom. This boy with a heart of gold who sometimes still grieves his former family, he is not all  my doing, he belongs to God. He is miraculous to me.

I see him and looks past the unkempt hair (that he keeps begging me to keep uncut . . . ugh) the long legs and scuffed shoes, and I still see the tiny newborn placed squalling into my arms after two literal days of labor. Me, crying with joy for the first time in my life and absolutely awestruck at the miracle of new life staring back at me. Jonah, you took my breath away. I saw God in a new light that evening when I pushed you into the world. In an instant I became mother and you were my always my son. Eight years seems like an eternity ago now as I look at you. Your eyes though, they are still the same. Huge and hazel, flecked with green and gold, flocked by ridiculously long black lashes.

Happy birthday, Jonah. I pray that this will be one of your favorite years. A year to learn, to continue to heal, to love and be loved. I pray that you will continue to know God and open your heart to Him. He is so good.

Hooray for 8!

XOXO,

Mommy (aka, Meanest Mom in the World, ahem and Coolest also)

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