My Daddy's Words

He said, "You are my delight." I heard, "You are accepted."
He said, "You'll never get too big to sit on my lap." I heard, "You are adored."
He said, "Jesus is the way, the truth and the life." I heard, "You can trust Him."
He said, "You are beautiful because of who you are on the inside." I heard, "Your heart is lovely."
He said, "Help me stack the firewood." I heard, "You are strong."
He said, "You will be a good driver one day." I heard, "You are capable."
He said, "Call me when you get there." I heard, "You are precious to me."
He said, "Never settle for someone who mistreats you." I heard, "You are worthy."
He said, "I give you my blessing." I heard, "You are safe with him."
He said, "You're doing a good job with those boys." I heard his approval.
And once again, my heart sang at the words my daddy said.

To Be a Little Boy

What must it be like to be a little boy?
To have unidentified substances under your fingernails.
To make things with boxes and paper and tape and feathers.
To devour an afternoon snack with great gusto.
To slay imaginary dragons with sticks and plungers and wrapping paper rolls and brooms.
What must it be like to be a little boy?
To always smell faintly of puppy.
To take such delight in rocks.
To glow at the praise of your daddy.
To want to be just like him.
What must it be like to be a little boy?
To flex bony arm muscles.
To dig.
To long to be in charge of something.
To be allergic to baths. And homework. And girls.
What must it be like to be a little boy?
To be fascinated with trucks and rockets and robots and airplanes.
To climb.
To practice whistling for hours.
To practice spitting every time you go outside.
And what must it be like to be a man?
To bear the weight of your responsibility on your bended knees.
To slay the dragons that try to devour your family's unity and faith and finances.
To glow at the praise of your spouse.
To still be fascinated with trucks and rockets and robots and airplanes.
And to tell your little boy how very proud of him you are.
Because you know exactly what it's like
To be a little boy.

do not open intil mothers day

I just love surprises, so when our 8-year-old handed me this gift yesterday, I felt so special! It is a piece of copier paper that has been folded over and over and taped closed. When I shake it, I'm pretty sure there are two quarters inside. Or maybe they're nickels. Either way, how precious is that?!?

The only income sources for this kid are the couch cushions, birthday gifts, and the tooth fairy. So for him to give me two coins is so very sweet. It speaks of his generous heart. And it reveals what he treasures - me!

In Matthew 6:21, Jesus says, "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." If heart follows treasure, where's mine? I can proclaim my heart's devotion, but to really reveal the truth of the matter, I need to do a treasure hunt. Aarrrrgh, mateys.

What (who) do I think of most? In what do I invest my money? How do I spend my free time? Would those people who know me best see love in my actions? What about my motivation? If I looked into a golden chest containing the most important thing in the world to me, what would I see? My husband and boys? My home or friends? Jesus?

It strikes me that Jesus knows how my heart works. The question is not whether I will have treasure, but rather what it will be. The things that I value the most have my devotion. They receive my attention. They get my quarters. Nickels?

So this Mother's Day I will enjoy the surprise of opening my son's gift. I will bask in the blessing of being someone's treasure. And I will try to figure out what I can buy for 50 cents. Or is it 10 cents? Hmmm.

One Day

One day when I'm old and sweeping, remind me of when my broom always found Hot Wheels under the cabinet's edge.
One day when I'm old and singing, remind me of three little voices joined in unison in my back seat singing, "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Acts and the letter to the Romans..."
One day when I'm old and cooking, remind me of spilled milk, and tall tales, and laughter at our table each night.
One day when I'm old and writing, remind me of handwritten "I love you's", and countless scraps of paper with carefully drawn robots and monster trucks and dinosaurs.
One day when I'm old and spending, remind me of the wealth of having a single penny carefully tucked in a pocket with rocks and Legos and the occasional roly poly.
One day when I'm old and praying, remind me of little heads bowed, little eyes sometimes closed, and little voices talking to the Father with full assurance that He would answer.
One day when I'm old and waiting, remind me of the flurry of activity each morning as we brushed teeth, brushed hair, grabbed backpacks and rushed off into another day.
One day when I'm old and trembling, remind me of how my arms shook under the weight of a sleeping boy.
One day when I'm old and dreaming, remind me of midnight feedings and fevers and tummy aches that could only be soothed by my nearness.
One day when I'm old and worrying, remind me of unexpected hugs from arms that were too short to stretch all the way around me.
One day when I'm old and cleaning, remind me of countertops smudged with watermelon toothpaste, doorknobs coated in mysterious goo, and glass doors perpetually coated in boy-sized handprints.
One day when I'm old and walking, remind me of chubby hands holding mine and little feet trusting me not to lead them astray.
One day when I'm old and counting my blessings, remind me that, for a time, I was their world.

I don't think I could, but if somehow I do forget - remind me. One day.