He in no longer the eleven year old. Twelve years ago today, he broke his collar bone trying to get out into the world. A metaphor? Some days, I think that bone between the shoulders and the heart symbolizes this son and his father...and me. Always trying to heal the broken. Always trying to stabilize the fractured connection between us...and him. Always falling and failing. Jesus always taking our hands. Always saying, "Come. Follow Me.", when there is no strength left in our parenting books to stand.
Always laying in bed at night wondering what else can we do? Always coming up with something that empties us out the next day, and always coming back to those same sheets. Torn. Some nights bloodied. Always wondering where God is in all this. Wondering when He'll show up. Can't help wondering IF He'll show up, and can a child enter the world a prodigal? Always wondering why in this life God would pair us up, then daily pare us down.
Always hoping in His divine plans. Always reaching for higher, better, more. More holiness. Which always means less of me. At least that much always makes sense.
Right now he sits next to me ready to talk, and I am leaving the comfort of words and quiet. It is his birthday! I want to put him on my lap and hold him always. Tell him that for all time, I will love him. Always. I reach to comfort him that I am trusting Jesus too...
And all His ways,