Bottle it up . . .
That’s what I want to do.
I want to bottle up your innocence and your smile and your glorious little laugh. I want to bottle up your wonder and your warm hugs and crooked drawings and save them for a rainy day.
If I had it my way, you’d stay little forever. Here with me you’d safely stay always. I’d supply your every need and I’d tuck you in every night.
But I know that’s not realistic. (Even though you are completely welcome to live in my basement until you are 110. I imagine this is what you would look like, Ben, when you are a little gentleman!)
And on days when my health gets me down I think I realize that more and more. And maybe that has less to do with being “sick” and more to do with just realizing how insufficient and mortal we moms really are at truly taking care of everything you’ll ever, ever need.
The truth is, some days, I know insufficient probably doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. Taking care of you, it was always what defined me. So on days that I need your help to take care of me I feel as though I’ve failed you somehow.
But through all this, I have learned something very important. I could be the bionic woman and still be horribly insignificant to be you’re all in all. Being “sick” has meant learning that letting go of the need to be your everything doesn’t mean that I’m insignificant at all. It means I am human. It means I may have finally learned what it means to trust God with my “Isaacs” knowing in my heart He will always provide the ram instead. It has meant stepping off a wobbly branch of faith because I had nowhere else to go . . .
It has meant that your flying wings are coming in. It has meant maybe, just maybe, you got them from your mama.
I know some days, having a mom who can’t do everything all the time, when you want and right when you want, can be hard. But you’d never know it. Every day I am inspired by your can do attitudes. Every day I stand in proud wonder of children who know this Christ of mine so well that instead of pulling out a video game and sitting on their butt . . . (although that IS fun) . . . they get down on their knees and they pray.
Seriously, how did ya’ll get so awesome? You simply haven’t lived until your ten year old has anointed your head with oil in your sleep!
As you all grow up, more and more every day, I just wanted you to know that I am so incredibly proud of all of you. God’s purpose in your life and His hand on your heart is so clear. While I’d be simply lucky if you rose up and called me friend -calling you my children?
They rise up and call her blessed.