Yesterday he was six. And he brought me this flower.
Delighted to spy our first ray of grown sunshine.
Then, something happened overnight.
He became seven. A real-deal, full fledged, tall, goofy, daring, inquisitive boy.
Actually, he was already all of that.
He had a request for his day. (Actually, he made a list of requests. Those lists keep popping up now that he can read and write.)
But this request was last minute. Late. But eternal.
“Mom, it sure would be neat if I could get a New King James Bible. That is what Mrs. Pat reads in Sunday School. She goes around and looks at our Bibles. I want to read outloud, too. It’s just so great. We sit and read the Bible for most of class!”
Twist my arm.
You better bet, I got my booty over to the Christian book store. No time for Amazon.
Two Bibles to choose from.
Mom sitting on the floor of Lifeway, wrestling with which cover. Does it really all come down to a cover?
Apparently. For me at least. (But then again, consider how shallow my conversion was.)
Little boy Young man reading.
The same little boy I held in my arms, wishing for a manual. The same boy who taught me so much about cloth diapers, making baby food, giving, baby wearing, receiving, talking, sharing . . . spending time with Jesus.
Happy Birthday – my amazing, strong, fast warrior.
I love you and I am glad you are mine.
