A Spring of Joy

He reached his hand out towards me, “I’ll pinky swear you, Mom.” I could see his green eyes dancing even in the dim light of his room.

“Pinky swear what?” I asked him, and he just gently smiled…

“I’ll pinky swear that for every day that I’m nine I’ll giggle at least once a day just for you.”

How many times can a heart melt in one lifetime?

This boy.

This gift.

I’ve seen less of his dimples, heard less of his giggles these last few months. He just gently smiles. He is struggling in school and in life, and it is wearing on him. Always wearing his emotions on his sleeve, his is quick to break down, yet tries so hard to be strong, and I just long to pull him close and tell him it will be okay and that these life lessons he is learning will be worth it one day. But one day feels so very far away to a child.

We snuggled in bed last night, and as we talked I thought about how it was my last night with him as an eight-year-old. He asked me to tell him again about the night he was born, and he interrupted me to finish my sentences because he’s heard the story so many times. He came into this world so easily, so quietly, and that’s how life has been with him… quiet and easy. He is eager to please and a peace-maker to a fault with a heart of gold and a hand ready to pitch in and help whenever there is a need.

We prayed together before I tucked him in, and as I thanked God for our Bear’s life, I heard my Ash-man whisper in the bunk above, “Yes, God.”

I watch him these days, caught in between that age where Bella’s toys and playthings are too small for him and Ash-man’s are too big. His imagination still runs wild, and our dress up box is emptied at least once a week as Bear and Bella go on adventures in far away lands, but there are days, too, where he would rather just sit quietly and read or draw or create with Legos on his own.

I love this part of parenting… this watching them and learning who they are.

I slipped into his room in the wee morning hours just about the time I gave birth those years ago, and I stroked a sleeping boy’s hair and prayed over him yet again asking God to make him wise and strong and brave and true.

This dear boy.

I watched him in wonder today, as I do so many days, and he reveled in the love we poured out on him.

And all I could think was, “Yes, God.”

We are all so thankful for this boy’s life.

Happy Birthday, my Beary Dear (I know there aren’t many years left that I can even call you that). You have made my world an amazing place, and what a year we have lived together.

I’ll pinky swear you… that I’ll never tire of telling you just how very much “I love you.”