Warm yellow sunlight filtering in the window. A stretch. A yawn. A pause. Then the memory of yesterday’s game left unfinished on the back porch, and energy from a mysterious well propels his little body up and out of bed.
Hair tussled and fingers still warm with sleep he bounces onto my bed. Definitive sounds of a baby stirring and then, “Mommy? Hold you?” trail in after his wake of early morning momentum, while he pushes his way into my arms, a smile from ear to ear.
Skinned knees, dirty cheeks, sparkling blue eyes. Sweaty neck and scuffed shoes. One hundred thoughts pouring out of his childish lips as fast as he can part them. Piles of rocks, shells, broken parts and forgotten gadgets line his corner of space. Creations and presents for Mom.
Exuberance. Fearlessness. Strength. Tenderness that breaks forth effortlessly. Brave. Every inch a full grown man tucked awkwardly into a six year old body. Lazer intense focus on things right in front of him, a challenge to hear the world around him, even his beloved mother’s voice. Passionate. Unabashed. One volume. Tenacious with an inner drive to conquer that overwhelms us both at times.
One day all the childish, awkward, inconvenient, loud boisterousness that mark his youth will be the very qualities, refined, disciplined, focused, that will bring about courageous accomplishments. Will touch lives, possibly save lives, possibly give life.
Every ounce of energy I spend in his whirlwind childhood is like concentrated power, motivating him forward, enabling him to accomplish all that God intended his little life to be. By the end I may be drained, but in the end it will be my life overflowing.
And, by God’s grace, his life will overflow greater and stronger than mine, when I am finally Home.